Apr 25 2010
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2010 elections, politics

Greasy campaign trail – ‘L’ is for Lechon, ‘V’ is for Vetsin

Elections is fiesta season in the Philippines. And if we truly are what we eat, then Filipino politicians are aptly symbolized by pork and grease.

The culinary theme is not green, yellow or orange, it’s cholesterol. Everything is deep-fried, served with fat and layered with oil. When politicians speak of the vote-rich L to L corridor, they actually mean liempo to lechon.

Grease is a main-stay in Philippine politics. Political affiliations shift – expect the entire Lakas machinery to go to Villar (ok, some are LP-bound) – but what  isn’t going to change is grease. Once, in a sortie in Tarlac, the whole LP entourage went to the ancestral home of the Aquinos for lunch, which consisted of tocino, homemade corned beef swimming in oil, and fried hito. My face is the epicenter of oiliness, but these dishes make my face seem fresh and healthy.

If it isn’t homemade grease, it’s fastfood oil – with MSG. If the L sign means ‘Lechon’, then V is vetsin (or Vitter Villitants, but that’s another story). When meals are not hosted by local politicians, we get our regular dose of fat and MSG from Jollibee or McDonalds. Breakfast at McDonalds in SLEX, late-night post-sortie dinner in KFC NLEX. Gone were the days when you carry bags of local pasalubongs at the airport; I actually found myself carrying in Davao City’s airport McDo take-outs that we bought from a drive-thru in Gen San – and it didn’t feel absurd.

In a solo sortie in HK, what started as a silly wish – eating dimsum filled with broth – ended up becoming an obsession as the day began transforming into a classic monster. There was the usual high-energy activities, the small crises that required troubleshooting, coordinating with Manila for other events – everything was Multitasking 2.0. Eating dimsum became a rallying point, my own liberation day, and maybe a cry for help. But the chance to go to a dimsum house didn’t come. I remember having breakfast, lunch didn’t take place (there was some time for snacks, but that was it), and soon after, Risa and I were at the airport, tired, each nursing a cup of warm drink from Starbucks, sitting quietly while waiting for our flights. Dinner was out of the question, and dimsum was, well, a figment of my own chismis.

I was tired and hungry when I finally reached home a few hours later. But the moment I stepped inside my apartment, next day’s sortie was already there, waiting. I opened my laptop, googled McDonald’s, and, by opening a new document, started a new day.

(Epic fail for the that one-entry a day challenge. No excuses, but hey, it’s 15 days till election day. Next blog should be about preparing for debates. I’m blogging from Legaspi City, and we’re waiting for Ms. Kris for a sortie in Legaspi and Tabaco.)

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Apr 25 2010
Leave a comment
2010 elections, politics

Greasy campaign trail – 'L' is for Lechon, 'V' is for Vetsin

Elections is fiesta season in the Philippines. And if we truly are what we eat, then Filipino politicians are aptly symbolized by pork and grease.

The culinary theme is not green, yellow or orange, it’s cholesterol. Everything is deep-fried, served with fat and layered with oil. When politicians speak of the vote-rich L to L corridor, they actually mean liempo to lechon.

Grease is a main-stay in Philippine politics. Political affiliations shift – expect the entire Lakas machinery to go to Villar (ok, some are LP-bound) – but what  isn’t going to change is grease. Once, in a sortie in Tarlac, the whole LP entourage went to the ancestral home of the Aquinos for lunch, which consisted of tocino, homemade corned beef swimming in oil, and fried hito. My face is the epicenter of oiliness, but these dishes make my face seem fresh and healthy.

If it isn’t homemade grease, it’s fastfood oil – with MSG. If the L sign means ‘Lechon’, then V is vetsin (or Vitter Villitants, but that’s another story). When meals are not hosted by local politicians, we get our regular dose of fat and MSG from Jollibee or McDonalds. Breakfast at McDonalds in SLEX, late-night post-sortie dinner in KFC NLEX. Gone were the days when you carry bags of local pasalubongs at the airport; I actually found myself carrying in Davao City’s airport McDo take-outs that we bought from a drive-thru in Gen San – and it didn’t feel absurd.

In a solo sortie in HK, what started as a silly wish – eating dimsum filled with broth – ended up becoming an obsession as the day began transforming into a classic monster. There was the usual high-energy activities, the small crises that required troubleshooting, coordinating with Manila for other events – everything was Multitasking 2.0. Eating dimsum became a rallying point, my own liberation day, and maybe a cry for help. But the chance to go to a dimsum house didn’t come. I remember having breakfast, lunch didn’t take place (there was some time for snacks, but that was it), and soon after, Risa and I were at the airport, tired, each nursing a cup of warm drink from Starbucks, sitting quietly while waiting for our flights. Dinner was out of the question, and dimsum was, well, a figment of my own chismis.

I was tired and hungry when I finally reached home a few hours later. But the moment I stepped inside my apartment, next day’s sortie was already there, waiting. I opened my laptop, googled McDonald’s, and, by opening a new document, started a new day.

(Epic fail for the that one-entry a day challenge. No excuses, but hey, it’s 15 days till election day. Next blog should be about preparing for debates. I’m blogging from Legaspi City, and we’re waiting for Ms. Kris for a sortie in Legaspi and Tabaco.)

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Apr 17 2010
1 Comment
2010 elections, politics

The Daily Grind

24 days before D-day. If I don’t do this now, I won’t be able to do this at all.

