i am this close to writing a letter to a former colleague in this broadsheet that was hounded to its extinction by the corrupt and thankfully deposed president joseph estrada.
but first, two things: one, that if I could have somebody tell me her snail mail address and two, that if I could come up with a decent thing to say to her.
in this manila based english daily, I used to scam my way at the central desk while she did odd jobs in office central. I was single and carefree. she was this middle aged, childless wife supporting her maimed husband, crippled inutile by the thugs of the marcos military regime.
for nineteen long years, she, together with close to ten thousand other martial law victims, has pinned her hopes on a US appeals court, the hope of being indemnified for all the indignities, loss of lives and all, they suffered under the brutality of the marcos machinery.
but it all came to naught early this month. a san francisco based federal appeals court ruled that the martial law victims have no legal claim to the close to a billion dollars in marcos laundered assets previously transferred from a swiss bank account to the current philippine government.
just before this weekend, an american bank, riggs, promised to donate close to ten million dollars to another group of human rights victims, those who have suffered under the equally brutal regime of former chilean military ruler augusto pinochet. riggs, after helping pinochet launder his larcenous assets for decades, must have mended its corrupt corporate ways.
but what would I tell this colleague? that there is yet hope? that there is still time for both her and her crippled husband to make their piddling lives more decent, more livable than the hell they have been through?
nietzche, as always, is right. hope is, indeed, the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torments of man.
i was just in manila last year. and true to my borderline antisocial personality, I made no extra effort to get in touch with my former paper colleagues.
but then coming back to new york, I was cooped up in the same flight with my former city news editor. thankfully, he was flying coach.
during the limited time we had at the waiting lounge, my city ed was a living rolodex. our ed in chief was now back to her university teaching post. our sports ed, now a girlie skin mag ed. he was now an associate producer in an investigative tv show the name of which never stuck to me.
i was never able to ask him about this colleague. I did not remember her at all during our conversation. nor did my city ed. why would we? she was just another nobody in the scheme of our office world.
the only time I can ever remember talking to this woman was during a particularly lashing storm in my first year at the paper. most of the editorial staff were forced to stay overnight in the office while the storm raged outside.
after putting the final edition to bed, I went to heat my instant noodle in the microwave oven at the staff lounge. she was just done re-heating her ba-on of fried tilapia and stale rice.
trying to make some small talk, I told her, "oh, life is so hard, isn't it?" she laid down her packed dinner on the table for twelve, seated herself on the chair farthest from me and without looking up, she answered "compared to what?"