Vignettes from the Past—Salvador “Doy” Laurel

“One has to wait for the darkness of the night”, uttered one Chinese philosopher of yore, “to realize how splendid the day has been!” Gazing at the political circus heading to the 2016 elections where windbags, wimps and thieves dominate the show, a huge question mark looms over the political horizon: Where are the grandees of the yesteryear? Sadly, they are no longer around because great leaders, like it or not, come in a torrent or they don't come at all.

Today you look around you simply want to puke in utter disgust. Many of our politicos at present do not have what it takes to be leaders. All they have going for them is that they are popular and they are very good at casting voodoo spell on the masses.

But times have changed. Gone are the days when political leaders possessed the kind of integrity that could mount on granite; leaders of vision and substance, men who cared, men who would readily give up their ambitions, even their lives for the country.

Speaking of great leaders, November 18 marks the 87th birth anniversary of one of the inimitable statesmen of the golden days, the chivalrous Batangueño gentleman Salvador “Doy” Laurel, who was Vice President of the Philippines from 1986 to 1992. But before his iconic display of selflessness in 1985 when he gave up his presidential ambition to unite a divided opposition at the senescent of the Marcos regime, Doy Laurel too graced the gilded halls of the Senate in 1968. This was a time, that glorious moment in our political history when the crass of materialism and opportunism had not yet taken over the nobility of public office. Doy Laurel, a first-timer in politics, trudged by and distinguished himself on a par with the political giants of his time such as Lorenzo Tanada, Jose W. Diokno, Emmanuel Pelaez, Arturo Tolentino, Jovito Salonga, Ambrosio Padilla, and many others who were almost as brilliant and prodigious.

Novice with a cause –social justice

While politicos of today are propelled to public office despite the lack of outstanding academic achievement, appreciable experience or any earth-shaking contribution to society, leaders of the old could jerk your jaw in any direction with their impeccable pedigree. And the same is true with the young barrister, Doy Laurel, when he plunged into politics in the late sixties.

Capped with a law degree from UP and a doctoral degree from Yale University, Doy was a renaissance man who showed a social conscience at the outset of his public life, quite rare for politicians of his stature (if any) these days. For his groundbreaking free legal aid work which greatly benefited the poor and the unwanted, Doy crashed the headlines and earned the cognomen of “Mr. Public Defender.” Soon came the founding of the Citizen’s Legal Aid Society of the Philippines or CLASP, which later on became a nationwide organization of legal aid lawyers, the first of its kind in the country– the mother of what we now call the Public Attorney’s Office (PAO).

Still and all, Doy had the gnawing realization that even though the poor could get a lawyer’s services for free, the law itself did not help them enough to afford the high cost of justice. It was then that Doy Laurel switched his talent and decided to run for the Senate.

On the stump, Doy, a known orator even in his UP days, aroused the crowd with effortless ease: “Let me carry on this crusade for justice in the halls of the Senate! Help me bring down the high cost of justice! Help bring justice within the reach of the poor.”

Such was his battle cry, the ‘cause’ that catapulted Doy to the Senate. Again, this was the 1967 Senatorial Elections when contenders for public office were men of eloquence, ideas and dedication to the cause of the people.

Benjamin of the Senate

From the very start, despite being an administration candidate, Doy Laurel emerged as an independent senator of the realm because he adhered to no party line, not even his own party’s. To set off the mood, Doy rose in the session hall to make his maiden speech entitled “Crisis of Confidence,” a soaring indictment asking all government officials to “change or be changed” or else reap the “gathering whirlwind” of the people’s wrath. The people around Ferdinand Marcos were stunned, as was the president. But Marcos held his peace and it was Imelda, ever the precocious First Lady, who said: “I told you so, I warned you that fellow would be troublesome.”

Once in the Senate, Doy focused on all kinds of reforms– penal, judicial and land reform, even government reorganization. But the one closest to his heart was his cause, the fight for social justice. In keeping with his campaign promises, Doy authored bills that would eventually be enacted into laws popularly known as “Justice for the Poor Laws,” or simply “Laurel Laws.” For the next three years of his term, Doy Laurel was consistently awarded “Most Outstanding Senator of the Year” by the press. Then the unthinkable happened. Martial law was declared and Congress was shut down.

