Letter from Jun Lozada

Dear Ma. Ceres,

This is my first time to write to a journalist and the only reason I am doing so is to express my appreciation for your advice that I should rise to my full height and to be braver than I think I am.

Until now I am still wondering why I am here in this situation, I have always thought that I am not fit to even be the spark to begin a light, but for some strange reason I am here. I am doing my best to play the part by sticking to the truth that I know and speaking with malice to no one.

I am not one to go into the rhetoric of false humility nor am I one who basked in the falsehood of egoistic rapture. I am simply out to tell the truth that I know, harassment and threats and failed attempts to my life notwithstanding.

I was not prepared to carry this cross, I was arguing and pleading that I don't be the one to carry it. I guess one of my friends put it succinctly for me, that it’s God who chooses our cross lest we choose the gold ones or the light ones. I am now carrying this heavy burden of living up to people's expectation, fending off the harassments and threats, facing off my legal battles in the courts, tending to the needs of my young family, assuring my wife that we still have a life to live even during these extra-ordinary times and even after the glare of media and the public has waned. All of these are heavy loads especially now that I am out of my home and living out of donations from well meaning Filipinos.

But rest assured, I will rise to my full height with the grace of God and the love of the people, just give me a little time!

Sincerely yours,

Jun Lozada

P.S. you have my permission to use this letter as you see fit.


Late last week I received the above emailed letter which was a reaction to my column (Human Face, “Rise to your full height” Feb. 21, 2008) where I took note of some actuations and utterances of Rodolfo “Jun” Lozada while testifying at the Senate and speaking to the media that I found discomfiting and not befitting his dignity and the gravity of his revelations. And so my two-cents worth for him to “rise to your full height, look them in the eye, your hand on the holster, ready to fire back. If you have to go down, go down with guns blazing. Stick to what you know first-hand. You must be braver than you think. The nuns should now get some sleep.”

I have checked to be sure that this letter was indeed sent by Lozada.

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While I recognize the intensity of the rage against individuals in high places and the need to amplify it during the run-up to the People Power 22nd Anniversary last week, I see the rage to be so focused on particular individuals while the rot in institutions and structures have been relegated to the background. And so it is refreshing to hear from Bishop Socrates Villegas of the Diocese of Balanga, the Rector of the EDSA Shrine from 1989 to 2004. In his pastoral letter “EDSA Now!” he says:

“The President must change or be changed; so with the senators and congressmen. But it is not enough to change the officials we elected in Malacanang and Congress. We must also seek reform in the commission that handles the elections…We must not demand repentance and reform from our leaders if we are not even willing to repent of our personal sins as dishonest and uncaring ordinary citizens.

“Let us all resign from corruption, from indifference, from lies, from arrogant use of power. Corruption is not just a crime of the government. It has become our national livelihood. It is not only those on top who are guilty. We who are below are all guilty as well!”

The problem with us who are below is that we run the risk of losing life and limb when we so much as point to the rot, say, in the barangay level, or complain about petty (?) misappropriations, commissions and collections in the so-called “permissible zone”.

What is an idealistic pres-school educator to do when barangay officials ask her to cough up a five-digit figure (no receipts) before she could operate? What is a doctor, a homeopathist, to do when the medicines he ordered from abroad for special patients are being held by customs personnel until he gets “generous”?

Almost all the journalists (not far from a hundred now) who have been killed in the past two decades are local journalists who exposed the rot at the local level. These were not journalists exposing big shady deals like the ZTE-NBN that has the whole nation watching for months now. Some of these journalists got shot in their own front yard while their kids watched in horror. They did not have the protective shield of a hundred nuns like Lozada has. I sob.

What are citizens to do?

India’s Aruna Roy, 2000 Ramon Magsaysay Awardee for Community Leadership empowered Indian villagers to claim what is rightfully theirs by exercising the people’s right to information. Highly educated, Roy gave up the life of the privileged and lived among the masses. She created a movement.

In 2005, the Right of Information Act was passed in India and this gave citizens the right to demand access to information—from budgets to records to contracts. These were there for the asking. For Roy this was India’s second war of independence, “not against the British but against our own rulers.”

It is not enough that citizens cast their vote and wait. They have to be empowered and organized to ask. They have to be a force. All that energy and rage on the streets should translate into painstaking examination of government records and contracts, like what Roy and the movement did. Read about her in “Great Men and Women of Asia” (Vol. 4 will be out soon), published by Anvil, available in National Bookstores and Powerbooks.

Rise to your full height

Imagine grown men bickering over undershirts and formal attire on nationwide TV while the nation was in the throes of war between good and evil, truth and falsehood.

