Traffic is almost always heavy in the Metro, but commuters know that traffic gets heavier during certain times, and certain modes of public transport get more clogged. I thought the fastest way after office hours to get from Ayala to Shaw Boulevard, for example, was the MRT.
Buying the ticket took 10 minutes and some swerving around kiosks. Getting on the platform, however, took longer. I remember that security in public places, such as in malls and terminals, tightened up because of bombings years ago. Since then, bag inspections have become mandatory, and more security guards have been added.
I’m not sure how safe we’re supposed to feel when our everyday security measure in our fight against organized crime is equipping our guards with a wooden stick. It is probably advanced technology when it was introduced with the wheel, but this security measure is also unable to match the size of the crowd, causing passengers to be more hot-headed as they burn more time in line. The chopstick-to-crowd ratio is especially inefficient during rush hours. Maybe this also serves as crowd control, but that would mean our own transport system is telling us, “You’re moving too fast. Stay in line.”
And that’s what happened down at the Ayala platform. I was in the segregated area—exclusively for women and children, the companions of pregnant women, persons with disability, and the elderly. Still, three trains passed before I could get to the front of the line. When the next train was approaching, those behind me began to push forward. An elderly man beside me spoke loudly (with the authority of old age) and told everyone to calm down. The train doors opened and the pushing resumed. The train car was almost filled to capacity, and I ended up standing behind the capsule where the driver is.
A few minutes after the train took off, two women in the middle of the car started shouting at each other. I couldn’t see them, so I could only deduce information from what I could hear.
“How dare you speak to me like that! Walang galang!” said one of them, indignant about the other’s supposed lack of respect. She was clearly about to say, “You don’t do that to me,” but that has been making its rounds as a punch line among Filipino TV viewers and netizens. She caught herself in mid-sentence and ended with “Bastos! You don’t do that-” period. I gathered that this woman was older, and the one she was shouting at was significantly younger.
The older woman now engaged in name-calling: “Estupida! Walang modo! Antipatika!” This suggested that she was born in the 1940s or 1950s, or she played an hacendera in a soap opera.
She continued her peroration about uncouth youth, the only person yelling in a crowded train at 7 p.m.: “You have no right! Bata-bata mo pa! Eskandalosa ka habang bata, eskandalosa ka pag tanda!”
The younger woman was now answering back. Her voice was not as loud, but just as angry, saying that age was not a factor in being right or wrong: “Wala sa edad kung tama o mali!” To which the older woman agreed: “Tama!”
The younger woman could barely be heard, but she seemed to have challenged the older one to step outside. The latter replied, demanding to know if they were to come to blows outside the train car: “Anong gagawin natin sa labas, ha? Ano, magsusuntukan tayo? Tara, labas tayo!”
Silence followed as the train continued to travel between Buendia and Guadalupe.
Suddenly, the women around them shrieked. According to the short grapevine, the two started pulling each other’s hair. Some were telling them to stop, but others wanted more. One of them was a passenger facing the door, almost plastered to it. This woman’s only view was the buildings outside, yet she was the most profane. “Throw them out of the train!” is a sanitized summary of her call to action.
The elderly man, who told everyone before boarding to calm down, was now shushing the other passengers. When some chanted “Fight! Fight!” he made a loud “ssh!” sound and cried out, “Hush! Be a civilized society!”
At the Boni station, a security guard entered the train car and must have talked to the two women. They stopped shouting, and the audience of strangers broke into small groups, each with its own topic. The group at my left wondered whether older people are always right; the one at my right discussed ethics in public transportation. The first car of the MRT became a venue of spontaneous focus group discussions on Philippine society.
The train finally pulled into the Shaw Boulevard station, and I will never know what happened to the two ladies or the older gentleman.
Traffic brings out the best and worst in people. We can be left amused or traumatized, but never nonchalant. We can, I think, trade stories about traffic, removing the long lines, the insufficient security tools we hand our security guards as
antiterrorism weapons. If only we can change the system for whom it matters the most: people, not vehicles.
Before our generation reaches the age when the younger ones can identify the decade we were born in through our choice of words, our public transport system should keep up with the population, instead of forcing people to work their way around its flaws. Plus, we really need to come up with more innovative ways to guard the lives of our citizens than a wooden stick.
Maybe then we’d be more efficient, more understanding, and, according to one passenger, more civilized.
Diosa Quinones, 23, is a project assistant in development work.