Wishful thinking?

With the passage of time, Salvador “Doy” Laurel stands taller still in the Pantheon of Filipino leaders. And now that the election is nearing, I envy our elders because they get to live during the times of the immortals. I pity that the youth today can no longer or even dare to look back when public office homed the most capable and willing. Amidst our candidates’ crisis in qualification and character, we willingly fall into pit hole full of self-proclaimed thieves and berdugos, messianic foundlings, poor and weakling copycats of their political parents and grandparents and opportunistic family dynasties out of sheer desperation. But we should despair not because the power to change lies on that ballot.

Ah, if only this nation can unite following a fictional romantic noontime series on the idiot box, then maybe we can also have that time to examine and follow the next set of leaders we will elect on 2016.

Photos courtesy of Raffy Sanz, Salvador H. Laurel Archive

NB: On the occasion of Dr. Salvador H. Laurel’s birthday on November 18, the website doylaurel.ph has been re-launched to commemorate his life, his advocacies, his faith in our people, his love for the country and his great belief in the Filipino youth.

Salvador H. Laurel—“Mr. Public Defender” (Part 2)

Sworn to serve the poor

The trial by publicity surrounding the celebrated Laurel-Silva case must have turned the tide of Atty. Laurel’s promising and blissful career. His lifelong advocacy began with a phone call from Bulacan Represenative Teodulo Natividad who—mired in congressional inquiry of police brutalities—was torn one morning by the plight of a young couple who were mauled by Parañaque policemen. “Please,” he implored Atty. Laurel, “take the case for the prosecution.” Feeling that every word was exiting in crutches, Atty. Laurel accepted the case for free. By sheer happenstance, however, word leaked out to a newspaperman, who used the item for his staid column.

The same morning that the story came out, Atty. Laurel received another phone call— this time from Justice Roman Ozaeta, president of the Philippine Bar Association (PBA). “Allow us to help you,” said Justice Ozaeta to the young barrister. “Let the prosecution of erring policemen be a public service of our group.” By some extraordinary act of fate, Atty. Laurel once again, said yes.

As Atty. Laurel’s popularity began to soar, he later found himself swamped with a dozen of similar cases referred by the PBA involving pauper litigants. At times, penniless clients went directly to him, begging for free legal assistance. Suddenly, he was very much involved with legal aid. And the more he plunged himself into the plight of the poor the sooner he realized that many people suffered in silence because they could not afford the services of a lawyer. He promised to do something about it. But he needed all the help he could get. Atty. Laurel then visited Justice Ozaeta to raise his concerns. There he suggested the formation of a legal aid committee composed of lawyers who must not only be brilliant, but one with guts, and must be non-political. From thence, the Citizens Legal Assistance Committee (CLAC) was born.

In accepting the chairmanship of the PBA anti-crime body, Atty. Laurel said thusly, “I shall do my best.” Early on, one could already predict that the young Laurel had the imprint of an exceptional leader just like his idol, the illustrious wartime president and former (acting) chief justice of the Philippine Supreme Court, Jose P. Laurel. He also showed social conscience, quite rare for a man of his stature and prestige. But no matter how resolute he was at that time, he needed still a helping hand from his fellow civic-minded compañeros in order to push his advocacy: “It is high time that we in the legal profession should stand up as a man and fight criminality in all forms, especially crimes committed on helpless citizens by those in the police forces,” Atty. Laurel seethed.

In a matter of weeks after the nascent of CLAC, the Laurel Law Office in Intramuros had been inundated with hundreds of request for free legal assistance. There is, however, one remarkable case among the pile of cases referred to CLAC that had societal implications even to this day: the case of Parisio Tayag. This case, by all accounts, had truly put CLAC on the map at a time when the bogey of police brutality was very much in the saddle. Again, our protagonist Atty. Laurel personally handled the case from womb to tomb.