The challenge is to blog about the campaign trail, an entry a day. I’ve told someone before that I’ve been remiss with my blogging duties because of the campaign – the hectic schedule, and the rare lulls that are oftentimes spent to catch up with errands that are left behind.

Why not blog about the campaign trail, he suggested.

He’s right. A senatorial campaign is a strange monster . You jump in, you get swallowed. I suppose writing about it would make it easier to digest.

There is more familiarity in a party-list campaign: you deal with constituents you’ve worked with, the niches are clear, and the scale follows boundaries that you have traversed in the past. You know your hooks, you’ve been there, you’ve done that, and you know the limits of the system itself. It is a known playground.

But now, the campaign trail doesn’t end. The next day and its own mob of tasks, statements, and meetings have a way of creeping from behind, without warning, an intruder that has the gall to welcome you to your own home. A week becomes a continuous, seamless loop of days. Before you sleep, no matter if its at 2 or 4 am, you need to meet your deadlines, and then wake up early so you could do some finishing touches, make the sound bite sharper, or the point more resonant.  You are completely aware that it could be for naught, especially in country where politics is a narrative of personal dramas, not of platforms or issues. So you just go ahead, praying that what you’re doing can make a dent.

I admit that there are moments when we ask ourselves why we are doing this. The party-list race is our comfort zone, and had we opted to limit ourselves in that arena, the campaign trail would unfurl with a certain predictability – the kind of messages you can and cannot deploy, the numbers you need to crunch. A party-list campaign would still be hard, but definitely not as hard as a senatorial bid.

But in the middle of the daily grind, we constantly get reminders why we are here – an old woman who handed Risa some money as contribution to her campaign; a student who professed his support, unabashedly, and delivered what is perhaps the most compelling speech about change that I’ve heard since this campaign started; the father who introduced Risa to his young girl, and started conversing with her as people went in and out of the LRT. All of these happened when we weren’t preaching to the choir, while eating in Jollibee or while in transit. It is when we are with them that I realize that we haven’t lost our moorings.

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Jan 19 2010
4 Comments
Congress, politics

The perks of being Jules

So what does it mean to be Rep. Jules Ledesma of Negros Occidental?

As a member of the House of Representatives, he received P4.2 million a year for operational expenses, the so-called Representative’s Block Fund (RBF). Since they don’t have to report to Congress how the RBF was spent, you may actually say that it is their discretionary fund. That’s P12.6 million in one term, and that’s on top of his monthly P35,000 salary.

That’s nothing, of course, compared to unpopular pork barrel. Rep. Ledesma received at least P70 million a year for his Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) and his lump sum DPWH fund for hard or infra projects. I said at least because the pork barrel that you receive depends on your proximity to the powers that be, so if you are a member of the majority there’s a huge chance that you’d get more. You may also clinch more projects through congressional insertions, which means that while the annual General Appropriations Act (the national budget) is being crafted by the Executive, you insert certain items  in the budget of government agencies. There is just an agreement between the line agency and the representative that the allocation would be released to the solon because it was included at his behest. Since it is hard to determine if Rep. Ledesma got additional porks from Madam President or if he was able to insert any items in the past three budget cycles, let us assume that he got at least P210 million for the entire term.

(Do the PDAF and the DPWH lump sum fund go directly to the solons? Not really. But they have a say on how it will be used. Corruption happens when, in the case of hard or infra projects, the solons intervene in the awarding of the project to contractors that they favor and get a kickback from the deal. Soft projects are easier to pocket, since they are usually given in cash to local government officials close the solon thru financial assistance, livelihood projects, etc. How much actually goes to corruption requires investigation, but Budget Sec. Rolando Andaya once said that as much as 40% of the pork barrel goes to the pockets of politicians. Coming from a cabinet secretary, we can say that 40% is an underestimation.)

Rep. Jules Ledesma got at least P222.6 million for this term.

If he was only present thrice for the session, then the presence of his highness in the august chamber of Congress cost taxpayers P74.2 million a day. He said that he was actually busy performing his duty in his district. FTW, mister. In the Rules of Congress, it is clear that his main duty is to legislate and attend plenary sessions.

Our hard-working solon filed three bills, all of which are local:

  • HB03057 – AN ACT RESERVING CERTAIN PORTION OF PUBLIC DOMAIN AND DECLARING THE SAME ALIENABLE AND DISPOSABLE FOR TOWNSITE USE OF THE MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT OF SALVADOR BENEDICTO, PROVINCE OF NEGROS OCCIDENTAL AND FOR OTHER PURPOSE
  • HB04150 – AN ACT DECLARING A PARCEL OF LAND OF THE PUBLIC DOMAIN AN AGRICULTURAL LAND FOR TOWN SITE PURPOSE OF THE MUNICIPALITY OF SALVADOR BENEDICTO, PROVINCE OF NEGROS OCCIDENTAL, AND FOR OTHER PURPOSES
  • HB06254 – AN ACT DECLARING THE 1ST OF JULY OF EVERY YEAR A SPECIAL NONWORKING HOLIDAY IN THE CITY OF SAN CARLOS, NEGROS OCCIDENTAL IN OBSERVANCE OF THE CITY’S CHARTER DAY

Taxpayers paid him P74.2 million per bill. Expensive bills. Grab a copy, they’re probably laced with unobtanium.

There you go, the perks of being Jules. Shocked? Don’t be. After all, Rep. Jules Ledesma is just one out of many.

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