George Malcolm, a fresh law graduate when he came to our shores in 1906, became the first “American colonial careerist,” and by 1911, he was the dean of the first American-style law school for the islands, which would use the case-method devised by Harvard’s law dean, Christopher Columbus Langdell.
Relying on actual decided cases rather than commentaries written by experts meant a radical break from the continental civil law style of teaching that dominated the former Spanish colony. The revolutionary government of Emilio Aguinaldo actually established a national university, and its law school naturally followed the European model. With Malcolm’s reforms, first, the good news: The law course was reduced from six years to four. And now the bad news: From then on, the poor law students had to endure daily graded recitations (the civil law system would have used straight lectures).
Manuel Acuńa Roxas was the valedictorian (and bar topnotcher) of the first graduating class, and he would become the first president of the restored republic in 1946. The Law School has graduated four Philippine presidents: Jose P. Laurel, Roxas, Elpidio Quirino, and Ferdinand Marcos. The Supreme Court has had 12 chief justices from the University of the Philippines (UP): Jose Yulo, Ricardo Paras, Cesar Bengzon, Querube Makalintal, Fred Ruiz Castro, Enrique Fernando, Felix Makasiar, Ramon Aquino, Pedro Yap, Marcelo Fernan, Hilario Davide Jr., and the incumbent Chief Justice Reynato Puno (and nine out of 15 of the incumbent justices).
Significantly, one-third of the members of the Philippine Senate today are alumni: former UP president Edgardo Angara, Joker Arroyo, Pia Cayetano, Miriam Defensor-Santiago, Francis Escudero, Richard Gordon, Francis Pangilinan and new Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile.
When I began my law studies in the evening section, we already had a star-studded cast of faculty: Haydee Yorac (who was truly scary even then) for family law (the day section got the strict but motherly Flerida Ruth Romero who would later become Supreme Court justice), Miriam Defensor-Santiago (stricter but still motherly) for constitutional law, Bienvenido Ambion (who while still alive was already called “the late Professor Ambion”) for criminal law, and Antonio Bautista (celebrity attorney known for his passion for the law) for legal research. During the annual sports festival, I recall, the “bunong-braso” [arm-wrestling] had three weight categories: the Irene Cortes bantamweight division, the Myrna Feliciano welterweight division, and the Haydee Yorac heavyweight division.
On Saturday, Nov. 29, at 6 p.m., the Law School’s alumni gather at the Quezon Hall amphitheater on the UP Diliman campus for its annual fete. The tradition is that the silver jubilarians host the event, and this year, it is the Class of 1983, my own graduating class, that is on the dock. My classmates have raised money to support the law school’s free legal assistance program, create the Law Centennial Scholarship for bright needy students, and preserve Malcolm Hall’s history by honoring the 12 alumni who have served as chief justice. The class will also endow grants for the Law Student Government and the alumni affairs office. The UP Law Class ’83 Alumni Association, headed by Napoleon Poblador, will create a foundation to fund these legacy projects.
The Class of 1983 has the highest representation in the full-time faculty: myself, my wife Elizabeth, and former SEC commissioner Danilo Concepcion. At various times in the past, several class members have taught as well. Gilbert Reyes (the indefatigable mover and shaker of the homecoming), Rocky Reyes, Yolanda Mendoza-Eleazar, and Rodolfo Waga have taught as lecturers. Judge Maris Macaraig-Guillen, June Ambrosio-Macaspac and Danny Gutierrez have spoken at various forums, and Mimee Yadao-Sison has served as university general counsel.
Before I graduated, Dean Irene Cortes invited me to join the law faculty—and I accepted on the spot, not realizing that she had just guided me to find my calling. The words chiseled on the wall of Malcolm Hall came from Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. that “the business of a law school is to teach law in the grand manner, and to make great lawyers.”
But there is a line beyond which grand becomes merely grandiose, and we must read those words in light of Holmes’ preceding sentence: “The aim of the law school is not to make men smart, but to make them wise in their calling.” He counseled against what in US law would eventually be derisively called the “Philadelphia lawyer,” the shrewd attorney adept at the manipulation of legal technicalities.
Although I am abroad as I write this, I have happily learned that the law school is now reviving the public interest internships (in human rights, environmental law, children’s rights, and overseas Filipino workers’ claims, among others) that were begun during my deanship but which were de-activated when I left. These internships hit several birds with one stone. The students get to do hands-on work on real cases; they help those who can’t afford lawyers; they sharpen their knowledge of doctrine; and they see not just the power of the law to change people’s lives but its limits as well.
In a way, practice-based teaching solves the eternal dilemma of the Filipino lawyer, who hones his bar exam-taking skills all throughout law school, only to find out when he begins his career that there are more important skills in the life of the serious lawyer. It transforms our weaknesses into strengths. The frailties and pettiness of Filipino culture: the fetish for titles (“Atty.”), the fixation on technicality (oh how we love Portia’s arguments in “The Merchant of Venice”!), the adoration of ritual—clinical work seizes all these and channels them into the agonizing task of saving souls, including one’s own.
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