JUST A few weeks after the Nov. 23, 2009 Maguindanao Massacre, where 58 people including 32 journalists were executed in a remote barangay in Ampatuan town, officials of the Firearms and Explosives Division (FED) of the Philippine National Police (PNP) were surprised to receive a deluge of applications for gun amnesty from one particular province in Mindanao.

Every once in a while, the national government offers a gun amnesty to the general public. These amnesty offers are a general pardon of sorts, where people with loose or unlicensed firearms are allowed to have illegal guns licensed and registered in their names.

But this batch of applications raised a red flag among officials of the PNP-FED, the agency tasked with regulating gun ownership and use in the country.

First of all, almost all the new applications originated from Maguindanao province, where the massacre occurred.

Secondly, the applicants were mostly members of the local civilian volunteer organizations, or CVOs, the local militia. Interestingly, members of Maguindanao’s CVOs who owed loyalty to the Ampatuan clan, had been implicated in the massacre.

Third, many of the firearms were the highly-priced Bushmaster M4A3, a variant of the M4 carbine used by many special forces units. Just a few years earlier, the Ampatuan clan, through the Maguindanao provincial government, had purchased 50 Bushmasters through gun trader Crisostomo Aquino, allegedly to fight the terrorist threat in the province. The end users of the Bushmasters, priced at P120,000 each, were supposed to be members of the Maguindanao PNP.

Sr. Superintendent Danilo Maligalig, then operations chief of the PNP-FED, recalls that this batch of amnesty applications, “numbering around a hundred,” immediately caught the attention of firearms regulators.

The gun amnesty, provided for through Executive Order 817 signed by then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo in June 2009 as part of the National Firearms Control Program (NFCP), had expired on Nov. 30, 2009, or a few days before this batch of amnesty applications swamped the FED.

From cops to CVOs

“Sinubukan nilang ipahabol ang mga ito (They tried to get this past us),” Maligalig recalls.

Maligalig says investigation by the FED later showed that these firearms were the same guns issued to the Maguindanao PNP to fight the rebel Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and other armed groups in the region.

But police officials were puzzled how these firearms found their way to the CVOs, who then tried to acquire legal possession of them through the firearms amnesty program. What made the applications all the more unusual was the fact that the guns had never even been declared lost by the local PNP in the first place.

To Maligalig and other FED officials, this much was clear: firearms meant for the government arsenals had found their way to armed groups loyal to the Ampatuans.

Too, the clan appeared to be scrambling to save its arsenal and retain its armed might in the wake of the government crackdown against the firepower of the Ampatuans.

But more importantly, it was an sign of how the Ampatuan clan, like other well-armed political families, may have mastered the art of finding and taking advantage of apparent loopholes in firearms laws and amnesty programs in order to build, arm, and maintain a parallel arsenal that rivals even that of the national government’s.

At the same time, it put into question the entire firearms regulation system, including the fact that some state agencies such as the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) deem themselves exempt from such rules.

Alarming findings

Maligalig says that FED officials immediately suspended that batch of firearms amnesty applications while a probe was underway.

The results of the probe were alarming.

Maligalig, who acted as vice chairman of the investigating committee formed by the FED, said they found that many of the firearms bought with government funds supposedly for the local PNP were really meant to be used by the Ampatuan militia.

Under PNP rules, local governments may purchase firearms for the use of the local police force. These purchases are, however, covered by an end-user certificate, which specifies who is the firearm’s real user. In the case of the Bushmaster carbines, the guns were supposed to go straight to police officers assigned in Maguindanao.

“The guns were meant for the local police of Maguindanao, in fact the memorandum receipts (MR) were in the name of the policemen assigned,” says Maligalig. “Pero pirma lang ‘yun (But these were just signatures on paper.) The actual distribution of the guns was made to the militia members.”

He says that a closer scrutiny of the firearms applications showed that some of the CVO members applying for gun amnesty were in fact implicated in the Maguindanao Massacre itself.

Wanted-list pics

“If you look at the pictures on the wanted list,” says Maligalig, “these were the same pictures in the amnesty applications application.”

A number of these CVO members were later arrested and have been included in the Maguindanao Massacre case now pending before the Quezon City Regional Trial Court.

Maligalig says it appeared that the clan had ordered militia members to have these high-powered firearms placed under the amnesty program, in order to spare them from confiscation by the government.

“When things got hairy, they (the Ampatuans) attempted to have their firearms placed under the amnesty program,” Maligalig tells the PCIJ. “Pinangalan lang ang mga baril sa mga militia (They just tried to have the guns registered in the name of their milita members).”

