Photo credit: Chavit Singson
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omewhere
in the dense text of the 2007 Sandiganbayan
decision on the plunder case against the Philippine’s former President Joseph
“Erap” Estrada, one could find the term “+4.00.”
That
term “+4.00” was part of Luis “Chavit” Singson’s testimony. It meant 4 million
pesos and was of little consequence in comparison to the plundered amount of 4
billion pesos, more or less, for which Erap was charged. Chavit testified that
the amount of 4 million represented “kickback” that he gave to Erap out of the
20 million pesos which the Office of the President earlier released as grant to
the Province of Ilocos Sur, of which Chavit was Provincial Governor, for the
renovation of the provincial government’s capitol building.
But
being a student of human propensities in relation to the conduct of public
affairs such as those in government, I took note of it just the same; as well
as the circumstances under which the renovation project was supposedly
proposed, funded, and implemented.
Everyone
can do better
That
part of Chavit’s testimony reminded me of an instance in the past while working
for a local government unit (LGU) in the Visayas where the municipal mayor
shared with me an experience she (yes, a lady mayor) had with the Department of
Budget and Management (DBM). She said the Office of the President had earlier
approved the release of 10 million pesos for an infrastructure project in her
town. The problem was it took a while for the DBM to release the fund. No
amount of follow-up and nagging could seem to budge the people in charge of
moving the approved transaction to its desired conclusion. It turned out she
needed to part with an amount from her own pocket first—like a pawnshop that
deducts charges before issuing a loan—before her LGU could get the money.
I
would also learn that when an LGU prepares an engineering design for
infrastructure projects that are proposed to be funded externally—such as by
the national government or congressional funds—that design would normally be
worth in the range of 30 to 40 percent of the total amount of the fund approved
for any of those projects. Thus, when an LGU proposes, for example, an
infrastructure project worth 10 million, its design would be pegged for a
structure that is worth 3 to 4 million. This amount represents the remaining
available fund; it imputes deductions from the original amount whose
transaction trail navigated from one office to another and had been shaved off
at each step of the way.
While
the renovation work on the capitol of Ilocos Sur might have actually been worth
20 million pesos as proposed (the kickback was drawn from jueteng—an illegal numbers game—collections being kept by Chavit,
and not from the approved grant), Erap’s plunder case tended to show how
pervasive corruption in government has become. If LGU officials know that
people at the highest levels of government are taking advantage of their
positions to amass wealth, why would they not take part of the action, too? And
if everyone else in the community knows that their local officials—from the
Governor or Mayor, down to the clerks—are accepting bribes and helping
themselves with cuts from government expenditures, why would they not take
advantage of the prevailing norm, and advance their own interests as well?
Having
said all of that, I will hasten to add that I am also corrupt. In the past, I
consulted for some LGUs (preparing documents such as development plans and
feasibility studies, etc.) and for payments I received from them, I “happily”
parted with “SOP”[1]
for their key officials.
And
so here we are. The “everybody happy” syndrome spills all over the place.
Public education officials with hiring authority appoint applicants who pay
their way in for vacant teaching positions—small wonder then that some
of our teachers are not the most qualified to teach our children. Police
officials with hiring authority appoint applicants who pay their way in for
vacant positions in their units—small wonder then some police men
and policewomen cannot investigate criminal incidents, much less apprehend and
prosecute suspected criminals. Worse, cases of police people who are themselves
found to be involved in crimes—not as prosecutors but as persecutors —are not
uncommon.
We
trapped ourselves into an emptiness of culture where the worldview of an entire
race has turned upside down, and the notion of right over wrong may have been
thoroughly dashed. Our self-worth is suspect: To paraphrase Aprodicio “Prod”
Laquian, Erap’s “sira-ulo” of a Chief
of Staff, who said that “in a system of honor among thieves, if you are not a
thief, you don’t have any honor.”
In
highly urbanized areas, people see every day the various forms that social
dysfunctions have taken. Vendors clog the sidewalks with impunity. One day I
tripped an item, and the vendor scolded me, as if it was me who was causing
public disorder and initiating conflicts in the use of the sidewalk. On another
day I asked another vendor about how her livelihood was thriving, and she said
it was good. She made an average of 400 pesos per day, “net of 100 we pay City
Hall every day,” she added. She was in the business of selling buko.
In
another busy convergence area, a children’s toys vendor had a leaner volume of
sales, grossing about 200-300 pesos per day. “Do you pay tax?” I asked.
“From
20 to 50 pesos, every day,” she replied.
“To
City Hall?”
“The
collector says it’s for the Presinto.”
Whether
presinto would refer to a government office or not, a police precinct or
not, I did not deem it necessary to know. The point is, we’re all in this mess.
Indeed,
what can prevent officials of government, from the lowest to the highest
levels, from getting in the mud if dirt has become the fad, or if the
dysfunction has become global that nobody thinks there is any such a
dysfunction at all? What can prevent private citizens—from sidewalk vendors to
the business tycoons in the land—from appropriating for themselves a public
good like a portion of the city street as their own, or from mocking the law by
refusing to pay billions of pesos in taxes they owe the government?
