Last 18 November was the birthday of the aptly-named Salvador Laurel. I say “aptly named” because it was he who — for good or bad — singlehandedly saved the Presidential run of Cory Aquino in 1986.
Cory, whose only credential for the Presidency was that she was the widow of Ninoy, was faced with the prospect of a three-cornered fight when Marcos declared snap elections. Laurel, who had been preparing for the Presidency all his life, had everything it took: pedigree, a Yale doctorate in law, and a well-organized nationwide political machinery, the UNIDO. In addition, he cut a dashing figure and was a great orator. He even sang well. Thus the “Laurel” surname was apropos.
Cory was propelled to the limelight when Ninoy was killed. But a divided opposition did not have a snowball’s chance in hell of beating a well-entrenched Marcos with his well-oiled political juggernaut that is the Kilusang Bagong Lipunan. And while Marcos officially won, an opposition whose votes were split between Cory and Doy could not credibly claim that it was cheated, and could not have called for “People Power”.
Doy, of course, was inveigled into giving up his lifelong dream by Cory’s minions, his misgivings about Cory being unfit to lead the government (since proven very true) assuaged by the promise that Doy would become Prime Minister under the 1973 Constitution. Subsequent events would show that Cory had no intention of keeping that promise. To call a spade a damn dirty shovel, Cory and her gang were double-crossers.
Many do not know that my first job in government was not with Mayor Alfredo Lim during his first two terms; it was as a “special assistant” to Vice-President Laurel. I was then working my way through law school.
There was nothing “special” about my job. I started by cutting news clippings; then “promoted” to typing press releases. Further “promotions” saw me drafting replies to letters, operating the mimeograph machine (remember those?), and faxing press releases. After protesting to Tito Doy (what he insisted I call him) that I was an English major with a literature award and thus could do better things, I was tasked with drafting speeches for him. I soon deeply regretted the boast, as the man had several speaking engagements every single day. He needed many speeches. Long speeches.
But after I seemed to have impressed him with my work, he took me under his wing, treated me like a relative, and had me join him over meals and in private parties, where he would demonstrate his vocal skills and his proficiency on the violin.
And he taught me life lessons. He taught me how to make a proper four-in-hand for my necktie. He gave me insights into our country’s history as he actually witnessed it. And he gave me leadership lessons.
Tito Doy was attacked relentlessly by Cory after he broke away from her government. But he never filed a single libel suit. “A politician is like a boxer”, he once told me, “once you step into the ring, you must expect to get hit hard. What is important is that you hit harder.”
He also once told me that “a leader must be in three places: in the middle of the people to know what they want, then in front of them to lead them where to go to get what they want, and at the back, to push them when they are slow in getting to where they want.” But always and in the final act, he was a true patriot. “Nationalism is my only creed,” he said in one speech.
True enough, emblazoned on one of the walls of his house was his life’s motto: Ang Bayan Higit Sa Lahat.
Laurel was the real “President we never had.” And heaven help anyone who says, in my presence, that it is Leni.