In all, some 1,200 firearms were reported by the AFP to have been unearthed, confiscated, or recovered in Maguindanao province following the Maguindanao Massacre, according to AFP spokesmen in 2010.

Most of these firearms were old and obsolete firearms usually issued to members of the Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Units (CAFGUs) and CVOs, the so-called force multipliers authorized through Executive Order 546 signed by then President Gloria Arroyo in July 2006.

High-powered metal

A number of these recovered firearms, however, are clearly high-powered and high-end. Among the firearms recovered, as listed by the Mindanao-based news cooperative Mindanews, were:

• Four 60-mm mortars with ammunition;
• Two 81mm mortars;
• A 90mm recoilless rifle (actually a misnomer. The recoilless rifle fires a shaped charge that can punch a hole through armored vehicles);
• A 57-mm recoilless rifle;
• One Barrett sniper rifle (a specialized sniper weapon that delivers a half-inch slug with an effective range of 1.8 kilometers. The model recovered was a civilian version, although Barrett sniper rifles are normally not sold to private individuals but only to governments);
• Three M60 light machine guns (the standard machine gun of the AFP and the PNP);
• One .50 caliber heavy machine gun, also capable of punching holes in armored vehicles; and
• Various high-powered rifles and hand guns

Of these firearms, some 300 guns were turned over to the PNP Region 12 crime laboratory in General Santos City on suspicion that they were directly involved in the Maguindanao Massacre. So far, four of these confiscated guns have already been matched with slugs recovered from the victims and the site, according to Task Force Maguindanao head Chief Superintendent Benito Estipona. It is not clear if any of these firearms were part of the batch that CVOs tried to have registered under the amnesty program.

One long, one short

As a general rule, the country’s laws regulating firearms ownership limits the number of firearms owned by private citizens to “one long, one short,” or one rifle and one pistol.

In addition, private citizens are only allowed to own bolt-action or semi-automatic rifles with caliber no larger than .22 of an inch. The usual exemption is for gun club members, who are allowed a maximum of 10 rifles, but only “for sporting use.”

Yet according to the findings of the lifestyle check conducted by Deputy Ombudsman Humphrey Monteroso on the Ampatuan assets and submitted by the Anti-Money Laundering Council (AMLC) to the Court of Appeals, the Ampatuan clan has at least 157 firearms of various calibers registered in the PNP-FED’s Firearms Identification Management System (FIMS) masterfile.

Of these 157 registered firearms, 23 are listed under the name of Andal Salibo Ampatuan Sr., and 26 under the name of Zaldy Uy Ampatuan. Eighteen guns are registered under the name of Andal Uy Ampatuan Jr., while another 15 are registered in the name of his brother Anwar.

(An earlier report by the PCIJ, quoting PNP-FED officials, pegged the number of firearms registered to members of the Ampatuan clan at 271, distributed among 103 persons with the surname Ampatuan.)

How then were the Ampatuans able to register so many firearms under their names?

Big cache of guns

Current officials of the PNP-FED refused repeated requests by the PCIJ for an interview. But Police Chief Superintendent Ricardo Marquez, executive officer of the Directorate for Investigation and Detective Management, says “the only way I can think of” how the clan was able to pull off such a feat is through the numerous amnesty programs offered over the years. This is because under the amnesty program, an applicant can register any number of firearms.

Marquez says even long firearms are included in the amnesty program. “The (limit) of only one-long, one-short is effectively overruled (by the amnesty),” he adds.

Since 1992, the government has offered at least 12 amnesty programs that would enable holders of loose firearms to have them registered and legalized for a fee.

But there is yet one more apparent loophole in the amnesty program that allows gun owners to collect and legally own high-powered firearms. Under the country’s gun laws, private citizens are not allowed to own high-powered rifles of 5.56 mm or 7.62 mm. These are the calibers of the standard M-16 rifle and the M1 Garand or the M14 rifle used by the police and the military.

The various amnesty programs, though, allow applicants to own high-powered rifles so long as they do not exceed 7.62mm. This means an applicant for amnesty can, once approved, legally own his own arsenal of high-powered firearms that are not available to ordinary citizens.

‘Designer guns’

A quick inspection of the list of firearms registered under the names of the Ampatuans, meantime, also reveals a proclivity, not just for high-powered firearms, but for “designer guns,” as described by one security consultant, as well.

