I always looked forward accompanying my dad whenever he would meet up with a man whom a lot of us fondly called Tito Max. I was so amazed listening to both of them talk about different topics, from politics to history and books they last read. It was interesting to listen to his views about politics in our country. He was articulate, brilliant, straight to the point, which made him the most respected, awarded and influential journalist in the country. His fearless column “By the Way” was a favorite of everyone, young and old. It is welcome news that the book Maximo V. Soliven: The Man and The Journalist is now out for the next generation to read about how great this man is.
(For more information on Maximo V. Soliven, The Man and The Journalist, e-mail: maxv.solivenbook @yahoo.com and visit maxvsolivenbook.nowplanet.tv.)
Senator Manny Villar
Max to his many friends, readers and admirers was too much of a presence simply to walk away. He was so full of life, wit, humor and knowledge that not having him around anymore is almost unthinkable. A man of real courage, Max was never intimidated by the arrogance of power. He would much prefer the silence of imprisonment to the comfort of compromise. In fact, he made that preference. He became a prisoner of conscience that established his moral kinship with Rizal, Ninoy Aquino, Mahatma Gandhi and Nelson Mandela. No other Filipino journalist of our generation had wielded as much influence in molding public opinion as Max did. He wrote with authority, with candor and conviction. And he wrote from the heart. It was a privilege to know Max and in the process got enriched by his thoughts, educated by his observations and challenged by his questions.
Gen. Benjamin Defensor, former AFP Chief of Staff, non-executive director and member of remuneration committee, San Miguel Brewery, Hongkong Ltd.
Not many writers can empathize with soldiers the way Max did through his columns. He was a constantly alert romantic who lived for the fascination, thrill and excitement of war the way military professionals do. When he wrote about my encounters in Jolo in the ‘70s or when I led my Tactical Operations Command against terrorists in the attack against Camp Abubakar in 2000, he wrote it as if he were beside me fixing the loose ends of our assault and giving the thumbs-up when the actions were right. Obviously, his combat experience, especially in Vietnam, drew him closely into the fighting tradition of soldiers, and with his words, made the tradition alive in their hearts. And he had more. He knew how soldiers suffer without a murmur, but have no greater interest than the health and security of a nation because soldiers must have a deep normative sense of duty to do this. When he wrote about soldier’s privation and increasing casualty rates, he was reminding the men in uniform that they were inheriting the products of toil and sacrifice, but as a practical matter, they could hardly complain the way they might want to. In Max, they found a voice for their moral convictions. His writing against secessionists and terrorists was music to their ears. His gift was when he condemned faulty strategies or weak political leadership and biases with the fierceness of a well-traveled mind. He didn’t worry about his stature as a journalist, for he was already beyond opinions and debate.
When I chaired the APEC counter-terrorism task force I brought with me what he wrote: “ The world in these terrorized times, is increasingly calling for strong leadership, not wishy-washy compromise.” So we engaged the Asia-Pacific specialists, used a warrior-diplomacy style, set a record number of deliverables and received the warm congratulations of the diplomatic community.
I don’t find it difficult to describe Max. He loved life, his main weapon was 100-percent journalism, and his not-so-hidden passion was to command troops. Sanamagan! And yes, his secret weapons were formidable and skillful subliminal advisers: Precious, Sara and the rest of the gang.
Onofre ‘Pagsi’ Pagsanghan, multi-awarded educator, Ateneo de Manila High School, founder of Sibol Hesus, playwright/director
We were in third year high school. We were very lucky because during that time all of our teachers were Jesuits. I remember when the rain was very strong, Sampaloc would be flooded. Our affinity was strong, I suppose, because we were both poor kids. He lived somewhere, I think, on Blumentritt. I lived somewhere in Tayuman. When he would go to school, he would pick me up. What we enjoyed during the flood days was wading in the baha going to our school. The school was slightly elevated, but when you stepped out you were in floodwaters. We had such a hunger for learning.
There was one teacher who stood out in my mind. He was Fr. Ernesto Javier. Max and I took to him. He was a marvelous English teacher, he made English come to life! And almost always, whenever there was composition writing, Max’s compositions would come out on the bulletin board. I was a poor second. Max was the star of the show. We gravitated towards each other because we shared a love for literature. Because it was Japanese time, there was no quiet place. There were no libraries. There was no beautiful TriNoma or Ayala Gardens. The only place Max and I could go to was the cemetery. We’d go to Sementerio del Norte, and there among the tombs, we would read each other’s crazy poems and swap ideas about dreams and the future. We would learn to dream there. In our own way, we pursued our passions. His passion was journalism and he went there, mine was teaching and this is where I am up to this time.
