H.A.M. Saparillo
Rolling Coffins
The streets of the metropolis are crawling with dilapidated vehicles. We're not referring to vehicles that look bad. We're talking about badly-maintained ones. Those with malfunctioning parts such as brakes, steering wheels, clutches, horns and lights. They pose a great danger to motorists, commuters and pedestrians alike.
The problem is, we cannot seem to exterminate them. Once in a while, a legislator takes the bold initiative to cleanse the streets with a proposal to ban vehicles manufactured before a certain cut-off year. But that triggered arguments about discrimination as, admittedly, not everyone can afford to buy a new vehicle.
The loudest howl against the banning of "jalopies" came from the public transportation sector. Livelihood was their battle cry. Theirs is a legitimate point as thousands depend on this industry for their daily bread: jeepney and taxi operators, drivers and conductors, repair shop owners and mechanics. Theirs is also an admission that our commuting public is being served by an aging transportation fleet.
ROADWORTHINESS
The objective way to evaluate whether old vehicles should remain running is to check on their roadworthiness. The responsibility lies on the vehicle owners. One stumbling block to responsible maintenance is our tendency to wear things out until they are utterly useless. This is a deadly practice when applied to vehicles because any malfunction may result in death. These may be monitored in the annual registration process, but we know that there are loopholes in implementing existing regulations.
Another stumbling block is the issue of economics. An operator would like to recover as much returns for his investment on a vehicle in the least possible time. He will allow a unit to operate round the clock. In the same way, a driver, too will maximize the time he is allowed to possess the vehicle. He may choose to handle it in any way he wants, anyway it's not his. The next time they will have the vehicle serviced is when it conks out.
Another way of assessing roadworthiness is evaluating the vehicle during its manufacture or assembly. There are shops that recondition vehicles back to good running condition. There are, however, backyard assemblers who do not follow standards of quality and safety. They assemble vehicles with parts scavenged from many sources, including car graveyards, here and abroad. They're in for a fast buck, so as long as the thing rolls, it's a vehicle. Their products are cheap, so there are many takers.
It's not surprising to find a vehicle running on a resurrected Ford engine, its body molded out of a water tank, and bumpers fashioned out of a bailey bridge. That's no big deal. There are "bancas" which run on Volkswagen engines. Foreigners who see it will admire our ingenuity.
For as long as the practices mentioned are tolerated, our lives will continue to hang in a balance whenever we use our streets either as motorists, commuters or pedestrians.
ACCIDENT
This author had a recent brush with one of these rolling coffins, and survived.
Three nights ago, as I was driving my car along Talamban road, a car ahead of me slowly pulled out of the shoulder towards the flow of traffic. To give way, I slowed down to a full stop. I heard the frantic blowing of a horn behind me. Unable to move any further, forward or the side, I stood my ground. The honking grew louder, followed by the sound of rubber screeching against concrete. Then, "bam", my vehicle was rammed from the rear. Metal, glass and plastic were crushed. A scene out of the movies. Only this was for real.
The resulting whiplash threw me flat into the seat back and headrest. It was a blow that could have released airbags out of their shells, but my car didn't have them. Luckily, I always buckle up, and was secure from the jolt. I felt my neck, it was still there and proceeded to look around the passenger cabin. Everything was intact.
NO BLOOD
From the rear view mirror I saw the face of a hybrid jeepney staring at me. After composing myself, I went out to confront the driver and assess the damage. The rear bumper, trunk lid, rear lights and fender were in a contorted mess. The jeepney was unscathed, protected by an imposing Mad Max-like front grill. There were no blows or heated words traded. No blood, no foul.
The driver was profuse in his apologies. He claims to have lost his brakes, allegedly pumping on the pedal and getting minimal response. He could have been an idiot, but he had a perfect alibi. His tires' skid marks measured some 15 feet. Somehow, he got to drive his vehicle safely to the Citom headquarters at Bacalso avenue, faulty brakes and all, where an investigation of the accident was conducted. There, he changed his story. He said I stopped abruptly. But the traffic officer's sketch spoke louder than his words.
Checking the errant vehicle's insurance policy confirmed my fears. It was covered with a Third Party Liability, no more, no less. Enough to get it on the road and do any damn thing except maim or kill a person. Its insurer is an agency named after a mambo song popular in the '80s. This agency is a favorite of PUJ operators. Another favorite is an agency named after a bar of soap.
As I was coming to grip with the situation, I asked myself a series of questions. What if it wasn't my car that was in the way of the runaway jeepney? What if it was a pedestrian? Or a motorcyclist? Or the vehicle I gave way to had its driver's side exposed to the point of impact? I was already feeling like a guardian angel when a thought chilled my bones. If the jeepney had rammed into a fully loaded multicab or a single choppy bike rider, the results would have been a bloody mess.
BRAT
Some of our readers may call me a brat crying over a broken toy, a toy I invested my life's savings with. Some nice neighbors might place me on their hate (pronounce correctly, please) list as they did a traffic czar years ago. But I appeal to your good sense of judgement.
There is no argument that many people depend on the operation or maintenance of old vehicles for their livelihood. The only thing they have to do is assure that their vehicles are safe with regular check-ups. The popular view is that their livelihood far outweigh the inconveniences that their vehicle may cause on people. True, an unproductive half day due to a maintenance check may cost the jeepney driver's family their dinner. But leaving his brakes unfixed could cost another person's life. So whose human right is more important here?
I woke up the day after the accident with a huge headache and body pains. I think I'll have myself x-rayed. If there are findings (God forbid!), I'll file the appropriate suits. I have my rights too, you know.
Published in Jan. 17, 1998