Sideshow

Robert Barbers is itching to join the war against the drug lords, even if this means quitting his hard-earned Senate seat.

Panfilo Lacson, on the other hand, seems to be itching to launch a war against Robert Barbers, even if this means distracting attention away from the freshly launched comprehensive campaign against illegal drug use.

We have grown used to sideshows in the Senate, that branch of government that lately seems to be marching to a different drummer – if not threatening to fly off the handle completely. It is a maxim in our political tradition that every senator is a republic unto himself. Today it seems the Senate has become a different galaxy all by itself.

In that different galaxy, the line of fission, of bitter antagonism and of incomprehensible contradiction runs between the seat of Robert Barbers and that of Panfilo Lacson. There is an inexplicable dynamic of bitter hostility that establishes that line of fission.

Barbers and Lacson share one thing in common: before both invaded the sphere of electoral politics, they were both police officers.

But even on that commonality, there are important differences. Barbers rose from beat policeman to a decorated near-legendary leader of the Manila police force. Lacson trained at the Philippine Military Academy, served with the Philippine Constabulary (PC) and was integrated into the police force after the notorious PC was abolished by Constitutional dictate.

Barbers earned medals because he did battle with very public criminals and scored very public successes. I have not heard anyone speak of any medal for valor earned by Lacson. That may be because he spent most of his career in the secretive intelligence services of the PC-INP, during the dark days of dictatorship, where the battles are fought in the shadows and the victims simply vanish in wastelands or in murky waters.

There has always been tension between the civilian policemen and the highly-militarized PC. That historical tension between the two law enforcement traditions seems to be embodied in the persons of Barbers and Lacson – although they belong to different generations.

This is not to suggest, though, that the two are merely playing out the tensions of the past in the current war of words being waged between their camps. That important difference in their careers as law enforcers merely establishes that they originate from separate camps in the law enforcement community.

There are very obvious differences in personality, too.

Barbers is a straight-talking cop, roughly cut and comfortable in denims. He seems to have a problem-solving mind, searching for the facts and grappling with them without much nicety in language.

Lacson, by contrast, is more comfortable in silk – and in innuendo. He is a fastidious dresser. His tie is always in place and his suits the best tailored. No one can accuse Lacson of badly matching his shirt and tie.

But Lacson stands accused of many other things. Truly horrible things. Things that may be difficult to prove before a court because, literally, the body of evidence is absent.

There are the stories, now on public record, of disappearances, torture and summary executions and mass extermination. Machiavelli said that leaders must either be loved or feared. Barbers seems to want to be loved; Lacson feared.

The particular story that now draws Barbers and Lacson on a collision course is the Senate committee report on allegations that the latter, and men who served him loyally, have been involved with the drug syndicates.

Three Senate committees, led by the one chaired by Barbers, have been convened to hear multifold charges leveled against Lacson. This is unprecedented in the history of our turbulent Senate. Fro that matter, it is unprecedented in our turbulent political history.

A nationally elected figure stands accused of involvement in heinous crimes.

The Barbers Report is due to be issued when Congress reconvenes on July 28. But Barbers himself has allowed us glimpses of what that Report contains. To be sure, it will not clear Lacson of charges made against him.

Lacson’s career has been, well, colorful.

He was implicated in the Kuratong Beleleng rubout case before he became chief of the Philippine National Police. He, or at least people associated with him, have been implicated in the Dacer-Corbito kidnap-and-murder case as well as in the disappearance of a Pagcor employee responsible for the release of that controversial videotape showing Jospeh Estrada gambling. This was before he became senator.

There seems to be a pattern here. In the face of charges, Lacson goes for posts of greater power and then proclaims charges being leveled against him as politically-motivated.

The accused now claims political persecution.

That claim rests on a number of doubtful predicates. It seems to assume that the acquisition of elected posts exempts a politician from inquiry into possible wrong-doing. This is the same predicate for Estrada’s current defense strategy before the Sandiganbayan: that as an elected official, he should be immune from suit for a capital offense.

It also seems to assume that everything that moves in our political life is motivated by an obsession to persecute one poor senator. That might be a disproportional way of looking at things.

But this is the world according to Lacson: that all the men trying to do good for society are actually trying to do him ill.

Now, facing charges of drug-dealing, Lacson has been positioning himself for the presidency. His friends, in well-orchestrated chorus, are suggesting the war against drugs is now being waged entirely for the purpose of derailing Lacson’s quest for the presidency.

There is a hint of megalomania in this version of things.

At any rate, there is something large and immovable standing in the way of this version of things. His name is Robert Barbers.