Chief Prosecutor Jovencito R. Zuño: Getting the Bad Guys

The office of the Chief State Prosecutor inside the Department of Justice compound in Manila appears disconcertingly understaffed, with seemingly just one besieged secretary holding the fort. But in this office, looks are deceiving.

Behind the front desk are three other tables, each piled three feet high with files. A phone rings and is courteously answered–not by the secretary, who is on another phone, but by an unseen man whose voice is muffled by the mountainous heap of documents before him.

Shortly after, two anxious women enter to inquire about the Witness Protection Program. Without warning, a pair of eyes peeks from behind another precariously balanced stack of papers. One more staff member emerges, volunteering to assist the women. Most inconspicuous of all is a man typing away on a computer, concealed by yet another enormous wall of folders, his presence betrayed only by the sound of his fingers drumming on the keyboard.

The working conditions at the modest office of the Chief State Prosecutor are, to put it kindly, challenging, but morale is surprisingly high. Undermanned, underpaid and under constant time pressure, the staff trudges on under the unobtrusive leadership of Jovencito Zuño, the country’s Chief State Prosecutor since 1997.

Born 57 years ago in Rosario, Batangas (the town is properly called Sto. Rosario, he insists, having been named after the holy rosary), Zuño was a high school student at the Padre Vicente Garcia Memorial Academy when he first entertained thoughts of becoming a lawyer. Initially, his motive was sartorial in nature. "My godfather, Crisanto Gualberto, was a lawyer. He was a municipal judge and was always in a suit or barong tagalog so I said to myself I wish one day I could be in that same outfit," he smiles.

After graduating from Lipa City Colleges, Zuño obtained his law degree from the University of the East, and was admitted to the Philippine Bar in 1972. Three years later, Zuño became special counsel of the City Fiscal’s Office in Batangas City–it was the beginning of a public career that spans nearly three decades.

By 1981, he had risen up the ranks and was promoted to the sensitive position of Acting City Fiscal of Lipa City. His steady ascent was abruptly halted when he ran afoul of some influential Kilusang Bagong Lipunan (KBL) officials, who maneuvered his removal as Acting City Fiscal and transfer to the Department of Justice (DOJ) as a lowly state prosecutor.

Zuño was considered too independent-minded and too closely associated with the Laurel political clan, claims he does not deny. "My father was close to the Laurel family but as far as my job was concerned, I got promoted on my own merits. Now that I look back, one reason I was taken out was that I did not have the proper connections at that time," he says.

For Zuño, the demotion was painful; he seriously thought of renouncing public service altogether. "I was very disappoint-ed. I felt so frustrated that I was planning to resign–that was the time of Justice Minister (Ricardo) Puno. I was ready to tender my resignation but my colleagues advised me to hold on. Stay here for a year, they said. If, after a year, that is still your decision then go ahead and resign."

In truth, the relocation proved serendipitous. Surprising even himself, Zuño progressively realized that he relished the challenges of his new position even if it meant starting from scratch. The DOJ, to its credit, perceived his aptitude for prosecution and assigned him to delicate missions in far-flung places. "I was immediately assigned to handle prosecution cases in Mindanao and the Bicol area," he recalls. "That was the height of the Sparrows in Davao. I would take the bus to Davao del Sur or del Norte then leave early in the morning to attend a trial in General Santos City. They were mostly NPA and bank fraud cases."

His new responsibilities revitalized him and he soon forgot the Machiavellian manner in which he was ousted from his beloved Batangas. In time, he even forgave. "It was actually a blessing in disguise. I don’t feel any bitterness for these people because it actually gave me a good break."

In 1986, Zuño was assigned the biggest case of his career up to that point, the grisly Sarmenta-Gomez rape with homicide involving then Calauan, Laguna mayor Antonio Sanchez and his security men. The media attention was intense–it was plainly the sort of court case that could make or break a career. The gallery began to notice the understated, almost insipid trial technique of this soft-spoken prosecutor. Some felt Zuño lacked passion but admitted he was methodical and organized. Significantly, many judges appeared to share his distaste for theatrics, making Zuño surprisingly effective. The court sentenced Sanchez to life in prison.

The case had consumed him and the emotional strain had taken its toll. "I was interviewed after the promulgation of the case against Mayor Sanchez. The first thing I said was that I’m glad it’s all over. The pressure was too much. But in a way, the media attention helped us because the trial became so transparent. Both parties could not hide anything."

In 1997, Zuño was appointed Chief State Prosecutor, the highest post in the National Prosecution Service, the DOJ office that investigates and prosecutes crimes. "The main job of the Chief State Prosecutor is to assist the Secretary of Justice on prosecution matters. We also supervise 1,700 prosecutors all over the country. Because of the creation of new Regional Trial Courts, we need more than 1,800 prosecutors really, especially in the Mindanao and Visayas area.

