Conspiracy Thursday
Paranoia is slowly setting in, as surely as the sun sets on the Pearl of the Orient seas.
Really, what with day-to-day killings happening in the metropolis, the big cities, and the smaller towns, it's not difficult to predict this outcome.
Over drinks at a swank five-star hotel, while suave industrialists and foreign businessmen were unwinding over ridiculously priced drinks, the mood at our table wasn't exactly upbeat.
I don't know exactly how the conversation veered towards what could only be characterized as conspiracy theories galore. Was it the news item in the day's papers about the sudden slip in President Duterte's approval ratings? Or the upcoming visit by the American President, one that no one seemed really excited about? (Disgust would be more appropriate here, actually).
In any case, there we were, trading myths and rumors, willing to suspend disbelief in the meantime. At least, until the drinks were done and we would have to turn to the more serious business of going back to our real lives.
The artist in the group mentioned how he felt unsafe while walking the streets of Manila. And not even the grittier side of the city. He was speaking of the more upscale sections, places dominated by the upper middle class, with cafés and retail centers. Never mind the respectability of the place: if it were deserted after dark, one's imagination can run away.
That echoed the sentiments I had expressed in Jakarta and elsewhere to incredulous professional friends. A couple of years ago, to dress down was the preferred option if one wished to walk Manila's streets. Basic tee shirt, standard jeans. No expensive baubles or watches adorning the wrists, iPhones not on display to greedy eyes.
Nowadays, that may not necessarily be wise. If one wanted to avoid being profiled as economically weak (hence, politically powerless), then it was better to dress up. Long sleeved shirt, at least, if a blazer wasn't handy. Tucked in, for sure. Nice, shiny shoes. No frayed tee shirt. No baggy jeans. Otherwise, an authority figure just might roll up behind you and start asking questions. Or worse, not ask questions.
The art gallerist, who has been busy making a home in Southern France, was horrified. "Has it really come to this," she asked? The art connoisseur chimed in. "That's not even half of it!" she says. The government is watching our online posts and our movements! So be careful what you say on the web. Be careful what you like. Stop dispensing hearts on political blogs. Facebook isn't a safe space!
Another artist then volunteered: "Hey, did you know Throwback Thursday was a CIA invention?" He explains this was meant to dig deeper into the past of online citizens. Who did they hang out with? Who were the childhood ties of these communists or rebellion leaders or human rights lawyers? (And here I was thinking it was really just a way of showing how pretty we all were).
And he continues: "Did you know Uber used to track your phone for at least ten minutes after you got off the cab?" So some intelligence agency can track you walking out the car and in to the girlie bar, or the prostitution joint, or the favorite bank branch, or the place of your mistress.
We shuddered, lowered our voices, looked around, sipped the last of our drinks, and stood up.
I knew there was a good reason why I moved over to Instagram.
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