The night cast a blanket of darkness upon the quiet towns. Dulling lights from the street posts lit the slowly emptying roads, also illuminating the faces on the posters of politicians decorating every corner of the town. The silence was suddenly disturbed by frantic footsteps, hopping from one house to another, spending the night making an offer. Meanwhile, someone was sitting quietly in their home, patiently waiting for a knock, expecting to accept a proposal — an offer that would dictate the name they would be shading on the ballot tomorrow.
A right and its price
Meredith* calls herself a “leader” — one of the many who are tasked to gather four to five eligible voters as “members” under them. A politician running for a local position in Meredith’s municipality recruited her through a campaign manager. “Binigyan kami ng application form,” Meredith narrated.
She had become the eyes and ears of the said politician within her own social group, guarding the five votes that must be for the name she’s working for. Members of her group proclaimed their votes as belonging to the politician, forbidding themselves from entertaining any other competing candidates.
According to Meredith, that’s the rule of the game. If you choose to play, P1000 can be cashed in for the leaders every other week until the elections while the members start at P500 which will be eventually raised to P1000. If a member retracts and the leader notices, they’re out.
“Mayroong tumatanggap [na botante ng pera] dito sa [kandidato] namin. ’Yung isa [pang kandidato] pag nagpatawag… tumatanggap din sila,” she explained that in these situations, the person will receive no more money from their leaders as their vote is no longer certain to be for Meredith’s candidate. “’Yung iba natanggal kasi parang ano sila, balimbing,” she added in an accusing tone.
“Sanay na kami. Normal na lang ’yun,” Meredith affirmed that this scene is common in their town during the elections. Silently waiting for that stub, that cash, that generous pack of goods seemed to have permanently stamped itself onto the culture of politics in her municipality. However, in the last few laps of the electoral race, things get even more intriguing.
“’Pag last two weeks na, ’yun ’yung [maraming nagbibigay] — ’yung gapangan,” she chuckled.
Gapangan means “the crawl” and in this case, it’s the people working for some candidates — the manggagapang — who would go crawling from one house to another to offer more money than they did in the prior weeks, sometimes even doubling the offer of their competitors.
Meredith shared what she had seen around town, “[’Pag] malapit na ’yung eleksiyon, talagang mago-offer sila ng pera,”
“Sasabihin nila, ‘Alam mo na bukas ah, sa eleksiyon,’ tapos may nakaipit na sample ballot ’yun,” Meredith told the story of how a manggagapang would discreetly snatch votes in the middle of the night and claim victory when the morning comes.
The reasons and all it's worth
When asked if she would ever completely refuse offers of cash from politicians, Meredith said no. For her family, P2000 per month can come a long way. Groceries, daily necessities, and items from online shopping apps are where she usually spends the money.
She added, chuckling, “‘Pag binigyan kami [ng pera] sa Lunes, magpapabunot ako ng ngipin.” An amount that may seem too little for these politicians who give them away is a significant amount to the likes of Meredith whose budget can have a little more room to breathe thanks to such money.
Despite all of this, Meredith refused to call this transaction vote-buying. She argued that she would still vote for her candidate even without the money involved. Her candidate already held the position previously and during that term, Meredith explained, “Dumami mga scholar, ’yung mga senior nabigyan ng pansin, mga solo parent, mga may sakit.” Because her vote would be for the said candidate nonetheless, she reasoned, “Hindi siya vote-buying.”
However, according to Section 261 of the Omnibus Election Code which lists election offenses, it is considered vote-buying when any person “gives, offers or promises money or anything of value… in order to induce anyone or the public in general to vote for or against any candidate…” Therefore, the transactions Meredith is involved in indeed is vote-buying, an election offense that is punishable by law.
While there are the likes of Meredith who would rather not address the elephant in the room and would adamantly deny calling vote-buying what it is, college freshman and first-time voter Tricia* fully admitted to engaging in vote-buying. “Parang culture na rin ’yun ng politika,” she said matter-of-factly.
