RAYMUND FERNANDEZ
I wanted to write one about the beauty of uncertainty.
But almost immediately and as soon as I thought of it, I felt the need to warn myself against making frivolous such a topic as has such dire consequences for so many people.
It would be fun to live in a world where uncertainty does not include the consequence of death.
But the news tonight will tell us about this or that hapless man or woman falling victim to the daily spate of killings. And what can be beautiful with that? Nothing, unless one looked at it from one particular perspective.
That of one who finds the sense of safety and protection resultant of the fact of these killings.
And here we easily understand: These are not “criminal” killings. They are killings of a more “political” nature. The main proof is how people react to it.
Or how it divides people by their reactions to it. Some people approve.
Ostensibly because the killings establish and protect the status quo, the current dispensation, and the complex web of self-interests it represents. Other people, on the other hand, are afraid of it and the precedents it sets.
If people can be killed with such easy dispatch and with hardly any serious investigation of attendant facts coming after, then no one is safe. Forget “rule of law.”
This is, of course, all about power, who wields it, and with how much impunity. This has little to do with the essential romance of uncertainty and the topic I speak of.
This is all about uncertainty and why uncertainty makes up quite a lot of what makes life wonderful, mystifying, and exciting. I recall an experience I shared with a German visitor.
He was here for just a few days to give a workshop on design. I suppose he had heard about cock-fighting being legal here. He asked if I might bring him to the cock-pits to see the contests “for the first time,” where he was concerned.
For my part, I always grew up with the fact of fighting cocks. I never felt a personal inclination towards it. But I had brothers and uncles who reveled in it.
They raised roosters.
They trained them. And at regularly intervals, brought their cocks and money to the corrida in the traditional ritual orgy to romance — what else? — uncertainty.
After which ritual, they always brought home their “bihag” for cooking.
The losing cock becomes ransom for the fight. Eating bihag is the only part of cock-fighting I love. But back to the German. He seemed to be enjoying himself as the betting was readied.
But his mood quite suddenly turned to horror right before my eyes as the cocks went forthwith to kill each other with natural dispatch. The poor German was dumbfounded and went pale.
I guess, he never figured it would be as gruesome as what he saw.
You have to understand something about witnessing a cock fight.
The action is so quick you almost cannot see what’s happening unless you have trained yourself or have focused your attention for detail to such a high level you can actually see what’s going on. I never watch carefully.
Feathers, entrails, blood flying about, do not interest me. But the poor German seemed traumatized by what he saw. Wordlessly, we returned to his hotel where we each drank shots of whiskey.
He brought out cigars, which we smoked by the pool, wordlessly. He had absolutely nothing to say.
I should have asked if he saw the movie “Apocalypse Now.” I could have quoted Col. Kurst to him, “Oh, the horror, the horror.” I did not.
I wonder now if I should have suggested for him to place a bet. I do know that unless one bet on the fight, the whole enterprise makes very little sense.
It is uncertainty that we lay our money on. It is uncertainty which we romance. Shame on us, then, for translating this romance into the language of death. It seems not to make any sense. And we might as well conclude human nature makes no sense at all. And this is true where either cock-fighting and extrajudicial killings are concerned.
Thankfully, the local culture has an antidote for all these. Where I grew up, the dire prospects of uncertainty are met with an incantation of these words. “Simbako palayo!” is what we say in the face of it.
The words are uttered to keep away the horror. I never ever found proof that it works.
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