Grace Poe’s amazing ascent, despite many obstacles, in the Philippine presidential race

IN CALAMBA, a town just south of Manila, the Philippine capital, Grace Poe is talking about her father, Fernando Poe Junior, or FPJ. Wielding a microphone in the morning sunlight in front of a fruit-stall in the market, she tells an enthusiastic crowd several-hundred strong that many of his films were shot near here; and when the famous actor ran for president in 2004, the province voted for him. She also talks of her origins before she was adopted by Philippine movie royalty: as a baby abandoned in a church, whose parents have never been identified.

Yet in 2013, aged 44, she was elected to the Senate, with a record number of votes.

Lump in the throat and tears in the eyes, she remembers being told at the time that she could not win. In a day of radio interviews, school visits (where her team are greeted like rock stars) and a press conference, her personal story keeps coming up. Clearly, it appeals to many Filipinos; it has helped make her the favourite in the presidential election to be held next May.

The race to succeed Benigno Aquino, who must stand down after the one six-year term the constitution allows, will be hard-fought. Most of the 130 registered candidates are unknown, frivolous no-hopers. One wants the Philippines to become part of America. Two, however, are serious rivals, and Miss Poe has had a good week against them. An opinion poll showed her with a solid lead, on 39%, compared with 21% for Mar Roxas, of Mr Aquino’s Liberal Party, and 24% for the vice-president, Jejomar Binay (who is actually the main opposition candidate—vice-presidents are elected separately).

Then on November 17th, the day of Miss Poe’s cameo in front of the pineapples, the Senate Electoral Tribunal (SET), comprising three judges and six senators, voted five to four against a bid to disqualify her candidacy on the ground that, as a foundling, she cannot prove she is a “natural-born Filipino”, a constitutional requirement. This will not be the end of the matter. An appeal is likely, which will end up in the Supreme Court. And she faces other challenges. One is legal, over whether she meets a separate constitutional condition: being resident in the Philippines for the ten years before taking office. Another is political—how much voters care that when she lived in America for years with her husband (an American-born Filipino) and children, she renounced her Philippine citizenship, only to reclaim it long after she returned to the Philippines following her father’s death in 2004. Most of the 10m Filipinos, one-tenth of the population, who live abroad keep their Philippine passports.

The SET decision, however, will at least avoid an awkward battle to save her Senate seat, from which an adverse ruling would also have disqualified her. And it keeps her in the news. Some admirers may feel their heroine is being persecuted. And since almost everybody has family members who have worked abroad, many probably sympathise; in her words, “a lot of my countrymen can identify with my situation.” Certainly the fuss seems less important to her fans than does her parentage—many believe her father was cheated of the presidency in a rigged election against Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo—and her history as a foundling. This has even given rise to a bizarre and improbable legend that she is in fact the illegitimate child of Ferdinand Marcos, the late dictator toppled in 1986, and FPJ’s sister-in-law.
The romance of her story and her personal charm help explain why her campaign seems to be more about Miss Poe herself than about policies. Another reason is that Philippine politics always seems preoccupied with personal drama and stardom. In 1998, after weathering the Asian financial crisis thanks to a period of solid government under Fidel Ramos, the Philippines made a disastrous electoral choice: Joseph Estrada, an actor specialising in tough-guy roles (and the only person Banyan has ever seen fall asleep during one of his own press conferences). Mr Aquino, an apparently unambitious senator in 2009, was swept into a successful tilt at the presidency the following year on a wave of popular sympathy following the death of his mother, Corazon, the first post-Marcos president.
Miss Poe’s policies are in fact not much different from Mr Aquino’s. Though an independent, she has been part of his Senate “team”. Mr Aquino might have endorsed her himself had he not owed Mr Roxas a debt for making way for him as their party’s candidate in 2010. He tried hard to persuade her to become its vice-presidential candidate next year. Miss Poe could have accepted and waited until the next election in 2022 to have a shot at the presidency. But after her Senate triumph in 2013 she found herself in the limelight when leading the legislative body’s investigations into a disastrously botched counter-terrorism operation this January. The momentum was with her; and her father’s memory is still fresh. As it is, she can identify herself with the achievements of what is generally considered to be one of the better Philippine governments of recent years, thanks to an anti-corruption drive and economic growth of 6% a year. But she can also distance herself from its blunders and unpopular decisions.

How sweet the sound

So Miss Poe has a lot going for her. She has assembled an impressive slate of candidates for the 12 Senate seats up for election (one half of the total) and has a hardened and savvy running-mate in a serving senator, Francis Escudero (known as “Chiz”—slogan: “say Chiz”). He scores even higher in the opinion polls for his election than she does for hers. But Mr Binay and Mr Roxas are formidable opponents, with deeper pockets and established party organisations. They will harp on her lack of administrative experience. Some people may be unhappy that she has thwarted Mr Aquino’s bid to cement his legacy by naming a successor to run on a party platform; they will see her as an epitome of bad old Philippine politics, based on discontinuity and personality. But as personalities go, hers is at least an attractive one.

Banyan, The Economist