I dropped by the neighborhood convenience store to buy some snacks Friday afternoon. On my way out, I saw a group of people up ahead. They were gathered in one spot, occupying one lane of the three-lane Junquera St. They were all looking up.
Across the street were many onlookers. Customers at the ngohiong place even went outside to check what was going on. I initially thought there was going to be a demolition and thought nothing of it. You see, one of the guys was carrying what looked like a wooden bat.
Cars were beginning to pile up right in front of a private school. Even though the light was green, no one moved. Horns started to honk.
Right at the corner of my eye, I saw something fall from the post. That something turned out to be someone, and he landed on the crowd that had gathered in one spot.
I overheard the word “kawatan” (thief) and I knew what would happen next. So I quickly crossed the street to avoid witnessing a bloodbath.
I was able to get a good look at the suspect because he whizzed right in front of me with the mob hot on his trail. He was shouting something I didn’t understand.
All around, people laughed. But I didn’t find the situation at all funny. The scene reminded me of an audience at a live TV show reacting to a comedian performing slapstick. It was so surreal. At 2:35 in the afternoon.
The suspect, if he survived, would probably be sore for the next few days. If indeed he was guilty, he was probably regretting his action that very instant. Mind you, I have no idea what transpired beforehand. For all I know, the man could have been a killer or a peeping tom. But he didn’t give off either vibe.
If he did steal something, it had to be nothing of value. Probably an article of clothing. Or a scrap of food. There was nothing about him that screamed professional “akyat-bahay.” Still, even if he had committed something serious, he didn’t deserve a beating.
It was obvious he was down on his luck. He looked like he hadn’t eaten for days. Or washed. But there were many others like him in the neighborhood, which had become a mecca for the homeless ever since the pandemic.
I see lots of them on my way to the office and back because I walk. I felt sorry for them at first. But then I got used to their presence, and they became part of the scenery. It’s like you know they’re there, but they have become invisible. At least, that’s how I feel about the situation.
I know the government is saying that the Philippine economy is bullish. And maybe that’s true. According to the website of the Philippine Statistics Authority, the country’s gross domestic product posted a year-on-year growth of 5.4 percent in the first quarter of this year alone. But how do you explain that to the people who can barely make ends meet on a daily basis? Or to the people who find themselves living on sidewalks? Or to a suspected thief running for his life? If they’re not the ones benefiting from this “rosy outlook,” then who is?
According to one study, “one percent of the population owns 45 percent of the wealth in the country, while 26.1 million people are below the poverty line.”
When I lived in a gated community in Banilad for over two decades I was shielded from all the Third World reality. All that, of course, changed eight years ago when I moved to the family compound in Sambag 1.
One time I saw a group of bystanders gang up on a man who had snatched a lady’s purse right in front of our gate in Urgello. I later learned he didn’t survive his ordeal.
It was a given that if you get caught stealing, then your life is forfeit. I think the same can be said everywhere else in the archipelago. Filipinos’ insouciance for wanton violence for something petty can be mind-jarring, given how easily they ignore wide-scale corruption in their midst.