Statesmanship, Robinhood style
Juris Doctor.” That was the answer of Commission on Audit official Roderick Wamil when Sen. Robinhood Padilla asked about his educational background during the impeachment proceedings. One could almost see the light bulb flicker above the senator’s head. Doctor. Medicine. “Nakaikot na po ba kayo sa mga bundok? Nakita nyo na po ba and mga pangangailangan ng mga tao sa malayong lugar tulad ng gamot at pagkain?”
And there it was: statesmanship, Robinhood style. Apparently, in the Padilla school of jurisprudence, the appearance of the word “Doctor” opens an entirely different syllabus: medicine, hungry people, and remote barangays. It would have been hilarious if this were another episode of an action movie.
Unfortunately, it was a constitutional proceeding, where senators are not merely expected to be entertaining. They are expected to understand what they are doing. Padilla has supplied the Senate with enough memorable moments to fill a blooper reel. He once admitted consulting Google to understand legal terminology. He joked about studying criminology at “UP,” the University of Prison. His latest performance simply adds another chapter to the anthology.
Then there is his wife, television personality Mariel Rodriguez, whose acumen is equally suspect, who recently defended him as a genuine public servant and cited, as evidence of his qualifications, the extraordinary claim that Robin had already passed a law while he was not yet a senator and was serving time in prison. This would make him the first legislator in Philippine history to pass legislation without the inconvenience of being a legislator. Most prisoners leave Bilibid with memories. Robin apparently left with legislation.
Celebrity, of course, is not the problem. Being popular or entertaining is not a crime. The problem begins when celebrity becomes the qualification. The Philippines has turned show business into one of the country’s most dependable political pipelines. Why begin a campaign from zero when years of movies, television appearances, and publicity have already purchased the one commodity politicians spend millions trying to manufacture: name recall? The audience is already there. All that remains is to change the script, replace the movie poster with a campaign tarpaulin, and hope nobody asks for the director’s cut.
America has celebrity politicians, too. Ronald Reagan went from Hollywood to the governorship of California and eventually the White House. Arnold Schwarzenegger became governor. Donald Trump went from television celebrity to the presidency. But celebrity was not their only political currency. Whatever one thinks of their politics, they arrived with recognizable political identities, convictions or governing philosophies. Even Trump, whatever one thinks of his politics, made a very public point of donating his presidential salary to various federal initiatives and charitable causes during his first term to date.
Here, celebrity politics can sometimes resemble an express elevator to money, influence, and power with the campaign jingle serving as the elevator music. And this is where intellectual preparation matters. Imagine former Senators Jovito Salonga, Claro M. Recto, or Miriam Defensor Santiago listening to some of today’s Senate proceedings. One suspects the three would have reached simultaneously for their graves and perhaps asked for a transcript. The Senate was once populated by formidable legal minds and intellectual giants. Today, the electorate sometimes seems satisfied if a candidate is recognizable, photogenic, and capable of producing a viral clip. A resume becomes optional; a television archive will do.
Then comes our favorite national ritual. We vote for the celebrity. We spend three years or six years ridiculing his ignorance on Facebook. We complain that the Senate deserves better. We question his competence, mock his statements, and wonder aloud how he ever got there. Then election season arrives, and suddenly there we are beneath the campaign tarpaulin, smiling, raising two fingers and asking, “Senator, picture po!” The ballots are counted. The celebrity wins again.
This is not entirely the celebrities’ fault. They did not invent our appetite for fame. We did. We turn actors into idols, idols into candidates, candidates into senators, and then demand statesmanship after making popularity the entrance examination. We ask for statesmen after voting as though we were casting for the next season of a variety show.
Perhaps the joke is not that a senator confused a Juris Doctor with a physician. Perhaps the joke is that we keep confusing celebrity with qualification. And perhaps, after all these elections, hearings, scandals and selfies, the question we ought finally to ask ourselves is the one Pete Seeger left hanging in the air: “When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn?”
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Fr. Cyrain Cabuenas is a Catholic priest from Borongan, Eastern Samar, who currently serves in the State of Vermont. He is a former correspondent of the Philippine Daily Inquirer Visayas bureau.
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