Of the 23 firearms listed under his name, Andal Sr. owns an Israeli-made 5.56 Negev light machine gun, a belt-fed or drum-fed machine gun that is hardly for sporting use. The Israel Weapon Industries website describes the Negev as “a small, light weight advanced machine gun” that allows “accurate and fast controlled fire for close quarter battle or an automatic mode that allows maximum firepower.”

In addition, Andal Sr. owns a Heckler and Koch MP7 submachine gun, a new generation of submachine guns whose 4.6mm bullets can punch holes through bulletproof vests. Manufacturer Heckler and Koch’s official website describes the MP7’s ammunition as capable of penetrating a bulletproof vest “comprised of 1.6mm titanium plates and 20 layers of Kevlar, out to 200 meters and beyond.”

Andal Sr. also owns 18 pistols and three other high-powered rifles.

Not to be outdone, Zaldy Ampatuan owns a Negev light machinegun, two HK MP7 submachine guns, an HK UMP40 submachine gun, and two Israeli-made Tavor assault rifles, the same rifle now being issued to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). This is aside from the 11 pistols and one shotgun that he owns.

Andal Jr., for his part, has 18 registered firearms, according to PNP records. These range from an OAR 556 rifle to a 5.7 caliber Fabrique Nationale submachine gun.

Expensive buys

A gun expert consulted by the PCIJ calls these “designer guns” that are very expensive, and hard to come by. An MP7 can be purchased in the Philippines for P 700,000 to P900,000 each because it is so rare, the expert says. The Tavor, with its bullpup design and built-in illuminated sights, can fetch anywhere from P600,000 to P700,000. A Negev light machinegun, because of its functionality, would be worth around P 1.2M in the Philippine market, he says.

In an email reply to PCIJ’s written queries, Andal Ampatuan Sr.’s lawyer, Sigfrid Fortun, dismisses suggestions that the Ampatuans had used the amnesty programs to build up their weapons arsenal.

“Whether they used the Amnesty Program to legitimize their possession of these weapons is arguable,” Fortun writes. “One thing is certain, though, when an unlicensed firearm is brought to the fold of the law and the PNP accepts it to license it, is this not far better than having loose firearms where the government does not even know exactly how many firearms one has in his possession? Now how can this submission to the fold of the law be immoral or illegal?”

Indeed, the argument is echoed by some police officials who see no problem with the liberal application of gun amnesty proclamations.

Marquez and Maligalig, for instance, both say it is better to encourage gun owners to have their loose firearms licensed, than to have these floating around unregistered.

Maligalig says the PNP-FED purposely made the amnesty proclamations more liberal “to ferret out” the loose firearms. He notes, “It was needed so that we could account all of those unrecorded.”

“The aim is to get the firearms registered, get their ballistic characteristics, and stencil them so that when they are used in a crime, they can be traced to their owners,” Marquez points out. “What’s the better situation, more guns that aren’t registered or have an amnesty program that has loose guns registered and stenciled?”

But he says there is an aspect of gun control that does need immediate attention. Over the years, he says, only civilians have been strictly following the letter of the law on firearms purchase and ownership. The likes of the AFP, effectively the biggest armed group in the country, apparently do not believe they have to follow such rules on firearms.

For example, Marquez says that firearms acquisitions made by AFP units outside of the regular arms dealers have largely been unregistered and unlicensed. Maligalig also says that AFP arms purchases go “undeclared.”

Floating around

For this reason, there are firearms floating around in the grey area between formal military units and the local government militias that the government has no records of. As such, it is much easier for high-powered firearms supposedly destined for the AFP to disappear into a black hole of sorts.

“When firearms are bought from a dealer, they are automatically registered,” says Marquez. “But when firearms are not acquired through that process, they are not registered. Some of the firearms of the AFP were through foreign military sales, so these were given directly to the AFP.”

“Our suggestion,” he says, “is for everybody’s firearms, especially government firearms, to be registered, and their records kept by the PNP, meaning ballistics records, stencils, etc.”

But the paperwork for such a process would probably have to compete with those from local officials who seem to believe they have to have a formidable arsenal in order to govern.

They fancied guns

Lawyer Fortun, for one, describes that the Ampatuans are “public officials who, during their incumbency, fancied guns (like most Alpha males). This was public knowledge.”

Yet he also defends the large number of firearms registered under the names of the Ampatuan family members by saying that the clan “was used by and had assisted the Government to fight the MILF.”

