I had a bad dream. I dreamed that the Chinese invaded the Philippines after the confrontation at West Philippine Sea finally exploded into an all-out war. I dreamed that while Philippine officials were meeting with the US State Department in Washington DC, China attacked the Philippines in a manner reminiscent of Pearl Harbor.
The AFP was no match to the vastly superior Chinese forces. Although our soldiers fought gallantly, the war was over in a few days. The entire country found itself completely under Chinese control.
I dreamed that the remnants of the AFP had retreated to the hills, led by President Noynoy Aquino. The president called on all patriotic Pinoys to join the guerilla forces across the archipelago. Having said that, he immediately organized an elite guerilla unit called KKK. According to certain quarters, the letters did not stand for Kataas-Taasang Kagalang-Galangang Katipunan, but Aquino’s friends, classmates and fellow gun enthusiasts refused to comment on the matter.
In California and New York, members of the US Pinoys for Good Governance rallied FilAms to the cause of the Motherland. They staged demonstrations outside the Chinese embassy in Washington DC and consular offices across the US Similar demonstrations were staged by overseas Pinoys around the globe.
I dreamed that, while the US had committed to come to the defense of the Philippines in case of an enemy attack, America was too engrossed with the forthcoming presidential elections, it hardly had any time to respond. That was the official line conveyed by the White House. On Wall Street, however, knowledgeable quarters said that America could not afford to intervene, for fear of a massive withdrawal of Chinese investments in the US, which would cause the American economy to collapse.
I dreamed that the process of transforming the Philippines into a Chinese province was immediately ordered by Beijing. The largest businesses in the country were taken over by the Chinese. In fact, the name of the biggest chain of malls was changed to SM Sio Mai. Another chain was renamed Lo Bin Soon.
Ownership of the country’s flag carrier, Philippine Airlines, was wrested by Chinese taipans. The same taipans also took over the largest banks and manufacturing firms in the country, thus completing Chinese dominance of Philippine trade, commerce and industry, as well as the financial sector.
In the provinces, farming, rice milling, fishing and other means of livelihood were taken over by the Chinese, with Filipinos merely providing the labor. Even the sari-sari stores were mostly Chinese-owned.
I also dreamed that control of the media – the newspapers, the TV networks and the radio stations – had fallen into Chinese hands. On TV, Korean telenovelas had been preempted by Chinese operas and Kung Fu movies. Even the motion picture industry was taken over by the Chinese. The biggest film producer was a lady named Mah Der Li Lee. The moviehouses were also owned by the Chinese.
I dreamed that the Philippine legislature was overrun by Chinese surrogates. The Senate presidency was assumed by a certain Henry Lee, also known as Hwang Pong Sy. The House of Representatives fell under the control of a certain Xa Ny Beh Mon Ty.
Manila, the country’s premier city, immediately fell into Chinese hands with a mayor named Lim occupying City Hall.
But what completed the control of the country was the takeover of Malacañang by a new president named Co Hwang Coh.
In the face of this crisis, I dreamed that the courage and heroism of Filipinos came to the fore. In the hills, the newly-organized guerilla units began to mount daring attacks on the Chinese occupation forces.
In Northern Luzon, Senator Bongbong Marcos, leading a group called Maharlika II, vowed to earn the same medals won by his late father, to prove that they were not fake.
In San Juan, site of the outbreak of the Philippine-American war, former president Joseph “Erap” Estrada called on all his children and their mothers to join him in a surprise attack on Manila.
“We will liberate Manila from Lim,” Erap swore.
Not to be outdone, Vice-President Jejomar Binay, donned his almost-forgotten super-hero costume of Rambotito, and organized a guerilla force composed of mercenaries. His objective: retake the presidential palace.
In Cavite and Pampanga, Senators Bong Revilla and Lito Lapid, respectively, put on their much-feared action star costumes to the cheers of their millions of fans. There was a new look of confidence on the faces of Revilla and Lapid in the roles that they were most familiar with. They confessed that they were never comfortable as senators.
“Mas alam namin ang ginagawa namin dito,” said Lapid. “Pag sinabi ni direk, ACTION, alam na alam namin ang gagawin, di katulad sa Senado.”
For lack of an English interpreter, members of the Western press could not understand what Lapid said. But they all agreed that he sounded “heroic.”
