The Strait of Hormuz situation now resembles that hand game we play with babies: open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. Whew.
Who’s gaining the most from this open-and-closed game? Let’s make a wild guess.
Before a president can win an election, he needs financial supporters for his political campaign. Whether he promises them an ROI—return on investment—or not, one line constantly hovers overhead: “Promises are made to be broken.”
But political campaign donors are not the kind of people who forget promises. They might even force a presidential candidate to seal that promise with a blood compact. Forget about writing it in stone or in the stars. Blood, after all, is thicker than water—or stone, or the stars. Whatever.
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Once he wins, he has to weigh the consequences of reneging on that blood compact. He’s already the president—who else could be above him in the country he now controls? He’d like to believe the answer is “no one.” Wishful thinking.
If he believes he’s now beholden to those who helped him win, then their wish is his command. And that wish may include helping them win court cases, secure government contracts, or even win a war.
Meanwhile, the “madlang pehpohl” are too busy trying to survive, leaving them no time to care about what’s happening in the world of the powers that be.
Power, though, is in the eye of the beholder. I remember many years ago when we were about to be introduced to some bigwigs from Manila. The one doing the introductions was fond of addendums such as, “She owns Cagayan de Oro.” So there she was, telling the bigwigs, “This is so-and-so—she’s the health provider of CDO.” “This is so-and-so—she’s the central bank of CDO.”
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I happened to be standing after the “central bank.” Since I was neither rich nor powerful, how was she to introduce me? So she skipped me—didn’t introduce me at all.
Then she continued with the next rich and powerful: “This is so-and-so—she’s the manager of that central bank I mentioned earlier.” “This is so-and-so—he’s the health provider’s major supplier.” “This is so-and-so—he’s the central bank’s top client.”
When the introductions were over, the highest-ranking bigwig from Manila shook my hand and introduced himself. When I said my name, he said, “You’re Netnet!” He turned out to be the person I had been exchanging emails with for the event they had come for. He didn’t recognize the others’ names—but he recognized mine.
Those were the years before Facebook, so neither of us had any idea what the other looked like.
I do prefer working in the background, not center stage. That’s why I love to write. There was a time when I even wrote my column under an alias: Cindy Rand—a combination of my second name, Cynthia, and the surname of my favorite author, Ayn Rand. Only one friend knew who Cindy Rand was, and each time people discussed my column back then, she was tickled pink by the fact that no one else had any idea it was me.