Bienvenido F. Nebres, SJ, former president, Ateneo de Manila
Max’s professional career is known to all of us. Looking over his high school and college yearbooks and the Guidon and Hi-lites of his time, we see that Max started on his journalism career early. His high school yearbook says that “Max is an incurable scribbler who is feverishly possessed with the idea of littering the world with his typically ‘Chestertonian’ writings.” The yearbook says, “Max is a brilliant extemporaneous speaker” and those of us who have sat at table with him will say, ‘Yes, Max can carry on for hours on any range of topics and issues.” The Ateneo Alumni Guidon wrote about him: “Brave, Courageous, Bold. Max Soliven embodies the very meaning of these words.” Today, when the young are questioning the sincerity of their elders, Mr. Soliven, despite strong pressures, remained true to the principles of justice and charity.
In many ways, Max Soliven was larger than life. The Ateneo de Manila community remembers him with warm memories and great pride. We thank the Lord for his life and for the gift that he has been to his family, his colleagues, his community and our country.
Nelson Navarro, writer/broadcaster, author of Maximo V. Soliven: The Man and the Journalist
In June 1991 Max and I spent a magical five days together in St. Petersburg, then called Leningrad, at the height of its White Nights season when there was sunlight practically 24 hours a day. Befitting his exalted status as publisher, he was billeted at the Astoria, the city’s grandest hotel, which overlooked the Neva River. Always a budget traveler, I was staying in the drab suburbs in one of those mass tourism hotels. Both of us had been to St. Petersburg before, preferring its gleaming baroque splendor to Moscow’s forbidding Slavic or Central Asian character. We spent many hours revisiting familiar landmarks — the Winter Palace, Peter and Paul Fortress, and walking down Nevsky Prospekt, even taking the train to Pushkin to see the old imperial palaces of the Romanovs. One fine day, we took a canal boat just to go by the Yusopov Palace, where Rasputin was killed and his body dumped into a hole in the ice. Max was a walking encyclopedia of Russian history as well as Greek mythology. At the wooded Summer Garden, he was delirious identifying the marble statuary depicting characters like Diana the Huntress, Zeus and Hera, Adonis and Athena.
At the Hermitage, he couldn’t stop marveling about one small gallery room where there were 37 or so Rembrandts, rather casually when just one or two would be highlighted like crown jewels in other major museums of the world. So much magnificence and pride in a country where people had to line up for bread or toilet paper and armies of prostitutes haunted train stations and hotel lobbies. A lovely city of canals and bridges, indeed the Venice of the North, St. Petersburg was designed for walking and evoking history at every turn. Between the two of us, we had a running exchange of anecdotes and snippets of history. We went to a church where a king of Poland was buried, a discarded lover of Catherine the Great who, having partitioned his unhappy country between Prussia and Russia, ended up dethroned and seeking the empress’s protection, only to be spurned. He died shortly after of a broken heart. Everywhere we went, we were regarded as rich Asians, particularly Japanese, with lots of hard currency to throw around. The pretty shop girls in the duty-free shops would chorus, “Ohayo Gizaimas,” and flash seductive smiles. “You see how they love us,” Max would say, letting out a big laugh. “They have that look that says, ‘Take me out of this counter and out of Russia.’” With Max, there was never a dull moment. If I were to be held hostage or a captive audience, I would prefer his company anytime.
F. Sionil Jose, National Artist for Literature, founder and owner of Solidaridad Books
Max was a superb writer and biographer of leaders who shaped our history. He was a raconteur, traveler, and most of all, a genuine Filipino. He had a superb memory that amazed old fogies like myself. Decades later, he could recall with amazing accuracy those incidents that occurred ages ago, which determined the course of Asian history and ours, the opportunities that were missed by our leaders who had no vision, who acted only for their personal vanity and gain. Some of these are mentioned in this perceptive biography. There is one quality of Max that deserves the respect of all thinking Filipinos. He lived his talk. He was deeply anti-totalitarian. He stood for freedom and for this stand, particularly against the communists, he was branded with so many pejorative labels. There are those who thought Max glorified himself too much, and that he had become swell-headed. Maybe — but then, all those brickbats didn’t dent that head one bit for Max not only deserved it — he carried it with aplomb, wit, and with enough courage to bash the wrong-headed hydras in our midst. It was always a pleasure to have Max visit my bookshop, for him to attend the Solidarity seminars. Most welcome was our conversation in our mother tongue, which he relished; when together, we never spoke in English — always Ilokano. Ilokanos are not voluble, but Max said a lot and wrote a lot as well as exemplified by his lengthy columns. But always, he wrote interestingly and meaningfully.
Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim —
I am indeed proud to have met a friend, the great man, Max Soliven, eloquent and fearless opinion maker. I repeat what I said five years ago when his remains were brought home from Japan: “He is a great loss not only to the country but also to the people. He has always stood for righteousness. He loves his country very much and will fight for what is right. Even if you are his friend, he will not hesitate to correct you if what you did was wrong.” The inspiration gained by his writer-readers was such that their icon — his fervor and courage in asserting ideas, even his witty and incisive comments — influenced their own prose and writing style. Always with candor and deep insight, his thoughts set the trend and pace of analysis in political as well as social issues of the day. We will always think of Max Soliven not only as a writer’s model who will forever remain in the niche of influence in journalism but also as a patriot who loved his Philippines so well.
Former Ambassador Jose A. Zaide
Max was not a soldier-statesman. He was not the Achilles that his father dreamed for him. He was the Homer, the Bard who wrote “literature in a hurry” — of men and women, movers and shakers of the Filipino nation and of the world. I first met Max when I was Charge d’Affaires in New Delhi in 1985. You know how Indians have the gift of gab. Because of the teeming humanity in the subcontinent, one has to be articulate (or loud) to be noticed. Sonny Valencia says that the two things you shouldn’t put together at international conferences are an Indian and a microphone. I never thought I would see a Filipino squelch subcontinental chatter. Max was guest of the Indian foreign office and I witnessed him hold at bay senior officials of the India Foreign Office — Prem Shankar (secretary, East) Eric Gonsalves (secretary, West), Budhijarah (director of Asia Pacific), and the rest of the pundits. He arrived 15 minutes late at the Taj Palace Hotel for lunch in his honor. Without a beg-your-pardon, Max sauntered in, saying he was held up by a beautiful sari-clad maiden he chatted up in the hotel lobby. But he didn’t make a pass, he said,“Because I am not one of the sex-starved males like you.” After putting his hosts on the defensive, he held court.
Tony Lopez, MOPC chairman, publisher of Biznews Asia Magazine
I first met Max sometime in early 1972 after I was mauled at the Securities and Exchange Commission while rifling through documents there. My Manila Times business editor, the late Alfio Locsin, brought me to Max for lunch at the Top of the Hilton. Alfio had discussed my case with Max, who then suggested the removal of the then-SEC chairman because of the assault on press freedom. Max helped me revive the MOPC after its corporate life expired and somebody stole its name and managed to register it with the DTI. Over a two-year period, Max granted me hours of interviews and access to his memorabilia, inner thoughts, and personal insights about people, places and events. I saw his massive collection of books, stamps and toy soldiers. The experience was a rare edifying moment for me. Max was the greatest Filipino journalist ever. He epitomized the best of the profession. He was a true freedom fighter during the war and during the Marcos dictatorship, which tried to defang him.
With more than 50 years of journalism, he was the undisputed dean of Filipino columnists and the best educated, most influential and powerful Philippine journalist ever, dishing out advice to presidents and other leaders. His classical education, global perspective, travels, and vast experience enabled him to predict trends and bet on the side of stability for his country.
His writings were marked by erudition, wisdom, wit and humor. A Jesuit training, an Ivy League background, an innate writing prowess (with a manual typewriter, no less), and privation in the crucible of war and martial law put Max a cut above the rest.
Oscar Orbos, TV personality/host, former DOTC Secretary
The first time I met Max was in1987. The first time we met, Max was very tribal. Nag-Ilocano agad kami. “Abog te Ilocano?” I said, “Of course, Sir!” So I kept calling him “Sir.” Then he said, “Er...no. You should call me Max.” Max and I shared these in common: love of country, love of God, love of family and the love of our people. He was very sharp with his words, his pen, and his tongue. That’s Max. He would not keep anything from you. He was the biggest barker of all. He would tell the whole world what went wrong; he was very straightforward.
He acquired a license to tell our stories — and very few people would have that license. He is a person who can tell, and who told our story as a nation, as a people, how we struggled, how we celebrated, how bad, how good we all are. And in many ways I saw Max sad, because in many ways we have not come up — including him, I suppose--to the standards we truly deserve as a nation of people. We deserve more than this, where we are.
If you want to find out why we are where we are, read Nelson A. Navarro’s book Maximo V. Soliven: The Man and The Journalist, because somewhere in the stories of Max are the reasons why we are where we are, why we are capable of something more. Now, that’s Max Soliven. He was a challenge to all of us.