These days, there seems to be a parallel between what’s up in Albay and what goes on in Malacanang. When rain falls on Mayon’s feet, in Legazpi City, water rises and a muddy torrent develops, inundating towns, making the lives of people, rich or poor, miserable.
In Malacanang, when heavy rain comes, it pours with the vengeance of a hurricane. The whole nation comes to a halt; it is petrified by the turbulence of uncertainty which painfully sweeps through the guts of many citizens.
The resulting damage is incredible. The consequence of calamities is way beyond what UP Ibalon photographer Dan Daz could capture in his elegant lens. There are many secret scenes in our government that can’t simply be resolved by the truthfulness of pictures.
And so Gloria Macapagal keeps mum over innuendoes, scandals, and disasters. She seems out there beside swollen Pasig River for some moments of glamour and intrigue. With little incentive to be responsible as president, she has been inattentive. That’s why the people of the Philippines feel abandoned. They move dejectedly, one day at a time, to reconstruct their lives with their own hands.
Come to think of it. Bikol’s flood is basically nature’s handiwork and Malacanang’s deluge is undoubtedly intentional. The agonizing recurrences and the lack of resolution of our country’s urgent problems cast unspeakable gloom on all of us.
Some have turned impatiently dour, disbelieving any suggestions of hope in the future. Those who muster strength and resourcefulness, seek heroic remedies on their own. Many count on nature’s slow course of injury and repair. They take calamities like helpless sparrows on a twisted a palm tree, ready to fly as branches snap and fall aground. When the weather becomes auspicious and mild, they however dream of the scent of ripening grains in the ricefields.
So we ponder on Dan Daz’ truthful pictures. The scenes of foul weather lingers as they become obscene reminders of our lot. They invite us to take action just like before, against what they insist as our destiny. Depressing as it may seem, we need to rise again and carry on!
The poor folks, their children in tow, quietly wade through the filthy waters with their box of belongings on their backs. The wealthy has receded in their places of refuge and comfort. The beleaguered national government remains distracted with it’s own flood of wickedness. Malacanang stinks, wallows, and drowns in a cesspool of shame.