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The problem of Manila's mayor, Antonio Villegas, is a case in point. When it was discovered last year that the mayor's coffers contained far more pesos than seemed reasonable in the light of his income, an investigation was launched. Witnesses who had helped him out under curious circumstances were asked to explain in court. One government official admitted lending Villegas 30,000 pesos ($7,700) without interest because he was the mayor's compadre. An assistant declared he had given Villegas loans without collateral because he regarded the boss as "my own son." A wealthy Manila businessman testified that he had lent Villegas' wife 15,000 pesos because the mayor "was like a brother to me." With that, Villegas denounced the investigation as an invasion of his family's privacy. The case was dismissed on a technicality, and Villegas is still mayor.
Rampant though nepotism is, it represents only a part of the corruption that permeates the Philippines from top to bottom. Today's generation was taught to steal from those in authority as a matter of patriotic duty in the chaotic wartime years of Japanese occupation, and the habit has lingered on. Kickbacks, voting-place vandalism, judge buying and customhouse connivance are still the fashion. At a busy Manila intersection, a white-uniformed traffic cop waves through the traffic. As each passenger-laden taxi passes by, a hand shoots out and deftly deposits something in the cop's cupped fist. "Corruption?" blurts an astonished cab driver. "He needs it for his family. And if I didn't give him 50 centavos once in a while, he wouldn't let me park near the intersection waiting for passengers. He gets something. I get something. How can you call that corruption?"
In South Viet Nam, an equally permissive atmosphere has been bolstered by war and galloping inflation. Though Premier Nguyen Cao Ky's hands appear clean, the resort town of Dalat is dotted with the elaborate villas of his generals, whose modest salaries are obviously being supplemented from other sources. The squeeze runs on down into the lower echelons. One high government official pulls out a document detailing the history of a pig between a Delta farm and a Saigon slaughterhouse. The farmer gets 6,800 piasters (about $57), and truck transport is another 400. But on the 50-mile journey, the pig has to pass through seven National Police checkpoints, established to guard against Viet Cong smuggling of weapons or other war supplies. Each checker exacts a little something—enough to increase the delivered price by another $12. Padding payrolls is a favorite device for profiteers. A pacification official in Gia Dinh province, for example, was caught collecting the pay for a 59-man Revolutionary Development cadre that in fact had 42 members. Though many sidewalk stalls of black-marketeers have been closed down, Saigon still has a thriving trade in illicit Western luxury goods pilfered or bought from the huge stocks brought in by the U.S. Veterans of the Korean War are reminded of the vast theft-ridden port of Pusan. "The Koreans were really much better at this than the Vietnamese," says one.