“Unsay (Andal Jr.) was in the forefront of these armed encounters,” Fortun says in his email reply to PCIJ’s queries. “They were the ‘stay-behind units’ ater the army completed its assault on known MILF territories. They took over and held the ground after the army had returned to their secure camps, and they kept the area they held MILF-free.”

According to Fortun, though, many of exotic firearms listed under the names of the Ampatuans were actually “gifts from constituents and others.”

Curiously, a PCIJ report on the guns of the Ampatuan clan published in 2010 also mentioned the fondness of some Ampatuan family members to give guns as gifts as well. Former Maguindanao Martial Law administrator Lt. Gen. Raymundo Ferrer had told the PCIJ that he had been offered one of the Tavor assault rifles of Zaldy Ampatuan as a gift a few weeks after the Maguindanao Massacre.

“Sir, kunin mo na lang, sa iyo na lang daw ang Tavor ni RG (Sir, just get it, RG’s Tavor is yours),” Ferrer recalls the aide of Zaldy as telling him over the phone.

On another occasion before the massacre, Ferrer recalled having received a brand new M4 assault rifle as a gift after a meeting with Zaldy Ampatuan. Ferrer said the gun was thrust on him by an Ampatuan aide while he was leaving.

A basic M4 assault rifle, without accessories, costs from $2,000 to 2,800 when purchased in bulk. – PCIJ, November 2011

MAGUINDANAO:The Quest for Justice is a documentary produced by the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism on the second anniversary of the Maguindanao Massacre. After two years, the Ampatuans have allegedly ramped up efforts to reach a settlement with the families of the victims. The families of the victims continue to hold out against the proposed settlement, even as they try to survive from day to day. In the meantime, the Ampatuan clan continues to wield clout in the region with its vast resources and continuing political influence.

This is just the teaser. The entire video will be uploaded next month.

The Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (KBP), the national association of owners and operators of radio and television stations in the country, has levied fines on two major television networks and one radio network for broadcasting information that it ruled could have compromised police efforts to rescue the hostages during the day-long hostage-taking incident at the Quirino Grandstand on Aug. 23, 2010.

The KBP Standards Authority ordered ABS-CBN Broadcasting Channel 2, Associated Broadcasting Company Channel 5 (now known as TV5), and radio station Radyo Mo Nationwide (RMN, which was earlier called Radio Mindanao Network) to each pay P30,000 in penalty for violations of the KBP broadcast code.

In addition to RMN’s fine, news anchors Michael Rogas and Erwin Tulfo were ordered to pay fines of P15,000 and P10,000, respectively, for getting in the way of negotiations between police and hostage-taker Rolando Mendoza.

In the Dec. 15, 2010 ruling – a copy of which PCIJ obtained only recently – the KBP also ordered RMN to reprimand both Rogas and Tulfo for their role in the coverage.

But the KBP Standards Authority expressed frustration over its inability to regulate broadcasters who are no longer members of the association. The KBP singled out in particular GMA-7 Network, which was also the subject of several complaints because of its coverage of the incident.

GMA-7 withdrew its membership from the KBP in September 2003 after a tiff over commercial loading limits set by the association.

The PCIJ exerted all effort to get the side of the four media agencies. ABC-5 legal counsel Christina Ona and GMA-7 officer Butch Raquel separately said they would have to get clearance from their superiors to be able to respond. RMN News’ officer-in-charge Buddy Oberas said the station could not issue a statement as of press time. Ma. Regina ‘Ging’ Reyes, ABS CBN vice president for News referred PCIJ’s request to the network’s legal department, which did not respond at all.

Not press freedom

Seven years later, it would be among the major TV and radio networks that would come under fire for broadcasting a detailed blow-by-blow account of the police operation to rescue Hong Kong tourists taken hostage by Mendoza, a dismissed police captain.

On the morning of Aug. 23, 2010, Mendoza had boarded the bus that had 25 Hong Kong tourists, among them women and children. He later made them into hostages in an attempt to demand reinstatement into the police force.

The Office of the Ombudsman had dismissed him from the service because of a 2008 complaint over alleged extortion.

The hostage-taking ended with a bungled rescue attempt by the police, resulting in the death of nine people, including eight of the hostages and Mendoza himself. The tragedy unfolded live on TV and on radio, with some networks airing live footage of policemen trying to gain entry through the front and the rear of the bus.

The live and detailed coverage by the broadcast networks was heavily criticized because the hostage-taker could monitor the media’s coverage of police operations through a TV set inside the bus.