I dreamed that only a couple of weeks after the Chinese occupation of the Philippines, the situation returned to normal. In fact, leaders of civil society, most of whom were businessmen, noted that nothing much had changed. About the Chinese dominance of business and industry, they quipped, “What else is new?”
The Filipino masses once more began frequenting the fast food restaurants, the only difference being that the most dominant chain had been renamed Jo Lee Bi.
They also began going to the public markets in droves, as well as the low-priced shopping centers, like 680 in Divisoria. But these were dominated by the Chinese, with nothing but cheap Chinese merchandise being sold at even cheaper prices. Even products with American brand names were actually made in China. And you couldn’t tell apart the genuine items from the genuine-fakes and the fake-fakes.
Another sign of normalcy was the fact that karaoke joints were once more in operation, although no longer dominated by Japanese customers who couldn’t sing. They had been displaced by Chinese customers who couldn’t sing.
But, while on the surface, things were just like they were in pre-occupation days, I noticed some significant changes. The usually undisciplined Metro Manila traffic had become strictly regimented. Buses could no longer weave in and out of lanes or use the shoulders on the super highways. Jeepneys could no longer stop in the middle of the street to unload and pick up passengers. And commuters had to fall in line to board public utility vehicles. That was the good news.
I learned that this was because a new chairman of the Metro Manila Development Authority had been flown in from Beijing – a strict disciplinarian named Li Kwan Mi with his deputy, Li Kwan Yu. On their first day in office, they had all the erring drivers rounded up and brought to the Luneta and shot. That was the bad news.
And speaking of the Luneta, I dreamed that our historic park had been completely transformed into a Chinese garden. Even the main statue – that of the Philippine’s national hero, Jose Rizal – had been replaced by someone of Chinese descent.
There were other changes. In the past, branding the president’s work habits as “Noy-noying” was tolerated by the government. Under the Chinese, several U.P. students were rounded up and thrown in jail for making fun of Chairman Mao – referring to his profound thoughts as “Mao-Mao-ing.”
The students were dispatched to Beijing, where they were locked up in the same cell as a certain blind activist named Chen Guangcheng, and several of the survivors of the Tian An Men Square massacre.
The squatter problem in Metro Manila was solved, with thousands of squatters forcibly shipped back to the provinces. That was the good news. The bad news was that they were made to work in collective farms. I also dreamed that people could no longer travel around the country, much less out of the Philippines, without seeking clearance from the authorities.
Religious tolerance became a thing of the past. The head of a religious group was arrested for making his congregation believe that money would rain down on them from heaven if they held their umbrellas upside down. Another religious group was warned to keep out of politics or else… And leaders of the CBCP, were told to stick to religious matters in their homilies, if they knew what was good for them.
I also dreamed that I was picked up by the Chinese secret police for writing satirical columns. At secret police headquarters, I noticed several prominent opinion makers: Conrad de Quiros, Neal Cruz, Solita Monsod, Billy Esposo, Boy Montelibano, Ninez Cacho-Olivares, Jake Macasaet, Vic Agustin, Jojo Robles and others. Their crime: writing unflattering commentaries about China.
In a cell for senior citizens were columnists Emil Jurado, Armando Doronilla and Nestor Mata. All three, who had been extremely critical of Noynoy Aquino, were overheard complaining that they had only been lightly criticizing the Chinese government when they were picked up in the middle of the night.
“And we thought Noynoy was getting dictatorial,” Jurado groaned.
“You never appreciate what you have until you lose it,” Doronilla added.
And then I dreamed that there was a meeting of leaders of the Filipino underground in the Sierra Madre mountains. In attendance were a general from Cavite named Magdalo, a Tondo rebel identified only as Maypagasa, an Ilocano general named Vibora, a group of young intellectuals who called themselves Los Indios Bravos, and a political exile named Marcial Bonifacio.
I dreamed that the leader of Los Indios Bravos would later on be shot by a firing squad. But he faced the muskets bravely. It was Marcial Bonifacio who summed up the attitude of the group: “The Filipino is worth dying for,” he said. In my dream, he was also killed.
It was at that point that I woke up. The words of Marcial Bonifacio still rang in my mind, along with the final lyrics of the Philippine national anthem: “Ang mamatay nang dahil sa iyo.”
For the first time, I began to appreciate what the lyrics meant.
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