The Mourning After
The labeled Ampatuan massacre—cos the town is named Ampatuan, and possibly the mastermind is from the Ampatuan clan— hits the front page. We know everyone’s talking about it: In class, in cliquish conversations, in blog posts, in every Facebook status message, in papers and news programs. The news arrives to our doorsteps and just as the romance between a starlet and champion boxer, horrifies us. We all know the details. We are grossed out by the vivid visuals, of not being “civilized” in terms of the murder process (torn underwear, bullet spreads, shallow graves). We later figure out if there’s really a “civilized” way of killing. We’re glad that it does stir and stun a large group of people; the confined and pretentious citizens of this county now have been alarmed that indeed, barbarism happens in the highway. We finally wake them up that this isn’t a single tragedy in history; it joins the thread of casualties in the maddening battlefield of power.
No thanks to this event, we now overtake the universe’s most dangerous places for the media. We are put into shame. We finally get famous, rather infamous for something really mind-sweeping other than Charice Pempengco’s vocals. What, so we’re the star again?
Therefore we demand justice as soon as possible; we then get a National Mourning day and a declaration of State of Emergency as the sharpest responses to the situation. We discern that the expected arrest primarily gets delayed because the Palace replies that they ARE ONLY HUMANS. We know who exactly the culprit is; the Palace knows it in their eerie corrupt bureaucratic asses and we know that we can hold our anger no further.