Tricia narrated how she received P1000 from a candidate running for a local position in her municipality. “Natulog lang ako [tapos] paggising ko, mayroong kumakatok sa’min,”
Then, she confirmed her identity to the visitors. After that, Tricia added, “Binigyan ako [ng pera] tapos dinikit ’yung tarpaulin niya sa bahay namin.”
Tricia also received P500 from a different candidate when she attended their campaign event. “Pagkatapos nilang sinabi ’yung plataporma, parang meron silang hideout sa likod [kung saan] bawal maglabas ng cellphone.” Tricia was invited backstage to line up to verify her identity. “Kapagka na-verify, ibibigay ’yung pera,” she added.
“Siyempre, tatanggapin mo,” she muttered as if stating the obvious. When asked why, she answered, “Pera natin ’yun. Tatanggapin ko lang pero nasa sa akin pa rin ’yun kung sinong iboboto ko.”
Perhaps, a number of Filipinos who sell their votes share the same sentiment. The likes of Tricia believe that the money these vote-buying candidates slip into the voters’ pockets during the campaign period is the same money being taken from them when these politicians are finally seated in power. It’s a losing game for the people but when you can either take home little or none, the former is the obvious choice for many.
The costs and losses
Although Tricia received money from the candidates, she acknowledged how terrible vote-buying is. “Hindi mo alam kung sincere ba sila [candidates] sa pagse-serbisyo,” she added, “Tsaka kung gusto nilang manalo, bakit sa paraang gano’n?” Doubts about their competence, character, and integrity stain the name of the politicians who buy votes but these don't stop them from being elected officials.
On the day when everyone supposedly holds equal power with their one vote — the power to choose the country's fate for the next few years — it appears that money still dictates who has the upper hand.
In his explainer write-up on vote-buying, election lawyer Emil Marañon III stated, "In most cases, that strange brew of uniquely Pinoy social values of hiya (shame), palabra de honor (word of honor), and utang na loob (sense of gratitude accompanied by an urge to pay back) would often 'morally' compel vote-sellers to honor their promise."
Tricia will be voting for the candidate who paid the most for her vote but her reasons go beyond just the money. In fact, she is a long-time scholar in her municipality where she receives a stipend every semester, and the person who spearheaded this program is one of the vote-buying candidates.
"May utang na loob ako [do’n sa kandidato] kasi nga ang tagal ko nang scholar sa kanya," she explained. Tricia confirmed that her scholarship is a tax-funded government project but she still felt indebted to the politician who she said helped fund her education.
Aside from the social values like utang na loob, the uncertainty of ballot secrecy is another issue that rises when talking about vote-buying. Marañon remarked, "Ballot secrecy is the value of every democratic process. It is not only essential but integral to the integrity of elections."
However, Meredith insisted that these vote-buying politicians know, to some extent, whether or not the voters they bribed fulfilled their promise. “Basta alam nila.” This is what some people in Meredith’s municipality believe although there’s no way to verify such information as it seemed to all be based on hearsay and unofficial sources.
In the end, "...achieving full secrecy in voting would largely depend on the compliance of the members of the electoral boards with Comelec's (Commission on Elections) rules, the vigilance of watchers to call out their laxity, and the cooperation of voters," Marañon wrote.
Basically, ballot secrecy would require everyone involved in the election process to uphold what is moral and lawful. Perhaps, this is a mere part of a bigger whole and in the same vein, a fair and lawful election would require everyone involved — the voters, the candidates, and Comelec itself — to always uphold what is moral and lawful.
Nonetheless, hidden stories of vote-buying continue to proliferate in the country, and the characters in these stories like Meredith and Tricia are just two of the many tangled in the web of problems our elections are facing. Ultimately, they are stuck in a scheme where they are mere pawns for the rich and powerful to take the win.
The morning sunlight cast over the towns, long awakened for the big day. The lively streets were filled with vehicles and people heading to the precincts. The campaigns were over but some clad themselves in a specific color — declaring to everyone the choice that they will make. Inside the precincts, crowds of every hue were starting to gather. Among them, a few lined up in silence, clutching the cash in their pockets that they earned the night before, patiently waiting to vote as they promised.
*Editor’s Note: Real names are hidden behind pseudonyms.
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