Balota: A political satire that reminds the public to vote wisely

Balota, now streaming on Netflix, is not a perfect film but it has a perfect message to the Filipino electorate: vote wisely.

The satirical film posits on the steep price a public school teacher unexpectedly has to pay in exchange for protecting the democratic election process. It top bills Kapuso Primetime Queen Marian Rivera-Dantes who displayed her bravura in acting as Teacher Emmy. For her excellent performance, Marian, deglamorized in her role, won the best actress trophy at the Cinemalaya Film Festival last year.

In the YouTube channel of PeopleAsia hosted by the magazine EIC Joanne Rae Ramirez, Marian told her that she did the movie “for the country.”

“There are movies we do for box office. And there are those we do for the country,” she said.

Indeed, Balota is for the country.

It is film director Kip Oebanda’s refresher that no decent electorate should normalize corruption in government and cheating during elections. Like the outstanding indie film Gatil many years ago, the film educates people to vote wisely. It encourages the electorate to never fall into the trap of mayoral candidates like Giancarlo Edraline (played with convincing spirit by Gardo Verzosa), a former bold star, and Elena Hidalgo (played with compelling flair by Mae Paner), a land grabber. When the choices reveal mediocrity, the film essays that an abstain vote is not the solution. The solution is choosing before the election candidates who will be public servants and not mere politicians.

The ideological leaning of the film is its own satire. Because in reality, those who have the machinery are the ones assured of power. Those who have less but have the sincere heart to serve are relegated to the sides, mocked as a nuisance sometimes, just because they don’t have the resources to run a campaign.

Balota, which landed on the No. 1 spot as the most watched film in Netflix Philippines when it debuted last Saturday, dissects why the Filipinos are poor. It’s because they want to remain so by electing many leaders who want to keep them poor. The film exposes that greedy leaders keep many people poor and uneducated because come election time, they become their bailiwick. Many will be handed dole-outs, with the recipients thinking that it is good public service. Many politicians, using election leaders bearing their loot, will even buy their votes in broad daylight. It’s a story so familiar as day and night. Ginagawang mangmangang tao upang pagdating ng eleksyon, madali silangmabibili. Poor people. They have been prostituted for so long.

But the film offers a glimpse of hope when the marginalized had an uprising of sorts. Teacher Emmy’s crusade in the celluloid word of Balota is ideal, feel-good although the film has the momentary tempo of a political thriller. It’s violent. For the rape of the poor’s dignity is violence.

At some point in watching Balota, I wondered what Teacher Emmy, a public school educator, would say about the Department of Education’s budget slash from the P12-billion proposed computerization financial plan to P2 billion. I’m sure, she would not be quiet also. Will she stand her ground, the way she ran away in the forest with the last ballot box handcuffed to her hand to protect the sanctity of the votes?

A sense of familiarity is exposed by the film because it presents realities that the viewers already know exist: vote buying. And yet, this familiar vote-buying scheme, perhaps because it has become de rigueur, is normalized. So normal not many complain about it. Morality has been desensitized. Corrupted morals, the film explains in a satire, are the breeding ground of corruption.

The film made me reflect about a “culture of cheating” in the barrio, though many times said in jest. From the time I was a kid to this day, I would hear the word gapangan (the act of creeping) in the village. Quite literally on the eve of the election, when the night is quiet, as I heard it told, leaders of politicians would silently creep on someone’s abode, usually a hard-up family whose members were not inclined to vote for the candidate of the creeper. Allegedly a sack of rice, a basket of groceries, P1,000 would be dropped in a particular house in exchange for the family members’ votes. If they were resistant, the leaders would still win them over by saying that they would leave the cash and goods provided they would not leave their house to vote anymore for the candidate they favored. A lookout would be stationed in the vicinity near the family’s house, making sure they would not leave their home to vote. Nagapangna.

Gapang is also a deep Tagalog word for sexual molestation. Rape happens, too, to the dignity of many people come election time. And Balota is not remiss in telling people about this case of assault. To buy votes is to molest the public.

But the point of the film is to wake up the calloused senses of the public to the election-related cheating.  It is a review of some of the “institutionalized” malpractices committed during the poll. That sometimes, guns, goons and glory are not only armaments to secure a victory but also a win over the entire place where the cheater can lord it over.

To plot the path of corruption, let’s do simple mathematics here. Based on online sources quoting the Salary Standardization Law of 2019, a mayor in the Philippines earns between P185,695 and P204,054 monthly. Of course, that’s not the only source of income of a mayor because an LGU leader’s family usually has their own businesses. The legality of some of their businesses may be in question, just like Hildalgo’s wealth in Balota, but who is asking?

But supposing that salary rate is the only source of income of a leader, how will he or she be able to survive if this remuneration will be distributed to the people who ask for help? Many times, the politician does not say no to a pile of solicitation letters addressed to his office—be it for medication, hospitalization, or a set of uniforms of a basketball team. Kahit bola ng basketball. In effect, the public is also responsible for the imminent corruption of a politician.

Many have subscribed to mendicancy. When people keep on asking help from politicians, aside from the basic services his or her office is required to provide, they may eventually push the public official to look for extra funds outside his basic pay. The politician will not let his constituents down because that would mean deduction of votes come election time.

The simple rule of no parking of vehicles—cars, jeepneys, tricycles, motorcycles or pedicabs—on the roadside cannot be implemented properly in the barrios because some barangay captains are afraid the people will get angry. They lack the political will to follow the barrio ordinance of no parking of vehicles at any time on the roadside because they are cautious—afraid is a better term—to lose votes. For some of the barangay leaders, it’s better for the entire community to experience traffic on the narrow barrio roads than to earn the ire of the privileged. That act is a breeding ground of corruption.

Balota is a stark reminder that even the minutest problem in a community will one day become the biggest source of misdeeds. And yet, Balota also proves that the people’s exasperation leading to being nonchalant about corruption is a problem.

But of course, there would be few who have dissenting opinions, who take to the streets to air their grievances. Balota is also rich in men and women—and gay people—who are up in arms fighting corruption.

The film, in a larger scale, posits that opposition is good for a democracy. I am partial to the idea that the opposition should be in position because they will ideally maintain the checks and balances of a leadership. That a vote for an opposition candidate is not merely a vote for him or her but a vote for the nation.

Marian Rivera-Dantes hopes the film will be of help to open the eyes of the people. Without reservation, she says that she did the film for the country.

The film is for you and me. Balota is for the country. *