MANILA, Philippines - Recently, Makati Mayor Jejomar Binay required KFC to explain within 72 hours why their business permit should not be revoked for violations of the Expanded Senior Citizens Act of 2003 (Rep. Act No. 9257). Once again, we thank Mayor Binay for taking up our cause.

Last week, Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim directed KFC to “desist from pursuing prohibited acts within 24 hours from receipt by removing the signage and replacing it with one that prominently specifies the rights of senior citizens; providing a separate lane for senior citizens and doing away with the filing up of forms and eliminating purchase limits in availing of the 20% discount.”

The signage being ordered removed refers to limits on senior citizen purchases availing of the discount.

The mayor’s directive added “should you refuse to comply with this, the City of Manila will not hesitate to cancel your business permit and prosecute you further for violations of Rep. Act No. 9257.”

We wish to express our deep gratitude to Mayor Lim for his immediate action in taking up the concerns of senior citizens.

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Remember Ms Donna Alba of Greenheights Village in Parañaque City who related her experience at a KFC outlet in her community? She found a staple wire in the chicken meal that was served her. Fortunately, the discovery came before any serious damage could be done to her health. The KFC manager tried to explain that the staple may have been mixed in the bread crumbs used in the preparation of KFC products—a case of negligence which would have resulted in the filing of a serious lawsuit if it took place in the United States.

Well, recently Ms Alba sent a handwritten note to thank me for publicizing her sad experience with KFC. She also had some questions about myself and wanted to know if I was an Ateneo alumnus like her eldest brother, Dr. Roberto Salao Jr. and his cousin, lawyer Nelson Santos Sr.

Except for graduate work at the Asian Institute of Management (AIM) I am a product of the Philippine public school system. I graduated from a small school tucked away in the hills and valleys of Loakan, a community located a few kilometers south from the center of Baguio City. The school is completely funded by the Filipino taxpayer and while its physical facilities may not be as impressive as some of the schools in Metro Manila, the site, surrounded by a lot of greenery highlighted by stately pine trees, provides one of the most spectacular aerial views one can find in the country.

When I was a student at this school, we numbered roughly 300, representing congressional districts of our country. We were chosen nationwide on the basis of highly competitive mental and physical examinations. No one cared about our birthplace, our religion or our social standing; all that mattered was that we met the standards set by the institution. We were drawn from every walk of life with most of the young boys coming from the middle and lower classes of Philippine society. For some, the school represented the only opportunity for education that would guarantee entrance to a world that was normally closed because of poverty and ignorance.

Some were sons of farmers, of jeepney drivers, of school teachers, of daily wage earners who would not be able to provide for a higher level of education for their children. Others came from more affluent families of doctors, lawyers, engineers and businessmen.

All of us were provided with the same uniforms, the same food (simple fare, if I might add), shared the same quarters and had the same haircuts as everyone else. If we violated regulations, we would be punished and no one could intercede on our behalf. If we did well, we were rewarded. We were free to worship the Almighty in the manner in which one was raised and no one tried to influence us as to what was the right religion. But we did not have the liberty to do as we pleased and every waking hour of the day was filled with activities designed to prepare us for responsibilities including leading men in combat, bravely and wisely with minimum loss of life.

For many, entry meant a free education, a guaranteed job waiting after graduation—although not necessarily high-paying, and a dangerous profession at that. For others, the vision of being someday at that critical moment when what we did or did not do would change the course of Philippine history, was also a part of the dream.

My school is located on land that is now consecrated to the memory of Gen. Gregorio del Pilar, the youngest general of the Philippine Revolution. Del Pilar was killed in December 1899 during the Philippine-American War while leading a rear guard action aimed at slowing down the advance of American forces in hot pursuit of Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo. His stand at Tirad Pass has been described by an American correspondent, John McCutcheon, who was covering the war as “the only fight which can be compared in character of ground fighting and desperation of resistance to such battles as Thermopylae.” (There, outnumbered Greeks led by Leonidas held back Persian forces.)

Today the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) continues to provide future leaders of our Armed Forces. In 1993, in a historic break with tradition, the academy accepted for the first time women into the ranks of the cadet corps. These young men and women represent the best hope for our country.

Unfortunately, the PMA has also come up with its share of bad eggs who have tarnished the school’s reputation as well as that of the Armed Forces. This should not come as a surprise to anyone. A recent World Bank study shows that we are now the most corrupt nation among 10 leading economies of East Asia. The military organization, like other sectors of our society, merely reflects the ills that plague the nation.

When I graduated in 1956, I was 21. Whatever I may have accomplished in the years that followed, I owe to my alma mater. It is a debt that can never be fully repaid.

Ms Alba also wanted to know if I was holding a government position. Let me just say that I spent almost 40 years in government, both in the military and the civil service, but for the last 15 years have remained a private citizen. I have always considered it an honor and a privilege to have served our country and our people.

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In this era of electronic messages and phone texting, a handwritten note especially from senior citizens in the twilight of their years is, to me, a labor of love. When a person has taken the time and the effort to put down her thoughts in her own handwriting—for whatever reason—this can only be taken as a measure of the sincerity of the writer. For this reason, I have answered Ms Alba’s questions quite lengthily.

With humility, I thank her for her kind thoughts.