Journalist to the Max

For me, the passing of our paper’s publisher – indeed, The Philippine STAR’s heart, blood and guts, to be truly honest – did not strike me as a tragedy. If anything, Max Soliven lived a full life, and he said on numerous occasions during which I heard him speak that he lived exactly as he wanted it, in the style he indomitably made his own. He was a journeyman and adventurer much like the fictional heroes he admired from the pages of his favorite books as a boy.

But Soliven was no fiction; he made himself a fact to be reckoned with in the times in which he lived. In his career, he earned both respect and scorn – and he was unyielding when he knew he was honest and in the right. And he was no Don Quixote. The battles he fought were real enough – and he utilized his intelligence and wit as formidable weapons. But like all stories – whether real or imagined – it had to end sometime.

I doubt if his physical passing is really the last we’ve heard of him. (Indeed, whether or not you quibbled with his opinions or his biases, it cannot be denied that the man is unique even compared to the great Filipino journalists – among them Carlos P. Romulo and Chino Roces.) Soliven’s death has no doubt closed a chapter on an era; but there is nothing tragic, no defeat in it. Again, Soliven was hardly ever a tragedy.

Of course, the grief felt by those closest to him – including those who worked for him and whose careers he guided like a doting, sometimes stern, father – is immense and understandable. Tough-as-nails editor Marichu Villanueva was the last person he spoke with and it’s clear that she’s still bearing the brunt and suddenness of the loss, as if she’s just lost a father. (In a sense, she has, even more so than the rest of us who were privileged to call him boss.) But I’m quite sure that Villanueva herself would agree that Soliven has lived a life the equivalent of several others in the same position and that he was enjoying the hell out of it. He died knowing that he lived his life to the fullest and that he was anything but inconsequential. He died happier than most heroes.

Of course, The Philippine STAR will never be the same without him. Our paper can only get better – because that’s how he planned and developed it to be. His personality and vision – indelibly stamped on every page – was large and too far-reaching to be constrained by his own lifetime. Anyone who ever met or read the man will tell you he was much more than the Old World gentleman/New World debonair his appearance detailed him to be – it was the verve, the passion and (dare I attempt to use the word myself) his chutzpah in practicing journalism that made him timeless.

Although I doubt Soliven ever heard the song Golden Boy by cult Filipino band Ethnic Faces, I think he embodied the song’s combination of fresh optimism and gnarly energy. He was a man of the world, a journalist whose view of the world was always international in scope, a Filipino who didn’t cower or think himself second-best before anyone because he was "just a local boy." In fact, he never thought that to be the case at all – his being Filipino was an advantage. Soliven was his own man no matter what he did, and he pushed his convictions as much as he pursued the truth. Ultimately, he was a class act in this crass business – a golden boy, whose demise by no means dulls his luster.

His person, his humor will be missed, but his name, the paper he helped establish, whose motto, "The Truth Shall Prevail," he embodied and espoused will continue. Surely, that’s enough to allow anyone peaceful rest – and the rest of us the remainder of our careers trying to live up to. If we’re lucky, we should die as complete and content.