All the networks investigated by the KBP said that they were merely covering a legitimate breaking news story and fulfilling their obligations to inform the public. But KBP Standards Authority chairperson Diana C. Gozum dismissed claims by the broadcast networks that they were merely exercising their duties as members of a free and democratic press.

“Press freedom is not absolute,” Gozum told the PCIJ. “It is not a matter of getting a scoop when lives are involved. We cannot say we did this to have a scoop or to have an advantage over competitors.”

Gozum said that a careful viewing of the tapes submitted by the networks to the KBP and a careful reading of the transcripts of the radio broadcasts would show that the networks went out of bounds in their eagerness to beat the competition.

“We cannot sacrifice life for press freedom,” she said. “In this situation the Standards Authority felt that our members went beyond their responsibilities as broadcasters and their responsibilities for getting a scoop for the network.”

“It pained us to make this decision because we are all broadcasters,” said Gozum, president and general manager of provincial radio broadcaster Filipinas Broadcasting Network. “They are our members, and we know them, we have worked with them, and some of them are the owners, or their official representatives to the KBP are in the Board.”

Hear no evil?

Curiously, the KBP Standards Authority had found ABS-CBN, ABC-5, and RMN liable for their coverage as early as Dec. 15, 2010, or four months after the hostage-taking incident. Yet until now, neither the KBP nor any of the networks has announced the findings in any press release, statement, or in a news story in any of the many media outlets of the three networks. In fact, the ruling may not have been brought up in public had PCIJ not asked KBP officials about the matter last week.

After pulling all stops in covering the Luneta hostage-taking incident and the government investigation that followed, the networks now appear uninterested in broadcasting the results of KBP’s own investigation into media’s culpability in the fiasco.

Instead, all three networks contested the findings by filing an appeal before the KBP Board of Trustees, which then convened a special appeals committee composed of four board members.

On Apr. 12, 2011, the appeals committee rejected the appeals of ABS-CBN, ABC-5, and RMN, and ordered all three to pay the fines within 10 working days or pay an additional penalty of 1.5 percent of the fine for every month past the deadline for the implementation of the order.

Under protest

On Apr. 29, 2011, ABC-5 sent a check for P30,000 from Banco de Oro to the KBP “as full payment and settlement of the fine imposed on respondents.”

ABS-CBN followed with a letter on May 2, 2011 from ABS-CBN legal counsel Cherrie Cruz stating that the network would abide by the order to pay the fine of P30,000. ABS-CBN insisted, though, that it was doing so under protest.

“The company wishes to make of record that it neither agrees with nor admits any liability in connection with the KBP Standards Authority’s decision dated 15 December (2010) finding the company to have violated Article 6 of the KBP broadcast code for its coverage of the 23 August 2010 Quirino Grandstand hostage-taking incident,” wrote Cruz. “The company also disagrees with the KBP Board of Trustees order dated 12 April 2011 denying its appeal from said decision.”

For its part, RMN legal counsel Jorge Sacdalan wrote the KBP on Apr. 28 asking the association to reconsider its order to reprimand RMN anchors Rogas and Tulfo. Sacdalan pledged that the network and its anchors “have learned their lessons from the tragic incident and have avowed to be more vigilant in performing their duties and responsibilities under the broadcast code.”

“Paying the fines will be enough penalty for whatever acts or omissions respondents RMN and Rogas have committed,” Sacdalan said in his letter to the KBP.

In greater danger

The KBP Board of Directors had ordered the Standards Authority to conduct an investigation into the coverage of the hostage-taking incident on Aug. 31, 2010, or a week after the incident.

By Sept. 24, 2010, the Standards Authority had already farmed out notices of hearings to officials and legal representatives of ABS-CBN, ABC-5, and RMN.

The KBP ordered RMN and its anchors Erwin Tulfo and Michael Rogas to explain why administrative sanctions should not be imposed on them for violating Section 1, Article 6 of the Broadcast Code. Tulfo is also a reporter and anchor of ABC-5, which is now known as TV5.

Section 1 states: “The coverage of crimes in progress or crisis situations, such as hostage-taking or kidnapping, shall not put lives in greater danger than is already inherent in the situation. Such coverage should be restrained and care should be taken so as not to hinder or obstruct efforts of authorities to resolve the situation.”

The KBP was particularly concerned with the 40-minute phone interview conducted by Rogas with Mendoza just minutes before the latter started shooting. Rogas has been accused of tying up the phone line with Mendoza, preventing police negotiators from getting through to the hostage- taker.

