Conscience: A Fight for Truth
By Kristin Raval (as narrated by her father, lawyer Demaree J.B. Raval)
By Kristin Raval (as narrated by her father, lawyer Demaree J.B. Raval)
Part 1: January 26, 2004
Remmel Talabis, Vicelyn Tarin and Emman Llamera are three ordinary public servants - hardworking, honest, lowly-paid but uncomplaining.
They work at the National Archives Office (Archives) as storekeeper, records management analyst and date encoder, respectively - part of a workforce that one would hardly give notice to because they almost blend with the furniture.
But their revelations at the hearing of the Senate committee on Constitutional Amendments, Revision of Codes and Laws, headed by Sen. Edgardo Angara, had practically earned for them titles as the new heroes of truth.
Before another effort to tamper with the truth is hatched and exposed, Remmel, Vicelyn and Emman shall always be remembered as saviors of this country hankering for the election of a hero who shall give it a lift from poverty, despair, hopelessness and chicanery.
After all, the truth everybody talked about in whispers, from Perea to Azcarraga, for fear of reprisals from those who stagemanaged the slurs on the legitimacy and citizenship of presidential candidate Fernando Poe, Jr., were exposed by the three Archives employees.
The finest of plans has always been spoiled by the littleness of them that should carry them out. Even pharaohs and emperors can't do it all by themselves - they had to rely on subordinates.
This is exactly what happened to the unmasking of Ricardo Manapat, who, as of Thursday last week, was still the director of the National Archives Office.
This is exactly what happened to the unmasking of Ricardo Manapat, who, as of Thursday last week, was still the director of the National Archives Office.
Manapat thought he had it all neatly figured out: "Discovering" all by himself - from the tangle of microfilm rolls in the Archives - the existence of documents that would give a lie to the claim that Poe is not a natural-born Filipino citizen.
On January 19, at the jampacked hearing in the Commission on Elections (Comelec) office in Intramuros, Manila, Manapat gave the performance of his life, perhaps the last one he would ever give. There, he presented photocopies of documents he certified as: (1) a true copy of the
marriage contract between Allan Fernando Poe and one Paulita Gomez, allegedly officiated in 1936 by a certain priest, Modesto Mata, O.P.; (2) a copy of the birth certificate of Allan Fernando Poe who was born in San Carlos, Pangasinan on May 17, 1915; and (3) copies of the bigamy charge filed by one Paulita Gomez against Allan Fernando Poe in 1939.
marriage contract between Allan Fernando Poe and one Paulita Gomez, allegedly officiated in 1936 by a certain priest, Modesto Mata, O.P.; (2) a copy of the birth certificate of Allan Fernando Poe who was born in San Carlos, Pangasinan on May 17, 1915; and (3) copies of the bigamy charge filed by one Paulita Gomez against Allan Fernando Poe in 1939.
Manapat's ascerbic language, arrogant demeanor and his lack of respect for members of the Comelec and the venerable lawyer Estelito Mendoza who cross-examined him, were revolting for one who carried evidence to prove that what Manapat claimed to exist in fact did not exist, but existed only in a spliced microfilm.
Good heavens! I was ready to show him that I, in fact, had a marriage contract specially fabricated for me by friends, marrying me off to Paulita Gomez and a bigamy charge filed against me by Gomez! But the only ones who could prove the fabrication were those who actually did it for Manapat. Somebody knew who they were, and at all costs, they should now come out and expose Manapat for his lies.
Whether Manapat was motivated by what Sen. Aquilino Pimentel, Jr. described as a desire to pay a debt to his benefactors - meaning the people at Malacanang - or he was hatching a plot orchestrated by people who had helped install the President under dubious illegitimate maneuvers, would perhaps never be known.
What the public would only remember was the alleged wanton arrogance - hubris, as the classical Greeks would call it - he (Manapat) displayed during the hearing at the Comelec last Monday, as he challenged Poe's lawyers to prove that the documents he "discovered" were fabricated.
But with his heady, power-intoxicated position as the Archives' top dog, Manapat seems to have forgotten that still, small insistent voice that comes to people amid the dark night of their souls. That voice is simply called conscience.
Thus, it is perhaps no accident that my cellular phone should ring in the middle of the night several days before the hearing at the Comelec, with a cryptic message: "Attorney, would you know photoshop?" Since I had no way of establishing the identity of the sender because the number did not match any and all the numbers stored in my cellphone, and thinking that it was only a misplaced or mis-sent message, I chose to ignore it and went back to sleep.
