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| The Politics of Pork
“Kentucky Fried Pig.” That name had been the barangay captain Ixie's idea. “I still liked 'Pork Barrel' better,” his father-in-law,Governor Deion, said. “Just let me eat the evidence either way.” He had been a lawyer in a previous lifetime. “Oink House, Wallow Hut, Snout ‘n Hoof, Curly Tail’s Swine Shack, Making Bacon—babooey by any name tastes just as sweet," Ixie answered. " But I still wonder how you knew the exact day they would change from Kentucky Fried Chicken to KFC so we could time our opening." “Let me keep my secrets! You can't have everything. I've already given twenty million pesos for your greasepits” Deion reminded him, as if the captain needed reminding how much he owed. The governor's tone softened “You are family, and will always be. I need to know somebody can take care of my precious daughter Diane, especially after I’m gone. Who knows how long my ticker keeps working? A heart attack makes you understand the enemy can be inside you the whole time.” The governor rolled his meaty shoulders, trying to shake off the bad memories. “Me and Diane are happy that you defeated this enemy, like you’ve done with so many others. Don’t stop fighting. Don’t quit.” The captain was telling the governor what he had wanted somebody to tell him too long ago. His growing up was a sweet memory that had turned sour with the heat of a later reality. |
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| Rocky Times |
| December 20, 2007 |
| Kosher Edition |
| Inshallah. God’s will. Though even that phrase was an outlaw in the captain's vocabulary now. Bahala Na was the new phrase—also God’s will. But what had being dunked to this God of the blessed baby Jesus given Ixie besides the right to kill, cook and eat pigs, earning him his own stinking pork barrel? And what had that two thousand year old dream of a dreamer taken away? His religion, his land, his home, his grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, prayers, songs, and hardest to take, his horses when he moved to the polluted city. At least he had kept the Muslim warrior's kris, a knife he still sharpened with a stone and oil lovingly each week. Ixie's education was what turned him against the old ways of an unconquered people before he knew it had happened. His college friends in Davao laughed at his father having two wives whose beautiful hair was hidden under scarves from strangers. His roommates convinced him through long conversations that the Muslims only loved slavery, blood feuds and spending their last peso to sweat in the Arabian desert at hajj. When the captain first drank San Miguel beer, he was immediately drunk. Every Christian fiesta, birthday party, baptism and wedding in the Philippines meant a pig would die, and finally he was eating swine too. There was no way to go back home after that. Too late he learned the sour truths of his new friendships. How many of his friends' fancy houses and new cars came from crimes committed against his people? In the poor country of the Philippines, the Muslims were the slave of the slave. The Manila government sent its poor Christians south to the remaining Muslim lands--where they immediately began chopping their trees down, polluting their rivers with mercury, feeding them junk food and junk culture without a connection to the land. To think that once even Manila had been part of the great caliphate! He had his education to thank for that knowledge too. “What are you thinking about, amigo?” the governor interrupted his reverie. “I’m hungry. Let’s go down to porky pit, and have some lechon kawali. Nothing like fried pig to put me in a fiesta mood!” “Doctor’s orders?” “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt,” the governor answered, and lifted his thick haunches off the seat and they traveled towards the pit. “I’m paying for his pills and potions. That’s enough for this tigulang old man.” Allehu Akbar! The captain vowed to himself never to touch pig, alcohol or his Christian wife again. For what else but Allah could be the explanation for this man solving all the captain’s problems bite by greasy bite? The governor looked pale and sweaty, heavily breathing down the stairs. Eating this dirty animal meal after meal would be a death sentence. Relieving his debt and stumbling stone on the road to the governor’s house were answers to Ixie's prayers. This was proof that he was not forsaken. “Hey Diane. Poke another pig in the pit! Tell you what Guv. It’s on the house.” |
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| sculpture by kublai milan |