Murder in Dinalupihan

Parisio Tayag was a destitute man working as a bus driver in Dinalupihan, Bataan. One day, as he was driving along barrio Luacan of said town, his bus bumped into a passenger jeepney, causing a small dent on in its rear fender. The town policeman, no less than Dinalupihan’s chief of police who also happens to be a close friend of the jeepney owner, came to investigate the incident. After a cursory look at the jeepney’s railing, he demanded a paltry sum of three hundred pesos from Tayag, allegedly for the repair of his friend’s vehicle. Tayag, unmoved, told the policeman that he was not at fault and that the jeepney driver did not even have a license to start with. He then instead offered everything he had in his pocket: ten pesos. One word led to another and in a heated exchange that seemed unending for a time, the policeman finally relented and returned his license without cost —or so he thought.

Two days later, at around five o’clock in the afternoon, Tayag was seen running for his life as he raced away from the municipal building towards the town plaza. Apparently, earlier that day, Tayag went to Dinalupihan municipal hall to find out for sure whether his case was really settled. Due to something only those present inside the hall could fully attest, Tayag was then seen drawing his “balisong” against the police chief who also aimed his gun back at him. Moments later, hot in pursuit were six policemen. Then, a volley of shots rang out. When the arsenal smoke finally settled, Tayag was seen lifeless: two bullets from police guns pierced his legs; another two bullets entered his back, traversed his lungs and the heart, and exited from the middle portion of Tayag’s breast.

Strangely enough, the drama did not end there. Lucila, the victim’s widow, had to endure everything she witnessed on that fateful day. In one snap of grief, Lucila, the young mother of six, lost her mind and the baby she was carrying in her womb. She was eventually admitted to a mental hospital leaving her children under the care of their grandparents.

Atty. Salvador Laurel, representing CLAC, took up the cudgels for Tayag’s orphaned children and rendered his services as a private prosecutor. He went all the way to Balanga, Bataan to personally handle the case from preliminary investigation up to the trial. Atty. Laurel vividly recounted the highlights of this case:

I was counsel for the offended party; the Tayag children, orphaned when their father was killed, and the mother went mad. I argued that there was no need to gun Tayag down. Six policemen could have easily cornered one man. The trial was news because CLAC had come to the aid of five orphans who would otherwise have been helpless in securing justice. I appeared personally at the trial; the six policemen were convicted. The case was given prominence in the Free Press Magazine and more people heard of CLAC.

As it was, the court convicted the six policemen—‘sworn guardians of the law’—for murder.

From CLAC to CLASP

The Parisio Tayag case gained prominence through the media, and more people took notice what CLAC had been doing through the years. Soon CLAC saw the imperative of organizing a bigger legal aid team as more cases poured in that needed free legal assistance. CLAC originally started with only ten lawyers: Crispin Baizas, Jose Y. Feria, Juan T. David, Gonzalo W. Gonzalez, Juan Luces Luna, J. Antonio Araneta Alberto M. K. Jamir, Francisco Ortigas Jr., Angel C. Cruz and Salvador H. Laurel. Albeit they were among the brightest and courageous breed of lawyers in the legal profession, CLAC did not simply have the wherewithal to handle hundreds of cases piled up on its table. Nor could they have possibly foreseen the impact of their advocacy in the Philippine justice system. Atty. Salvador H. Laurel recalled:

I found out that 94% of the cases filed by poor people in the fiscal’s office were dismissed because the complainants could not afford a lawyer. Imagine, 94%! The complaints of the poor against criminal abuse were mostly thrown out for lack of counsel. That was an explosive situation! It affected me a lot. I was appalled!

Finally, owing to the gravity of the problem, Atty. Laurel saw the need to expand CLAC into a nationwide network of legal aid lawyers. I Informed Justice Ozaeta that what we were accomplishing in the CLAC was just a tiny trickle compared to the magnitude of the problem. What we saw was just the tip of the iceberg. It was a huge problem because it was nationwide. I urge Justice Ozaeta to let me organize CLAC to make it nationwide, and he consented.

The result was the 1967 rebirth of the country’s premiere legal aid organization; from CLAC, the group metamorphosed into a non-stock, non-profit corporation known as Citizens’ Legal Aid Society of the Philippines or CLASP. Inspired by Atty. Laurel’s deep-seated commitment with free legal aid, more volunteer lawyers throughout the country joined CLASP in its quest for justice for the poor. By the end of the first year (1966-1967), CLASP had 52 chapters with 750 lawyers under its wing; marking a prodigious output in the history of the organization. Consequently, other legal aid organizations in the country surfaced after CLASP, especially during the dark days of martial rule, but for the record, CLASP was the first. “If every lawyer in the country would only handle one case for an aggrieved litigant, “lamented Doy Laurel in one of his speeches, “that would go a long way in restoring the faith of the poor in the administration of justice.”

