[asia-apec 1512] Dissing A Fool -- Erap at SF

[BAYAN]

Dissing A Fool -- Erap at SF (San Francisco)
By Marivi Soliven Blanco 
 
8/4/2000 
 
The other day we learned there are two ways to run a protest when an idiot
president drops by. There's the in-your-face Austin Powers method featuring
parade permits, drums, chants, picket signs, and higante puppets. Then there's
the sneaky James Bond insider strategy involving well-dressed protesters
skulking around the FBI, Secret Service and San  Francisco police guarding the
fool on the hill. 
 
Having attended my fair share of rallies, I decided on trying the second type.
I sashayed into the Fairmont Hotel lobby with three other finely dressed
people, discreetly clutching a large Dolce & Gabbana shopping bag. The bag
contained not clothes but 500 gold be-ribboned 'Thank You' cards stamped with
the Presidential Seal of the Philippines. 
 
Instead of the usual 'thanks-for-your-money' platitudes, the card thanked
dinner guests for sponsoring cronyism (specifying Lucio Tan and Danding
Cojuangco); the self-enrichment of President Estrada and his family; continued
armed conflict in Mindanao; and a neutered Philippine press. 
 
The Fairmont's marble-columned, gilded lobby had turned into Sequin Central
for
the evening with over a thousand matrons and their barong-ed partners
"swanning" about in ternos and long gowns. 

Biding our time while waiting for Erap to arrive, we sat down at the bar and
nursed the first round of cocktails. 
 
The 950 too-too-coutured, uber-bejeweled, hyper-coiffed Filipino-Americans
around us had each paid a hundred dollars of their own money to cram into a
ballroom for dinner with a drunk. Estrada was coming to collect their donation
as well as to seek more military aid from President Clinton. His $10M wish
list
included 200 M-35 trucks, one coast guard cutter, A-I aircraft, amphibious
landing craft and naval vessels. All to perpetuate his genocidal war in
Mindanao. 
 
While we mingled with the Perlas ng silanganan, two hundred or so protesters
outside shouted anti-Erap chants, and  pounded on drums. An outsized puppet
dressed as Uncle Sam waved at us from behind the metal barricades across the
street set up by the police. 

Compared to our comfy posts indoors, the protesters had to struggle with
incoming fog, chilly winds, and hunger. Food Not Bombs, an activist
organization, had pledged food for the group, but this turned out to be just a
few loaves of bread 
and fruit. Nevertheless, the demonstrators stayed for a good three hours,
huddling together for warmth, and raising a huge ruckus. 
 
This was fine with the authorities, as long as the rally participants remained
behind the barricades. Besides the San  Francisco police and riot squad, the
Feds were swarming all over the place. One could easily figure out who they
were: beefy men in suits and a tell-tale white telephone cord curling around
their left ear. 
 
There were several American TV news crews filming the protest, which had begun
down the hill at the Powell BART station, but the few Filipino TV newsmen
present refused to go outside. 
 
"Gusto ko sanang mag-interbyu ng protesters, kaya lang hindi ko kaya ang 
ginaw!" whined a Pinay reporter for GMA 7 News, bare knees a-knocking under
her
mini. Clearly, this particular story was not going to play on TV sets back
home. 
 
On my first martini I met a group of Filipino-American dot com businessmen
sitting next to us. Some of them didn't  even have tickets to the dinner, but
were hoping to get in anyway. They introduced me to the American with them,
explaining that he worked with Carnival Cruises and had just established a
cruise line in the Philippines. 
 
"Oh, how wonderful," I replied, "You know, cruise ships in the Philippines
tend
to sink all the time." His companions  rushed to stress the difference between
cruise ships and passenger ships, while I smilingly handed out the counterfeit
'Thank You' cards to our first victims. 
 
I joined D. and M. in the main lobby just as Press Secretary Dong Puno walked
past. "Hey Dong!" cried D., with a hearty slap on the shoulder. 

"Long time no see!" Secretary Puno looked momentarily terrified before smiling
weakly and strolling quickly away. 
 
"Do you know him?" we asked D. 
 
"Not at all!" he chuckled. 

On his second Manhattan, D. chanced upon Corinna Sanchez. Feeling very Tom
Cruise, he wrapped an arm around her waist, murmuring: "Corinna, remember the
good old days?" 

He claimed to have been referring to those days when she was still a star
investigative reporter, before joining Presidential PR  (pandering reporter).
Instead, D. said that Corinna looked utterly baffled, as though trying to
remember when and where she had had  the affair with this stranger. 
 
By then Mission Implausible was at hand. Upon hearing the president had
arrived, we hustled downstairs to the ballroom with our cards. Grabbing about
50, I walked right up to the glittering crowd and passed them out. 
 
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so very much for coming!" I chortled, as
startled matrons asked for more of the pretty little  souvenirs. 
 
Perennial Politician Joey Cuisia walked up and he got  one, too. D.  spotted
alpha tai-pan Lucio Tan (in a mediocre suit, 
he scoffed) and handed him a card as well. The only ones we avoided were the
thugs with telephone cord attachments. 
 
Some women looked sourly at me and declared that they had already received and
read the cards. "Well then, have a good dinner. Eat very well!" I hissed,
before moving on to the next group. 
 
Meanwhile, Howie Severino was all over the place, dragging around not just his
camcorder, but a folding step-stool from which to get a higher angle. He was
the only media person stopped and searched by the Secret Service while
attempting to enter the ballroom. 
 
"Paano naman kasi si Howie, may dala pang hagdan," sighed Boying Pimentel, a
San Francisco Examiner reporter. 

