Let me get it out of the way
Unloading some pre-election day feels
I’m hours away from voting in the most important election of my life. If there’s anything that this year’s election season has taught me, it’s that we’re betting on everything— and I can see that in everyone.
Let me tell you two stories.
My dad was in his teens and in his twenties when the Marcos dictatorship was implemented in the Philippines. As an honor student during that time, his status in school enabled him to participate in an internship that bridged him to work for one of the most essential government agencies here. During his stint in that he agency, he rose up the ranks (he was promoted to a regional division head), received amazing career development opportunities, and financial stability that enabled him to provide for his siblings, parents, and invest in his future. He could’ve chosen to stay in government service and accumulate wealth, external validation, and fancy-ass titles, but he chose to leave government service during the Martial Law era because he couldn’t stand the corruption and injustice that he saw firsthand. He marched during the first EDSA revolution in 1986 to speak out and overthrow the dictatorship.
For him, seeing the son of the Philippines’ most dangerous and vile president attempt to reclaim power through this election brought back the painful memories from his youth during that era. He lamented how the taxes that he paid during his 40+ year career will be wasted to fund crony capitalism, inhumane infrastructures and programs, and the ill-gotten wealth of the Marcoses. The amount of money that was deducted from his salary for taxes could’ve been used to fund investments. Yet, he channeled that pain by patiently advocating for our chosen candidates, and explaining how that cursed family’s attempts at political and social dominance spell doom and failure for a new generation of Filipinos. He doesn’t want me, my sibling, his grandchildren, and even the young children of his friends live through that horrific time again.
As for me, I was born 22 years after the declaration of Martial Law. But I’m at that age where I can also feel the brunt of what the Marcoses and their cronies did to the Philippines. As a taxpayer, I will be shouldering the debt that they’ve incurred during that era until 2025. Combine that with Duterte’s regressive and disorganized administration, life as a queer, disabled Filipina has been challenging to say the least during these times.
First things first, I live in a city whose politicians have been supportive towards the Marcoses and Dutertes. Not to mention, these politicians have been using their positions for their reputation or their family legacy, rather than genuinely serving its constituents. The health center in my neighborhood is not friendly to persons with disabilities and mobility issues, the city’s COVID response is virtually non-existent [pre-vaccination era], the social amelioration program that they launched during the first wave of lockdowns was inaccessible, all of which are frustrating issues as a resident. Heck, even until this day, I still don’t know what are the city-specific benefits for PWDs here, because it’s not communicated effectively.
Secondly, I’ve been subject to a lot of injustices in the spaces that I occupy— and politics play a part in them too. During my elementary and high school years, I studied in a Catholic, all-girls school that was known for standing up against injustices like Martial Law, gender inequality, and poverty— yet I experienced a lot of ableism (both externalized and internalized), bullying, and internalized misogyny in that same space. During my early years in grade school, my late mother would explain to my teachers about my childhood ADHD diagnosis and the interventions I had to go through to be able to assimilate better to my peers and in school. My teachers probably thought I was a specimen that needed to be examined, and I was given backhanded compliments for attempting to comply. I also tried to explain it to the people around me, yet it seemed that my peers thought that I was just stupid, rude, mean, and scatterbrained— which compelled me to constantly prove my worth to everyone in school. As a result, I had to mask my ADHD and I developed internalized ableism when I got older. I pretended that I was “cured” from it, since I had decent grades and was accepted to one of the top universities in the country during my senior year of high school. However, I struggled socially, where I felt that my friends saw me as an embarrassment because I processed things differently and didn’t conform in the rules of the Girl World. Not to mention, bullying in my high school was done almost inconspicuously: you’re somewhat not allowed to stand up for yourself and explain your struggles to your guidance counselor, since it’s deemed as “not cool” and you will be subject to a more insidious form of oppression against those folks who have bullied you. Case in point: I was involved in a misunderstanding with my former friend group and a former bully during my second year in high school. Rather than engaging in proper dialogue, I had to leave my former friend group because one of them admitted to never really liking me. Not to mention, that person in that friend group also made me feel like that I didn’t deserve to exist or thrive.
Another case involved an upperclassman and their classmates, where I was ganged up on an extinct online platform just because I posted gay lingo there. My grammar was corrected condescendingly too. That situation forced me to give up writing and repress my own voice for five years. To this day, I’m still learning how to own my voice and affirm my ways of processing the world after that incident.
Years later, I found myself in similar situations in the workplace, where I struggled with my past jobs because of ableist systems and structures, coupled with managers and leaders who seem to not have an ounce of empathy and understanding for their employees. Based on my experiences in the past, these leaders weaponize their strictness as something formative— when it’s actually abusive and hurtful.
These injustices I’ve experienced in these spaces represent the microcosm of the Philippine society under a repressive and cruel government. I don’t want that to happen anymore. You may disagree on the idea that private structures converge with anything political, but everything is political! Our political systems and structures set the tone for the future of businesses and educational systems in place. Having corrupt, intimidating, and insecure leaders in our government will lead to policies that harm the greater good. The leaders that I want are those that are empathetic, compassionate, and inclusive (and protective) towards minorities, which is why I am so passionate about this election. I want to be able to experience working at a place that’s accommodating towards my neurodivergence and queerness, just as my sibling is able to express their truest self in the spaces that they occupy. I also want policies that protect and advocate women and members of the LGBTQIA+ community against gender discrimination. Policies that promote accessibility and protection for PWDs through mandatory coverage of government benefits, affordable universal healthcare, and urban planning for disabled people. For the farmers and fisherfolk, I want laws that will enable them to have a decent standard of living, while also upholding their economic contributions.
When you’re used to your voice being shut down and invalidated for years or decades, you make sure that my voice gets louder and the message that you’re sending gets sharper and clearer. This is why I always try to speak up and fight for what’s right. I may sometimes engage in online bardagulan (online trashtalking), or in difficult, yet necessary conversations (even if I experience a lot of rejection sensitivity dysphoria) in order to make my voice heard, address issues that may concern everyone, and try to make my needs met.
This election season was a reminder for everyone to show up and make their voice heard, not just for ourselves, but for the future generations. I am confident that I will be voting for the people who will show up for everyone in the most difficult times, but I am not going to lie that I have a lot of dread for the next 24 hours. If worst comes to worst, let’s take it to the streets and we’ll fight again.
Anyway, thank you for reading.
Until the next brain dump,
Lea
