A man of honor

There’s a new Sarah in town and she’s the one with the “h”.

Sarah Discaya and husband Curlee, for all their self-styled humble beginnings, have managed to land splat onto our history books. And not just that she’s managed to push the other Sara out from the front pages.

What being accused of siphoning off a trillion or so can do for one’s newsworthiness. In a few short years, after flinging herself into the heart of infrastructure contracts, Sarah has amassed spectacular wealth worthy of being featured in lifestyle channels. Enough, in fact, to run for a political position, where she pitted herself against a good-looking, charismatic heartthrob with a reputation to pine for. What was she thinking?

Well, run she did, and lose, she did. Badly beaten in the elections, despite having garnered massive press coverage. It is important to note that along the way, she necessarily became entangled against the existing political alliance between her opponent Pasig Mayor Sotto, and Pasig Congressman Roman Romulo.

Not content with squandering a fortune in a disastrous campaign, Sarah refused to leave the headlines. The rains came, floods rose, and suddenly, all those government contracts on flood control measures surfaced. Sarah, like other flotsam, came merrily rising.

Which is good, perhaps, if one is suffering from being stranded in traffic and floodwaters, since there’s something to divert one’s self with. Count on Sarah and Curlee, while they “testify” in Congress, to curl our toes in sheer revulsion.

But what isn’t good, however, is when they started naming names. The couple submitted an affidavit identifying co-suspects. The expectant audience was waiting for familiar names, yes, but also some surprises. Well, surprise it indeed was, as the very first man they fingered was political thorn Congressman Romulo.

Talk about muddying the floodwaters.

I used to cringe whenever I would see friends defend politicians, and their main point of argument would be how long their friendships had been. In my cynical mind, I would think: “But social relationships doesn’t allow you access into his professional world. Work life can be compartmentalized. Money-making can be hidden away from suppers and tea parties. You’re not exactly together 24/7.”

Now I have to eat humble pie.

If there was anyone in the political world I would happily vouch for, it would be Roman Romulo. And it’s not just because I have known this man for decades, or because we went to the School of Economics or Law school together. It’s not even because we were associates in the same Makati law firm, where we would shop for bargain suits in that pretentious Italian shop in Greenbelt.

I say, this man could not possibly be corrupt, because I am suspicious as any super villain could be, and yet this guy has managed to escape my accusatory gaze. Over the years, I have enjoyed infrequent access to the Romulo family, which allowed me snooping opportunities galore.

I have to say, despite my sensitive antennae, and despite being surrounded by family and close friends where one’s guard would be down, neither Roman nor his wife have given any reason for me to think they are wallowing in obscene wealth. They have not flexed their power, not boasted of gaudy acquisitions, or even name-dropped their “close” association with other unsavory characters. Not a chance remark, nada.

Instead, conversations have been limited to developments in the education sector (his passion) and other humdrum topics like family updates. Where is the money, then? Not in this house.

So yes, I came out publicly. I staked my reputation on this man, and announced my support. I let my long-standing knowledge of a person in politics dictate my course of action. And what do you know.

On that same day, just a few hours thereafter, Congressman Romulo promised to waive the secrecy of his bank deposits and disclose his SALN. Congressman Romulo did what no other person sitting in Congress and accused of the same vile crimes against the people have had the courage to do.

Dear readers, (a phrase so often used by anti-corruption columnist Winnie Monsod), I rest my case.