Soon there was a nationwide clamor urging Atty. Laurel to bring the cause of justice to the halls of Congress. Indeed, new laws were needed to provide free legal aid to the poor. Atty. Laurel got elected to the Senate under CLASP’s platform—justice for the poor and the oppressed— garnering the third highest number of votes in the 1967 senatorial elections. A decade later, his efforts were greatly rewarded when the International Legal Aid Association (ILLA) capped him as the Most Outstanding Legal Aid Lawyer of the World for 1976. Cited was his pioneering work in legal aid as Chairman of CLASP and his having authored five (5) “Justice for the Poor Laws” or simply, the Laurel Laws, while in the Senate.

And the rest, as the cliche goes, is history.

Sources:

Joaquin, Nick. Doy Laurel In Profile. Lahi, Inc. 2012

Berbano, Teodoro. “The CLAC in Action”. Graphic. June 14, 1967

“CLAC Winds Up Inquiry Into Driver’s Slaying”. The Manila Chronicle. June 1, 1967

Asa, Leon L., “Remembering the Late Former Vice President Dr. Salvador “Doy” H. Laurel”. The Lawyer’s Review. March 31, 2004

Interview:

Arrieta, Abundio, Marbella, Winston, Monico, Jacob, Oliveros, Jose. Interview by the author, electronic recording, Makati. Philippines. September 2014

Photo credit: Salvador H. Laurel archive

Salvador H. Laurel— "Mr.Public Defender" (1)

In a litigious culture such as ours, lawyers are often seen as the repository of wit and intellect. But in most cases, this notion appears to be false. Today, courtrooms are plagued with a good number of half-witted tawdry attorneys lurking around the halls of justice, preying on clients for alms. What is so frustrating is the fact that most of these grammatically unsound lawyers belong to the public defender’s office of the government. Yes, they are tasked to handle cases of non-paying clients, or what we call “pauper litigants.” Most of these cases involve criminal abuses that are eventually thrown out either for lack of counsel or in a situation where the indigent is the accused─ imprisoned because of ineffective counsel. But there are exceptions of course: dedicated public servants who committed themselves early on to help the poor, those who could not afford the services of a lawyer.

Atty. Salvador H. Laurel —highly educated with a law degree from the University of the Philippines (UP) and a doctoral degree from Yale University —was no ordinary lawyer in the sixties. He had already an established reputation as a trial lawyer before he was fished out of his lucrative corporate practice. Over time Atty. Laurel had lived up to his lawyer’s oath and become the leading public defender of his day. Not too long, renowned columnist Emil P. Jurado hailed him as “Mr. Public Defender,” a moniker he earned for his undying advocacy to help poor litigants in their fight for justice.

Implicit in the due process clause of the Bill of Rights─ the right to be heard─ is “the right to counsel.” In hindsight, Atty. Salvador H. Laurel’s quiescent legacy best exemplifies what the Constitution really means when it elevated “the right to counsel” in the hierarchy of constitutional rights─ zealous legal protection sans pecuniary considerations.

The Banjo Laurel case

His first taste of the limelight as a lawyer came during the celebrated “Laurel-Silva” trial in the mid-60s. It was said that this celebrated case held the public and the print media in captivity for nineteen (19) consecutive days. The uproar of the vicious throng inflamed by the media then could be attributed to the fact that this was no ordinary crime for it involved the scion of one of most respectable political clan in the country— the Laurels of Batangas.

On trial was Atty. Laurel’s nephew, Jaime “Banjo” Laurel, son of Speaker Jose B. Laurel. The case stemmed from a woman named Erlinda Gallegos-Laurel whose lifeless body was found in her apartment riddled with gunshot wounds. Slumped over her was Amado Silva─ her lover─ also with a gunshot wound on his temple. Initially, the findings of the police investigation ruled that it was a clear case of a “murder-suicide”: the victim Erlinda Laurel was shot to death by Amando Silva, who in turn fired the gun on himself. Case closed? Not quite, because a month later, another team of police investigators took over the case and submitted a different report. This time, the crime had morphed into a case of “murder-parricide” and the alleged perpetrator of the crime was no other than victim’s estranged husband, Banjo Laurel.

