The stage of the nation
Here we go again. Lights, camera, action! Our senators just can’t help themselves, can they? Tears and accusations, really? They’re such a performative bunch of buffoons, berating the public for not caring about their well-being as 39 or so shots rang in the Senate—fired, as the evidence has since shown, by their own guards.
Did they spare a thought, I wonder, for the journalists covering the—unbeknownst to them—pre-planned senate coup, all for the sake of shielding Senator Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa from arrest? The journalists who were genuinely fearful and shaken as they looked for cover and waited in the senate hallways until it was safe to move?
We laugh, of course, for laughter is cathartic in the face of such badly delivered histrionics that no self-respecting film academy jury would deem their performance worthy of an acting award. But we weep at the same time, for their mediocrity and shamelessness simply—and bleakly—emphasizes the morass we are sinking ever more deeply into, as a society. Pity the nation, as Khalil Gibran once wrote. Indeed.
And so, because we are ruled by rapacious and inept public officials with the political maturity of tadpoles, here’s a familiar lullaby repurposed for the times we find ourselves living in.
Lullabies for the shameless
Hush, little drama queen, don’t you cry
No one really cares, we’re not gonna lie
And while the ICC goes after Bato
You’ve just made a joke of the law
It’s the law you’re meant to uphold
You just can’t blow hot and cold
You’re a public servant, lest you forget
So stop your whining, you’re no target
You’re not a victim; in fact, you’re a ghoul
Don’t ever mistake us for a fool.
Hush, little ex-con, don’t say a word,
You helped a wanted man flee like a bird
The Senate never should have been your hood
Woe to the voter who thought you were good
You don’t know the first thing about the law
You really should have stuck to acting, though
Frankly speaking, all you did was emote
The proverbial “bad boy” quote unquote
Do us all a favor and exit the scene
Before everyone finds out you’re the iyakin.
Hush, little poser, don’t you scream
We know all about your despicable scheme
Hatched up to evade accountability
Complete with gunfire from your own security
And then you gathered in a private room
And laughed like conspirators at democracy’s doom
Later, you pretended to feel hurt and afraid
Did you ever think of those killed in a fake drug raid?
Some were young kids, not even three feet tall
There’ll be no more lullabies for them at all.
CODA:
Hush not, citizens, and speak out loud
Don’t be distracted by the crowd
Of spineless senators plying their trade
While in the dark, dirty deals are made
For we are sovereign only in name
Unwitting pawns in the sordid game
Of shady neoliberal geopolitics
Dictated by men with zero ethics
So we’ve sold our country once again
When will we say enough, tell me, when?