While I have no reason to doubt the gist of the revelations of Rodolfo “Jun” Lozada on the ZTE-NBN multi-million-dollar deal that implicated public officials and private individuals, and his alleged forcible abduction by police and airport officials; while I do not question his motive to “save my soul” and by doing so, also “save the soul of this nation”, I have some observations to make of his behavior that tends to undermine his credibility.

I make these observations not to chip away at his credibility (why on earth should I do that and gain the ire of his fans) but so that he does not further erode it himself.

Okay, the gravity and magnitude of his accusations have made us sit up and listen and act. Hundred million plus dollars that translate into billions of pesos for “commissioners”, big names, big players, big deal. But while listening to all these since Day One of Lozada’s testimony at the Senate hearing, press conference and TV appearances in assorted venues, I could not help noticing chinks that I find annoying, disconcerting and exasperating. Things that make me wanna say out loud to him: Look, I believe you and wanna believe you. Could you please do it well and right, in a manner that befits your dignity and the gravity of your revelations?



I admit I can’t help looking at the small stuff, but that’s what the guys of TV’s blockbuster “CSI” are looking at to get at the truth—the small stuff, too, the minutiae.

At ANC’s “Harapan” that lasted for hours and pitted him against those he has accused, I don’t know why Lozada had to twit PNP Chief Avelino Razon and Asec. Formoso and others about their formal attire. Lozada was wearing just an undershirt and seemed to be calling attention to it.

Razon was not amused. I could see his jaw tighten as he explained that he had to leave his wife at a social function in order to be at “Harapan”. Not that he relished coming. Later, Formoso had his turn to snap back and say he also had an undershirt but, he stressed, he had been taught to face the public wearing the proper attire.

The debate had descended to that kind of talk with Lozada initiating it. They sounded like little boys in the school yard. Yeah, that was a brief respite from the hard stuff, but that the new national poster boy for truth initiated it was rather disconcerting. Please naman.

When you face men who had known another kind battle, men such as the retired military and police officers now serving as civilian officials in the government that Lozada faced in the Senate hearing, you must look them straight in the eye, with jaws tight, hand on the holster, ready to fire back. You cannot be limpy-wimpy with them. These men had fought battles in urban and rural jungles. Although I have not totally shaken off my martial-law era military phobia (that’s why I say no to a military junta), I have respect, grudging sometimes, for armed men who have to heed the call to battle.

I hope they also had respect for Lozada’s tears at the Senate. Surely they too had shed tears for their slain comrades in the battlefield.

We all remember bank official Clarissa Ocampo who was key in getting former Pres. Estrada convicted on plunder charges, not just with her say-so but with damning documents that supported her claim. She first strode into the Senate hearing wearing a mute bluish-grey suit and with the subtle glow of pearls. She spoke softly and carried a big stick, so to speak. She did not want to bask in public adulation and preferred to speak about what she knew only in the right forum. She held the hall in thrall. She was unassailable.

I am saying this so that would-be Lozadas would, after experiencing a heady ride on the crest of admirers, stop sounding whiny-weepy. Lozada had the sikmura to participate in those deals and even say mea culpa for his past sins, he should not cry “me against the mob” on nationwide TV, he should stop projecting himself as an underdog. He should believe he has the upper hand.

I remember the time I was summoned to Fort Bonifacio for a closed-door hair-raising interrogation by generals and colonels (I was the first among the women writers they summoned and with me was Atty. Alex Padilla who was sent by Atty. Jose W. Diokno) the first thing I said to them in crisp and clear language was: “Before I answer any of your questions, I want you to give me your names and rank.” Aba, they all did and I wrote everything down. With those names we were able to go to the Supreme Court to stop further harassment.

I was braver than I thought.

When fellow journalist Chit Estella and I were seized by a group of gun-wielding military men at night (I was driving a car full of the anti-Marcos church publication “Iron Hand, Velvet Glove” and didn’t know we were being trailed) and were about to be hauled off to Camp Crame, we stood our ground because the arrest order did not bear our name, until Sr. Christine Tan, RGS and Fr. Ralph Salazar came to rescue us. I was ready to shout our names to the crowd that had gathered.

We were braver than we thought.

Lozada said he had no time to think about shouting for help when the men came for him at the airport. Well, okay. I think Jonas Burgos shouted when he was abducted.

My advice to Lozada: Rise to your full height, look them in the eye, your hand on the holster, ready to fire back. If you have to go down, go down with guns blazing. Stick to what you know first-hand. You must be braver than you think. The nuns should now get some sleep.

‘Permissible zones’, bukol, guavas

The phrase “permissible zone” has been bothering me these past few days that witness and whistleblower on the ZTE-NBN deal Rodolfo Noel Lozada Jr. has been in the media and the eye of the storm.

