Sunday's Virtual Image

Sundays could never be complete without old songs being played on FM radio. The ages-old jeepney I got in on was playing My Fair Share from its ages-older speakers (lyrics by Paul Williams; music by Charles Fox; performed by The Seals & Crofts; theme from the movie One On One; 1977). If that doesn't remind you it's Sunday, then nothing will. It's a short ride so I was spared from listening to an extended playlist of even older songs with an unusually not-lower-than-50 aged crowd of 7 in that very-rustic excuse for public transport.

The chorus went "Justice is a lady. Lay me down with Justice in a long white gown..." In my mind I pictured flowing robes over a beautiful, tall, and proud middle-aged woman with eyes bound by fresh gauze under soft white cloth, carrying a golden scale in one hand raised on mid-chest level and a sharp and freshly smitten double-edged golden sword in the other with an air of dignity and exuding a don't-mess-with-the-woman-with-a-sword-and-knows-how-to-use-it attitude. It has long been Justice's look (since after the 9th century) as depicted in prints, woodwork, and images that went with the manuscripts of the scholarly.

Then a shift. My mental image suddenly darted to a woman in soiled robes, scales askew, skin tender with blotches and scratches, eyes bloody and swollen on the sides, and cheeks burning, but hands still clutched firmly onto the sword because after all she is still fighting not to lose the don't-mess-with-the-woman-with-a-sword-and-knows-how-to-use-it attitude.

Making it real, I tried to imagine how Justice would look like were she in our country in the now. With all pretenses shelved and archived, I saw a tired soul, slumped at a not-so-well-lit corner in a slum alley, breathing the stink of urban decay, not caring (or more like, not having the faintest hint of strength to call on a will to care) over the wounds sent her way by selfish persons of power. She drowns her ideals and sorrows with cheap liquor, not understanding but still thinking and rethinking of a way to make people respect the virtue that was her. The people whose dreams of having a nation-to-be-proud-of are constantly trampled upon by speeding greed-clad men in chariots forged with alliances and influences over an elite circle of equally ruthless tenacity. As years would go on, I picture her not caring at all, a little at a time.

Like gods, virtues survive if people believe. More so if people act them out. Over a country whose putrefaction and rot is likened to a vast place whose skies and waters are polluted beyond redemption, I still picture Hope flying and screeching about. She dons a gas-mask connected to an air-tank twice her weight, wobbling but keeping her flight steady the same time. Her goggle-clad eyes clear and focused. Feathers unfurled and white and radiant. Her cause majestic and pure.

I like Hope. She works in those of us who believe and dream. As for Justice, I still like to picture her as the strong-willed person with unwavering dignity. I don't think she'll put that sword down without a fight. And I truly believe she'll triumph over humanity. I won't stop believing. And still, I dream. And hope.

posted by Fritz @ 10:02 PM