When a ranking official of an academic institution passes away, the usual procedure is to hold a necrological or memorial service in a large hall (often the auditorium or a campus church) on the eve of the burial. There will be several eulogies delivered by officials, colleagues, staff, relatives, friends and, Filipino-style, these can be quite long and emotional, lasting well into the night.
A very different, and I felt more meaningful, tribute was arranged last month for Dr. Ernesto G. Tabujara (or “Tabu”/“Tabo,” as he was frequently referred to), the first chancellor of UP Diliman, and I’m hoping it will set a new precedent. Describing the tribute we had for him is also a way for me to make a more public appreciation (the preferred term to obituary) for this great man.
On the request of Tabu’s family, we held his UP necrological service at St. Peter Memorial Chapel, which is outside UP, on the eve of his burial. The program was fixed to include only a few eulogies: from the offices of the UP president, UP Diliman chancellor, three faculty members, and the family.
Intersecting lives
The memorial chapel was small, giving a greater sense of familiarity, which was highlighted even more as Ricardo Tabujara gave his tribute, by way of recollections of their family life, accompanied by family photographs. The photos followed Tabu from his childhood in Negros Occidental to his student days in UP, his courtship of and marriage to
Josefina (an English professor who also taught at Diliman), raising a family as he pursued postgraduate studies in the United States, all throughout his service to Diliman, which meant long hours in the office, away from his family.
I was initially at a loss preparing a eulogy because I had never met Tabu, but then I realized our lives had intersected in many ways. I began to teach in Diliman in 1985, two years into Tabu’s term as chancellor, so I am certain he was the one who signed my appointment papers.
Fast forward to the present, where I now take up his responsibilities, allowing me to appreciate what he did for UP, Diliman in particular. On paper, Tabu is actually the second Diliman chancellor. What happened in 1983 was that the president, Edgardo Angara, devolved authority to local campuses, which were to be called “constituent universities” or CUs, of which there are now seven. The president heads the UP system, and each CU has a chancellor.
President Angara had to be acting UP Diliman chancellor, so technically he was the first, but this was a short interim period before he appointed Tabu to take over. Tabu had been an administrator, and was well respected as a practicing structural engineer.
Tabu was de facto the first chancellor, a challenging position because he had to put in place systems and procedures, a different kind of engineering when you think about it, and during a very difficult time. Tabu came in as chancellor in 1983, the year of Ninoy Aquino’s assassination, an event that began the end of the Marcos era. The assassination plunged the nation into an economic and political crisis which did not spare UP. Budgets were slashed, and the campus convulsed with all kinds of political activities.
Tabu shepherded the campus through that crisis, into a post-Edsa era that remained turbulent and unstable, as new democracies go. Tabu’s term as chancellor ended in 1990.
It was also in 1983 when Tabu implemented a recommendation to split the College of Arts and Sciences (“AS”) into three: the College of Science, the College of Social Sciences and Philosophy, and the College of Arts and Letters. This was the largest college in the entire UP system, so the transition was not easy.
Even while running Diliman, Tabu helped establish UP Clark and San Fernando, and new CUs in Baguio, Visayas and Mindanao.
Diliman has grown, with many more faculty and students, as well as degree programs, research projects. A bureaucratic jungle has emerged with many bottlenecks, but by and large, UP Diliman thrives, still using many of the systems put in place by Tabu. At meetings I often hear older professors invoking a rule or regulation, “in Tabujara’s time,” which seems to have become almost like a mantra that suggests, and reassures, “This is the correct thing to do. All will be well.”
That night at the memorial chapel, I realized there was another tribute after the tribute, which consisted of people sharing informally while eating. One of my vice chancellors, Dr. Fidel Nemenzo, struck up a conversation with the Tabujara children (all now with their own families). It was a bond among “batang UP,” or those who grew up on the Diliman campus, which had housing for faculty as well as its own precollegiate education for faculty and staff, now the UP Integrated School.
The older staff had their stories about the campus in Tabu’s time, including how he would go after a rather inefficient PPO or Physical Plant Office which took care of maintaining the physical facilities of Diliman. People called PPO the “Patay Patay Office,” and the staff member who talked to me muttered, “Some things never change.” I wanted to tell him, Well, not really. The PPO has become the CMO or
Campus Maintenance Office, which, while still hobbled by a lack of staff and equipment, does respond more quickly, and sometimes heroically, as it did during the last typhoon. I think, too, that the seeds for change from a government bureaucratic mindset to a more flexible and responsive system were planted during Tabu’s time.
Last farewell
On the day of Tabu’s burial, again on the request of his family, we agreed to have his remains brought to the Diliman campus for a last farewell.
When the hearse arrived in front of Quezon Hall, our main administrative building where Tabu had held office, we were all ready. Everything had been arranged, including where the officials were to stand on Quezon Hall’s steps. I was told that I was to keep standing in the place assigned to me. People were to approach me, and not the other way around.
We played the national anthem, and UP’s hymn. As the hymn ended, the flags gently fluttering in the breeze, I felt I just had to break protocol for this man who set the cornerstones for UP Diliman.
I stepped down, touched the hearse for a brief moment, to say goodbye to the chancellor I had never met. Then I brought my hand to my heart, to signify the ties that will endure, Chancellor Tabu and the Diliman, the UP, that he so loved, and inspired.
To his family and friends, once again, maraming salamat for having shared Tabu with us.
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E-mail: mtan@inquirer.com.ph