For the last few years, we’ve celebrated a relatively “quiet” New Year’s Eve. Where before we used to spend P1,000 or so on fireworks — from harmless luces (or hand-held flares) to turumpo (or wheeled mini-flares nailed to the nearest tree), from small trianggulo (or triangle-shaped firecrackers) to fountains of various sizes, and on to the truly scary sawa, so-called because this series of firecrackers strung on a string truly resembles a giant snake and ends with an ear-splitting bang — today we prefer enjoying the pyrotechnics from afar. We stand in front of our house and catch glimpses of our neighbors’ fireworks displays. We especially look forward to a homeowner’s light show a street away, and I take this opportunity to thank the family for the magnificent display it manages to mount each year.
I can’t put a finger on the exact moment, or reason, we decided to scrap fireworks from our holiday expense list. Suddenly, it just didn’t make sense to literally burn money in just a few hours. For one thing, our children had all grown into adulthood, and the thrill of pyrotechnics was largely lost on them. Lighting up and waiting for the sparks and sizzle no longer dazzled without an avid audience.
Of course, in the back of my mind, at least, was the niggling thought that the noise-makers promised prosperity for the next 365 days, since the light show was supposed to drive evil spirits away, and observing a silent New Year was to risk poverty and penury.
Then again, we have not gone hungry — at least not yet — and if we ever nursed grandiose dreams of scandalous wealth, we are fast running out of time to spend all that money, when and if it comes.
In my childhood, my mother would gather all of us children and require us, on pain of a sudden whacking, to gather round the family altar and pray the rosary. That she did this just when the clock struck midnight and signaled noisy revelry in the neighborhood seemed to matter not a bit to her. But to us kids, it heightened all the more our sense of deprivation and desolation. Everyone else in the world was having fun while here we were, stuck in front of religious images, praying the rosary! I don’t know if this was meant to strengthen our faith — it apparently didn’t build up my own sense of piety — but it did deepen a resolve that when we were able, we would welcome the New Year out on the street, playing with fire and making noise.
Little did I know then that a time would come in my life when the noisy revelry would actually become annoying, and when staying indoors would prove to be healthier and saner, away from all the smoke and noise pollution. I can imagine Mama laughing from wherever she is, sending out “I told you so” psychic messages in revenge for all the resentment we directed her way on New Year’s Eve.
Well, maybe this is one reason to thank our President-Mayor. Well-known is the fireworks ban he established in Davao when he was its mayor and enforcing it so stringently that it has lasted well beyond his term. As President, he has imposed the ban nationwide. Although the list of exemptions, locales for smaller fireworks displays, and the classification of all types of noise makers and mini-explosives into those fit for household use and those only for public shows is confusing and almost assures noncompliance.
But already, the President’s resistance to fireworks is yielding unexpected dividends. By this time, the media would already be filled with stories of the growing toll of deaths and injuries, fires and explosions, born of the unbridled trade in fireworks. In the last few days, photos of bloody hands, pulpy limbs and crying children, all of which used to provide horrific show-and-tell exhibits post-New Year, have been a rare sight, testament to how effective a fireworks ban could be.
If only P-Dut’s antifireworks resolve works just as firmly against another sort of fireworks: of guns being aimed at innocents and drug suspects. That’s one kind of silence we’d all welcome!