Hopscotch

By Francis Allan L. Angelo

Warning: This is a satire for your reading pleasure

The noble and time-honored tradition of political hopscotch by Western Visayas political lords has been temporarily delayed.

The grand festival of allegiance-swapping, better known as the Partido Federal ng Pilipinas (PFP) mass oathtaking, has been postponed, as confirmed by Governor Arthur Defensor Jr., a seasoned switcher whose family crest might as well be a chameleon on a field of waffling wheat.

The ceremonial pledge of fealty to President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s banner, originally set for April 10, is now a movable feast, shuffled between April 15 and 19, in an exciting twist that keeps everybody guessing. The top brass of the PFP, including the House’s Senior Deputy Majority Leader, who conveniently shares a name with a famous Filipino strongman, were apparently double-booked.

In a stroke of dramatic irony that would make Sophocles weep, Arthur Defensor Jr., heir to the Defensor political dynasty, confirmed the schedule change. Once upon a time, his father, Arthur Defensor Sr., a freedom fighter of yore, was on a quest against the very Marcos treasure trove they now rally behind.

Amid the shifting political sands, Raisa Treñas-Chu, offspring of Iloilo City Mayor Jerry Treñas, has cast her lot with the president’s party. In what is surely just a coincidence and not at all a plot point in this dynastic drama, she eyes the congressional seat, while the current holder, Rep. Julienne “Jam-jam” Baronda, plays coy about her next act.

Meanwhile, Defensor, acting as the political party’s pied piper, tantalizes with tales of 20 mayors from Iloilo prancing over to the PFP. With the promise of progress and alignment for the total development of the province, who could resist such a siren call?

“Dynamic” is the word du jour, as the governor promises a party ever open to new loyalists, even post-oath-a-palooza. With this level of political fluidity, it’s a marvel that the council chamber doesn’t have revolving doors installed.

Thus continues the grand tradition of political turncoatism in the Philippines, where today’s foes are tomorrow’s friends, and the only thing one can truly pledge allegiance to is the inevitability of change. And so, the dance goes on, to the tune of “better alignment,” leaving the citizenry to wonder if their leaders are politicians or yoga instructors, so adept are they at bending over backward.

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In Iloilo City, political musical chairs have turned from scandal to spectator sport. Onlookers were treated to a dazzling display of allegiance acrobatics as the City Council underwent a sudden committee overhaul, leaving onlookers gasping and gawking—not in shock, but in sheer titillation.

Majority Floor Leader Councilor Frances Grace Parcon-Torres, brandishing the resolution like a master of ceremonies at a circus, announced the reshuffling. Councilor Urminico Baronda Jr., found himself ousted from his throne of committee chairpersonships. Apparently, the “term-sharing agreement” was less sharing and more shark tank.

Baronda, ever the bewildered, played his part to perfection. His bewilderment at being replaced echoed the halls, “What is this treachery?” he might as well have cried, while his colleagues looked on, some with the stifled glee of children hiding a secret, others with the seriousness of accountants during tax season.

The response from Parcon-Torres was the shrug of a seasoned politician; after all, in the grand theater of political turncoatism, who needs a reason? The chairs must keep spinning, and the game goes on.

As if choreographed by the hand of destiny or perhaps the puppet strings of influence, only four committees witnessed the anointment of new heads. It seemed more a delicate pruning than a full-scale culling, with the prized seats in Health, Sanitation, Hospital Services, Information Technology, Computerization, Education, Science, Technology, and the fresh-faced committee of Animal Welfare seeing new leadership. The latter, a new addition to the menagerie, hinted that perhaps the Council was more Noah’s Ark than legislative body, collecting two of every kind—two factions, two faces, two-timing turncoats.

Baronda, in his swansong, hinted at mysterious forces, external pressures, the shadowy handshakes that rock the cradles of power. Yet, his tone was not of wrath but of a bard recounting a tale, equal parts tragedy and comedy.

The plot thickened as whispers of familial ties to seats of power swirled like mist over the Iloilo River. Baronda suggested that strings were being pulled, marionettes were dancing, and that perhaps this merry-go-round of power had less to do with public service and more with the politicking prowess of familial chess.

While Councilor Baronda laments his fall from grace, the public watches with bated breath and, dare we say, a hint of glee. In the Philippines, political treachery is less taboo and more telenovela, a guilty pleasure for the masses, as addictive as the melodramas that flood their screens. It’s no longer just politics; it’s entertainment, it’s a lifestyle, it’s an art form.

As the City Council of Iloilo City dances to the tune of political expediency, one can only wonder: in this grand masquerade of power, who will be unmasked next? The show must go on, and the people are here for it—with popcorn in hand.