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I think by now everyone’s heard of the Filipino boxer, Manny Pacquiao, also known as the Pacman. People know him for his boxing skills, and how rematch after rematch he still keeps coming back to beat another boxer up and get beaten up himself. He is something of a legend, I think, but since I am not a fan of any type of boxing, I don’t think I can substantiate this fully.
One thing I know, though, is that every time the Pacman has a match, not a single crime is committed in the Philippines. Okay, so maybe I exaggerate, but some news articles actually comment on this, about how crime-prone areas are transformed into practically crime-free zones. For a few hours at least.
It’s amazing, really. Take for example Tondo. On any given day, people steer clear of Tondo, a place that could probably be called the slums. While decent people live there too, the thugs that rule, or try to rule the place, make them few and far between. Rumor has it that pickpockets, ex-convicts, bums, and what-have-yous populate the place. Shirtless, tattoo-stamped, knife-carrying men sit on sidewalks with bottles of the local brew, surveying their domain. In the 15 years I’ve lived in Manila, where Tondo is located, I have only been there once. And only because I got lost there on the way to somewhere else. I almost peed in my pants when I realized where I was.
But on Pacman day, footages of Tondo is actually flashed on the local news. No thugs with bottles on the sidewalks, no scared faces, no hurried movements to suggest fear. What you will see is a group of people, squeezed together to watch the fight on a screen mounted in the plaza. No fighting, no arguments. People who would normally throw a punch at the slightest touch or look start jumping and screaming together, all to cheer on a person now revered like a hero. “PACMAN!” is heard all over the place. Boos abound when he gets hit with a solid punch to the nose. And if victory ensues, grins of joy become mirrored on each and every face.
I find it ironic, though. Here you have a violent sport, each fighter trying to get the best of the other, with blows that would most likely kill me with the first hit. And yet it unites people who are at best neighbors, and at worst, enemies who will not hesitate to join any violent fray to avenge a wrong, real or imagined.
Violence that leads to unity. It is quite touching to see, says the sentimental side of me. Hostilities cease.
I know that after the celebration, things always go back to normal. But during the fight we are a nation united in support of an idol. Well, like I said, for a few hours at least.
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