But the radio network argued that it was its “sworn duty to bring and inform the public all sides and angles of the hostage taking event as it unfolded.” Moreover, RMN officials insisted that Mendoza was using several other phone lines to contact other people.

RMN also seemed to blame the live TV coverage of the arrest of Mendoza’s brother Gregorio for the hostage-taker’s sudden angry outburst, which led to the shooting of hostages.

In a position paper RMN submitted to the Standards Authority on Oct. 19, 2010, RMN officials said the network “was not in control of the coverage being shown on television inside the tourist bus where (the hostage taker) witnessed the MPD’s (Manila Police District) arrest of his brother, which caused Captain Mendoza to get infuriated.”

After reviewing audiotapes and transcripts of the interview, however, the KBP Standards Authority ruled that the RMN interview was “wanting of the high degree of caution and restraint demanded by the broadcast code.”

The interview, KBP said, “only created a situation which effectively deprived the police authorities of the opportunity to deal solely and continuously with the hostage-taker on a one-on-one basis.”

“Much time was, in fact, wasted by the live interview which could have otherwise been used by the police negotiators to convince Mendoza to surrender peacefully and seek redress of his grievances within the prescribed legal parameters,” the KBP decision stated.

KBP stressed that media broadcasters should refrain from trying to negotiate with hostage-takers, and leave matters like these to professionals. Media, it said, “must accept the fact that their only role in a hostage-taking incident is to cover and report on the event, and not to become principal or supporting actors in the resolution.”

Vital information

In the case of ABS-CBN and ABC-5, the KBP Standards Authority found the two networks guilty of also violating Section 4, Article 6 of the KBP Broadcast Code, which states: “The coverage of crimes or crisis situations shall not provide vital information or offer comfort or support to the perpetrators.”

The Standards Authority cited several instances where reporters of both ABS-CBN and ABC-5 gave details or showed video that telegraphed the intentions or activities of police officials. In particular, the KBP Standards Authority cited several live reports as examples of violations of the broadcast code:

Julius Babao (ABS-CBN):

“…papalapit na ang assault team sa likod ng bus…armado ng matataas na kalibre ng baril. Nasa gilid na ng bus… binasag ang salamin sa harap at walang putok ng baril. Nakapwesto na ang mga alagad ng batas.” (The assault team is coming near the back of the bus… they are armed with high-caliber guns. They are at the side of the bus… they have smashed the glass in front, and there is no gunfire. The assault team is in place.)

Ron Gagalac (ABS-CBN):

“…may panibagong assault unit na pumapasok sa gilid ng bus… hindi ko makita… dahan-dahan pumapasok ang mobile…”

“…hindi tinuloy ang pagpasok sa likod… hindi ko alam kung alam nila ang secret handle pero ngayon kinakalampag ng isang SWAT member ang harap ng pintuan…” (A new assault team is coming to the side of the bus… I cannot see… the mobile patrol car is coming near… they did not insist on coming through the rear… I don’t know now if they know about the secret handle there, but now a SWAT member is rattling the door in front.)

Erwin Tulfo (ABC-5):

“…nakikita na natin 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-…15 SWAT members…”

“…dalawang pulis ang nakaposisyon sa harap; dalawa ang nasa tabi at nakapaligid ang iba…”

“…may dalawang pulis nagtatago sa may bumper…”

“…dalawang mobile ang nasa tabi… 4 na mobile nakaantabay sa paligid ng bus…” (…We can see 1-2-3-4-5-6-7…15 SWAT members… two policemen are positioned in front of the bus… two are at the side, and the others are all around… there are two policemen hiding by the bumper of the bus… there are two mobile patrol cars at the side… four more are waiting near the bus)

DJ Sta Ana (ABC-5):

“…naglagay ng mobile sa likod ng bus para pambara sa bus kung sakali… “

“…may isang pulis na may dalang parang tali… siguro para hatakin ang pinto…” (They’ve placed a mobile patrol car near the rear of the bus to block it… there is a policeman with a rope… maybe to pull the door open with.)

In its decision, the KBP Standards Authority ruled that these were just some examples of vital information that the media agencies should not have broadcast, as they would compromise police rescue operations.

Reasonable steps

ABS-CBN argued that its officers had taken every reasonable step to limit the coverage and not show police operations. The company also argued that the assault was unsuccessful because of the lack of training, equipment, and preparation of the rescue team, and not because of the coverage of the network. In addition, ABS-CBN said its news teams had complied with all police directives onsite.

