I guess I should have phrased it better by putting less emphasis on the fickleness of outcome. Really, you can let off so much pressure by simply appraising your own efforts less. Other people have actually invested in you more than you did. If you thought of them, too, perhaps you would stop acting like this is just your personal do-or-die saga.
That's why my own “bar exam story” is
more inclusive than most. It has to include the two people who made it
possible for me to become a lawyer in the first place.
Before he died in 1994, Benjamin
R. Salvosa (founder of the University of the Cordilleras, which used to be
called the Baguio Colleges Foundation) would
often send for me from my groundfloor office as editor-in-chief of the Gold
Ore to his penthouse. “Daddy Ben” as we fondly called him, was a
hands-on publisher. No week would pass that he wouldn’t ask me “anong
headline mo?” (what’s your headline?) Friday was “pressnight” when we put the paper
to bed. So every Thursday afternoon, I
would sit with him and run him through the week’s news stories to give him a
heads-up on what he can expect to read in the upcoming issue. He rarely reacted
much, even when we carried some heavy stories of the kind that stepped on the
toes of some of his friends. He never ordered a story killed. Not even once. But
he always groused about it during our briefings, “If you think I might want to
kill a story, just don’t tell me about it!” So I followed his advise. There
were times when he summoned me and I didn’t go to see him. He complained plenty about it. “Pinatawag ko si Joel hindi ako sinipot.” (I
called for Joel, he stood me up). His friends would ask him, why would he put
up with that? “You should fire your editor!” But after a long silence, Daddy
Ben would explain, “I once told him if he carried a heavy story I might be
inclined to kill as publisher, he should just not let me know.”
In one such briefing
session, he suddenly broke a different topic out of the blue. He spoke slowly
and deliberately. “When you are litigating a case, the most important thing to pay
attention to is your case theory. What laws you will use depends entirely on what your case theory is.”
I cut him short, “Daddy
Ben, I’m not a lawyer.” (Not yet, in 1994.)
He said, “Oh, you
will be, so shut up and listen.”
“The only part of the
bible I don’t agree with is where it says the meek shall inherit the earth.
That is such an incomplete statement. The meek will inherit the earth in the
shape left by the bold, the daring and the shameless.”
“Tyrants will always use the
law to shape this world in the mold they want. So never assume that the intention of the law
is noble in every situation. Law always advances the interest of the powerful
because they control the lawmaking process. It is their tool of choice.”
I was 25, he was
approaching 80. But Daddy Ben often forgets our 60-year age gap and that if he
starts dropping ancient names, I may not be able to follow. “I told President
Manuel Quezon, pañero we cannot keep that parity rights provision in the
1935 Constitution. Political independence will be meaningless if
the Philippines remains an economic colony of America anyway.”
He was talking about the
parity rights provision that granted Americans equal rights as Filipinos in the
exploitation of the country’s natural resources, particularly in the mining sector.
Even without that provision, only the Americans have the capital to go into ore
prospecting anyway. So we would still look to American participation, but at
least Filipinos should be the owners of the mines, Daddy Ben maintained. “Pinagbibigyan mo na nga silang mangapital,
binabalasubas ka pa, ang mga walanghiya!” (we are giving them already a
chance to invest, they still have to disrespect us, these shameless people) then
he
went into a short spiel of expletives in Spanish I didn’t understand. Finally, he caught himself, “where was I?”
“Case theory”
“Ah, yes! Case theory. Like
I said, when you’re fighting a case in court, never be surprised if the law
operates in a tyrannical way. That’s always a given. There are big laws and
small laws. Usually, small laws, like implementing rules, letters of
instruction, executive orders, those are the worst ones. They were not passed
by Congress working in the glare of sunlight, but only crafted by some self-appointed
bureaucrat working secretly in the shadows.”
“To formulate your case
theory,” Daddy Ben lectured, “find support from the general principles of law.
When you cite a specific law, go as high as you can. Refer to the top level
statute, even to the Constitution if you have to. Build your case theory by harnessing the
general intent of the law and always paint your case using the bold brushstrokes
of the law. Only little minds prefer to split hairs using little laws. The higher you go, the closer you get to Congress
that represents the people. You are always safest when you are with the
people.”
“Even with the hierarchy
of courts, expect the same thing,” Daddy
Ben continued.
“In the level of the Justice
of the Peace,” that’s the 1930s forerunner of the Court of First Instance, or
the Regional Trial Court these days, “if you go to court, there is always the
risk of winning!” That’s a classic joke among
lawyers today, but I heard it first from Daddy Ben in 1994.
“You will never get a
perfect decision below, so if you stop there all you can hope to obtain is
fractional justice. If you believe
strongly in your case theory and you lose below, don’t give up until you get to
the Supreme Court. Only be at peace after fifteen of the finest legal minds in
the country have read your arguments.”
I told him, “If I ever
become a lawyer, I will remember everything you said.” He took a long pause, and stared at me
blankly, realizing that his impassioned lecture might indeed be all for naught.
Then he picked up the phone, “Nene,” that’s
his youngest daughter, Nene Salvosa-Bowman, “you call Dolinta (the school
registrar) tell them to give Joel a full scholarship in the College of Law. You
pay for everything including his books!” I could hear Nene over the speakerphone,
“Daddy Ben, I’m not sure if we have a scholarship program like that…” Daddy Ben snapped, “I don’t care. You invent
one!”
“Alright,” Nene said, “but
making the school pay for his books—” before she could finish, Daddy Ben interrupted
her again, “Nene, you’re not listening to me. I said YOU pay for
his books!”
That’s the inside story of
how I became the first and the last recipient of the “Benjamin R.
Salvosa Law Scholarship” and how Daddy
Ben twisted Nene’s arm to pay for all my books.
Daddy Ben was long gone by
the time I passed the bar in 2000. The week after the bar results were released, I still went to see him alone at his
hillside grave on a foggy afternoon—again, on a Thursday. I was the only one at that memorial park in Loakan. “I really want to talk to you, Daddy Ben, but you
know it’s heresy in my evangelical faith to converse with the dead,” I began to choke in my tears, “but you always broke
the rules for me. So why wouldn’t
“I remember every word you
said to me that afternoon. I especially remember that part where you said even
when it seems the laws are against me, I should never lose heart or forget that
the tyrant would always use the law to shape the world. So a fight against an
unjust law is actually a fight against tyranny. Even more importantly, fighting an unjust law accomplishes more than just fighting for the oppressed. I did not learn that in the College of Law with that scholarship you gave me. I
learned that from you.”
There was nothing but eerie silence, apart from the faint sound of a few birds that chirped in the distance. I sat in the grass and lingered for a little while, wondering why no one else was around. Finally, as I got up and turned to walk away, that's when the rain began to fall.***
© 2021 Joel R. Dizon
NOTE FROM JOEL: Hi, folks! Recently, I started a YouTube channel which is called "Parables and Reason" It is kind of similar to this blog content-wise. You can check out my channel by clicking the link below:
Joel R. Dizon - PARABLES AND REASON
