"Marcos talaga ako." A Conversation With A Tricycle Driver

I never intended this to be my first post but to wherever, and/or how far this may reach, this story needs to be shared.

It was one of those days when I didn’t care for driving. So, I walked outside the street where we live, thinking this another ordinary day. I hailed a tricycle to take me to my favorite, quiet writing/gaming/studying spot in the city.

With 2,631 cases lastly recorded, my hometown is still suffering from the Coronavirus Pandemic. But compared to the bigger and more famous cities where COVID-19 cases advance and recede like waves on a shore, our town’s cases are — for lack of better, more respectful words— just tolerably manageable.

But what does the Philippines, with its Manila-centric news care about the affairs of a city tucked away in Mindanao? Life here is as slow as it ever was. Less picturesque though our city is, I can resemble my town’s mellowness to that of The Shire. We are a “small folk.” And we’re a people who are “quite content to ignore and be ignored by the world of the Big Folk.” We, after all, are “neither renown as great warriors nor counted among the very wise.”

Coincidentally, the tricycle driver who took me to my hangout place bore resemblance to a hobbit. Short and stout, he looked a very able worker who, I imagine, had toiled for most of his life to earn a living. His face, though touched with age, was tough-looking yet smooth with hardly any wrinkles. The bit of smooth cheeks his mask didn’t cover contrasted with the heavy bags under his eyes. The tips of his eyebrows were white and long, almost covering his eyes which mixed an odd combination of kindness and alertness. He took care, I observed, to check all his mirrors and all the cars he could possibly scope before making the slightest change in driving. A cautious driver. A good driver.

He wore what you would typically expect a motor racer would wear: the bandana tube scarf hung tightly around his neck. His plastic-y black, long sleeved shirt shown when sunshine hit. His pants were camouflage-patterned and durable. Of course, I didn’t talk to him. At first.

For the most part of the drive, we remained silent. As you would. He drove; I witnessed woodworkers, repairmen in vulcanizing shops along the sidewalks, and shop owners go about their humble businesses. But on one notoriously long traffic jam, on a long extension road littered with campaign posters, he decided to strike a conversation with me.

“Naka decide ka na ba sino bobotohin mo, noy?”

“Uhm… ewan?” my apolitical ass replied. He laughed.

“Puta!” he cursed. “Wala ng ewan ewan. Marcos na agad! Pag presidente na si Marcos…”—he presumed— “maa-access niya na yung metric tons na Yamashita Gold.”

I froze. I cast him a steely, tight-lipped smile. Far away from progressive or even liberal souls, away from the arts and literature that teach empathy and raise consciousness (we have no bookstore since I was born 34 years ago), here was a city filled with insular, conservative people. Small houses. “Little boxes” as the song goes, in which its small town people “were put in boxes and they came out all the same.”

As with any political talks, it can get tedious. People pontificate. At least, the talk wasn’t too one-sided because he asked questions.

“Ano na ba edad mo, anong taon ka pinanganak?”

“1988, Sir.”

“So, si Aquino una presidente mo.”

“Opo. Pero si Ramos yung unang nakita ko sa TV ‘nung bata ako.”

“Ah, correct. Ramos. Tapos, Si Erap, ano? Nagkabulilyaso siya. Kinuha ni Gloria yung opisina niya. Tapos, Noynoy. Tapos Duterte.”

Let it not be another talk on Duterte, I thought. I’m about to go to my spot for some peace and solitude and I can’t have this mess swirling in my mind. I’m tired of the conservatives at home. I’ve willed myself never to do a fist bump handshake (though that’s the CoVid norm) because a fist bump is his gesture. Someone, anyone! Save me! Please drive faster please drive faster please drive faster

But he went on.

“Si Marcos kasi yung pinaka malakas. Si Pacquaio, ba-boxingin lang ang Senado!” he laughed. It was a little funny. “Si Lacson…hmm… Yung makakalaban lang niya naman na seryoso, Si Isko. Robredo…hmm… pero ano ba matutulong nila sa Mindanao?”

At last, a point I thought insightful, as every president I’ve ever known, in my experience at least, rarely tried to impress Filipinos outside Metro Manila.

“Basta. Si Marcos talaga ako. Yung mga kaso sa kanila 1980s pa. Paano pa nila nahanap yun? Basta. Kay Marcos talaga ako.”

I felt the urge to jump off of the vehicle then and there. The minutes of silence that followed were a welcome reprieve. And for the rest of the trip, I only heard roaring engines.

Relief overwhelmed me when the driver made a curve and parked at my destination. I gave him the fare and he thanked me sincerely. I’m sure it was 15 minutes max, the drive. But it felt like the entire afternoon.

Needless to say, he gave me more than a ride and a service. The idea of the Marcos’s legendary status still lives on on voters especially those far away from the capital. There are people who believe him a benefactor, and a help to the Filipinos despite every empirical proof on the contrary.

However the powers that be have sewn their “aspiring” histories via the media, it worked on this guy. Here was a “nobody,” a part of the masses. Just as I am a nobody and part of the masses. And if he thinks that way, I shudder to think that hundreds of thousands of Filipinos also think that way.

I’m worn out of the politicians who have latched and leeched on the national platform for decades. As much as I steer away from politics, I believe deep in my heart that the best choice is that one person who has chosen to rule with dignity and a clean record, who has sat graciously on her office and provided help to as much as the power of her office holds.

If I’m worried about something, it’s that her policies might not reach beyond Luzon. But then again, the current person sitting in the country’s most powerful seat also hails from Mindanao. And I have not felt any tremendous help reach here in our city.

I cling to the thought and hope that if someone like myself believes in her, and will take action for her, then so will thousands of people too.

Best of luck with everything, Veep!

As for that tricycle driver, I hope he does his research. I hope he takes notice of his actions. More importantly, his inactions and absences.

With this, my little story, I hope to add to the grand dialogue of Philippine politics and the coming election when all our fates will be decided.