Buencamino writes political commentary for Action for Economic Reforms. This article was published in Business Mirror December 20, 2006  edition, p. A6

In the Enchanted Kingdom there is an island where, for a handsome fee, dreams can come true. The Queen learned about the place, Fantasy Island, during the 2004 elections. Since then, the island has been her second home.

This year the Queen decided it was time to introduce her second home to the world. “Prepare for the grandest party you’ll ever throw. I have invited kings from far and near to grace your ‘coming-out’ party,” she told the Islanders.

The Islanders decorated their homes, filled potholes in their streets, and splashed new paint on anything that stood immobile for more than a few seconds. They even built a
multimillion-peso venue especially for the ball.

When everything was ready, the Islanders went to the beach, tropical cocktails and aloha leis in hand, to await the arrival of the seaplane that was to fly in their honored guests.
They stood for hours, patiently waiting for the drone of the seaplane’s engine and the voice of Tattoo, the Island dwarf, announcing, “De plane! De plane!”

But the welcome party would wait in vain. There would be no Tattoo announcing the arrival of guests to Mr. Roarke that day. In his stead, another dwarf came screaming, “De typhoon! De typhoon!”

“What typhoon?” the Islanders cried out. The weatherman replied, “Relax, the typhoon will not hit your island. Go ahead, have fun at your debutante ball.” The Islanders told the Queen, “Did you hear that? The weatherman said we can go ahead with our party!”

But the Queen would have none of it. She said, “Neighboring islands might suffer calamities. We must show them we care and share. We will not hold any parties at this time.”

The day before the Queen’s sudden conversion to “caring and sharing,” a bunch of congressmen, drunk with power and lusting for more, raped Liberty in the back of a van owned by the Queen. So crazed by lust were the congressmen, they forgot to care for tens of thousands of Bicolanos who were victims of a real typhoon.

The Queen overlooked the typhoon victims, too for the first few days. Her lieutenants even praised Liberty’s assailants.
“The House action was a bold political move in an attempt to overhaul the country’s degenerated political system. We stand behind this initiative. . . ,” her spokesman said.

People were outraged, not only by the crime and the manner it was committed, but more so by the Queen’s apparent complicity in it.

“It was in the van she calls the Hall of Constitutional Democracy where a rape occurred, it will be in the streets we call the Hall of Popular Democracy where justice will be done,” they said. The Queen was terrified. She told the van-rape gang, “I’m going to announce I want nothing more to do with rape.” The gang’s leader replied, “The rape has not been consummated. Give us a little time to wheedle out.”

The very next morning, the gang held a press conference where they acknowledged that they may have been a bit too eager.
“We may have been too enthusiastic and didn’t hear Liberty’s protests. We promise to keep our pants zipped for 72 hours, to give her enough time to consent,” they said.

It didn’t work. The public became even more enraged, sending the Queen into an absolute fit of panic. She ordered the gang to back off and give their intended victim a chance to choose how she wanted to be raped.

That’s when some of Liberty’s assailants began to entertain doubts about carrying on. One of them, an Islander, went even further. He admitted the error of his ways.

“It was a mistake. We have to admit our mistakes. . . and we have to correct the mistake,” he said. But another Islander, a Cardinal no less, stubbornly appealed for “rational discernment, discussion and debate, not in turbulence but in serenity, peace and unity,” even as he was witnessing a heinous crime in progress.

Maybe the good Cardinal was planning to address Liberty’s rape in the same way some American Cardinals dealt with the issue of priests sexually molesting young boys, with a wink and a prayer. But who cares.

I was too busy feeling sorry for the politicos of Fantasy Island, sacrificed, as it were, on the altar of political expediency, to be bothered by the Cardinal’s incantations. I wanted to offer my shoulder for them to cry on but, on the other hand, they had played footsies with the Queen in 2004, thinking they would get paid handsomely. They got exactly what they deserved.  “De typhoon! De typhoon!”