My Leader, the Hero; or A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints

One time in the 1980s, a helicopter flew over our small barangay. I went out to join other kids in the neighborhood. The sight was glorious—we saw things falling down from the sky. Perhaps it was the first time such kind of aircraft flew over our neighborhood. 

We the kids were so amazed. We ran around like crazy picking them up as more of them flew down from the chopper. We thought they were money bills. 

They were flyers and pocket calendars belonging to a candidate whom I now only remember as Ballecer. He was running against another candidate named Bubby Dacer (the PR man) for assemblyman in the third district of our province. 

Bubby Dacer’s posters, along with those of his opponents, were plastered everywhere in our barangay, especially on the wide walls of the koprasan of the Bercasios, a warehouse near the marketplace we called Triangle where we bought our goods from rice to fish to plastic balloons to halo-halo. 

The faces of these politicians would be hard for me to forget. Time and again, I would see their faces on those posters pasted on the walls of the koprasan where I usually passed to run house errands. Because these posters were never defaced, it was time—months and years—that eventually wore them away. 

I also heard their jingles over DZGE and DWLV, then prominent radio stations based in Naga City. Young as I was, I also sang (along with) them.

During elections, my mother headed the Board of Election Inspectors (BEI) in our grade school. From the sample ballots, I saw and learned to memorize senators’ names who would later be prominent—names like Mamintal Tamano, Santanina Rasul, Ramon Mitra, Teofisto Guingona, Macapanton Abas and Leticia Ramos-Shahani, among others. 

I clipped and mounted their pictures, and also copied their faces on my notebook. Some of these materials I even placed as covers for my school stuffs. 

When Corazon Aquino became president, I copied her image from a poster which was distributed to all the classrooms. For this, I used Cray-pas for a portrait of her which I drew on one of the back pages of my notebook. It was a smiling woman wearing big eyeglasses. 

I emphasized the wrinkles from her nose to the mouth when she smiled. I used orange for her face and black for her hair and yellow for the dress. I was amazed at my creation. I used so much pastel on the portrait of the new president perhaps because it was my first time to use such kind of art material. I rather saw that portrait as that of my mother.

Back then our classrooms had high ceilings—the old Marcos type, I later learned. The Sacred Heart of Jesus was placed on our front wall facing the class—and was flanked by two posters that read—“Knowledge is power” and “Read today, lead tomorrow.” 

The picture of the new president was mounted on one of the corners of the Grade 6 classroom. She was placed along with Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio, in such a way that we looked up to them. 

In high school, we were also told to memorize the names of government officials—from our local officials to the cabinet secretaries of then ministries (during Ferdinand Marcos’s regime) and now departments (in Cory Aquino’s new government).

Through time, I got lost in the long list of names of senators and politicians and cabinet officials whose names were changed more often—because they were either sacked or revamped or simply resigned. I came to know more about them, or rather, about them more.

From the news, I later learned of their projects and their programs. Then I was also told of their corrupt practices—of the problems they were now giving to the public. I would also learn the words graft, corruption. Bribery. And plunder. Through the years, I have lost track of who is doing which and what. Who is more credible than whom? Who is more believable? One day, I just didn’t know how to believe in what they’re saying anymore. Or what they’re doing.

One day, I just stopped believing in them. I found there are other better things to do than believe and what they’re saying. Or doing.  One time, I just started to believe that like most children’s tales, politicians and yes, their identities and their sensibilities—such as their faces mounted for everyone to see—are only for children.