I must say that his revelations have discomfited me. No, not the alleged much-coveted multimillion-dollar commissions he has been talking about (so, what’s new?) although these are really staggering amounts, and greed has no limits. What I found discomfiting is that while with all candor Lozada has revealed what he knew he also admitted that he has tread what he called the “permissible zone”. That was after Sen. Miriam Santiago brought up what she had dug up on Lozada.

I felt sorry and I thought, why can’t anyone be really squeaky clean? Why do whistleblowers also have to have some mud on their person? I am not questioning their motives for coming out and I admire their spilling the beans. In the case of Lozada, he could indeed be experiencing enlightenment and divine inspiration.

But I just feel let down upon realizing that it is difficult to find someone who is willing to tell all and at the same time is also beyond reproach. I wanna shout, “Yes I believe you, but sana…”



I am not saying to Lozada, “You have not been clean yourself”. No, not at all. Again, what I want to say is: Why is it so difficult to find someone who is totally clean? That is why when Lozada made his mea culpa over certain personal deals of his own that may not have been above board (on top of his “free lunches”) I felt let down. I thought, oh God, I am now an admirer of this guy’s courage, how I wish he had been above it all.
This is not to condemn Lozada. His courage to make revelations on the scandalous amount in the ZTE-NBN deal, if all true, are admirable and are nothing compared to his own peanut-size deals on the “permissible zone”. What bothers me is that there is such a thing as a “permissible zone” pala and he had been there.

Hello, not that we do not know about these zones. But the word “permissible” rankles. Like, ah, this thing has a name. There is a word for it, a spelling, a meaning. There is an area, a zone. Who decides what is permissible or not? Who draws the perimeters? Where does one stop? When does the permissible segue into the so-called “forbidden zone”?

Lozada brought up the words “forbidden zone” to refer to the really scandalous deals. The 22 percent kickbacks that, he said, are the “norm” in government deals—are these on the permissible or on the forbidden zone?

“Commissioners” treading on the forbidden zones must have stomachs made of steel and have zero conscience and zero love of country and Lozada couldn’t help but warn about someone’s supposed $130-million commission on the ZTE-NBN deal that “bubukol yan” (It’s gonna stick out like a boil). It’s mind-boggling, yes. But so is $13 million or $1 million or the proverbial P100 if you are depriving this country and its people of something. Bukol or no bukol.

I like the Filipino word bukol, its street-corner meaning refers to symptoms of corruption. It connotes infection, inflammation, foul-smelling pus. When you say, sasambulat na parang bukol, the operative word here is sasambulat or to explode in a disgusting, messy way. That’s onomatopeia.

Thanks to Lozada, we have enriched our jargon of corruption. We are now more aware of zones on the landscape, who are there, where they lead to. What does this mean to the small government employee or honest public servant serving in the bureaucracy? Who’s watching? Someone please start “Operation Bukol”.

From bukol to bucolic. Yes, I love that bucolic scene Lozada described where farmers leave guava fruits on the tree for the birds to feast on. The farmers don’t take all, and even in their poverty they must provide for the proverbial birds of the air and the lilies of the field. Like genuine stewards of the earth, indeed. What have our elected stewards done to us?

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For those who have been following the healing work of Fr. Fernando Suarez CC, be informed that he has apologized to Malolos Bishop Jose Oliveros of Malolos over his healing visits.

“On behalf of the Mary Mother of the Poor Foundation, I want to respond directly to you regarding the recent misunderstandings and miscommunication regarding the scheduled Healing Masses in your diocese. Please know that there was never any intention to act without your permission and blessing. In fact, we only want to serve the Church in complete obedience to her legitimate pastors.

“Our standard policy in the Philippines up to this time has been that, upon receiving requests to conduct a Healing Mass in any parish community, a written package of guidelines is sent to the parish in advance before approval of a date is finalized. One of the requirements is to inform the parish priest that it is his responsibility to ensure that the permission of the bishop is granted. We assumed this was the case regarding the two Masses we agreed upon in Jan. 2008…I am extremely sorry on behalf of the ministry that this was not the case. There was never any thought or intention of disobedience. As a priest, my policy is to always come under the authority of each local bishop…

“We are grateful that you have called our attention to this matter. Therefore to avoid problems of this sort in the future, we will now include in our policy the need for a written approval letter from each local bishop prior to our scheduled Mass in his diocese.”

The superior of the Companions of the Cross has issued a statement regarding Fr. Suarez’s good standing in the congregation.

Fr. Geremia forgiving Norberto Manero

What was it that drove a man to such bewildering heights and plunged him to such lonely depths? What voices did he hear? What lights, what darkness had he seen? What visions, what dreams?

