Well, almost. But unlike Marcos, Estrada has not been hiding behind the walls of Malacanang Palace. Last week the former B-movie actor was out making headlines, chastising his middle-class opponents and communing with the base of supporters that propelled him to a landslide victory in 1998: the poor. On the outskirts of Manila, in a shantytown area of Caloocan City, more than 5,000 homeless men, women and children gathered in the rain last Thursday to hear Estrada speak–and accept his long-promised charity. A group of schoolchildren performed, in Tagalog, an American pop song, “If We Hold On Together.” Estrada liked it so much he asked for an encore and joined in, holding hands with the kids. Afterward, the jowly president promised that the people’s titles to land would be coming soon and asked: “Do you want me to resign?” The crowd roared, “No!” Estrada smiled gratefully: “You are behind me, and that’s why I know I will not fail.”
Get ready for a bruising battle in the Philippines. The latest corruption scandal has plunged the country into its worst political and economic crisis in a decade–and the outcome is utterly unpredictable. Estrada, just 28 months into his six-year term, has the numbers in Congress to stave off the impeachment complaint lodged last week. But the economy, sapped of investor confidence, is sliding into dangerous territory. And street protests are sure to grow, as the opposition–a disjointed assortment of political, civic and church organizations–coalesces around the popular Vice President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, who returned from abroad to a hero’s welcome last week after quitting her cabinet post (sidebar). The question now is whether street protests will be strong enough to force Estrada to resign–and what the country’s fate will be if he doesn’t.
Scandals are nothing new for Estrada. A series of corruption allegations earlier this year–most involving late-night drinking and gambling buddies–hurt the credibility of the man aptly known as Erap (a Tagalog play on the word “buddy”). But he survived with the help of a vibrant economy, a forgiving populace and a spiritual awakening. It wasn’t so easy, though, when his erstwhile friend Luis (Chavit) Singson made his stunning allegations on Oct. 9. The provincial governor claimed that he had personally delivered $11.7 million to Estrada, most of it from an illegal numbers game called jueteng. Estrada emphatically denies the charge. And Singson, who wears a diamond-studded Rolex and talks breezily about playing mah-jongg with the president for $825,000 stakes, admits that he came forward only because the president was cutting him out of some gambling business.
For many Filipinos, the latest allegations are the final straw. Last Wednesday, at the Catholic shrine built on the site of the People Power revolt, former president Corazon Aquino–standing next to Cardinal Jaime Sin, her fellow hero from the 1986 revolution–broke her silence. In her trademark yellow dress (the color of People Power), Aquino laid out three options: impeachment, resignation or a leave of absence. “There are moments,” she said, appealing directly to Estrada, “when love of country calls for supreme self-sacrifice.”
The biggest blow to Estrada has been Arroyo’s defection. For the past year, the vice president–whom Estrada appointed minister of Social Welfare even though she is a member of an opposition party–has been the Hamlet of the Philippines: to stay or not to stay, that has been her question. Always pragmatic, Arroyo resisted pressure from her party to leave earlier, insisting that she could help maintain stability–and her own soaring popularity–by being a “team player.” But not this time. While traveling in Italy, Arroyo quit the cabinet and six days later agreed to become the leader of the opposition. But she remains vice president and thus Estrada’s constitutional successor should he step down. Still, Arroyo seems hesitant about her new role. Citing a sense of Filipino propriety, she won’t directly criticize Estrada or participate in public demonstrations. But as one top businessman says: “If the parliament of the streets doesn’t have her as its speaker, forget it. It will never win.”
The rejuvenated protest movement is pushing ahead without her, planning everything from acts of civil disobedience to a crescendoing series of public rallies. The first street protest, last Wednesday, was only a lukewarm success. But it was, at least, entertaining. It attracted some 12,000 demonstrators from all points on the political spectrum–bankers and nuns, society matrons and radical leftists. The Virgin Mary, the communist flag and the People Power salute–with thumb and index finger extended–all competed for symbolic pre-eminence. Vendors sold erap resigns T shirts for just 150 pesos (about $3), while others carried homemade posters of Estrada as the Godfather, with a noose hanging next to him. “Follow your conscience,” it reads. “Use this.”
The wild cards in this conflict are the economy and the military. If either cracks under pressure (or if there are explosive new revelations), the protests could escalate quickly. Last week the government called in several battalions from the countryside in anticipation of more demonstrations. Estrada warned darkly about Indonesian-style chaos, leading some to fear that he will create an excuse to impose a state of emergency. But Cory Aquino thinks the soldiers will not use force against peaceful protesters. “If recent history is anything to go by,” she said on Friday, “the armed forces are more likely to turn their guns on those who order them to suppress the constitutional guarantees of free expression and peaceful assembly. I doubt the guns will be pointed in our direction.”
The economy is more volatile. Since the latest scandal broke, the Philippine stock market has kept falling and the peso has been plunging perilously close to the 50-pesos-per-dollar barrier. Measures to shore up the currency–mainly by tightening the money supply–have failed to stop the slide, and they’ve helped push up interest rates from 13 percent a few weeks ago to more than 20 percent today. “That differential is the Estrada premium,” says Paul Dominguez, an opposition adviser. Last Wednesday the International Monetary Fund, citing missed budget targets and growing political uncertainty, announced it would not release the last $300 million of its standby loan. “The fate of the presidency will ultimately be decided by economic conditions,” says Ricardo Romulo, chairman of the Makati Business Club.
Still, as a master of these games of chance, Estrada has the odds stacked in his favor. He vows that he will “never, never resign.” Impeachment also has little chance of success, since his coalition controls 175 of the 219 seats in Congress. So he needs to worry only about the streets. His strategy so far has been to coddle the poor, divide the opposition and delay the outcome as long as possible. “Once Christmas gets near, Filipinos won’t care if World War III has started, they’ll have their Christmas,” says Joel Rocamora, executive director of Manila’s Institute for Popular Democracy. “If they don’t succeed in bringing Estrada down in the next few weeks, they will have failed.” In the battle that looms ahead, both sides could drag the country into deeper doldrums. The stakes could hardly be higher–even if you were playing mah-jongg with the president.