Atty. Laurel handled the case through and through; from the preliminary investigation up to the trial. When the case was brought to court, it landed on the lap of Judge Jesus P. Morfe of the Court of First Instance (now Regional Trial Court) Manila—a well-known stern magistrate and a true man of law. At the courtroom, a crowd of spectators and news reporters gathered to witness the big event during the first stages of the trial. Though the case dragged on for almost two years, the public remained fascinated until its end.

The Star Brightens

It can be said that the limelight accorded to the “Laurel-Silva”case was largely because of the sterling performance of defense’s lead counsel. The impeccably dressed barrister who consistently won the room was unquestionably, a rising star in the legal profession. Armed with his innate articulate audacity, Atty. Laurel shattered the prosecution’s case that accused Banjo Laurel was behind the crime. Piece by piece, Atty. Laurel pointed out the glaring contradictions of the prosecution’s witnesses. His preparation for the case was astounding. Determined to prove that the prosecution’s evidence were fabricated, he meticulously poured over voluminous pages of documentary evidence along with the testimonies of 28 witnesses and 66 exhibits. Finally, the chicken has come home to roost. After a detailed examination of the expert witness (from the National Bureau of Investigation) by the defense, it was later revealed that the blood-stained bullet imbedded in the ceiling of the crime scene was consistent with the trajectory found in the head of Amando Silva. Simply stated, the physical evidence also proved that based on the relative positions of the bodies of the victims, it would be contrary to evidence to rule out murder-suicide as the nature of the crime.

The incontrovertible physical evidence alone showing a clear case of murder-suicide could have already won plaudit for the young inquisitor. Certainly, physical evidence is regarded as conclusive and the strongest evidence in a criminal trial because for one─ it simply cannot lie. But the lead defense counsel went further. During one of the grueling cross-examinations, Atty. Laurel proceeded to attack the testimonial confession of the prosecution’s principal witness. In what could be considered as the denouement of the trial was Atty. Laurel’s probing questions to the prosecution’s principal witness. It was a feat when the young barrister shook the perplexed witness on the stand, forcing him to retract his confession in open court. Worse, the witness even admitted in “sickening detail” how he was coerced and tortured by police investigators; how he was forced to lie.

With the prosecution’s case dashed to pieces, Atty. Laurel’s legal prowess had ultimately sealed the case in favor of the accused. The trial court eventually acquitted Banjo Laurel and his co-defendant.

To be continued...

The Story of Primitivo "Tibo" Mijares (Part2)

Rendezvous with history

Mijares started off on the right foot upon his arrival in San Francisco. There, he secretly contacted the Philippine News editor Alex Esclamado and told him about his forthcoming defection from the Marcos government. In a matter of time, anti-Marcos activist Steve Psinakis joined the fray, and together they outlined a plan in preparation for Mijares’ explosive somersault. On February 20, 1975, Mijares finally made his rendezvous with history. He announced, through a press conference in San Francisco, that he was renouncing his former way of life, and that he was formally defecting from the martial law regime of the ruling duumvirate. The “conjugal dictators” got further kicking when Mijares castigated Marcos and pointedly explained how he planned the imposition of martial law because he never intended to relinquish power since day one. Naturally the American press loved such tales. And from there, Mijares’ story blew out of the water. The buck would have stopped there, but as it was, Mijares got an invitation to appear as star witness for the Congressional House International Relations subcommittee chaired by Congressman Donald Fraser (D-Minn.). This move sealed Mijares’ fate.

Malacanang was rattled. Obviously, this one-time press censor chief knew too much, and so Marcos’ thugs frantically sought to prevent his appearance before the U.S. Congress. At that time, the Movement for Free Philippines (MFP) headed by Raul Manglapus was lobbying against U.S. economic and military assistance to the Philippines. By allowing Mijares to testify on the human rights violations and other abuses would result in a reduction of American support for the dictatorship. The cover-up was now in full swing.