Fr. Peter Geremia, a man so outwardly driven yet so inwardly drawn, had written in a diary his experiences, thoughts and more importantly, his painful prayers during his years of missionary work in this country. I was fortunate to be allowed to read his diary which was later published as a book (“Dreams and Bloodstains: The Diary of a Missioner in the Philippines”, Claretian Publications).Long before the book came out I did a magazine feature titled “The Diary of Fr. Peter Geremia.”

Through his raw diary he very reluctantly, almost wearily, let some of us see his core, the shreds of his life and whatever was left of himself. His diary was also an oppressed people’s bitter story, distilled and kept in one man’s prayer cup.

Geremia continues to walk with all of us. In his younger days he waded through the floods of Laguna, the squalor of Tondo and the blood in Mindanao. He has plumbed the bowels of this land.



He should have been dead by now. It was he who was hunted and supposed to be gunned down by paramilitary fanatics who blew off the brains of fellow Italian Fr. Tullio Favali, his co-pastor in Tulunan, North Cotabato Cotabato, on April 11, 1985.

Geremia’s diary of the 1980s is littered with dead bodies, punctuated with bullet holes and drenched with people’s tears. Blood oozes and embers fall. But like unseen fire, his prayers rise above the wailing, the gun smoke and the ashes.

Written unguardedly, the diary sounds like letters to the God he so loves, fears and hungers for; a God so loving but sometimes painfully silent and devastating. There are moments of peace and humor, and one can see the priest riding on a crest of joy. The next moment he is mercilessly smashed against the rocks.

Also part of the diary are theological and historical reflections and reviews of books he found time to read when the guns were silent. In reports to superiors and associates, he could be dispassionate and scholarly, but when he writes about ordinary people, he too becomes ordinary, that is, passionate, prayerful, vulnerable—a priest.

Active men can also be contemplative men, and contemplatives are not people who have completely turned their backs to the world. From the tumult in Latin America have come a wealth of writings that show how inextricably linked active struggle for justice was with the spiritual life. “The Guerrilla Journal of Nestor Paz, Christian” hints at this. From monasteries and prisons have come literary and theological works tackling burning worldly issues. Trappist monk Thomas Merton of “Seven-Storey Mountain” fame had produced volumes of these.

Geremia who belongs to the Pontifical Institute for the Foreign Missions is neither monk nor guerrilla. He simply called himself a “wounded healer” and although his wounds are not physical, they are real, and it is through his journals that his inner experiences find utterance.

Geremia was born 71 years ago in the municipality of Castel di Godego (castle of the Gods) near Treviso in Northern Italy. A child of war and destruction, Geremia carries memories of that dark period in history.

Okay, with all that on my mind, I read with a feeling of peace the most recent news story on Geremia and Manero.

“Manero seeks, receives forgiveness from Italian priest he planned to kill.” This was the headline of a story in the Inquirer’s Across the Nation section.

The story said that convicted priest killer Manero who was recently released from prison met last Monday with Geremia, the priest whom he had planned to kill 24 years ago. (Fr. Tullio Favali was the one who was gunned down by the Manero brothers, Norberto and Edilberto.) Manero, along with his wife Evelyn, relatives and lawyer went to the bishop’s residence in Kidapawan City and met with Geremia.

The story by Jeoffrey Maitem quoted Fr. Geremia as saying, “Manero personally asked for forgiveness (from) me. We already forgave him. He also renewed a 2005 pact he signed with us to prove that he would no longer return to the violent life had led in the 1980s. We had a prayer service too and he reiterated that he was serious in observing his promise.”

He also told the priest that he no longer wanted to be called Commander Bukay. A photo showed Manero visiting Fr. Favali’s the grave.

Here is Geremia’s entry in his diary after Fr. Favali was killed. “Tullio killed last April 11. Killed in my place. I missed my chance. I was given a new life no longer mine. Many say I should be grateful but I am more disappointed. I was rejected even in death. As I wanted to die, they could not do me the favor. Maybe they sensed my desire, maybe they wanted to see me running away from death in panic before they finished me off. I have become a ghost for many, a dead man who has returned to life. I saw Tullio on the road with his brain scattered around, his mouth eating dirt, his blood like a dark carpet. The killer repeated that they would do even worse for me, they would hang me to a post and torture me before killing me.

“Tullio came into my life like a stranger. I did not know him before. We lived together but in separate worlds. I could never share with him my inner struggles and he was taken by his (own) struggle. We were running with all our strength, without looking much at the obstacles or each other.

“Until he fell down without knowing what hit him. And I am still running, waiting to fall at any moment as he did, and without knowing where I am going. Run, baby, run!”

“Dreams and bloodstains” end in forgiveness. In this season of Lent.