A poignant example of what I mean is my procrastination, an unforgiveable lapse, in saying "goodbye" to a wonderful journalist and a friend, TIME Magazine’s Sandra Burton.
I was in Hong Kong last week, on a fast "in-and-out" trip when I heard of Sandra’s death in Indonesia, and up to now the details of it remain sketchy to me, since in the hurly-burly of following the political fight and trying to do a television show, I was unable to check. Yet, when Celia Diaz-Laurel published, a couple of days ago, a typically warm-hearted letter Sandra had sent Celia and Doy Laurel (when the late Vice President lay "dying" in Stanford, Palo Alto), I was reminded of what a great and terrific person Sandra Burton was, never giving in to cynicism or skepticism despite the hard-nosed nature of her reporting and the difficult, dangerous beats she had covered as one of TIME’s finest foreign correspondents since 1977.
When I spoke at the necrological services for my boyhood chum, the late Salvador "Doy" Laurel (he had also been foreign secretary), I had dinner with his widow Celia, members of Doy’s family, and the American doctor who had exerted every effort to save his life from the devastating cancer which consumed him.
At that occasion, Celia had thanked me for the "generous words" I had written about Doy in my column, but wished to correct the still widespread impression (as reinforced in my erroneous column) that he had given up his own quest for the Presidency to Ninoy Aquino’s widow, Ms. Cory C. Aquino, on the importunings of His Political Eminence Jaime Cardinal Sin, and others, who had reminded him of the urgency of forging opposition "unity" against the Dictator Ferdinand Marcos. (Thus Doy had decided to slide down to Vice Presidential runningmate and put his UNIDO Party firmly behind Cory.)
"Max," Celia gently reproved me. "Nobody convinced Doy. He made that decision to sacrifice his own ambition all by himself. He sought the solitude of the beach behind our house in Batangas, prayed for guidance from his father (the late Senator – and Japanese Occupation President – Jose P. Laurel), then declared he was sacrificing his own bid for the Presidency in order to topple the tyrant and win back freedom for our people."
It was this noble quality in Doy – who was sneered at by so many detractors and even subsequently Cory herself – that a rare type of journalist like Sandra Burton detected, and this was always reflected in her perceptive reporting.
It’s funny how you realize how terrific somebody was – with rue – after, suddenly, that person is gone. And, therefore, with regret, this belated tribute.
It was a long time ago that Sandra wrote a book about this country and as one of the former members of FOCAP (which we used, in jest to call Fuck-Up during its infancy under Teddy Man Benigno, our STAR colleague – then Agence France-Presse Bureau Chief practising defiant journalism in the Macoy-Meldy Hegemony). I suspect the current crop of foreign correspondents never read it.
Yet, her book Impossible Dream (published by Warner Books, New York, in 1989) is the truest account of our touted EDSA People Power revolution of 1986 – and an amazingly sharp-edged insight into the characters of the people who provoked it, and those who made it happen.
The substitute of the tome said it all: The Marcoses, The Aquinos, and the Unifinished Revolution.
The last phrase is an accurate prognostication, penned as it had been in 1989 more than 15 years ago. The Revolution – despite those two deceptive occasions, EDSA Dos and yes, EDSA Tres – remains woefully unfinished. As a matter of fact, the Revolution has lost its way.
Sandra knew them all, and reported every detail, every nuance, every anecdote – the Marcoses, the Aquinos (Ninoy and Cory), the Laurels, JPE, FVR, Gringo Honasan, the RAMboys, the putschists, the heroes and heels, the heroines and …er. "prostitutes". She told it like it was. She chronicled US meddling, and "helping", with pitiless accuracy as well.
Her phrases were precise. Such as, recalling February 22, 1986, she said: "People Power began as a rather pitiful little display."
On why Marcos failed to nip it in the bud, she wrote on page 385: "Marcos lost the war that first afternoon and night, when he did not attack his mutinous defense minister (Johnny Ponce Enrile) and Vice-Chief of Staff (Fidel V. Ramos). For at least nine hours there were no crowds outside Camp Aguinaldo, and no more than 300 military men and several dozen journalists inside. Some blood would then have been shed, but basically, it would not have been difficult to quell the rebellion at the start. Why did Marcos hesitate at the opportune moment?"
A Palace aide, in frustration at his boss’s inaction, afterwards "bemoaned the irony that the ‘old man’ had ignored their teaching during the greatest crisis of his long career: ‘On the beaches of hesitation bleach the bones of those who, on the dawn of victory – tarried."
Marcos, when Burton interviewed him in exile in Honolulu, had his own explanation, which might have been post facto self-serving: "I had talked them out of it (rebelling) before … I did not want to kill Ramos and Enrile. I still hoped to be able to reconcile with them. Perhaps that was my error."
Sandra, too, reported on the first coup try, "in the early morning hours of August 28, 1987", when "Colonel Gringo Honasan and some 1,200 officers and men attempted a coup against Aquino and Ramos, which illustrated, more graphically than any of their verbal warnings had, the vulnerability of the new democracy to determined men with guns, whether from the right of the left."
How true those observations still ring today.
Sandy’s book should be reprinted, and made a "primer" for those seeking to understand what makes us irritating Filipinos tick, and how so much (despite our brags about being unique in corruption and stupidity) like the rest of humanity we are.
"I had wanted to stay around long enough to see the revolution reach the rice paddies, but that was clearly going to take some time than I had. In the future I would have to agonize about the Philippines from afar. I had no doubt that the news from Manila would continue to be alarming."
A prophecy, indeed.
In passing, Burton observed (mind you, in 1989): "I wonder if Washington would come to regret its support for the restoration of democracy and the marketplace of diverse opinions it champions. I hoped not." (The US Bases were "kicked out" by the Senate – Senator Erap Estrada was one of the solons who voted to give Uncle Sam the heave-ho – not long afterwards.)
In the following paragraph Burton wisely notes: "In any case, I hoped I would remember how to read between the lines of the many dispatches that would be published . . . for the signs of compromise and accommodation to reality that had saved the place from exploding many times before. Filipinos had the greatest tolerance for chaos of any people I have ever met. In that sense, more than others, they seemed suited to democracy."
It is her final sentences that tweak the heart. Sandra had written, in parting: "For their sakes, I hoped that a workable system – whatever it might be – would one day evolve in the Philippines. For mine, I hoped that I would find another people whose aspirations would touch me as much as the Filipinos’ had."
Sandy, may I say in farewell: "We love you, too."
I picked up my old copy of Sandy’s volume, Impossible Dream, from its dusty shelf when I learned of her passing. On its fly-leaf I rediscovered the forgotten dedication she had written when she sent the book to me.
She had said: "Dear Max – please accept this autographed copy as a token of my respect and admiration for the role you played in the events about which I had written. With it goes my thanks for your wonderful anecdotes about Ninoy and your help on other subjects.
"I must also thank you for the nice article you wrote about the book. I still can’t figure how you got your copy before the President got hers, but I guess that’s the secret of your success. Fondly, Sandra."
I haven’t seen Sandra for many years, not even spoken with or corresponded with her – to my profound self-reproach and personal loss. But she will always be remembered with affection, not just by this neglectful writer, but by many Filipinos and others into whose lives she touched. She was, beyond her humanity, the kind of journalist that makes us proud of our sometimes tawdry and occasionally jaded profession.
And, for Pete’s sake, we’re still desperately searching in this dirty-tricks-riddled and tumultuous election campaign for the "workable system" for which Sandy Burton prayed.
But enough for sounding maudlin. I promise you, I’ll be back to being Mad Max tomorrow.