At some point a two-man Filipino-American TV crew from Seattle interviewed me
for their news show. The interviewer 
(who wore an orange armband with 'Erap' on it), tried to play devil's advocate
by asking a number of questions along the 'why-should-we-care' theme. But we'd
rehearsed our talking points for media days earlier and I managed to keep  him
in line. Finally, they asked me to sum up in one minute what I wanted to say
about Erap. 
 
"He's a drunk. He's an idiot. And he's killing Filipinos with American guns.
Doesn't that bother you?" I asked. 
 
There was still the problem of entering the ballroom without a ticket, but
Tita
A., the mama san of our covert band had  somehow managed to walk in with a
large group when the ticket checker wasn't  looking. Now she opened the middle
door a crack and beckoned me over. 
 
"Pasok ka na," she whispered, and I slipped in. The ballroom was fast filling
up, but there was no sign of Erap and I needed to pee. 

Approaching a secret service agent, I asked if I could use the ladies' room.
"Sure," he grinned. "Just make sure I see you so you can get back in again." 

While attempting to return to the ballroom however, I was accosted by a
heavyset Filipino in a dark suit. "Excuse me, I have some questions to ask you
about those cards you've been giving out," he said. Forgetting that I was
under
no legal obligation to answer any  questions unless a  judge said so, I
followed him to the corner of the lobby. 

In minutes, an American lady in a green trenchcoat and two very large men
joined us. All four asked me how I'd gotten the cards, if I knew what was in
them, if I had any more left. Some guests had been offended, they said, by the
unflattering information within the cards, and had pointed me out as the
person
distributing them. They threatened to search my  purse. 

"Oh I don't know who gave this to me - some lady on  the escalator asked me to
pass them around. I saw the presidential seal, so I thought it was fine. How
was I to know?" I snapped, feigning indignation. Luckily I'd given out the
last
one, so even if they had gone ahead with their (illegal) search of my purse,
they'd have found nothing. 
 
"You've offended many people. You may get jumped if you go back in there," the
woman warned. 
 
"But I paid $100. Can't you protect me? I want a  refund if you can't  protect
me!" I declared. "Who are you anyway?" 
 
The Pinoy flashed me a San Francisco Police badge from under his jacket. 

The lady and her goons said they were with the Secret  Service. Seeing I  was
going to be of no help, they let me go, but the  Pinoy cop pulled me aside. 
 
"Dito ka muna. Palagay ko nagsisinungaling ka, ano? Wala ka talagang ticket,
no?" 
 
"Ex-cyooose me!" I glared. "I happen to have paid a hundred dollars and I am
going back in!" I flounced off before he could stop me, and my Secret Service
doorman let me back in with a smile. 
 
Shortly after, Ronnie Henares and his wife Ina Ramos walked in. "Mr.
Henares, I
did so, love your show. I loved the way you danced.you should be dancing
still!" I gushed. Caressing my knee more times than necessary, Ronnie beamed
down at me and introduced his wife, whose younger sister I'd been friends with
at UP. The couple was with the Philippine Consulate table, located in deep
Siberia by the farthest corner of the ballroom. It didn't matter, they said,
since they didn't plan on staying for dinner. 
 
It wasn't long before the crowd began to murmur. Erap's entrance was heralded
by a gaggle of presidential kulasisi weighed down with enough jewelry to start
their own pawnshop. Erap himself waddled by not ten feet from where I was
standing. Mrs. Ejercito trotted along at his elbow, wearing a terno in a shade
of tangerine that made my teeth ache. Bringing up the rear were a flock of
lackeys in barong. 
 
The real surprise was Nora Aunor. Dressed most discreetly in a plain dark
pantsuit, La Aunor walked in with only one attendant and quickly  disappeared
in the crowd. 

Boots Anson Roa presided over the program and El Shaddai Shaman Mike Velarde
recited the invocation. At that point I decided to return to the front lobby.
Each time I passed a bejeweled guest, I  hissed  "Se-e-e-ell-out."  M. and D.
were waiting for me. Soon after, Nora Aunor herself came up the stairs. No
longer able to contain myself, I came forward saying, "Ms. Aunor, how
wonderful
to  see you, I loved all your movies!" Gazing down at the diva, I suddenly
realized how tiny she was. 
 
She was clearly delighted and the man with her asked if we wanted to take
pictures. Not that I would ordinarily care, but when La Aunor slipped her arm
around my waist, I could well have died happy.  This was the closest  I'd ever
been to a real Pinay celebrity. 
 
Later, we regrouped at a posh restaurant in another  hotel. We explained that
we'd all had a really hard day, and that I needed a drink to deal with it. The
waiter brought me a stiff martini and a  half-dozen fat olives. 
 
Last we'd seen, San Francisco Consul General Amado Cortez (a has-been showbiz
buddy of Erap) was having a drunken tantrum in the lobby after Secret
Servicemen had ordered him to take his hysterics out of the ballroom. It would
be safe to say that our gilded Thank You cards had tarnished his gala dinner
and dissent had soured his 
scotch. # 

About the Author 

Marivi Soliven Blanco has written numerous books for children, some of which
won the Palanca. She is currently based in the U.S.  

Marivi and hubby John D. Blanco are members of the Institute of Filipino
Studies (IFS), a community group pushing for Filipino Studies in universities
and colleges throughout the US. The IFS is one of the progressive community
groups which form the newly organized Mindanao Crisis Coalition. The MCC took
an active part in  mobilizing for the march and rally led by BAYAN-affiliated
groups (LFS, CHRP, Karapatan, FWC, PINS) in front of the Fairmont, and also
managed to field an inside team.


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