Marcos Besieged

Even in the violence-prone Philippines, there had never been anything like it. First, as he emerged with his wife from Manila's Legislative Building, where he had just delivered his state of the nation address, President Ferdinand Marcos was greeted with a shower of bottles, sticks and placards. Four days later, a mob of 4,000 students stormed the Malacanang presidential palace, ramming a stolen fire truck through a gate. Four students were killed and hundreds were injured in the eight-hour fracas, the worst organized demonstration since the island nation of 38 million gained independence in 1946.

Soothsayer's Warning. In the two weeks since the riots, Marcos--the Philippines' most decorated war hero--has holed up in Malacanang as if it were the Alamo. The charming old Spanish colonial palace has become a fortress. Workmen have welded closed two of its four massive entrance gates. Armed guards patrol the Pasig riverfront; soldiers in combat dress and plainclothesmen, guns bulging under their loose-fitting barong tagalog shirts, are all over the Malacanang's banyan-shaded grounds.

Why all the fortifications? At first, Marcos spoke of "nonstudent provocateurs." By week's end he was talking of "an insurrection" and a "plan to take over Malacanang Palace" organized by agitators who "believe in Mao Tse-tung." It was an odd performance for a normally ebullient man who only last November became the first President in Philippine history to win a second term. Marcos' current siege mentality is widely attributed to the influence of one Virginia Dimalanta, a soothsayer who has predicted that he will be assassinated before April by "a light-skinned man wearing a suit." Long before the bloody riots, Marcos had cut his public appearances to a minimum.

Marcos is bedeviled by enough real troubles without having to worry about imaginary ones. The November election was corrupt even by Philippine standards: just before the balloting, the government parceled out some $50 million in "local development funds" to thousands of barrio (village) leaders in $500 packets.

Graft, inefficiency and official indifference are epidemic. When a reporter last week questioned Marcos about incidents of police brutality during the riots, Wife Imelda answered: "What can you expect when all we can pay a policeman is 180 pesos [$45] a month? Of course you get barbarians."

Costly Imbalance. The Philippines' most urgent problems are economic, and Marcos is at least partly to blame. Priming for the election, he set records in building schools, dams and highways. In the year preceding the election, the money supply was increased by an astonishing 23%. At one point, the government's indebtedness totaled $1.5 billion. Marcos is faced with paying the bills. Hoping to fend off devaluation of the peso and improve a costly payments imbalance, Marcos has imposed import taxes so stiff that the price of a legally imported $3,000 car has risen to $20,000. Government spending has been slashed, and old loans are desperately being renegotiated. Sizable short-term loans are being sought abroad.

Outsiders expect that the Philippines is in for two years of austerity. In the meantime, the prospects are for rising prices, rising unemployment and above all, rising dissatisfaction with the Marcos regime.

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