MANILA — The cockfights started promptly at 3 p.m., in a flurry of blood and feathers.
The first bout pitted Mike Romulo's prize fighting cock, A.M.R.--the initials are also those of Romulo's new son--against a slightly tougher rooster owned by another wealthy breeder.
Moments before the event, thousands of spectators, rich and poor, had shouted out their bets, thousands of dollars in all, as the two owners stroked their fighting birds in the cockpit, preparing them for battle in the center of Manila's cavernous Araneta Coliseum.
When the betting finished, two officials known as "gaffers" slipped the sheaths off the three-inch blades fastened to the cocks' left legs and carefully wiped the blades with cotton soaked in alcohol. Then, with a final shout from the announcer, the fight began.
The birds studied each other for a split second. Suddenly, they closed in, pecking and clawing and ripping. They rose high in the air, four feet or more, and then slammed back to earth with a thud.
$1,000 Investment Gone
Twenty seconds after the fight began, it was over. Romulo's prize fighting cock gasped and fell over with its throat torn, a $1,000 investment gone in less than half a minute. Thousands of dollars in bets had been lost, much of it by peasants and day laborers. Yet it was just the beginning of a cockfighting marathon.
By the time the two-day National Slasher Championship Derby ended 36 hours later, after midnight on a recent Sunday, the cockpit was spattered with the blood of 71 roosters. Thirty-nine wealthy breeders had gambled and lost more than $20,000, and the spectators had gambled away an estimated $400,000 more.
In the fluorescent glare of the Araneta Coliseum, one would not have been aware that the Philippine nation was in the throes of its worst economic and political crisis since World War II, that unemployment and underemployment topped 50%, that the most revered prelate in this overwhelmingly Catholic nation, Cardinal Jaime Sin, had declared a few hours earlier that despite the revolt that brought down the authoritarian President Ferdinand E. Marcos in February, "The rich are starting to give in to the temptation of greed once more. The number of poor is increasing."
Exploits the Poor
The promoters conceded that cockfighting exploits the poor most of all, but they and other Filipinos saw a more important message in the event's popularity and success: Despite the crises, the Filipino people have not forgotten how to have fun.
Indeed, according to breeder Romulo, Filipinos are looking increasingly to amusements like cockfighting as "a kind of therapy" to cope with the grim realities of life. Romulo is not alone in this belief. Many Filipinos have expressed similar sentiments in recent weeks as the government of President Corazon Aquino has seemed to be fraying at the edges.
In recent days, this colorful capital city has witnessed many scenes of escapism, scenes that illustrate not simply the Filipino ability to use laughter and amusement as a tonic for despair, but also the breadth of the nation's creativity.
One night, for example, as Aquino and 1,000 of her supporters marked the third anniversary of her husband's assassination at a formal dinner party, the entire island of Luzon, the nation's largest and most populous, went totally dark.
The blackout triggered near-panic throughout Manila and outlying provinces as it prompted fears that a countercoup was in progress or that the nation's Communist rebels were trying to seize power.
But it hardly seemed to matter to the president and her friends in the ballroom of the Manila Hotel. Izzy de Guzman's 14-piece band struck up "Quirico Mamba." Five scantily clad singers took up the rhythm. More than half of Aquino's Cabinet ministers took to the dance floor.
The president's military chief of staff, Gen. Fidel V. Ramos, sent a note up to the master of ceremonies announcing that the president had issued an official proclamation permitting all men in the now sweltering ballroom to remove their coats--"but only their coats."
The following night, at a downtown cultural center, some of the Philippines' most talented actors and actresses gathered for a performance of a play called "Bongbong and Kris," which has become the hottest ticket in town. The play, a comedy, is set in the year 1991, and it bears witness to just how free the Philippines has become since the overthrow of the Marcos regime.
Playing on a lingering fear that forces loyal to the deposed president are planning a violent assault on the Aquino government, the play portrays Marcos' son, Ferdinand, whose nickname is Bongbong, as the leader of an armed band of pro-Marcos guerrillas fighting the government from the mountains north of Manila.