THE PHILIPPINES
I'll be a humble beggar, whilst you are a princess pure;
Laugh at me if you desire, yet my love will endure.
— Diosdado Macapagal
The poet-President of the Philippine Republic was due to arrive in Washington this week, bringing assurances of enduring love for the U.S. and a humble request for more American aid. And even though few Filipinos still consider the U.S. "a princess pure," neither do they expect Diosdado Macapagal's desires to be laughed at. Nor would they be — for in all of seething Southeast Asia, the Philippine Republic is the only politically stable democracy unthreatened by Communism or coup d'état.
Hamstrung in Court. Refreshingly, Macapagal and Lyndon Johnson have no great crises to resolve. They would sign a few prearranged agreements, renew old friendships, and for Macapagal the two days in Washington would have the added advantage of bolstering his prestige at home. For he faces a tough battle for re-election next year.
In the three years since his Liberal Party upset the graft-ridden Nacionalista regime of Carlos Garcia, Macapagal has tried to create a "New Era" in the Philippines. He eliminated corruption in the higher reaches of government, stabilized the peso, passed a much needed land-reform bill to break up the vast estates that date from the days of Spanish rule (1565-1898).
But Macapagal is hamstrung by the Philippine Supreme Court, which has reversed him nine times, and by an opposition-dominated Senate. Many of his reforms have been denied the appropriations necessary to make them work. More erosive to his chances for re-election is Macapagal's own personality—or lack of it. Volatile Filipinos want a volatile leader, like peppery Ramon Magsaysay, who was killed in a plane crash seven years ago. Diosdado (Spanish for "God-given") Macapagal, at 54, is well-meaning but dour, a self-proclaimed "poor boy" from the distant provinces who prefers conservative business suits to the cool, frilly barong tagalog sport shirt favored by Manila sports and Magsaysay.
Polo & Headhunting. Macapagal's nation, after 18 years of independence, is an odd admixture of Spanish and American cultures. Crew-cut kids in pastel hot-rods drag for beers along Manila's broad, sleepy Roxas Boulevard. In the back streets, men smoking fat, green cigars bet on cockfights and hard-fought jai alai matches. One church has "Ave Maria" picked out in electric lights above the door. Manila's eleven daily newspapers (six in English) crackle with scare headlines reporting the latest murders, rapes and pirate raids (which still occur at a rate of one a week, conducted by Moros in motorized sailboats armed with modern weapons). In the back pages of the papers dwell Buck Rogers, Peanuts and the pistol ads. More than 25,000 weapons were left in the islands after World War II; they were not "enough for the 31 million Filipinos, most of whom prefer to go armed. Last year one act of violence was attempted every hour—ranging from murder to mere assault. And Philippine courts are still trying some of the many murder cases that resulted from 1961's election campaign.