Power and Gloria

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hat time, the military refused to flip as they had during EDSA II. That may have saved her presidency, and quite possibly her life, but it further cemented a political role for the military—no small danger in a country where talk of a coup is always in the air. Her key backer, General Angelo Reyes, the army's Chief of Staff, was installed as Arroyo's Defense Secretary. And though she insists the military is "truly professional, not political," she's been careful not to cross them. With the U.S. opening a second front, in Mindanao, in its war on terrorism, the military's role in the Philippines is sure to grow, enhancing the prestige—and coffers—of an already restive officer's corps. Arroyo could find her job requires even more barracks management. The army isn't the only one she has to coddle, either. Her backers during EDSA II were opportunists, not loyalists, and now they're looking for payback.

It's a bind from which she has been unable to extricate herself and one that is crippling her presidency. She has been "tentative in pursuing reforms," says one of her congressional opponents, Senator Rodolfo Biazon. Arroyo is fearful, he believes, of upsetting her already rankled ex-backers. One of those is Archbishop Jaime Cardinal Sin, the outspoken prelate who has wielded the church's immense moral authority to pummel Presidents into line for almost two decades. Earlier this month, Sin released an ominous statement declaring the state of politics was "far from ideal"; it didn't directly point the finger at MalacaNang, but the seemingly calculated ambiguity allowed others to do so. The favorite charge is that she's no different from Estrada—or not different enough ("same dog with a different collar," says businessman Zobel, who predicts some kind of mass uprising before the summer is out). One of her first Cabinet nominations was a former general who was being investigated for corruption. Accusations against her husband—for steering government money to favored Senate campaigns, and for taking bribes—have likewise been damaging.

This isn't just the usual rumormongering. The stakes are frighteningly high. Another EDSA would be disastrous, no matter who took over. The country is struggling to emerge from the damage Estrada caused to Ramos' reforms at home and investor confidence abroad. Another People Power, and the nation's image could be downgraded from shaky to basket case.

"Last year not much could be done," says Haydee Yorac, chairman of the Presidential Commission on Good Government. Her point is that the first year of any presidency—or any public office in the Philippines, really—is consumed by paying back supporters. "This (2002) will be the test year." In a stable environment, Gloria Arroyo might ace that test. She would calculate the probabilities, put in the hours, get her policies passed and bring economic progress. But politics in the Philippines is far from stable, and the President hasn't shown an ability or willingness to impose her will on the landscape and seed it with her personal convictions.

An economy in meltdown. An army that could turn against her. An ex-President who might be more popular than she is. And now, U.S. soldiers landing on her shores. What Arroyo needs is a bulwark. But without an electoral mandate, the only source is massive public support, the kind more likely to respond to image and inspiration than intellect. To her credit, she has tried. On several occasions, she's traveled to Tondo, a rank, perilously crowded slum that has essentially been Manila's garbage dump for a decade. On her first visit, she was greeted with boos and pro-Estrada chants. Instead of fleeing, though, she scrambled ahead of her security detail and climbed the cramped stairwells to the squalid apartments and landings from which the voices emanated: "Can I come in?" she shouted, "Let's talk about this. Why are you so angry with me?" They were angry because she and her middle-class backers had deposed their hero.

Her repeated visits have won her some respect, but nothing approaching real support from those like Josie Suangke, a 34-year-old mother-of-two who refused Arroyo entry into her apartment and refuses now to buy the low-cost rice offered in the neighborhood as part of an Arroyo program. Suangke says she is ready to go back to EDSA or the palace, anywhere that she can give voice to her misery. "I'll join," she says, despite having been teargassed and clubbed the last time around.

Her goal, Arroyo says, is to be a "good" President, not a great one—a sobering thought in a time when author Wilson Lee Flores says "a country in serious economic, political, and moral crisis needs great and heroic leadership." She should take risks, he says, be a Musharraf or a "Deng Xiaoping, like her physically short but a giant in terms of courage and guts." If she can generate a following for herself, the Philippines might yet learn what is really in her heart, as well as what's in her head. Otherwise, stability, and small steps, may be the most it can hope for. Arroyo is wise to close her eyes and snatch some sleep while she can. In the coming months—the coming years if she survives—the opportunities for rest will not come often.