Or even Ma Barker, and her goons, the Barker Boys.
However, when a major daily yesterday reprinted that magazine cover in its front page, the pa-cute portrait became the subject of comment all over town. According to the explanation, the President’s "power team" was composed of Defense Secretary Angelo T. Reyes, Finance Se-cretary Jose Isidro "Lito" Camacho, Trade and Industry Secretary Manuel "Mar" Roxas, and Executive Secretary Alberto Romulo. They were uniformly attired in black suits, with black neckties on white shirts, and black Ray-Ban sunglasses. The theme set by the magazine’s editors, apparently, was Men in Black, to parody the anti-terrestrial invasion movie hit. It was captioned: "Power & Glory," perhaps to rhyme with the name of La Gloria, Her Excellency La Presidenta.
Alas, our Chief Executive came out, her visage grim, less than a powerpuff girl and deplorably more like a gun moll.
Sure. The gimmick was advertised as a move to make the President more human, more "endearing", and so forth. Remember the old proverb: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. The intentions may have been "good", but the result was awful.
When all is said and done, the Presidency of this Republic – the "strong Republic" GMA promised in her SONA – is not a masquerade ball. Or a costume ball. It was, indeed, a coup for the editors of that nice glossy, Philippine Tatler, to get the President and four of her most prominent Cabinet ministers to pose for its anniversary cover as well as for those less bizarre and more attractive portraits in the inside pages. But such gimmickry doesn’t become a President who’s beset by many ills, problems, and challenges. Or a Commander-in-Chief who’s personally directing wars against crime and rebellion.
We know GMA wants to be original, and make her own mark, but somehow, when I went around town on different errands yesterday, and even among my earlier koffee klatsch at the Club Filipino, the almost universal reaction was critical, almost one of disbelief.
Some asked: "Would Manuel Quezon, Ramon Magsaysay, or even Ferdinand Marcos (although the latter might have been more of a "natural") do something like this?" Others quipped that Erap might have better fitted that black sunglass routine, but, after all, he was show biz. Bringing the Presidency back to the level of show biz, certainly, couldn’t have been GMA’s idea.
The sad part of it was that Angie Reyes, Lito Camacho, and Mar Roxas seemed uncannily suited to the role of Mafiosi or Yakuza of the chimpira, not oyabun variety. My old and dear friend Bert Romulo, it must be said – normally sober, gentlemanly and dignified – looked, at least, like a Funeral Director.
The same goes for the Empress. They’ll coo that she looked simply great.
When we were tucking into our dimsum and garoupa, Bert mentioned that he was curious about how the "cover" of the TATLER had come out. He remarked that Joey Rufino, who had a copy in his car, was bringing it up. On cue, Joey walked in and handed the magazine over to Bert. It may have been my imagination but Bert winced, but politely offered the magazine for me to peruse without comment.
I said that in his portrait inside, where he was sporting his usual spectacles, he appeared handsome and professorial. He waited for me to say something about the front cover, but I desisted.
What I did say concerned another matter. I told Bert, who’s been like a member of our own family for years, together with his lovely wife and Corps Commander, Lovely (her name describes her), that he was too laid back. His being so painfully low-profile had created the impression "outside" that he was out of the loop and no longer being depended on or consulted by the President. Many of us, with a peephole into Malacañang, know this simply isn’t true, since GMA indeed relies on Secretary Romulo considerably. He’s not just a "traffic manager", but vets all her documents, draft papers, and visitors.
On the other hand, in this superficial land, perception is what rules. It’s not enough to be influential with the Chief, one must appear influential. Otherwise, those below on the totem pole, may eventually ignore Romulo’s directives, while others might try to bypass him in a bid to reach the President by other means. This could lead, I cautioned Bert, to future conflict and embarrassment.
The problem, of course, is that Bert Romulo is not one to blow his own horn. This speaks well of him. In the Palace snakepit, though, it’s imperative in his own defense to remind people occasionally who’s King Cobra. "Nice guys finish last" may be a very old saw, but it continues to have a contemporary ring. There’s only a razor’s edge of a dividing line in our flawed tradition of "power politics" between being nice and being a wimp.
Another embarrassing aspect of a Manila landing is that commercial jetliners immediately have to reverse the thrust of their engines as a braking device because our airport runway is too short.
