Chronicles of cracks and amnesia

By Francis Allan L. Angelo

Welcome to the “Chronicles of Cracks and Amnesia,” a tale of two maladies – one in Iloilo and the other in the Philippines.

On one hand, we have a Iloilo Hall of Justice so structurally anxious it closes every time the earth hiccups, trapping legal proceedings in a state of permanent suspension.

On the other, we have a flood control scandal whose torrent of public outrage has already dwindled to a trickle of forgotten memes.

What follows are two dispatches from the front lines of this absurdity that explore the shaky concrete of our institutions and the even shakier foundations of our collective memory.

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The People vs. The Trembling Walls

A press release from the Iloilo Hall of Justice’s sentient superstructure

Greetings, mortals.

It has come to my attention that my latest unscheduled holiday, prompted by a minor geological shimmy, has caused some… administrative inconvenience. To this, I say: you are welcome.

For a mere PHP 50 million allocated by former Senator Frank Drilon (who nixed the construction of a newer and studier building), you didn’t just buy a “retrofitting.” You invested in a dynamic, living art installation that provides a physical metaphor for the justice system itself. You wanted stability? How boring. I offer you suspense. I provide a constant, low-grade tremor of uncertainty, perfectly mirroring the experience of every litigant who walks my halls.

My closure is not a failure; it is a feature. I am the high priest of “Justice Delayed,” a sacred Ilonggo tradition. Each time the earth sighs, I perform my sacred duty: to suspend hearings, scatter schedules, and remind everyone that the foundations of justice are, quite literally, shaky. My periodic shutdowns are merely pop quizzes from the Ghost of Retrofitting Past, testing your faith in political promises and concrete that sweats with anxiety.

Consider my current state of repose an act of mercy. I am saving you from the crushing verdict of a ceiling tile. I am giving lawyers more time to bill and litigants more time to contemplate the cosmic indifference of the universe, or at least, of public works.

So, do not despair. See this not as a crisis, but as an immersive legal experience. Your case is not forgotten; it is merely marinating in a state of suspended animation, much like the structural integrity report you’re all waiting for.

I shall reopen when I feel like it. Or when the West Panay Fault says it’s okay. Whichever comes first.

Sincerely,

The Iloilo Hall of Justice

(Proving that the only thing more uncertain than a court date is the courthouse itself.)

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From floodgates to get-out-of-jail gates

The Pinoy Impunity Playbook: A 5-step guide to surviving public outrage

So, you’ve been implicated in a multi-million peso infrastructure scandal like some lawmakers (representatives and senators). The public is furious. Hashtags are trending. Don’t panic. Welcome to the “lawyer up” stage, the most comfortable part of any controversy. The storm of outrage always passes. Just follow our time-tested, five-step program. 

Step 1: Weather the Storm (Max. 2 Weeks)

The initial anger is loud but brittle. Issue a vague statement expressing “deep concern” and promise a “thorough investigation.” Then, go silent. Let the people scream into the digital void. Their passion has the shelf life of a pan de sal in a flood.

Step 2: Embrace the Meme

Congratulations! The public’s anger is now being diluted into humorous TikTok videos and angry-react-only Facebook posts. This is a critical victory. Once the narrative shifts from criminal accusation to dark humor, you are no longer a villain; you are content. The threat has been neutralized.

Step 3: Enter the Bureaucracy Bog

This is where the magic happens. A government body with a forgettable acronym (like “ICI”) will be formed. This buries the issue under mountains of paperwork, preliminary findings, and requests for extensions. Now, deploy your lawyers for the main event: Legal Calisthenics. This involves a series of complex stretches (appeals), bends (jurisdictional questions), and holds (motions for reconsideration) designed to exhaust your opponent and the public’s memory.

Step 4: The Great National Amnesia

Rely on our nation’s most dependable resource: the short attention span. A new celebrity scandal, a basketball championship, or the next typhoon will inevitably hijack the news cycle. Your case, once a headline, is now a forgotten trivia question. The collective trauma has been normalized.

Step 5: The Rebrand and Relaunch

After a few years of strategic silence, emerge with a new haircut and a philanthropic project. Run for office again. By now, people will vaguely remember your name but not the specifics of your alleged crimes. Should anyone bring it up, simply say the case was “politically motivated” and “has already been dismissed.” It probably has been. Or will be. Or no one cares enough to check anymore.

Follow these steps, and you’ll find that in the Philippines, accountability is not a destination. It’s just a headline you have to wait out.