One ABS-CBN executive who asked not to be identified told the PCIJ said they were disappointed with the KBP decision. The executive said that ABS-CBN’s news bosses had tried to be careful with what information or footage would be released to the public. But, the executive said, the situation was just too fast and fluid, and network bosses had no control over what their reporters would say during a live report.

“There were continuous discussions in the newsroom then,” the executive said. “We made sure that the cameras were just focused on the windshield so that we do not show the other positions.”

ABS-CBN lawyers also told the Standards Authority that it held back interviews that would compromise police positions, unlike “some media outfits” that aired footage “of the bus from the vantage point of the sniper which showed the rifle pointed towards the right side of the bus.” The network’s archrival GMA-7 had broadcast a story from a sniper’s point-of-view during the hostage crisis.

Kapuso or Kapamilya?

ABC-5 representatives meanwhile argued that its coverage did not provide any information that the hostage taker did not already know, since Mendoza was in an “elevated position” from where he could view the police operations against him. Channel 5 also said that it could not have provided vital information to Mendoza since Mendoza was watching a competitor’s channel on the television set inside the bus. (PCIJ was still waiting for ABC-5’s comment on the KBP ruling as of press time.)

In the case of both ABS-CBN and ABC-5, the KBP Standards Authority ruled that it was immaterial whose coverage Mendoza was monitoring inside the bus. “To constitute a violation of the code provision, it is not required for the hostage-taker to have actually received the information on the police operations aired by respondent,” the ruling stated.

It added, “We have viewed, studied, and reviewed a copy of the recorded coverage of the respondent, particularly the period covered by the rescue operations or police assault of the bus, and find that it was conducted in a manner which provided vital information, by being made available, to the hostage taker.”

“A general or broad approach in the coverage of the incident should have been adapted by respondent to remove itself from the proscription intended by the code provision,” the KBP said.

No jurisdiction

But the KBP Standards Authority rued its inability to investigate GMA-7, a non-member of the association, devoting a full page of its 23-page decision to discuss that problem.

The Standards Authority said KBP cannot do self-regulation of the broadcast industry if it has no power over some of the sector’s players. It noted: “We believe that the KBP was organized in April 1973 as a self-regulating private organization of the broadcast industry. It was meant to include all broadcast stations in the country, without exception. Anything less mocks the principle of self-regulation, as evidenced by our present inability to officially inquire into the coverage of the hostage-taking incident by GMA-7.”

“To this end,” said the Standards Authority, “it is suggested that the Office of the President, through the Office of the Executive Secretary, and with the assistance of the National Telecommunications Commission, support the KBP in establishing a system or mechanism by which the broadcast code is made to apply to all broadcast stations in the country, without exception.”

The unique case of GMA-7 appears to be a sore point among many KBP members. “What about GMA-7?” asked one media executive when informed of the sanctions imposed on the other networks. “Won’t it even be sanctioned?”

Gozum herself commented, “Our members are at a disadvantage because they must comply with the broadcast code regarding program and commercial loading and others.” It was for this reason, she said, that the KBP has asked Malacañang to find a way to end what she called “unfair competition.”

“Government must address the issue of GMA-7 and the other non-KBP members,” Gozum said.

But in an earlier interview with The Manila Bulletin in July 2006, GMA-7 chairman and president Felipe L. Gozon said the network bolted from the KBP precisely because it thought KBP’s self-regulatory functions were already obsolete.

“I did not believe in the regulatory function that KBP was imposing on members,” the newspaper quoted Gozon as saying. “That was obsolete already. The KBP was Marcos’s idea to regulate the broadcast industry. I did not agree in what KBP wanted to impose. I do not believe in censorship. I did not agree on load limitation. Even the US National Association of Broadcasters couldn’t impose load limitation now after they were hauled to court and the court ruled in favor of the complainant.”

Revising the code

Regardless of who was covered by the broadcast code, the KBP has taken the first if belated step in updating its rules on coverage. KBP Standards Authority Performance Officer Virginia Velasco said the KBP has amended Article 6 of the KBP broadcast code to take into account lessons learned from the Quirino hostage-taking incident.

Article 6 deals with coverage of crime and crisis situations. Velasco said that prior to the Quirino fiasco, Article 6 had only six sections. Now it has 15, giving less room for members to claim that the rules were too vague or incomplete.

The amendments were approved during the general membership meeting of the KBP in October 2010. These include:

• A section stating that the right to life takes precedence over the right to information.
• Stations are encouraged to consider delayed airing of its live footage.
• Broadcasters should assume that the perpetrator has access to all broadcasts.
• Broadcasters may not communicate with perpetrators or victims without coordination with police.
• Members must be mindful to preserve evidence in a crime scene.
• Broadcasters must be careful not to provoke the perpetrator or interfere with negotiations.

