Improbable hero
CHINO And His Time” is a forthcoming book that profiles a newspaper publisher who fought his most bruising battles when the Marcos dictatorship had muzzled his presses.
“Chino” is Joaquin P. Roces (1913-1988). Thru professionalism and editorial independence, Roces built the Manila Times into the leading daily in the early 70s, recalls Vergel Santos of BusinessWorld.
Chino was not yet 60. His paper would be killed by a dictator. “At the height of the fight, he would be an old man, committing all his remaining vigor to a cause greater than any other he had fought for.”
Santos focuses on the publisher who rose above
threats he never sought. Thus, the glimpses one caught of Chino, in
earlier books, are amplified.
Chino was the “the kid in dirty shorts who doubled as air raid warden,”
Armando J. Malay recalls in the biography: “A Guardian of Memory”.
Named Times publisher at 23, Chino became Malay’s boss.
Chronicle’s Eugeno Lopez Jr deferred to Roces leadership, Raul Rodrigo
writes in “The Power and the Glory.” Both were imprisoned by Marcos.
Both had their newspapers seized. After People Power restored
liberties, both returned to journalism.
“Shortly after Edsa, I was walking in Greenhills when Geny came by,"
now Inquirer columnist Armando Doronila recalls." He got down from his
car and said: “Chino and I are talking about reviving the Manila
Chronicle. Would you like to run the paper?”
“Yes, by all means,” Doronila replied. “Because with Geny and Chino together, you can not go wrong.”
“I was in charge of page one,” recalls Rodolfo T. Reyes who went on to
ABS-CBN . “Not even once in the 370 issues (that) I handled did Chino
ever suggest that I suppress or play down a story.”
“He never gave orders,” Malacañang Press Secretary Crispulo Icban adds,
“You just had to sense his point…Yet, no one had any doubt that he was
behind everything happening at the paper.”
That ranged Benigno Aquino negotiating the surrender of Huk supremo
Luis Taruc, now publisher Danny Gozo reporting on Ilocos politics and
arson to helping the only woman copyeditor on Daily Mirror’s desk:
20-year-old Jullie Yap Daza. Most fondly called him “Tatang”.
Chino didn’t speak much. President Ferdinand Marcos casually mentioned
about plans to clamp on martial law. Just as casually, Chino said he’d
resist.
“All he wanted was to publish a good newspaper,” Santos recalls. In so
doing, he provoked the dictatorship by ensuring that the paper
performed “its social role as watchdog on government.”
Chino began his fight with "perhaps no more than a vaguely compelling
sense that something had to be done”. The wish galvanized into resolve
as the ex-publisher stared at the bloodied remains of his former
reporter: Benigno Aquino.
Soon, he was a fixture at protests. He walked across five cities as
marshall for the murdered Evelio Javier’s funeral. “You saw the old
man, left alone holding his ground, emerge from the tear gas.”
Family and friends tried to protect him from reprisals. Chino was a
“simple minded man who could be ignored", they told the dictatorship.
Chino’s response was true to form. “Simple minded? True. I’m incapable
of complicating things for myself.”
One who agreed was Ferdinand Marcos. Read Marcos diaries. Following the
1971 Plaza Miranda bombing, Marcos pinpointed Roces as key to the
“media distortion”. They “hew to the communist line: Everything that
Marcos does is wrong.”
It was Chino and Ateneo student Gerardo Esguerra who masterminded the
peaceful 1978 “Noise Barrage”, recalls activist leader Charlie Avila.
Chino understood what George Orwell, author of “1984”, wrote: “Every
joke is a small nail in the coffin of dictators.” Like Cardinal Jaime
Sin, he was a repository of the latest wisecracks against the regime.
While others dawdled, he launched the one-million signature campaign to
convince a reluctant Corazon Aquino to contest the snap elections.
“Chino,” Cory phoned. “Tama na ‘yang kalokohan ninyo (Stop all that
foolishness of yours).” Instead, he came back with over a million
signatures.
The rest, as the threadbare cliché goes, is history.
“He was perfect for the signature campaign,” recalls Karen Tañada. “He
had moral power and no agenda. People just gravitated toward him,
specially the unorganized.”
At 75, Chino lay dying from cancer. “After risking life and limb in
street battles, he was a hero dying an unheroic death.“You can die and
lose everything in one instant, say be run over crossing the street,”
he’d quip. “You have better chances in a street than alone.”
He refused to go to Stanford Cancer Center. He went home – to
newspapers. “The smell of paper and ink, at three-hectare Capitol
Publishing compound gave Chino and brother Ramon “the perfect feel
of home.”
“If victors of the 1986 drama show the slightest sign that we, too,
adopt one standard for the wrongdoer who is poor, and another for the
criminal who is rich, Filipinos will never forgive us,” Chino
responded on being accorded the Legion of Honor:
“It hurt when he said it,” President Corazon Aquino said. Yet, “if any
man had the right to say it, that was Chino.” His response led to
reviews by government.
Chino asked for Jaime Cardinal Sin to administer the last rites. “Cory
put into his hands the rosary that Sister Lucia of Fatima had sent at
the beginning of his presidency.
“Will everything be all right?” Chino asked those around his deathbed.
“Yes. Tatang. Everything will be all right.” He was “spared the
future,” Santos says.
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