First bribe attempt

Based on Mijares’ affidavit, as recounted in his book Conjugal Dictatorship, a phone conversation detailing the first bribe offer allegedly took place on the night of June 16, 1975, a day before his scheduled appearance in the Fraser committee. By then, he was already in a downtown motel somewhere in Washington when he received the call from Manila. Surprisingly, on the other end of the line was his good friend Secretary Guillermo De Vega. By Mijares’ account, here’s what happened.

SECRETARY DE VEGA: “Tibo, gusto kang makausap ni Sir.”

PRESIDENT MARCOS: “Tibo, puede bang huwag ka ng sumipot sa Komiteng yan? Alam mo, marami na tayong prublema dito. Baka madagdagan mo pa. Mabuti pa at bumalik ka na agad sa San Francisco.

MIJARES: “But sir, there is no way I can back out now. I have already placed myself under the jurisdiction of the Subcommittee.”

PRESIDENT MARCOS: “Here is Gimo (Secretary De Vega) and he has something to tell you.” (Then transferring the telephone to Secretary De Vega.)

SECRETARY DE VEGA: “Tibo, bumatsi ka na dyan and Trining will arrange for you ‘cinquenta’ in San Francisco.”

MIJARES: “Mogs, (a nickname I use in addressing Secretary De Vega) hindi na puede. Nasabi ko na sa Komite na nandito na ako sa Washington. I have to testify.

SECRETARY DE VEGA: “Yung figure ay libo. And you will get another Fifty when you leave the United States. Since you may not want to come home to Manila, you may want to go to Australia to be with your sister. Will send you another Fifty upon your arrival there.

MIJARES: “Salamat na lang, Mogs. Pero inde kita puedeng mapagbigyan.

SECRETARY DE VEGA: I will not accept your negative answer now. Pagaralan mong mabuti iyan, Tibo. You know very well that, if you testify that would mean a Declaration of War on your part against us here.” (Italics mine)

MIJARES: “I realize that, and you can be sure I will act accordingly, Goodbye, Doc.”

SECRETARY DE VEGA: “Sigue na, Tibo. Take care of yourself. Trining (Ambassador Trinidad Alconel) will contact you.

As the story goes, the “cinquenta” had already been deposited in a San Francisco branch of Lloyds bank of California in the names of Mijares and Ambassador Trinidad “Trining” Alconel, Philippines’ consul general in San Francisco. To ensure that Mijares could not withdraw the money on his own, Alconel instead opened a joint account in their names.

The next day, two hours before he took the witness chair, Mijares received another call from Alconel imploring him not to testify and that the money would be on hand in San Francisco. But Marcos’ former confidant stood firm, and declined the offer.

Appointment with history

Mijares didn’t have to spell it out: he had the ammunitions to destroy Marcos. “Let me trace the origin and pattern of this new tyranny in Asia,” Mijares told the panel in his opening remarks on the day of his appearance before the Fraser committee. In Sterling Seagrave’s well-documented book titled, “The Marcos Dynasty,” (1988), Mijares was said to have emitted a torrent of scorching words against Mr. Marcos and his New Society during the hearing, to wit:

…the reasons used by Marcos in imposing martial law were deliberately manufactured…with a series of deliberately contrived crises…Marcos made the people lapse into a state of paralysis…Then he wove a labored tale of national horror which eventually enshrined as a gospel of truth in the martial law proclamation…Marcos plotted to place his country under martial law as early as 1966, having decided then that he would win a reelection in 1969 “at all cost.”

…Having proclaimed martial law, he proceeded to bribe, coerce, and/or intimidate the Constitutional Convention members into drafting a new charter dictated by him.
A dictatorial regime as it is, the martial law government of Marcos has become all the more oppressive and corrupt in view of the meddling of his wife who has turned martial regime into a conjugal dictatorship.

Aside from plundering an entire nation, the conjugal dictatorship is likewise misappropriating the various items of U.S. assistance (military, economic, cultural, etc.) to the Philippines to entrench itself in power and for personal glorification.

