Knock, knock

Most of us grew up with “knock, knock/who’s there?” exchanges, which were intended to entertain and delight. The exchanges could be modified as we grew older, even long after pickup lines had taken over in adulthood.

The other day I “knock-knocked” friends in an urban poor community, people I used to interview for research projects but who have now become friends, almost family. I’ve shared many of their stories, happy and sad, but never thought I’d have to write about a derivative of that “knock, knock” exchange.

It seems that “knock, knock” is taking a new, more ominous meaning with the emergence of a new word, “tokhang,” from the Cebuano “katok hangyo,” which means knock (“katok,” as in the Tagalog word) and negotiate (hangyo).

The term is supposed to refer to a courteous inquiry from police or barangay officials as to whether a household has drug users, or, worse, drug pushers: Is the suspect (or, to use a politically correct term of recent vintage, “person of interest”) in? Is it true what we hear about him (I have not heard of “her” yet)? Can he come with us, please?

Ideally, the person should turn himself in—if he is a drug user, for rehabilitation, although the question has been raised as to whether the government is ready with rehab facilities for so many suspected drug users being apprehended or surrendering.

If the person of interest is suspected of drug pushing, then it’s another story. President Duterte and Philippine National Police Director General Ronald “Bato” de la Rosa have made it clear that it’s okay if a surrender can be negotiated peacefully, but sorry na lang if there is a struggle or resistance. I’m thinking now of the case of a son wanting to surrender and the father accompanying him to be sure nothing untoward happened. Shortly after, the wife of the younger man sent a text asking for help because the two men were being beaten up.

But ultimately, all too late, because both men were killed. The handcuff still around the wrist of one of them was explained as an attempt to escape.

Jokes and rumors

When Filipinos make jokes, it’s not necessarily out of fun. Jokes relieve tension, great tension and anxiety.

So the joke now is that tokhang has become “tokbang”—for “tok, tok/bang, bang.”

I’ve written about how the desire for peace and order will mean initial tolerance of vigilante-type liquidations, but now people become uneasy when it’s a relative, or a neighbor, that is on the receiving end of tokbang.

With the jokes come the rumors.  Worse, the rumors are going around that tokbang is being used to wipe out the “evidence”—meaning the police who are themselves involved with drug syndicates are now cleaning up, executing their underlings, their assets (informants), and their customers. The distinctions are, of course, blurred: Drug users often become informants and/or pushers to pay for their drugs.

An even more insidious rumor going around is that we are now seeing a battle of syndicates—the police making sure they wipe out their rival syndicates, leaving the “best,” or the ones with the most firepower and connections, to survive.

Which means the drug trade will become more of an oligopoly, controlled by a few very powerful syndicates.

Meanwhile, the poor—it is mainly poor communities that have tokbang?—are still trying to figure out where they stand in all this.

There’s still wistful thinking, and hoping, that the drug problem can be controlled. It is a problem that is truly a scourge. When you’re dirt-poor, the worst thing is to have one drug dependent (or two) in the household, who will take cell phones, trinkets and the little cash that might be in the house to fund the habit. I heard the story of a grandmother watching television and her “apong adik” coming in, unplugging the set, and carting it off. Not even a “sorry,” the lola mourned.

I asked her recently how she felt about the killings and, ever the comedian, she blurted out that she hoped the Lord would take her addicted grandson. “Sana kunin na ni Lord,” she said, but, coming close to tears, she quickly corrected herself and said she hoped not: “Huwag naman sana.”

There’s hope, and there’s fear, and so much of conflicted feelings. This lola told me about how a neighbor’s son was executed in their barangay plaza. She said she was hoping that if her own apong adik got killed, it would be in that way, too, rather than through a tokbang because she has other young grandchildren in the house and she didn’t want them to see what would happen.

Peace and quiet

The urban poor neighborhood is quiet at night because of the curfew, with kids being warned by their parents: Sige, sige, they’ll arrest you and put you in jail.  The parents are happy about the kids staying home.

Their barangay captain has also been strict about videoke, which Mr. Duterte said should stop at a certain hour at night.  No official directive yet as to what time, but the barangay captain is happy about cracking down on videoke, which everyone wants to enjoy but which everyone also complains about if it’s not their own household doing the tormenting.

In the quiet of the night, occasional shots reverberate with varying intensities.

I asked the lola if she had heard such shots, and she said yes and whispered to me: Six have been killed this month and she heard shots on two occasions. The first time she was startled but not frightened. After all, there have been police operations in the neighborhood even before the Duterte administration. But the second time around, after she had heard stories of tokbang, she signed herself and said a little prayer for whoever might have been killed, and another prayer hoping it wasn’t her apong adik.

Other women shared their stories, mothers and grandmothers but more of the latter, and I’m realizing how many grandmothers have taken over raising the young because the mothers have to work.

Burying a grandchild can be more difficult than burying a child.

Another lola told me she had two relatives visiting recently from the United States. She started out happy with her story, about a “technicolor” brood because she has Mexican and African-American in-laws. They had hoped to stay a month but went home after two weeks, worried about the tokbang and, curiously, about the quiet of the night. The deserted streets actually made them nervous. Who could assure them that the quiet, the empty streets, meant they were safe, especially if they were foreigners not quite the expected color of a kano?

A GMA online news article summarizes the “achievements” of Oplan Tokhang on July 1-12: 362 arrests; P1.8 billion in illegal drugs and 20 firearms confiscated; 4,898 illegal drug users; 3,457 illegal drug pushers; and 8,808 illegal “drug personalities.” That last item was intriguing. What, who, is a drug personality? And hey, 8,808 is a lucky Chinese number, but not 4,898 (4 means dead). If there were 362 arrests, what happened to the drug pushers, drug users and drug personalities?

The headline read: “‘Oplan Tokhang’ silences 43 alleged drug personalities in Metro Manila.”

Tok, tok.

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mtan@inquirer.com.ph