During the last few weeks, my ego suffered terrible blows that would have had fatal consequences for someone with suicidal tendencies.
Last month, President Barack Obama made a pit stop in the Philippines on his way home from a swing through Japan, South Korea and Malaysia. I say pit stop because nothing was said about where he was spending the night. For all we know, it could have been on Air Force One that has all the amenities of a flying White House.
At any rate, as I mentioned earlier, I had prepared for his visit hoping to be invited to join “Manila’s 200 or 300” at a Palace dinner in his honor. For the occasion, I ordered a special barong Tagalog from my favorite couturier, a new pair of formal dress shoes that matched my old PMA cadet footwear in spit and polish. My haircut was timed for a few days before Obama’s arrival—not too short and dyed just right to allow strands of silver to crop up among the grey locks.
Every ring of our doorbell was met with much anticipation, hoping it signaled the arrival of the precious invitation. But all I got were bills from Meralco, Maynilad, or Riviera Golf and Country Club, and various miscellaneous mail. My calls to friends in the Palace went unanswered. The good ol’ days when people returned your calls immediately had come to an end—a sure indication and measure of one’s standing in the corridors of power.
And so at dinnertime, in front of our TV screen, I watched the Palace proceedings with a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken (two-piece meal with mashed potatoes and coleslaw). The music in the background was provided by Doris Day, singing an ol’ favorite “Que Sera, Sera” (What Will Be, Will Be).
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Last week, a visitor came to the house, ostensibly to discuss senior citizen problems that he had encountered in some restaurants. Apparently they refused to accept his driver’s license as proof of senior citizen entitlement. After some explanation of the implementing rules and regulations of the law, he appeared satisfied; his actions justified.
Then I realized there were other things on his mind.
He turned over to me a folder with some documents, indicating that they contained explosive information on certain individuals who were beneficiaries of the PDAF (Priority Development Assistance Fund) scam allegedly masterminded by Janet Napoles. He said that I had friends in the media who would be very much interested in the list, considering that it included not just legislators but others in the military and even the judiciary. The list was unsigned. And no supporting documents were included.
I did not want to dampen his enthusiasm, so I thanked him for his faith in my ability to assist in disseminating the report. But I suggested that there must be some corroboration to make the information more credible.
The first person on my mind was my barbero (barber). Through the years, I found out that he was a distant cousin of the barber of one of the senators mentioned. He related how in one family gathering, his cousin mentioned that while the senator was having a haircut, he was on the phone with someone named Janet. They were discussing the delivery of some payments and the senator suggested that they meet for dinner that evening. His cousin said that after the phone conversation, he received a generous tip from the senator before he left.
The second person I contacted was my masahista (masseuse) from my favorite spa. Her younger sister was part of the household of one of the senators on the list. Every now and then she would overhear her amo (boss) talking on the phone with someone also called Janet. More often than not, the conversation had to do with commissions as well as disbursements. While no actual figures were mentioned (everything seemed to be in code), she could sense that the deals were “big time,” judging by the excitement of her amo’s voice. As soon as the phone call ended, he would instruct his trusted gopher to proceed to Janet’s place to pick up the “goods.”
But the clincher was my own driver. As we all know, drivers are in a world of their own while they wait for their amo. Here they discuss the problems of the nation and offer each other valuable insights into the workings of government. My driver showed the other drivers the list and, sure enough, they all agreed that the same woman called Janet was in touch with their respective bosses who would, from time to time, meet with her for coffee or cocktails.
This was enough corroboration for me. I immediately contacted my friends in media, telling them about the explosive list in my possession. I said I was willing to meet with them anytime and anywhere to elaborate on the list.
For days and days I waited for their return calls, but no one seemed interested in my list. I was constantly reading about other lists that were being circulated on the scam; lists that were unsigned. At least mine had some amount of corroboration from fairly reliable sources.
Finally it dawned on me that like my Palace contacts, my friends in media preferred to rely on their own sources. Perhaps it suited their purpose to publish lists on a selective basis, regardless of the document being unsigned and without any kind of corroboration. My humiliation grew exponentially.
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“Gemma’s choice,” by Paulynn P. Sicam, in Saturday’s Philippine Star, is about Irwin Ver, son of General Fabian and Aida Ver, and his new bride Gemma Nemenzo, younger sister of former UP president Dodong Nemenzo.
Irwin graduated at the top of his class at the Philippine Military Academy in 1970. Among his classmates are former Customs and BIR commissioner Guillermo Parayno Jr.;
Rep. Romeo Acop; Lt. Gen. Ernesto Carolina, Philippine Veterans Affairs Office administrator; Zambales Gov. Hermogenes Ebdane Jr.; Gen. Dionisio Santiago, former AFP chief of staff; Lt. Gen. Nestor Santillan, former PAF commanding general; and former PMA superintendent Maj. Gen. Rufo de Veyra.
In a different time and day, Irwin would be a top administrator in any government. His father was instrumental in my appointment as Customs commissioner during the martial law years. After I assumed office, he never bothered me with promotions or transfers of personnel. Neither did he ask me to do anything that would compromise my work. Irwin’s mother, Manang Aida, remained the same person, humble and soft-spoken, through the years when the Ver name was synonymous with power and influence.
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Watch out for a new international school—Canadian American School. CAS is a preschool-Grade 12 institution offering a North American curriculum to local and multicultural students. CAS is having its first open house on Wednesday, May 21, 9 a.m.-5 p.m., at the 6th floor of The City Club Alphaland Makati Place, Ayala Avenue corner Malugay Street. For more information, call 737-0034 or visit www.canamschool.org.