The following day - surely, the Providential hand must have been working here - as I had the chance to show the message to a computer-savvy friend of mine, he casually mentioned that the sender must have meant "Photoshop," a graphics software that is acknowledged in the computer industry as the best in its class. He promptly lapsed into computerese, explaining what Photoshop could do, most of which sounded gibberish to my computer-illiterate ears, until he started speaking in heavily-accented albeit understandable English: "...you can alter photographs and other scanned documents, retouch an image...introduce text and logos...swap details between documents..."
In my mind a light bulb flashed, bingo! Days before, while I was pursuing some inquiry at the Archives, I could swear that I felt an almost palpable atmosphere of suppressed unease, a controlled disquiet among the people who attended to my request. But then I thought to myself: maybe this is the way Manapat runs his fiefdom; well, different strokes for different folks.
Anyway, after I had concluded my business there, I, in an automatic, unself-conscious gesture peculiar to lawyers all over the world, fished out one of my business cards from my wallet and gave it to one of the employees while I was on my way out of the building. The card, I was to find out later, found its way into the hands of my nocturnal tipster.
Thus, began my tedious, delicate and, at times, wary correspondence (after all, I had to remind myself, this might be a set-up) through cellphone with someone at the Archives (who lives in Cavite but very near Manila, and who shall remain unnamed as of the moment, but who I shall call TexTip).
After a series of text messages that went on for days, and often far into the night, I became convinced that TexTip was in possession of enough damning information, but was reluctant to come out in the open for fear of reprisals or even grievous bodily harm while on the job. TexTip assured me, however, that the employees were unwittingly made participants of the fabrication - realizing that they had been duped by Manapat under false pretenses, and fortified by an overwhelming show of moral support from fellow workers at the Archives - were willing to testify, and tell the whole truth.
I pressed for names from TexTip, who, in an understandable reluctance, was apprehensive that the co-authors of the fabrication would not be assured of their safety. What if they were thrown out of their jobs? What if they were suddenly abducted, and never heard from again, or worse, outrightly "salvaged'? What about their families? What if... et cetera. Eugenio "Udong" Mahusay, Jr. was still fresh in TexTip's mind.
Mahusay, a former messenger of First Gentleman Jose Miguel "Mike" Arroyo, is the main witness of opposition Sen. Panfilo Lacson against the presidential husband, whom the lawmaker accused of hoarding at least Php200 million in unspent campaign contributions to President Arroyo when she ran for vice-president in 1998.
The witness has been accused by Mr. Arroyo of stealing not only his cellphone but also money, which prompted Mahusay to spill the beans on him.
Well into the late morning of Tuesday, I kept pressing for at least a single name, an address. I impressed upon TexTip that Manapat must not go strutting like a cock on the walk, savoring victory with his lies. The dire consequences to the country of an FPJ disqualification, I told TexTip, were too scary to contemplate; the future of the National Archives under another six years with Manapat at the helm in case Manapat's benefactors will win the elections after the disqualification of FPJ; the integrity of the history of our country...my God, Manapat could make you and me disappear, kill me off in the computer records without my knowing it, or marry me off to somebody else. TexTip's answer, however, was still a flat no. TexTip said the whole process of fabricating the documents had been revealed to me anyway, and it would be easy to present it before the courts. My credibility (being no expert in computer graphics) would not carry the day, I told TexTip. The best way to present the truth, I told her, was for the truth to come out of the mouths of those who did it. The whole National Archives had been talking about how the documents were made, but to a man, nobody said a word about who made them and where they were. Serious concerns, really. But I appealed to TexTip's sense of patriotism. "Just give me a name," I pleaded and I guess there was enough sincerity - and desperation - in my message that TexTip finally softened up.
TexTip advised me to go to the National Archives at 7:30 a.m. Tuesday, park my car a few meters away from the building, after which someone would approach me and give me something. At the appointed time, with barely two hours of sleep from the preceding night, I eased my car to the pre-arranged place and received a message in my cellphone from TexTip giving me the name of Remmel. I next pressed for his address. TexTip could only give it as "somewhere in a barrio in Caloocan" - exactly where, TexTip could not tell me.
