Approaching a crucial election next week, the Philippines is a country that has lost its bearings. It has broken a key link with the United States, shutting down American military bases. But Filipinos have not yet found a new national identity for themselves. To an extent that does them far more harm than good, many still think of themselves as America’s proteges. Their society is an image of America reflected in a fun-house mirror: a flair for melodrama, a penchant for violence, a taste for tacky fashions and zany nicknames. Their politics reflect some of the best and a lot of the worst in the American system: an effusive devotion to democracy coupled with a tolerance of corruption and a quiet yearning for strongmen. Filipinos cut their psychic lifeline to America, but they did it like rebellious adolescents, asserting their independence even as they continued to demand that Uncle Sam solve their problems for them. “We had to slay the father image,” says Horacio (Ducky) Paredes, press secretary to President Corazon Aquino. “Well, we killed it, but we still can’t get away from the grave.”
The election could be a turning point in the Philippines’ search for itself, but so far the campaign is more of a free-for-all. There is no clear leader in the race to succeed Aquino. She has endorsed retired Gen. Fidel (Eddie) Ramos, who put military muscle behind her People Power during the overthrow of Ferdinand Marcos in 1986 and then sustained her in office through seven attempted coups. But Aquino’s blessing may not count for much, and several other challengers have a chance to win. Eduardo (Danding) Cojuangco Jr., once the closest and richest of Marcos’s cronies, has tried to reshape his image as a bluff, problem-solving tycoon. Ramon (Monching) Mitra, a traditional politician, hopes to steamroller his way into office as head of the Struggle of Democratic Filipinos party machine. Former judge Miriam Defensor Santiago is coming on strong as the outsider candidate, the proponent of discipline and change. Then there are the marginal contenders: Vice President Salvador (Doy) Laurel, Sen. Jovito Salonga and Imelda Marcos, the widow of Ferdinand, whose campaign has fizzled because of poor organization and, of all things, a lack of money.
The political muddle partly results from Aquino’s failures. She revived democracy but presides over a stagnant economy. She was unable to follow through on land reform or curb corruption in a society and government still dominated by a few rich, landowning families, including her own (Danding Cojuangco is her cousin). The Philippines’ population is growing at a faster rate than that of Bangladesh, and pollution is rampant. A diplomat in Manila predicts that eventually “there will be barren islands and people with distended stomachs, and the elite will fall or fly off to Miami.” Already, many Filipinos yearn to be somewhere else. About 1 million of the country’s 64 million people are guest workers overseas, and 600,000 have applied to immigrate to the United States, where 3 million Filipinos already live. Despite all her good intentions, Aquino has not improved the quality of life in the Philippines; for many people, it is worse now. “All she ever did was last,” complains a former aide. “She thought that was her job, to survive.”
What did not survive was Aquino’s–and her country’s-special relationship with the United States. The collapse of the Soviet threat made the Philippines an orphan of the cold war, its U.S. bases no longer a vital bulwark against communism in the Pacific. Last July, U.S. and Philippine negotiators agreed that Washington would extend its lease on the vast Subic Bay Naval Station for another decade in return for $203 million a year. Most Filipinos approved of the deal, but nationalistic senators rejected the treaty. Now Subic is phasing out, Clark has been destroyed by the volcano and 85,000 Filipinos are losing jobs once provided, directly or indirectly, by the U.S. military.
Still, the habit of dependence dies hard. Stephen Bosworth, a former U.S. ambassador to Manila, once remarked that Filipinos regard the United States as a “deus ex machina from whom all solutions flow.” When Marcos was cornered in his palace and protesters faced his tanks, it was the Americans who persuaded him to go quietly and whisked him off to die in Hawaii. Almost four years later, when right-wing coup makers attacked Malacanang Palace and Aquino faced her darkest hour, U.S. warplanes buzzed Manila and helped to keep her in power.
Not long after the Philippine Senate rejected the treaty extending the lease on Subic Bay, Manila officials began to complain that the Americans were leaving too quickly, calling the pullout “vindictive” and “a temper tantrum by the U.S. Navy.” Now they are looking to Washington to help find a new use for the bases. Alejandro Melchor, who heads a task force on converting the facilities to civilian purposes, keeps trying to enlist the Americans in his schemes for industrial development. He is not persuaded when U.S. officials tell him conversion is a Filipino responsibility. “Let’s put behind us the bitterness and acrimony of the negotiations,” he pleads wistfully. “I don’t want the Philippines to become another Burma.”
There was a time when the Philippines ranked far higher. In the 1960s, it was a Southeast Asian showplace, on an economic par with countries like Thailand, Indonesia or Taiwan. But Filipino leaders squandered the country’s vast resources, natural and human, and the powerhouses of Asia left the Philippines far behind. Its fortunes will not revive until it comes to terms with itself and works out a new relationship with the United States. “It’s difficult for the Philippines to see the Americans as anything but former colonial masters,” says Paredes. “It’s also very difficult for the U.S. to look at the Philippines as an equal partner.” Filipinos’ self-esteem will have to be restored if the country is to live up to its promise.