Here we are, bragging about how "modern" that stalled PIATCO Terminal 3 is going to be – if and when it finally opens – but we haven’t for decades managed to fix our runway and take-off strip.
I wonder how our leaders and politicians – who take off and land at that disgraceful airport so frequently – can be so kapal-muks as to talk so grandiosely about attracting investors and tourists, or even making Manila an international hub, when no sooner does a stranger or visitor land in our airport his or her impression is that we are not just Third World, but that we simply don’t care about improvement.
Believe it or not, in 1965, Manila was ahead of most capitals, even Tokyo, and Filipinos were envied at international conferences for being so articulate and dashing. That’s what so many fellow Asians admitted to me over the years. Now everybody in the neighborhood, and further West, only view us with two parallel emotions – pity (if friendly) or scorn (if hostile).
I experienced an increasingly familiar feeling of frustration and – yes, jealousy – when we arrived in South Korea on this last trip. For years, I had been landing in the old Kimpo (now spelled "Gimpo") international airport, coming into Seoul from either Manila (a three and a half or four-hour journey, depending on tail or head winds), Tokyo, or Los Angeles. I had frequently flown in and out of Kimpo, as well, on domestic flights all over Korea. It was comforting in a way to see, while other airports in Singapore, Malaysia, Kansai International in Osaka, Thailand, and more recently, Hong Kong, had shot ahead in establishing streamlined airports and terminals, that Kimpo (Gimpo) had remained somewhat tatty and barnlike in aspect.
Imagine my surprise then when our plane winged its way into the ultra-modern Incheon International Airport which had begun operations, I learned afterwards, on March 29, 2001, on land reclaimed from the sea.
The runways are grand and extend in all directions. The shining terminal buildings are similar, if not as large, to that fairyland of an airport terminal, Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok. All the modern amenities are in place, including those moving "pavements" that make the commuter ambulatory without effort or hassle. Truly, the Republic of Korea had prepared well for the FIFA World Cup 2002, which it co-hosted so efficiently and successfully with Japan and which saw those Korean football heroes, the "Red Devils", come closer to the championship than any Asian team had ever managed before. I cannot figure out their slogan, still emblazoning those left-over T-shirts on sale at Itaewon, Dongdaemum market, Namdaemum, Myeong-dog, and COEX or the World Trade Center. It says: "Be the Reds." There’s a grammatical lapse somewhere, but what the heck: the Red Devils and their fantastically enthusiastic, well-disciplined, and synchronized fans triumphantly carried South Korea’s colors to glory.
Incheon airport is, of course, located 52 kilometers west of the capital, Seoul. Coming into town from the airport, on the other hand, is no sweat. You wheel your luggage cart from the carousel, out through the gate, and there awaits a comfortable limo-bus where you can get a ride direct to your hotel for about 10,000 won – a pittance really. This sleek bus gets you effortlessly into the city – well, the city’s traffic jams, anyway – and to your hotel within an hour and 15 minutes.
How they’ve passed us by! Yet, there was a time when Filipino engineers and architects were the "teachers" in South Korea. A few years ago, when I expressed my admiration of the soaring skyscrapers that had transformed the Seoul City skyline, such as the KLI 63 building, standing 60 - stories tall, with an additional three stories underground (a rooftop observation deck, an I-Max Theater and the Aquarium 63 Sea World in house, not to mention a shopping mall and a plethora of classy restaurants), Korean executives and construction magnates who were accompanying me said: "Many of our techniques in construction we learned from you Filipinos."
Filipino construction firms, of course, had done much rebuilding work after the devastation of the 1950-53 Korean War which had levelled the city, and even built the United States Embassy along with its twin, a government building next to it. Naturally, nowadays, the two structures appear dwarflike compared to the high-rises across the avenue. Yet this remains symbolic. Those who learned from us have, by now, far surpassed us.
We taught the Singaporeans, believe it or not, how to handle bulk cargo. We even taught the Thai agricultural experts of the past half-century – they went to U.P. Los Baños. Now where are we? Eating their collective dust.
But this is a twice-told tale. Another trait we have is self-flagellation. I think it’s time we stopped moaning and groaning – and got going again. We’ve got it in us. We just have to recover that spirit which impelled our fathers, and, our sense of honor, rightness, and self-respect. Easier said than done, but we can do it.