Tito

Every morning, I take my coffee from a deep blue mug with the Senate seal on it. The mug was a gift many years ago from then Senator Teofisto Guingona.

I like the mug. And I like the person from whence it came.

Tito Guingona is a character from another age. That shows in the manner he delivers his speeches. He delivers his oratory in a vintage Churchillian style native to an age before television cameras zoomed in on the speaker, making exaggerated gestures unnecessary. Nay, distracting.

But it was another age when politicians were expected to be honorable. It was another age when passionate nationalist rhetoric was fashionable. It was another age when age mattered and seniority was respected.

Today is a different age. And Tito Guingona seems lost in it.

He sometimes appears like an oddity in contemporary discourse; a living, breathing, walking, talking relic from the museum of our political history.

He is a statesman like Raul Manglapus was: visionary during their time, stubborn when that time began go past them, disturbed when their visions and a new reality did not quite cohere.

Some might call Tito naïve; others prefer to call him principled. Some might call him odd; others prefer to call him different.

When Tito Guingona delivered his "I Accuse" speech at the Senate, the speech that signaled the beginning of the end for a failed presidency, then President Joseph Estrada dismissed him as a rather eccentric politician. His was a shrill speech, long on accusation and, at that moment, rather short on evidence. Public sentiment, and the appropriate evidence, soon caught up with his accusations and a presidency was doomed.

For his role in leading the impeachment move against Estrada, Guingona was named vice-president by President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. In addition, he was given the foreign affairs portfolio in recognition of his role as senior statesman.

A gentleman from the old school, Guingona rightly expected to be treated as a senior statesman. But in a hurried time, his views did not always prevail. In a changing time, his views were not always correct.

The vice-president saw himself the bearer of the nationalist legacy of the likes of Claro M. Recto, Lorenzo Tanada and Jose W. Diokno. He maintained a quaint anti-Americanism in an age of anti-terrorist coalitions. He relished being elevated to a cult figure by those other bearers of ancient legacies: the leftist groups wallowing in the margins of our nation’s political life.

It was almost inevitable that Guingona would come to a "principled disagreement" with President Gloria.

The break came on the matter of the Balikatan joint military exercises between Filipino and American troops. Those exercises used to involve conventional "inter-operability" maneuvers involving landing of armor, deployment of paratroops and defense of territory. Given the changed global environment, those exercises began to shift to joint training in dealing with deeply embedded terrorist groups.

Guingona was uncomfortable with the joint exercises. He was uncomfortable with the training happening close to actual conflict areas. He was uncomfortable with the general policy that emphasized increased preparedness for dealing with terrorist threats.

The vice-president made his discomfort known. More than that, he began to impose too many restrictions on the exercise, exasperating both our military establishment and the Americans.

In the end, he offered his resignation as foreign secretary. The resignation was readily accepted.

He resigned as well from the ruling Lakas party where he held a senior post. The Lakas party staunchly supported President Gloria’s strong anti-terrorist (and thus seemingly pro-American) policy stance.

From then on, the vice-presidency inhabited by Guingona began to resemble a political purgatory. It was not a vantage point of power and influence. It was an outpost of renegade and lonely political views, a repository of ancient protectionist and isolationist orthodoxies.

Last year, Guingona along with some leftist personalities organized Bangon, a supposedly non-partisan movement to safeguard the electoral process. That seemed to be a nice exit preoccupation for a fading senior statesman who seemed bitter at how things have passed and largely ignored by those who make policy.

Alienated from his former party, Guingona became a solitary maverick. When his wife set up to run for mayor and his son for congressman, they eventually found themselves in the camp of movie actor Fernando Poe Jr. That made the vice-president vulnerable.

A few days ago, Guingona endorsed the candidacy of Poe and embraced the characters around the movie actor identified with deposed president Estrada. The event made headlines but drew a sharp rebuke from his former allies who accuse the vice-president of betraying the ideals of Edsa 2.

Guingona has since tried to fudge the meaning of his gesture. He insists he has not joined the opposition and is merely offering his counsel to the movie actor aspiring to be president. All the fudging has not blunted the expressions of disappointment over his move.

In the swift flow of political events, a gesture is everything. The gesture of endorsing Poe’s candidacy is difficult to differentiate from not joining the opposition.

By agreeing to be Poe’s adviser, Guingona stigmatizes the candidate with his own obsolete policy views. The defection might be an empty gain for the opposition. Regardless of the outcome of this election, Guingona will likely remain an ignored voice in a troubled terrain – but one with a diminished legacy to leave.

I was fond of Guingona because of his painful consistency on views that might have lost resonance, ideas I might not personally subscribe too. But it is that consistency he has broken by, very late in his career, deciding to make a move based on very personal political convenience.

I will probably still take my coffee from the cup he gave me – but largely out of habit. Like Tito, it is a thing that has served its purpose well.

Unlike Tito, this thing just refuses to self-destruct.