Second bribe attempt

Reaching the point of no return after hitting the spotlight, Mijares filed a formal request with the U.S. government for political asylum. With all this going on, Mijares kept his lines ostensibly open for more negotiations with Malacanang. Just hours after he testified in the Fraser committee, another call came in: the hush money had just been doubled. He then placed a call to Malacanang to confirm about it— directly from the horse’s mouth. Gimo de Vega confirmed the $100,000 bribe only if Mijares would recant his testimony and not to publish the book he was writing. “Look Gimo,” Mijares said after the usual pleasantries, “I am willing to leave the United States and stop publication of the book, but the $100,000 offer is not worth it. I expect to make more than that just from the publication of my book. I am willing to accept $250, 000.” Unknown to De Vega, the whole thing was a set up. Much earlier, Mijares and Psinakis sought the help of a journalist from Washington and told him that they wanted someone, a credible independent party, to witness the conversation. And so a California lawyer was sent in to join them. Unfortunately, Marcos was “indisposed” at that time, and it was De Vega who dealt with them. “I am sorry, Tibo. I am not authorized to go above $100, 00. I must take this up again with the President. Only he can authorize a higher payment,” De Vega ruefully replied. (By way of postscript, Secretary Guillermo De Vega would later end up dead right in his Malacanang office under some mysterious circumstances.)

The second bribe attempt was exposed by famed Washington reporter Jack Anderson in an article that was released on July 14, 1975 in the San Francisco Chronicle.

Marcos came out with guns blazing. He denied the charge. Discrediting Mijares’ reputation, of course, was easy. It was no secret that Mijares left a trail of petty extortions, bounced checks and bad debts wherever he went. And so to limit the damage, rumors began to circulate, among others, that he absconded with government funds (which he did by the way) and that he was paid $150, 000 by the Lopezes to join the anti-Marcos exiles.
Meanwhile on April 27, 1976, the much-awaited book “The Conjugal Dictatorship of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos” was released in the United States. But the book, according to Seagrave, never saw the light of day as it was systematically plundered on every bookstore and public institution in the United States, including the Library of Congress. Nonetheless, apart from Mijares’ damaging testimony, Conjugal Dictatorship spawned another great deal of embarrassment to the Marcos regime. This was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Eight months later Primitivo Mijares disappeared —never to be heard from again.

Desaparecido

Mijares was reportedly last seen at the San Francisco Airport on January 7, 1977, in the company of a certain Querubin Macalintal, a confirmed intelligence agent of the Philippine government. A story is oft-told that he had boarded a plane in San Francisco and was probably thrown into the Pacific Ocean since no witnesses could attest that he disembarked in Honolulu. But for Reuben Canoy, author of “The Counterfeit Revolution: Martial Law in the Philippines” (1990), such rumors are unfounded, for disposing a man aboard a jet liner mid-air, he said, cannot possibly be done without being noticed by crew or passengers. And so what happened to Primitivo “Tibo” Mijares? It is widely believed, however, that he landed in the Philippines and was subsequently murdered by Marcos agents to prevent the conclusion of the investigation.

After so many years, Steve Psinakis, one of the witnesses of the second bribe attempt, and author of “A Country Not Even His Own” (2008) painstakingly pieced the puzzle on Mijares’ eventual disappearance. Although he was cock sure that Marcos masterminded the cover-up, Psinakis did not discount the possibility that all along Mijares was playing both sides against the middle. In his memoirs, Psinakis wrote: “The investigation (referring to the U.S. Justice Department investigation) also revealed that after his February 1975 defection, Mijares did, in fact extort money from Marcos by feeding him imaginary information for which Marcos was ignorant enough to pay considerable sums. While Mijares was still receiving money from Marcos, he was at the same time lambasting Marcos in the U.S. press, causing the Marcos regime irreparable damage. It is no wonder the only natural conclusion is that Marcos had his vengeance and did Mijares in.”

All told, was Primitivo Mijares a credible whistleblower? “The point that should be grasped is not whether I am a good or bad man, but whether I tell the truth about the martial law regime in the Philippines.” Those are the precocious words of Tibo Mijares, not mine. Warts and all, the book Conjugal Dictatorship has left us too many gaps to be compelling. Maybe—just maybe— all the details that Mijares recounts are true but there is a larger truth left unsaid somewhere in the pages of Conjugal Dictatorship and that, we have to unfold.