Don’t steal once, steal thrice!

Now that the alleged Binay billions is in the news, it is worrisome that others who may be similarly charged with corruption might defend themselves by arguing that they stole much less. A politician inadvertently owned up to his guilt by saying in jest, “If the revelations in the Senate blue ribbon subcommittee are true, then I’m a mere pickpocket compared to Binay!”

What amazes Filipinos in the Binay probe is not the reality of corruption in government, but the scale of the take. I overheard some people discussing the issue in a coffee shop, with someone remarking about people who feed on money. Impolitely eavesdropping on this conversation reminded me of the proverbial advice given to government officials in the Spanish period: You don’t steal once, you steal thrice: the first for yourself, the second to pay the judge, and the third to pay penalties!

Stealing was a response to the residencia implemented in the first two centuries of Spain’s colonization of the Philippines. Everyone, from the governor-general to the lowest seemingly insignificant official, was made to undergo a review of all their official acts—executive and judicial—at the end of their term of office. In some cases, they could also be brought to account during their term. This residencia is not to be confused with the “residence tax” or cedula.

After nine years of effective governance, Governor-General Sebastian Hurtado de Corcuera was subjected to the residencia by his successor, Diego Fajardo, in 1644. The ex-governor was fined P25,000 and was thrown in prison on trumped-up charges. Five years later, at the conclusion of his residencia, Corcuera’s fine was remitted and he was freed to assume the post of governor of the Canaries. If I had been in his shoes, I would not take up another government post again, but as consuelo de bobo, Fajardo was called to account for his treatment of Corcuera during his own residencia.

The first residencia conducted in the Philippines was for Governor-General Diego de Salcedo in 1670. There were a lot of issues about the different individuals trying the case, and the paperwork went on for five years after the death of Salcedo, who is best remembered today for the upscale Makati barangay that is home to a Saturday market.

I learned all these from an obscure work by Charles Cunningham, “The Audiencia in the Spanish colonies as illustrated by the Audiencia of Manilla,” which was first published in 1919 and which remains the standard source on the topic. Cunningham opens a whole chapter on the residencia by stating:

“The purpose of the residencia was to uphold the morale of the colonial service by making officials answer for all their acts in judicial examination held at the close of their terms. It may be said that the fear of the residencia was almost the sole incentive to righteous official conduct or efficient public service…”

If we change “colonial service” to “civil service” in that quotation, then we may yet have another answer to graft and corruption.

Aside from Cunningham, the historical introduction to the 55-volume compilation of documents by Blair and Robertson adds:

“The residencia … was an institution peculiar in modern times of the Spanish colonial system. It was designed to provide a method by which officials could be held to strict accountability for all acts during their term of office… To allow a contest in the courts involving the governor’s powers during his term of office would be subversive of his authority. He was then to be kept in bounds by realizing that a day of judgement was impending, when everyone, even the poorest Indian, might in perfect security bring forward his accusation. In the Philippines the residencia for a governor lasted six months and was conducted by his successor and all the charges were forwarded to Spain… The Italian traveler Gemelli Careri who visited Manila in 1696 characterizes the governor’s residencia as a ‘dreadful trial,’ the strain of which would sometimes ‘break their hearts.’”

The residencia could become a weapon of the vindictive, the petty and the malicious, and made governance difficult. Charges ranged from graft to immorality to inability to stop Moro raids or pursue the Dutch after a naval battle. Geronimo de Silva, a temporary governor, was imprisoned by the Audiencia in 1625 because he did not pursue the Dutch after they were defeated in battle in 1617. The case was instigated by a magistrate, who lost command of the military when De Silva assumed office.

In the hands of Filipinos the residencia would probably degenerate into an institutionalized form of revenge or harassment. Anything from the large to the petty from the real to the imagined could be taken up during a residencia, and, depending on who is administering it, the ex-government official was fined, imprisoned, or exiled. Sometimes the unfortunate fellow suffered all those punishments, his family and friends were reduced to poverty, and he was not allowed to appeal. Often, death during the residencia was the most merciful way out.

The residencia failed to be effective after the 18th century because it did not stem graft and corruption but sometimes multiplied it threefold. Because by then the advice for all government officials was to steal not once but thrice.

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