The quest for Remmel's house with the indefinite address I was given was straight out of a thriller. I must have walked the length and breadth of Caloocan, trudged narrow alleys and crowded sidestreets many times forward and backward, that people I passed by were starting to eye me suspiciously. Still, no Remmel; nobody ever heard of him. I also inquired about a name TexTip had given me. Nobody knew her either. Exhausted, I stood in a corner to catch my breath. and who would sidle up to where I was but a bespectacled man who asked me why I was looking for Remmel. Though unsure of his motive (is he one of Manapat's minions?), I found myself recklessly telling him my purpose. He identified himself as Remmel's father. He led the way to his house, very far from the address that was given to me, which all the more fanned my suspicions. Is this where I am supposed to disappear? Is this the end of my otherwise drab career? I asked myself.
Once there, however, my fears vanished and in my mind, I secretly apologized to my Companion for being such a suspicious lout. I knew I was in Remmel's house, because on top of the television set in the sala was a blue nameplate mounted on wood proclaiming: "Remmel Talabis, Barangay Secretary."
For the next three and a half hours, I begged, cajoled and pleaded to the parents of Remmel, trying to convince them to spring up their son, and join the cause of truth and the country. According to them, their son was not at home, and had gone to work at the National Archives. I could understand that behind this dissimulation was their main concern for Remmel's safety. So I told them that my sources at the Archives informed me he had not reported for work that day. Finally, a phone call from a man of consequence, who had been monitoring my moves, solved everything. I showed the caller's name on the monitor of my cell phone, and let them hear what we were talking about. That assured them that their son would be safe. From out of nowhere, Remmel appeared and said: "Attorney, sama na po ako." (Am going with you). The parents cried, and hugged their son, and kept repeating that Remmel must be kept safe at all costs.
Part 2: January 27, 2004
Much later, somewhere in Manila, Remmel told me the entire story of the fabrication operations, in exactly the same manner TexTip had conveyed to me. The persons involved were all identified. Phone calls were then made to Vicelyn and Emman. It was not hard to convince them to join in exposing Manapat's canard. They had relied on Remmel's best judgment, when to come out.
We kept Remmel and Vicelyn in a secure environment that day. Emman followed the next day, the day of the hearing before the Angara committee. We tasked them to type down everything that they knew, and what they did. The beautiful thing about their respective narrations is that they were straightforward, and contained facts that only they knew. Who, for example, would know how the borders on the marriage contract were made from a compact disc that Manapat himself supplied? And who would know how the slanted "M" in "Municipality" in the birth certificate of Allan Fernando Poe was made by inverting the "W" in "when;" or how "Manilau" was used instead of "Manila" to make the marriage contract look imperfect? (In the olden days, when one typed, one could commit errors of striking the letter next to the last letter in the word.) Manapat forgot that "u" is very far from "s" on the typewriter keyboard!) The three employees relate how the Convento de Santo Domingo seal was composed, airbrushed in Photoshop and implanted on the marriage contract. The details in the marriage contract, of course, would be enough to make up an entirely separate story which Manapat would easily be able to write about with his fertile and imaginative mind, considering his being center to the entire operations; the smoking gun, the printout of the marriage contract that was subsequently scanned, printed on newsprint, seared at the edges to make it look like the parchment paper of old, scanned again to be reduced to the same size as the framed documents in the Archives Library, and so forth.
Many more details were disclosed by Remmel, Vicelyn and Emman, such as the phone calls and visits from persons who probably had a hand in the fabrication, or errands made by them to some people now suspected to be behind the whole operations, including an errand to an office at Padre Faura to bring a copy of the newly-fabricated marriage contract. There are many more details with which every trial lawyer would want to confront Manapat in any jurisdiction of his choice.
Manapat may have run away with the CPU (central processing unit) of his computer. The intention is obvious. But he forgot all about the three other computers used to fabricate the documents. They were all networked! Like Oliver North in the Iran Arms Deal, Manapat forgot about destroying all the evidence.
What followed next before the Angara committee were revelations read by the entire country in print...after they heard them on the radio, before they watched them on TV. Among other revelations, Vicelyn testified that she was asked to scan signatures which later appeared in the marriage contract. Emman declared under oath that upon orders of Manapat he made a high resolution scan of a signature which later materialized over the name of the officiating priest who, it turns out, never had any authority to solemnize a marriage as he was not even a cura; Remmel told the members of the Angara committee that he was directed by Manapat likewise to encode text, using a popular word processing application, into a marriage contract form. All three are unanimous in declaring that, at the instance their particular computer skills were required by Manapat, they had no idea as to where, or for what, their individual outputs would be used, and that it was only shortly after Manapat's "discovery" of the film rolls at the Archives that the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle began to fall in place for them.
