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Bigger Crooks. The voters are cynical about both major parties. On one radio show, one Liberal supporter was asked why she was voting for Yulo. "Because," came the disconcerting answer, "I have come to the conclusion that the Nacionalistas are now even bigger crooks than the Liberals."
In the Nacionalista camp, Garcia's Running Mate Jose Laurel Jr. was equally frank and cynical. "No matter what you do," he told an audience of voters contemptuously, "the Nacionalistas will still control the Senate, so you had better vote for us because a Liberal candidate won't be able to get you anything." Young José, a second-generation Philippine politician whose father is still a potent force in the Senate, is at one and the same time the Liberals' greatest asset and their greatest liability.
As Speaker of the House of Representatives, with powers far beyond those of Sam Rayburn in Washington, Laurel exercises a firm control over the rich congressional pork barrel. Last July President Garcia "released" some $10 million of public funds to dole-hungry Nacionalista Congressmen, and he has promised another $60 million. Much of this money goes through Laurel's hands. But José is frowned upon by the church; he has an unsavory reputation as a hard drinker and a frequenter of nightclubs, where he has an irritable habit of picking on customers whose looks displease him. His victims are particularly annoyed by the fact that Laurel's bodyguards protect him from justifiable retaliation.
Of all the principal candidates, Laurel alone shows a coolness toward the U.S. ("The Americans favor countries like India and Japan over us because they know we won't go Red"). But like the others, he wants more U.S. money to stabilize the nation's economy. Under Philippine law, separate votes are cast for President and Vice President. Many who concede Garcia will probably win the presidency think there is a good chance Laurel will be defeated by the Liberals' Diosdado Macapagal, 47. A poor boy become lawyer and economist, Macapagal claims longtime friendship with Magsaysay despite later political differences, is ambitious and able.
Peso Sandwich. Chief outsider is Manuel P. Manahan, 41, an independent who has dedicated himself to carrying on Magsaysay's programs. He has made the most of a physical resemblance to his hero (he has even had his campaign pictures touched up to enhance the likeness), has had an amazingly warm reception in the barrios, which he has tramped indefatigably shaking hands and making friends with backwoods voters in the Magsaysay pattern. But without a machine of his own, he is conceded only an outsider's chance of upsetting the major candidates.
Three weeks hence, uncertain, often intimidated, frequently bewildered, the Filipino voter will troop to the polls. His trip might be halted by party workers passing out "peso sandwiches"−a couple of crisp bills pressed between two sample ballots. His vote may or may not be counted. As of this week, there was no indication that he would get a proper answer to the question he asked when his beloved Ramon Magsaysay died. The question was and is: "Who will take care of us now?"