“A journalist must risk his life for a cause and the truth”
TO BE sued for libel, for a journalist, is a normal risk.
In my career for instance, I have been accused of libel seven times and have been threatened to be sued 17 times.
I apologized for some of them because of my recklessness and carelessness and went to court for some of them and I was acquitted.
But the most dangerous peril of a journalist is when he is threatened to be shot and this often happens when a journalist fights for a cause or writes for the truth.
I am sure my bosom friend, Johnny Dayang, who was shot at his house at Kalibo, Aklan was fighting for a cause, Santa Banana!
That’s the usual risk and peril for a journalist. I had received in my seven decades as a journalist threats to my life but thank heavens despite my exposes and efforts to write the truth I have never been shot at.
But I must recall the time when I was kidnapped because I had exposed graft and corruption in an institution, the Central Bank of the Philippines Monetary Board.
Santa Banana, I exposed three members of the Monetary Board, not only for securing quota allocations to benefit their favored, and even their own businesses, but also for playing the stock market, a clear conflict of interest before insider trading became a crime.
This led to a congressional investigation for them and death threats for me. I did not tell my wife about the threats. I just dismissed them because I believed people who really meant to terminate journalists would not go around announcing their intentions beforehand.
Then one night, just as I was emerging from the Herald office to head for home, two burly men appeared on either side of me, poked gun barrels into both sides of my torso, and ordered me to board a waiting car.
I obeyed, and the car sped off.
It all happened so fast that our office security guard, who I had walked past only seconds before the gunmen flanked me, didn’t notice a thing.
I was taken to a suite on the top floor of the old Hotel Filipinas, at the corner of Roxas Boulevard and Padre Faura. There, a fat man sat waiting, smoking a cigar. I thought that he looked familiar, but I kept my mouth shut.
The fat man, in contrast, had no such reticence. “You are still a young man, “ he told me, in the vernacular, “and I would hate it if something happened to you.”
“I would hate that, too.” I thought, but did not say it out loud.
“My friend (he identified the person)” he continued, naming one of the Monetary Board members I had exposed, “does not know that I am doing this, but I would just like you to write his side.”
Well. that restored my vocal chords somewhat, since I had undergone such a situation before, at the beginning of my career in Cotabato.
I had not only survived that, but I felt, learned and grown a lot from the experience. So I was able to respond, “Yes, sir, of course I will.”
The man left the room, telling me to wait, which I did , for what turned out to be hours. The men watching over me fed me and told me to get some sleep.
I tried, but I could not.
First, I was too anxious about my poor wife, who must have been so worried, since it was past midnight, with no word from me.
Second, I was still quite scared for myself, as I had recognized the fat man as a mobster from Cavite, who was said to have killed someone.
But at six in the morning, there was a knock on the door, and I was handed an envelope, which contained a press release for the Monetary Board member in question. I was then released and hurried home.
I called my brother Willie and told him what happened. He took me to see then President Ramon Magsaysay.
Once I had explained everything to the President, he asked me if I could name three individuals who could replace the three Monetary Board members I had exposed.
I recommended Col. Jaime Velasquez, UP Professor Vicente Sinco, and Agriculture Secretary Amado Dalisay, all known for their independence of mind, probity and integrity.
Then President Magsaysay summoned his secretary to have those men appointed to the Monetary Board immediately.
My kidnapping was a big lesson for me as a journalist, knowing that a journalist must risk his life for a cause and the truth, Santa Banana!
In the end, I guess it was worth it, because I did win the Stanvac Journalism Award, which hangs on the wall in my den.