Predictably, there will always be cynics and scoffers who will regard Remmel, Vicelyn and Emman - and by extension, TexTip - as whistleblowers, discontent members of a group who feel that they have been left out of the action or denied a "share of the pie" and so they went public with the knowledge that they have.
The poet Ogden Nash, who laced his ascerbic observations of life's hard realities with biting doses of humor once wrote: "There is only one way to achieve a happiness in this terrestial ball. And that is to have a conscience or none at all." Unfortunately for Manapat, these three brave fellows chose to have a conscience. After much trepidation about what their revelations will bring to their otherwise untroubled lives, they chose to listen to their conscience - and alienated the affection of the individual (Manapat). I wouldn't be really surprised if later on, it turns out to be a group of individuals in high places - who engineered the fabrication.
It is said to note that in many a great number of offices in the bureaucracy, the corporate culture has deteriorated into a matter of pakikisama, in which one is expected to close his eyes to evil, plug his ears to evil and keep his mouth tightly shut in the presence of evil. People who assiduously do their jobs are ostracized, derided and subjected to ridicule by their fellow workers as hopeless idealists who are trying to be magpakabayani which is a self-destructive attitude since "the only good heroes are dead heroes."
Remmel himself has expressed fear what the three of them share when, upon being told by a newsman that a great number of the population have taken to calling them as heroes of the hour, he said it was their fervent hope that it were not so. In obvious reference to Jose Rizal, Andres Bonifacio, Ninoy Aquino, et al., he managed to give a rueful rejoinder: "Pinapatay ang mga bayani." (Heroes are being assassinated.)
Part 3: January 28, 2004
Indeed, most of our Philippine heroes were tragic losers; they died, however, with the courage of their convictions.
But once in a glorious while, there arise among us men and women who have unhesitatingly lived through acts of courage. One need not go far back into history to recall that band of brave computer operators who walked out of the Philippine International Convention Center in February 1986, and the thousands of citizens - from the cozy, air-conditioned enclaves of the elite down to the crowded makeshift hovels of the country's riffraff - who courageously faced the tanks at Edsa that same year.
Nowhere perhaps is this kind of courage more eloquently extolled than in the preface of the book written by John F. Kennedy: "The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy. A man does what he must in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures - and that is the basis of all human morality...In whatever area of life one may meet the challenge of courage, whatever may be the sacrifices he faces if he follows his conscience - the esteem of his fellow men - each man must decide for himself the course he will follow. The stories of past courage can define that ingredient - they can teach, they can offer hope, they can provide inspiration. But they cannot supply courage itself. For this, each man must look into his own soul."
The fight to bring out the truth does not end with the termination of the hearings of the Angara committee, with Sen. Vicente Sotto III serving as the trial prosecutor. After all, it was Sotto who stood up on the Senate floor to denounce Manapat for the fabrications, on the same day that Manapat at the Comelec was regaling his benefactors with the products of his insidious mind. Lawyer Johnas Lamorena, who, like me, has had no sleep since TexTip started the chase for the truth, will continue to have no sleep in the next few days. Even as we expect Manapat to drag the issue, Johnas and I (and our team) will be ready with the evidence. Manapat did it, and some powerful people at Perea, Arlegui and Padre Faura willed it.
As I write this piece, TexTip texted me the following: "FPJ is not alone. We have materials on others. Mayor Lim, for one." I shall pursue that giveaway lead, as Leina de Lagazpi has counselled me.
Remmel, Vicelyn and Emman are our heroes. The employees of the National Archives Office, too. TexTip holds a special place in that niche of heroes. Remmel, Vicelyn and Emman speak the truth. They represent our yearnings, our conscience. They represent our nation which is now on its way to regaining its pride and soul.
It is the business of little minds to shrink; but from this day forward, may we be shamed by the courage of Remmel Talabis, Vicelyn Tarin, and Emman Llamera, into a nation of individuals whose hearts are firm, whose collective conscience approves their conduct, and who will pursue their principles as they live through life with acts of courage.
(Reprinted with the permission of Kristin Melissa Raneses-Raval, from sn_twenty@yahoo.com)
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