Coups and karmic justice

Raul Pangalangan Philippine Daily Inquirer Asia News Network Manila

Coups hurt us when they fail. They unsettle our lives, put business plans on hold and distress the economy.

But listen. Coups hurt us even when they triumph in a blaze of good intentions. They short-circuit our democracy, weaken our institutions, and retard our political maturity as a people.

I am concerned less about the Machiavellian politicking amongst power bidders, and there are many of them, including those who came out with full-page ads a few days ago and those who speak of potential plotters in the military. We are beset by a sense of drift, a malaise that has made the authoritarian temptation tempting once again, and the May 2004 elections have not erased the stain of illegitimacy as many had hoped. The ongoing "jueteng" and corruption exposis are building to a crescendo and counteract every step forward to raise tax revenues needed for welfare programs. "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation," said Henry David Thoreau in Walden.

How do we reckon the true costs of taking political shortcuts each time we realize we made a mistake? People think that democracy is all about the sovereign people making the decisions. No, it is also about the sovereign people paying the price when they make stupid decisions. If what it means is having to wait until the next elections, we as a people must charge it to experience and suffer the pain in silence.

That was the real tragedy at Edsa II: We did not let our institutions do their work. That is why it was necessary to demonize Joseph Estrada, to tell everyone, "Hey, guys, he's so bad, it's all right to cut corners." Don't you find it significant that the term "legal gobbledygook" entered the Filipino lexicon during the impeachment trial? The real problem then is that the ghosts of Edsa II have returned to haunt us today; it is karma catching up on us.

Never mind the nightmare that began on Sept. 21, 1972, when martial law was declared. It was effectively a coup by the executive branch against the other branches of government. President Ferdinand Marcos padlocked Congress, and nobody took up the cudgels for the newly unemployed legislators. Unmourned and unlamented, many had lost credibility, their pork barrel was a drain on the meager treasury, and their antics, a test of forbearance. Martial law was initially accepted as the way out of the chaos and disorder that followed the reelection of Marcos, as profligate election spending took its toll on the economy and unleashed political tempests.

Today we see these signs of the times anew, but this experience merely presents the classic argument against coups: that they are merely the first step toward despotism and its myriad evils like human rights abuses and the plunder of the public wealth. That much we know already.

Today the real argument against another extra-constitutional foray into Malacanang is that democratic governance requires respect for institutions. It is strange to have to counsel patience to Filipinos, legendary in forgiving and with a demonstrated track record for enduring the harshness of life. But democracy requires that we stand by decisions we make and bear the consequences until the next elections. We will never learn if, each time we err, we jettison the mistake out of Malacanang.

On the other hand, taking the effort to make institutions work is part of the democratic experiment. Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. said the constitution is "an experiment, as all life is an experiment. Every year, if not every day, we wager our salvation upon some prophecy based on imperfect knowledge." It is the yearning for the perfect that is the true enemy of the good.

But there is a weak underbelly to this learn-from-your- mistakes argument against coups. One, our crises are too severe to be kept at bay and they call for rapid democratic experiments, too rapid to be kept waiting as we learn our lessons. This is the "crash course" counter-argument, which says that it is not exactly a good time to lecture on safety measures when the Titanic is already sinking.

Two, the student is slow: We, the People, are collectively "mababa ang low IQ" when it comes to the lessons of history, the equivalent of Asia's political retard, the global village idiot in our neck of the woods. (Thank God, there's North Korea and Burma, lest we readily win that crown of ignominy.)

Finally, perhaps the extra-constitutional path is in fact part of the lesson and, the one lesson we students learn best. Pedagogically speaking, different students learn their lessons in different ways. Perhaps we as a people know the world viscerally, not intellectually, and the two Edsa People Power exercises taught us the meaning of "political accountability" better than a hundred boring lectures.

Some people learn about fire by reading or by watching. We learn about fire by burning.