"We monitor the cases they are handling. The provincial and city prosecutors handle criminal cases but their resolutions are appealable to the office of the Chief State Prosecutor. Here, I have five assistants in charge of review, evaluation and administrative cases or complaints filed against prosecutors," he says.

Even lawyers from private firms agree that Zuño has assembled a crack team sufficiently motivated to keep abreast of current law theory and trial methods. They’re first-rate–to engage them flippantly is to gravely imperil a client’s acquittal. Zuño himself is a rarity, a Chief State Prosecutor who still actively prosecutes cases in court.

"The past Chief State Prosecutors did not appear in court, they concentrated on management," he says. "Myself, I feel when there is a big case that is pending in court, I go out of my way to see to it that all things are done properly. If necessary, I will enter an appearance. I definitely still get a thrill out of appearing in court. I don’t really get nervous anymore–I always prepare every time I go to court. One of my rules is that I always prepare my witnesses. I tell my prosecutors the same thing."

There have been high-profile victories. Zuño secured the conviction of former Congressman Romeo Jalosjos for the rape of a minor. Hubert Webb and five other men from well-to-do families were sentenced to life after being found guilty of the 1991 murders of Estrellita Vizconde and her daughters, aged 18 and seven. According to court records, the older daughter was raped repeatedly before being stabbed 17 times. Senator Renato Cayetano has claimed that Joseph Estrada applied direct pressure on Zuño in 1989, insisting on Webb’s innocence. The Chief State Prosecutor will not comment, citing an impending review of the case before the Supreme Court.

There have also been more ambiguous results. The Kuratong Baleleng rub-out and the Bubby Dacer murder cases have as yet failed to mortally implicate the man some claim to be the mastermind of both crimes, former paoctf and police chief now Senator Panfilo Lacson. Meanwhile, the plunder cases against Estrada is progressing at an insufferably sluggish pace.

"The (delaying tactics) from the defense do not really frustrate me. I’ve been in the service for 29 years–I’m used to these kinds of strategies. But you have to insist that the trial should go on. At least we have been able to present three key witnesses in the plunder cases. Sometimes it gets personal with the defense and we end up shouting at each other. But after the trial, we shake hands. No hard feelings–I’m doing my job and they are doing theirs. The moment I get a case, I really pour my heart into it. If I lose a case, it will mean sleepless nights even after all these years. If you believe you have a good case then you lose it, it’s painful to accept."

To relax, Zuño retreats to Rosario, a place he still considers home, for the weekend. He also plays an occasional round of golf, taking a perverse pride in his miserable handicap. "I developed a love for the game when I was the City Fiscal of Lipa City," he says. "We used to play golf at Fernando Airbase, a government course that was not too expensive. I could not lower my handicap because I’m just a weekend player. One time, I was playing golf with Doy Laurel and he said, ‘You know, if you are a good golfer and happen to be a government official, that means you’re spending too much time in the fairways.’"

The Chief State Prosecutor plays a bit of piano. His favorite song, Frank Sinatra’s All the Things You Are, begins with the lines: Time and again I’ve longed for adventure/Something to make my heart beat much faster. Fortunately, one adventure Zuño has not had to contend with is a threat to his life. "You won’t believe this but I have not received any death threats. I travel with just one driver and one security person. My analysis is that the public has already accepted my job as a prosecutor."

The P16,000 starting salary for prosecutors is the more alarming and intractable vulnerability. The National Prosecution Service loses top lawyers not only to private firms, but also to government agencies like the GSIS and the SSS. Moreover, newly appointed prosecutors often do not serve for long, using the service to merely acquire experience for private practice or as a stepping stone to a judiciary post.

"I’ve been proposing that lawyers must first be required to serve the Public Defenders Office because most of the people who come to these offices are indigents and cannot afford to hire a private lawyer. They should also be required to serve the prosecution–it helps them gain experience from their appearances in court. This would take legislation, an act of Congress," says Zuño.

A few months after his appointment in 1997, Zuño delivered a speech at the Asia Crime Prevention Foundation. He pointed out core values that must transcend time and the increasing high technology of crime: "Foremost among these values is integrity. While being a public prosecutor is a powerful position, it is by no means lucrative. This makes some of our brothers in the profession vulnerable to corruption… Second is courage. Often-times, prosecutors cross swords with powerful and influential people. A prosecutor must have grace under enormous pressure…Last but certainly not least is competence. Our client is the public and we owe it to them to perform our jobs well… (But) we must take extra caution that the tactics we implement do not unnecessarily expose the victim to embarrassment or badgering."

Considered a potential dark horse for the Ombudsman position to be vacated by Aniano Desierto in August, Jovencito Zuño might just have inadvertently enumerated his own qualifications for the job. It is precisely the shot in the arm the country’s beleaguered justice system needs–a career public official who speaks softly yet brandishes a big stick, not just for show but is actually willing to bludgeon bigwig scoundrels with it.