Theres The Rub
A great and terrible harm
By Conrado de Quiros
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:26:00 06/11/2008
Filed Under: Media, Laws
The National Union of Journalists in the Philippines (NUJP) and the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists have said their piece. The conviction of Niñez Cacho-Olivares, says Bob Dietz, Asian coordinator of the latter, is undemocratic, “it is high time for … the Philippines to remove the threat of imprisonment for journalists by decriminalizing libel.” The NUJP says pretty much the same thing: Olivares’ conviction highlights “the urgency of … improving our antiquated libel law.”
I can only add my own voice to their protest and contribute a few more things in defense of it.
First off, what harm has Olivares done? Arthur Villaraza, the plaintiff in this case, says her articles alleging that his law office, also called “The Firm,” committed “illegal and reprehensible acts” while meddling in the Terminal 3 project of the Ninoy Aquino International Airport were deeply hurtful. They maligned them and brought their office into disrepute. Villaraza says moreover that Olivares did this out of malice.
Not at all.
In fact, what has deeply harmed Villaraza and company and brought their office into disrepute is their libel suit itself. At the very least that is so in the superficial sense that it reminds the world, or apprises those who have not heard of it, of their possible complicity in a deal as full of “bukol” [“bulges” — overpricing] as the national broadband network project. It’s like the libel case filed by the female employees of the government casino franchise firm Pagcor against Archbishop Oscar Cruz for writing that they acted as “pathetic GROs” in a party thrown by Malacañang for the First Gentleman on his birthday. It was their suit that drew more attention to their conduct than Cruz’s article itself.
As it stands, Olivares’ series performs a public service. It has put down in print something that formerly existed only in text messages, blogs, and talks in coffee houses. I won’t add beerhouses because the affairs of the Villarazas of this world do not enter into the reckoning of their patrons. The talk has been there for some time: “The Firm” was the spider at the center of the web known as the Terminal 3 fiasco. The series plucks the issue from the realm of rumor and thrusts it into the realm of discourse, where it can be held up for public scrutiny. Was Olivares wrong about her specific allegations?
Maybe yes, maybe no. But there’s the rub: The Firm does not lack for the means and power to correct a fault where they see one. They could easily have aired their side through paid ads in newspapers and television with infinitely higher circulation/viewership and better reputation for objectivity. Or if they wanted to scrimp and save—and show they did not rake hundreds of millions from the deal, even if it’s been proven a long time ago that the more people steal the more they become kuripot—they could always write letters to the editor or litter TV with their more articulate representatives. This was exactly what I said when then-president Joseph Estrada pressured the Manila Times into closing down and mounted an ad embargo against the Philippine Daily Inquirer in 1999 presumably because they were making him look bad—as though anyone could do that better than he. Even granting that he had a legitimate grievance, his response was patently wrong.
It’s so here. What does a libel suit do? It maligns the accused even more. The suit merely proves in the public mind at least, if not the courts, that the Villarazas have something to hide. Indeed, its successful prosecution merely proves in the public mind, because of the courts, that The Firm truly possesses the tentacles Olivares alleges. In the court of public opinion, which is the only honest court left in this country, Olivares’ conviction does not make The Firm innocent, it makes it guilty.
Olivares herself says her accusers have not proven malice, a fundamental criterion of libel. That is true, the judge—assuming he is impartial—probably mistaking abrasiveness for malice. I grant charm is not Olivares’ strongest suit. I grant she won’t win many medals in a contest on how to win friends and influence people. That is not malice, that is just insufferableness. Which brings me to suspect that the malice does not lie on the part of the accused but on the part of the accuser. Maybe they mean to throw her to the wolves on the expectation that there won’t be a rush to save her?
Well, that expectation won’t be realized. This case doesn’t just affect the lives of Olivares and Villaraza, it affects the lives of all journalists and their subjects. The whole media community can only be expected to rise up in arms over this, as signaled by the first shots fired by the NUJP and CPJ. By itself the conviction of Olivares augurs badly for press freedom. Taken in conjunction with the arrest warrant issued by Raul Gonzalez on Oscar Cruz, it augurs badly for democracy itself. Both Olivares and Cruz are well-known critics of government, both having waged a crusade against corruption in government. One of them being singled out for persecution is already more than an accident. The two of them being so in less than a month is a veritable pattern. Government—and its allies—mean to silence critics.
Am I suggesting that people should be powerless when they are wrongly accused by journalists? Not at all. I’ve said this before and I say it again: I personally would like to see an ethics body formed by the journalist community to take up complaints against abusive members. That is so particularly in cases where the victim, completely unlike Villaraza, is poor and weak and has no means to fight back. That is where the real abuse happens. But making libel a criminal offense punishable by jail doesn’t make things better, it makes it worse. It’s killing a cockroach with a rocket launcher.
The NUJP and the Committee to Protect Journalists are right: That has no place in a democratic society. But then who says this country is democratic?
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