A Movable Monument

All traffic enforcers who flagged down the vehicle I was riding (whether I was the one or someone else who was driving) have made a sinister attempt to collect a bribe. They weren’t always successful – because drivers end up dropping names or flashing calling cards or IDs that eventually make the driver involved in the insidious intent. I once told one of them that I worked in ___ (a private company/call center) and surprisingly they just let me through despite my “violation.” The most ghastly, ironic one I heard was from a Pasay Traffic Enforcer: “Para sa bayan naman itong ginagawa natin eh,” as he pockets two hundred.

I drive around those easy-driving areas and I see traffic officers flag down the vehicles (perceivably for that purpose) on a daily basis.

They usually hide themselves like landmines, setting up traffic traps where motorists can easily commit a petty violation on areas where accidents or even traffic jams are not likely to occur. The most common of these vague traffic violations would be “swerving.” You also usually find the “abangers” on rerouted areas where there’s a new “No Left Turn” sign installed in a corner where they previously allowed vehicles to turn left.

Obviously, it disgusts me and I am always at fault in mocking them and their protruding bellies.

With a President who preferred no special treatment on traffic rules, stopping at red lights and being stuck in bottlenecks just like the rest of us, it makes this country a very exciting country to live and drive in.

I drive around an easy-driving area every day, but you have to Schumacher your car over the traps the enforcers set up.

There’s a different sight in the busy EDSA Extension-Macapagal intersection. A traffic enforcer apparently takes on the less travelled route.



I recognize him: burnt, sun-exposed skin, bug-eye shades, white gloves, a thin frame from so much movement. I saw him up close when he filled a gallon of water from a nearby gas station.

He’s there, nearly everyday, in the blazing heat of the 9am sun, or doused in a drizzle, and always blown off by the carbon monoxide emitted by so many mufflers. I recognize him directing the traffic with the demanding labor of moving the entire length of your arms, dancing your body around the four corners of the intersection, risking your life to being swiped by buses or twelve wheelers. Watching him in his human kinetic, dancing around and directing so many vehicles is like seeing a statue of Rizal perform a nation-building deed. More than any bribe, the satisfaction he gets must be pricelessly fulfilling.

It’s a sight of a movable monument physically and dynamically becoming a living testimony of unsung heroism. I say that that because that is what I saw today. For all I know he’d be flagging me down and extorting me tomorrow. This may not be a logical deduction but since no extortion happened, I’ll stick to the better story.

In doing what he does, I imagined how many accidents he’s prevented, how many people he’s kept honest, or how many perceptions he’s changed. How many like me, who’s excitedly on his way home to his wife and child, brings up a hand and points an index finger to the edge of the brow, saluting him for the hero that he is as I turn left - following the many gestures of those white gloves to lead my way home.