“SAY Duterte!” she yells and raises her fist. “You know, Philippines? Duterte? President?” Mocha Uson, the controversial Presidential Communications assistant secretary, is sounding just a touch aggressive. The man she is talking to grins affably and hands her a rose. It’s a cold night out on the streets of Milan, and this poor bloke only wants to sell his roses, make a few euros, and go home. Uson wants to milk every encounter for the camera.

She is with Sass Rogando Sasot, another fiercely pro-Duterte blogger. They gaily trip down the street, laughing and posing into a camera as they go. They’re like a couple of vacationing teens, giddy with confidence and adventure. “No money!” Uson says, returning the rose. “Duterte,” the hapless man says, hoping the word will open wallets. Uson is delighted. She makes the fist salute again. The man balls up his hand into a fist. The moment is caught and live-streamed directly into the Mocha Uson Facebook blog with over 5 million followers. Sass cackles. Uson is gleeful, and affirms triumphantly, “Solid!”





Uson travels with or without the President. Her much vaunted popularity among Filipino overseas foreign workers (OFWs), arguably only those who are die-hard Duterte supporters, known by the acronym “DDS,” and her mass appeal, at least with the die-hards, ensures that she is a constant fixture on official trips. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Alan Cayetano, who distinctly lacks a common touch, cannot do without her. She was part of his official entourage to the UN General Assembly in New York last September. In last week’s Milan trip, billed pretentiously as a “command meeting of Filipino ambassadors from Europe, Middle East and Africa,” Uson was Cayetano’s warm-up act when he was obliged to address OFWs.

Ashead of the social media arm of the Presidential Communications Office, a job that was especially created for her, Uson rounds up pro-Duterte supporters and rallies them in support of the President’s visiting officials. She makes men like Cayetano infinitely more palatable and seem worth taking time off from work to listen to. More importantly, however, she is fiendishly good at selling Duterte.

The Milan conference was only a two-day affair, but Uson, who also went onto Rome, was in Italy for almost a week. She snacked, dined, and walked the streets with DDS fans. “Kumusta naman ang support n’yo kay tatay?” (How’s your support for daddy?), she asks them, referring to the President as “daddy.” It’s a weird, patriarchal, faintly paedophilic, title to give a president, but for the loyal followers who appear with Uson, and openly vow fealty and love for Duterte, it seems completely apt. “We love you, daddy. We’re behind you. We have you’re back,” they gush on camera, fists in salute.

The loyalty seems easily won. Uson brings the good news that OFWs desperately need to hear. Daddy Digong is back from India with a pledge of $1.2billion worth of investments, she reports. He plans to free up over 100,000 job opportunities. He looks forward to a golden time when no Filipino will ever need to go abroad to find work.

Then, of course, there is Uson herself. She brings her celebrity status and shines her star power on humble, obscure, toiling, work-weary, homesick lives. She hugs those hunched with longing, holds calloused hands, and accedes to every request for a selfie. Most of all, Uson promises over and over again that Duterte will make everyone’s lives better. He is the panacea to all their ills. This woman is permanently on campaign mode.

At a Filipino grocery store in Milan, a woman tells Uson that she has been in Italy for 29 years. She wants to go home “for good” but has no savings. She’s tearful. Her daughter, she says, is now 15 years old and needs tuition.

She asks whether there is a scholarship fund for the children of OFWs. Uson enthusiastically says “yes” and reels off any number of vague, official-sounding government projects—an “overseas Filipino bank” has been opened, there’s a plan for a “department just for OFWs,” and adds assuredly, “our father is working for us all.” Uson then strokes the woman’s cheek who goes off feeling better, warm in the knowledge that something is being done to help her.

In Rome, Uson hosts a big dinner. There is lechon. Everyone is happy and eating. Uson trains the camera on a select number of people. They talk of the indignities they suffer due to the outpouring of negative press coverage on the Philippines. Italians, they say, call Duterte “crazy” and a “killer.” The accusation hurts and robs them of their humanity, they say. “We’ll stop the hate speech if they’ll stop criticizing daddy Digong,” they say. They recount all the mundane annoyances they experience when they return home—taxis in Manila airport pick and choose their passengers; bags are opened and their contents are rifled through. Uson listens patiently.

“International media do not come to the Philippines,” she tells them soothingly, “they just pick up news from local media.” It’s a fallacious but effective statement.

On the last day in Rome, Uson, posed in front of the majestic Colosseum, reiterates the bottom line. Daddy cares. He cares about the children of OFW parents. He wants to prevent them from getting involved in vice, she says. The drug war is for them. She promises to bring up all the OFW concerns she has heard and smooth them all away. Daddy cares and she loves them. Grazie mille! Ciao!

Uson is paid a gross monthly salary of well over P100,000 per month. On top of that she is entitled to several thousands of pesos in allowances and miscellaneous expenses. It’s all from taxpayers’ money. As the President’s chief social media propagandist, she’s worth every centavo. She is always in front of a camera addressing Duterte supporters. “Mga ka DDS,” she begins, (my fellow DDS), what time is it where you are? It’s her signature opening line, and her fans pile in to greet her from all over the world. Her blog boasts of being the “voice of ordinary people.” Uson raises her fist. “Solid!”

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