Whatever
his motives might have been in exposing the naked majesty of the emperor—and
showing to us the rot at the highest levels of government which, like a
virulent drip that contaminates everything below it, explains why those at the
lower levels lack the moral courage to change the world, as it were—Chavit has
succeeded in shocking us out of our perverted sense of values. Because of
Chavit, we heard Erap, in a stunning show of defense for jueteng, say
something like: “Thousands depend on jueteng
for livelihood,” in reference to collectors at the community level.
Chavit
exposed a leader who could have been understood as endorser of gambling as a
life-long career. At the least, he took the cudgels of those who rendered
honest work in the service of gambling.
*****
I
wrote the foregoing preface in 2011, when I started compiling materials for
what I thought might amount to a book on the role of Chavit in Philippine
history. That book did not make its way to the print shop, however.
But
since 2001 (when the blockbuster of a show—Erap Estrada’s impeach-ment trial
which led to the fall of his regime and the rise of another--that of Gloria
Macapagal Arroyo) there have been equally compelling “shows” that featured
national figures.
This
prompted me to take another look at my draft.
I
felt that, 16 years later, the lessons of “that part” of Philippine history,
written largely by Chavit (and of course this includes other key witnesses,
such as Emma Lim and Clarissa Ocampo, Manuel Curato, among others), have yet to
be learned. Or maybe we did learn a thing or two from the Erap presidency,
except that at least two major scandals with the same story line (falling out
among former allies or friends because of what can be called as greed) had
rocked the national consciousness since then. These were:
1) The Senate
investigation of Vice President Jejomar “Jojo” Binay on corruption allegations
by a former ally, former Makati Vice Mayor Ernesto Mercado; and
2) Court cases against
Janet Lim Napoles and several high-ranking politicians also on grounds of
plunder allegations by a former business associate and relative.
That
said, I propose through this work the retelling of that part of Philippine
history where Chavit became the central figure, having drawn himself into the
eye of a political firestorm.
The
book has three major parts:
1) The context--how the Erap presidency created
conditions for the rise of shady deals between the government and his friends,
as in the case of Atong Ang and Pagcor, which eventually led to Chavit’s
dumping by Erap, and vice-versa.
2) The drama--this relives the days preceding Erap’s
impeachment, during the trial, and the mass protests that led to his
“resignation” and Gloria’s ascent to the presidency; and
3) The beginning--tracing young Chavit’s public life (as
elected official, policeman, businessman, etc.) in an attempt to find clues of
why he was up to the challenge, up--from his perspective--against seemingly
insurmountable odds, in open defiance against the most powerful person in the
land.
Two
full chapters have been devoted to some kind of a “blow-by-blow” account for
the 23 days it took the impeachment trial to close its curtains, which started
on 7 December 2000 and ended on 16 January 2001. One of the two chapters
carries verbatim the proceedings in open court featuring both the defense and
prosecution counsels, as well as the Senator-Judges.
Presumptuous
as it is, I think this work can offer pieces of information that students of
history, including those who do not understand Tagalog, may find useful.
Thus, at some point when the reader comes across pages with texts in Tagalog,
English translations will be offered. (There are none in some instances,
however; for this defect, please accept my apologies. Furthermore, there may be
translations that may seem to be less than accurate; let me then assign them a
general footnote that relegates them as part of the limitations of this book.
More apologies, please.)
Another
point: the book freely uses known nicknames of people mentioned in it,
prominent of which being those of Luis Singson, which is Chavit, and Joseph
Estrada, which is Erap. This, I believe, is not only in keeping with the
Filipinos’ fondness for nicknames, but more importantly as a way of showing to
all that, regardless of what had been said and done, we remain connected in the
brotherhood of men.
The
ultimate objective of this book is to promote self-awareness and encourage
introspection; that one may take the lessons it offers as his or her own; that
a culturally refined individuals among generations of Filipinos would stand up
and be counted; that each one would constitute as essential building block for
the rise of a greater Filipino nation.
In
conclusion
This
book essays the role of Chavit Singson in a series of events that led to the
impeachment and trial of Estrada in the latter part of 2000 and early part of
2001.
It
also relives the political tensions and drama brought about by the first-ever
impeachment trial in the Philippines. In a way, the whole story summarizes the
confluence of events that changed the course of Philippine history.
Acknowledgement
I thank Gov. Chavit Singson for granting me
two interview sessions, first in 2016, and then in 2017. These interviews were the
key source of first-hand information upon which all the other materials cited
in this book were inter-linked.
I wish
to thank many people for helping me finish writing this book. Atty. Lutgardo
“Lutz” B. Barbo, who was Secretary of the Philippine Senate during the
impeachment trial of then President Joseph “Erap” Estrada, has been kind to
review the draft and generous in sharing with me his comments. Through
interviews, Former Ilocos Sur Governor Luis “Chavit” Singson, has been I
requested an interview with a few potential sources of information for this
work, such as former Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim, Senator Jinggoy Estrada, Former
President Joseph Estrada, Congressmen Luis Asistio and Vincent Crisologo,
Senator Edgardo Angara, among others, but for various reasons they declined. I
nevertheless thank those who acknowledged my requests.
[1] SOP is slang for payoff; in its literal
use, SOP stands for Standard Operating Procedure. In this sense, one may say
that payoffs in government have become the norm, the established standard by
which people conduct business with government.
