When money talks
By Rolo B. Cena
Pulp Bits

Last weekend, I attended the wake and consequently the burial of my aunt in Cebu. And as in the Philippine culture, it is only during occasions like this (not to mention wedding, birthdays, and baptism) when members of the family gather and talk a lot.

There I met my aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces whom I never have met or seen in my entire life.

As expected, I met strange faces of familiar names. Familiar because my father would always narrate to us stories of long ago about them.

A member of the bereaved family introduced me to a cousin who ran for councilor in their barangay. I was not shocked, of course, but my 24-hour derailed curiosity leapt out of its somber sleep to ask for few scoops.

Firstly, I asked him where he is working and led my question to note whether he is financially capable or not. Well, he worked for a private cargo-forwarding company as an assistant in the Accounting Department. He is neither a CPA nor an accounting graduate; he’s a computer man who never has practiced his profession.

Several topics brew in the wake and all those are relative to our quests for family backgrounds, the status of our properties in Bantayan Island, relatives working abroad, and relatives who were absent in the wake.

Sunday night, after learning I could not take the last bus trip to Dumaguete, I slept in their place and continued my inquiry.

Sharply and directly, I asked him how much he plans to give to his would-be supporters. To my astonishment, he was so shocked and his face seemed to be beaming with red fumes.

I was stunned with what I saw; he was apparently upset with my question – not with the manner of questioning, definitely.

“I am not giving any money; I have none of it. If I may win, that’s because they like, need, or want me; if I don’t, then obviously, this job is not for me.”

Those lines hit my tired body like a machine gun strafing unseen opponents in the field. Momentarily, I was silenced by my own questions. After regaining my composure, I justified my questions and allowed him to talk casually.

It was then I learned that money still talks even in the village and youth elections. He told me that in their place, candidates were giving doleouts ranging from P50 to P100 per voter.

Amazing! What an amount of money from candidates who are not sure of grabbing the power; and if ever, from would-be officials whose budget is just scant.

In all honesty, this cousin of mine has no money. He even talked to their barangay captain-candidate to spare his family from the doleout because he did not and does not intend nor plan to; besides, he is just earning a meager income.

What struck me is his desire to serve his fellow Filipinos in his own little way, in his little village, through his little voice; and his desire to correct the notion that the Philippine electorate is a “paid” venue for power. He wanted to change the scenario; he wanted to make a change slowly.

What a point?

His was just a voice, if ever. Being a Christian and a charismatic young blood, I knew he could make a difference, or could even convince people to change their perspective.

Unfortunately, money talks louder than principle; its scent drives out credibility so swiftly, and its stings penetrate the innermost recess of our integrity deeply.

What a waste of principles when money talks?

Published, Dumaguete Sunstar, 30 October 2007