Tulfo justice
When even high-profile cases like the Maguindanao massacre have taken 10 years (and counting) to be heard in court, who can blame ordinary folk for turning to shortcuts instead of enduring the circuitous path to justice?
Predictably and lamentably, disenfranchised people often turn to media—broadcast media in particular—with their built-in advantage of national reach and perceived sense of intimacy. Such is the undeniable appeal of radio and TV shows like “Raffy Tulfo in Action,” which many among the aggrieved masses look to as their last bastion of hope, their only source of recompense in a world where might is often right, and can only be matched by the equal might of a blustering media personality.
Styling himself as The Equalizer, as it were, Tulfo aggressively takes on the police, politicians, priests— people normally held in high regard by polite society —and subjects them to thunderous hectoring, bullying and public shaming, all calculated to give vicarious satisfaction to his aggrieved guests. Rather than endure further verbal assault, his subjects invariably accede to Tulfo’s harangues, never mind if the proceedings violate due process or bypass proper forums. Instant justice is what counts. Thus has “Isumbong mo kay Tulfo” become a prominent part of the lexicon of the poor—and a manifestation of the sorry state of the country’s justice system.
The on-air flogging has been described by detractors as trial by publicity, a witch hunt, or mob justice. Teacher Melita Limjuco might describe it as the lesser evil in the proffered choice between her job and her reputation.
In the Nov. 18 episode of “Raffy Tulfo in Action,” the parents and grandmother of a Grade 2 pupil complained that Limjuco had humiliated the boy (“pinahiya”) when he was made to sit outside the classroom for a whole period, because he had forgotten to return his report card.
Tulfo immediately called up the teacher, who readily admitted her actions, apologized and said she just wanted to teach the pupil a lesson on discipline.
That wasn’t the end of it. Unappeased, describing what had happened as “child abuse,” Tulfo then demanded that Limjuco make a choice. On national TV, he asked her: Would she rather face charges of child abuse, or have her teacher’s license revoked, as suggested by the parents? “Dito sa mabilisang kaso sa child abuse, dito ka namin yayariin … Yayariin ka talaga namin (We’ll crush you on the case of child abuse),” Tulfo warned.
Made to decide on the spot, Limjuco said she’d give up her license, and with it her job.
The reaction by the public was decidedly not what Tulfo and his guests had expected. Denunciations poured in over the harsh treatment of Limjuco and the choice she had to make practically under duress, given Tulfo’s browbeating. Many took note of the disproportionate punishment inflicted on the teacher, when her actions appeared to be all about trying to instill discipline in a school kid.
The Department of Education reminded Tulfo that there are laws and policies that apply to students and teachers, who must both be treated with dignity and respect. The teacher was clearly denied the right to be heard adequately, and in the proper forum. Nor are incidents of child abuse subject to quick compromise, as was evident in the options glibly offered by Tulfo.
Chastened by the public outcry, the TV host acknowledged his mistake, but stopped short of apologizing to Limjuco. The teacher and the parents eventually settled their differences off-camera, but Tulfo maintained that the incident was a case of child abuse, and that while Limjuco did not deserve to lose her job, she still needed to be penalized.
In a social media post, lawyer and radio broadcaster Mel Sta. Maria clarified that the child abuse law, or Republic Act No. 7610, applies only “when there is a clear intention to debase, degrade or demean the intrinsic worth and dignity of a child as a human being.” Under the Family Code, teachers are also expressly given Special Parental Authority, Sta. Maria added.
“I’m only human, I’m not perfect,” Tulfo said in defense. He should apply the same yardstick to the people he subjects to his grandiosely self-appointed role as judge, jury and executioner. Or, more aptly, since he justifies his actions as all for “public service,” he should apply his brutalizing methods to his own siblings, who, lest anyone forget, have yet to return the P60-million taxpayer money they got from an irregular government transaction. “Mamuti na mga mata ’nyo (Drop dead)!” was Ben Tulfo’s response to that call. Let’s see Tulfo justice finally resolve that one.
