The War In My Own Backyard

It’s not that I’m reducing these people to just names in the history books. Both Vladimir Putin and Imelda Marcos have unique qualities that do indeed set them apart from others. I just can’t, for the life of me, ignore the recurring themes involved.

Vladimir Putin has alternately served as prime minister and president of Russia from 1999 to the present; and, in doing so, has successfully circumvented a law that bars a president from serving three consecutive terms in office. His time in office has ushered Russia into a time of economic prosperity, but at the cost of a free media and the holding of actual competitive elections. Elections in Russia are supposedly ‘rigged’ to perpetuate those already in power; winners have mostly been from Putin’s own party, United Russia.

Imelda Marcos, on the other hand, was the Philippine’s first lady from 1965 to 1986. She was exiled after the peaceful revolution that ended her husband’s almost two decades rule of the country. Upon her return to the Philippines, she ran for President twice; losing the first time, and backing out on the second bid. In 2010, she ran for congress and won. Her son currently serves as a senator for the republic. Recently, Imelda was named the second richest member of the lower house, while still facing criminal charges for the abuses committed during her time as first lady.

In Battlestar Galactica, the theme of eternal return is explored. “All this has happened before, and all this has happened again” is a line that is repeated through out the series. The point being the recurrence of the same events across time and across space, with only the characters of the game changing.

Relating this to real life, and with history as we know it, the very same patterns can also be observed. War, peace, and revolution—all this has happened before, all this will happen again. If people like Vladimir Putin and Imelda Marcos prove anything, it’s that the same set of actors can continue their roles, even as the perceived ‘game’ has already been changed. 

And if these same people do remain in place at the top, what else is there? Can we ever really come by any true and lasting change?

Tigh/Roslin ‘08:

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“Did the defendant make mistakes? Sure, he did. Serious mistakes. But …What’s  the difference between him and them? The President issued a blanket pardon. They were all forgiven. No questions asked. Colonel Tigh. Colonel Tigh used suicide bombers, killed dozens of people. Forgiven. Lieutenant Agathon and Chief Tyrol. They murdered an officer on the Pegasus. Forgiven. The Admiral? The Admiral instituted a military coup d’etat against the President. Forgiven. And me? Well, where do I begin? I shot down a civilian passenger ship, the Olympic Carrier. Over a thousand people on board. Forgiven. I raised my weapon to a superior officer, committed an act of mutiny. Forgiven. And then on the very day when Baltar surrendered to those Cylons, I, as Commander of Pegasus, jumped away. I left everybody on that planet alone, undefended, for months! I even tried to persuade the Admiral never to return. To abandon you all there for good. If I’d had my way, nobody would’ve made it off that planet. I’m the coward. I’m the traitor. I’m forgiven. I’d say we’re very forgiving of mistakes. We make our own laws now, our own justice. We’ve been pretty creative at finding ways to let people off the hook for everything from theft to murder. And we’ve had to be. Because… Because we’re not a civilization anymore. We are a gang. And we’re on the run. And we have to fight to survive. We have to break rules. We have to bend laws. We have to improvise. But not this time, no. Not this time. Not for Gaius Baltar. No. You, you have to die. You have to die, because… Well, because we don’t like you very much. Because you’re arrogant. Because you’re weak. Because you’re a coward. And we the mob, we want to throw you out the airlock because you didn’t stand up to the Cylons, and get yourself killed in the process. That’s justice now. You should’ve been killed back on New Caprica, but since you had the temerity to live, we’re gonna execute you now. That’s justice!”

(Lee Adama on Gaius Baltar’s trial, 3x19)


—Not for Gaius Baltar, and certainly not for CJ Corona.

“Throw him out the airlock” is a known line to anyone familiar with science fiction. Usually reserved for bad guys, this method of capital punishment involves releasing a human being into the vacuum of space without a proper suit. Death is the assumed outcome, but scenes are usually cut right after the said airlocking.

Well, we did a little research to satisfy our inquiring minds, and here’s what we found out.

Symptoms of ‘airlocking’ include:

• Notexploding
• Occurrence of various ‘minor problems’ within ten seconds
• Ebullism or the formation of bubbles in bodily fluid
• Swelling of the skin due to exposure to the vacuum
• Blood won’t boil because of the containing effect of skin; you may, however, feel the water on your tongue start to boil.
• Space is usually cold but heat doesn’t escape the body very quickly; the chances of getting really bad sunburn due to UV rays increase depending whether or not you’re airlocked within the vicinity of a star.
• Loss of consciousness due to absence of oxygen in fifteen seconds
• Death within a few minutes

——
The information leads us to ask…
Airlocking, is it humane or not?
How does death by airlock compare with other forms of execution?
Or for that matter, is capital punishment ever really just?

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    With the passing of Madame President Cory Aquino, my thoughts turn to another president (albeit make-believe) who possessed the same qualities as her— Laura Roslin.
          Both were never prepared for the presidency (Madame Aquino was a housewife; Roslin was 43rd in line), both ascended at a time of crisis (Madame Aquino at the height of a revolution that ousted a dictator, and Roslin during the annihilation of the colonies) and both lost people they dearly loved (Madame Aquino’s very outspoken husband was assassinated; Roslin lost her sisters and father to a car accident). And at the very end of their lives, they were both surrounded by the people they cherished most: Madame Aquino with her family, and Roslin with Admiral Adama.
          In ensuring democracy, both women paid a high cost in blood; coup d’etats that left dead bodies and broken dreams, and a conflict that endangered those they held dear (Madame Aquino’s son was shot during one coup; Roslin left Adama behind during a mutiny).  
          Looking back, their political decisions may have been flawed— during Madame Aquino’s tenure, she may have brought democracy to the Philippines, yet rampant poverty and corruption remained in her administration. Under Roslin’s tenure was the existence of a black market, and civilian dissatisfaction with her policies — there was never enough food, or shelter, civilians had to stay in cramped quarters, and the military protected Roslin bordering on iron fist. 
          The Philippines, as a baby democracy in 1986, was battered by the capital flight of 1983 (soon after Ninoy Aquino’s death) and the world market price fall of commodities, such as rice, sugar, and copra. Farmers who sold at a profit now sold their products at a loss, and ended up having numerous debts to pay. Although these effects may not be as catastrophic as a nuclear holocaust, nevertheless, they succeeded in wreaking havoc upon an agricultural society that made money out of huge demands for crops. And because of this, the majority of the country was plunged into poverty and squarely into survival mode— reflected in the existence of an underground/informal economy (the black market), rallies in the streets, and the military shooting of farmers who protested unfair treatment at Aquino-owned Hacienda Luisita. 
          And when people are hungry, and dissatisfied, what do they do? Don’t like your government? Then revolt. Yet many coups later, and after Edsa 2, 3, 4…. the country is still, well, poor. People find work abroad to support their families, because of a system that refuses to acknowledge their value, or accountability.
          When Adama rallied the survivors of the holocaust to find Earth, to find a place to rebuild their lives, he offered more than just the promise of sunlight and a roof over their heads, he offered hope in a future where all could live together in peace; his actions together with President Roslin’s, risked life, blood, and limb to turn that hope into a reality.
         Yet Adama and Roslin are nothing without the political will of their followers, the last remnants of humanity. In the same way Presidents Marcos, Aquino, Ramos, Estrada, etc. — are nothing without the constituents of the Republic of the Philippines.   
         Perhaps, what these two women have sacrificed, bled for, hoped for, and gave their lives for, is this: the survival of humanity, and the courage and hope that human beings will be human beings. In their passing, the legacy that they may have left behind is a humanity that must always seek to better itself, take care of itself, hope in itself, and believe in itself.