Learning experience

While the media networks have protested the KBP’s findings, some network executives admitted that the 2010 Quirino Grandstand hostage crisis was an eye-opener for the country’s free-wheeling press.

ABS-CBN News executive Ging Reyes says the Philippine media now need to be more conscious of both their power and responsibilities.

“Hostage situations are very sensitive,” Reyes said. “As a news organization, we should now be thinking ten times whether we go live with it.”

“It is not to say that we should not go live,” she said. “There are no hard and fast rules for this. We are just saying we should not go to town with it. In the end, prudence is key.”

Apart from Gozum,who signed as chairperson, the KBP Standards Authority decision was also affirmed by the following members: Rafael V. Barreiro, Audiovisual Communications Inc.; Rosa Maria T. Feliciano, Radio Station DZUP; Noel C. Galvez, Vanguard Radio Network; Brenda B. Locsin, PBN Broadcasting Network; Orly L. Pangcog, People’s Broadcasting System;

George M. Salabao, St. Jude Thaddeus Institute of Technology; Atty Virginia Jose, ZOE Broadcasting Network; Roberto D. Del Rosario, IBC-13; Ephraim V. Guerrero, Intermedia Philippines; and Eric C. Maliwat, Far East Broadcasting Company.

Members Jean Paul M. Varela of Good News Broadcasting and Christine C. Ona of ABC-5 did not participate in all the hearings. They also did not sign the Standards Authority’s decision. – PCIJ, June 2011

The Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (Association of Broadcasters of the Philippines, KBP) Standards Authority released recently a decision on the Aug. 23, 2010 hostage-taking incident, which included the imposition of fines on member-networks for violating the KBP Broadcast Code. Before it issued the decision, the KBP also revised Article 6 (Crime and Crisis Situations) of its Broadcast Code to help media organizations avoid making the same mistakes they made during the Aug. 23 hostage taking incident should something similar happen in the future. (See Sidebar: “Approved Amendments to Article 6, Crime and Crisis Situations, KBP Broadcast Code”.)

On that date, Rolando Mendoza, a former police officer, took hostage 25 tourists from Hong Kong and some Filipino staff who were in a tourist bus about to leave Manila’s Fort Santiago for the Luneta Park. The incident ended with nine individuals, including Mendoza, dead.

The press, particularly the broadcast media, has been at least partly blamed for the bloody outcome of the hostage taking. Their ethical and professional lapses during the 11-hour coverage made the situation worse (“Covering the Aug. 23 hostage taking: Media lapses invite state intervention”, PJR Reports, September-October 2010). The government, recognizing the existence of the self-regulatory mechanisms of the press, asked the KBP to investigate the media violations and to impose appropriate sanctions.

The result

The KBP Standards Authority December 2010 decision declared that:

“The Authority finds cause to hold the following respondents liable for first offenses (against) certain provisions of the Broadcast Code, as follows:

“On respondents Radio Mindanao Network (Radyo Mo Nationwide, RMN), Michael Rogas, and Erwin Tulfo, for having violated Sec. 1, Art. 6, Part I of the Broadcast Code (Coverage of crimes in progress), the following penalties are hereby imposed: The sum of Thirty Thousand Pesos (P30,000.00) and censure on respondent Radio Mindanao Network; the sum of Fifteen Thousand Pesos (P15,000.00) and reprimand on respondent Michael Rogas; and the sum of Ten Thousand Pesos (P10,000.00) and reprimand on respondent Erwin Tulfo, all in accordance with the offense classification and range of penalties provided in Art. 4.1, Part III of the Broadcast Code.

“We, however, find no cause to hold Jesus J. Maderazo of RMN liable under the Broadcast Code.

“On respondent ABS-CBN Broadcasting Corporation, for having violated Sec. 4, Art. 6, Part I of the Broadcast Code (Schedule of Penalties for Grave Offenses) , the following penalties are hereby imposed The sum of Thirty Thousand Pesos (P30,000.00) and censure, in accordance with the offense classification and range of penalties provided in Art. 4.2, Part III of the Broadcast Code.

“On respondent Associated Broadcasting Company (TV5), for having violated Sec. 4, Art. 6, Part I of the Broadcast Code, the following penalties are hereby imposed: The sum of Thirty Thousand Pesos (P30,000.00) and censure, in accordance with the offense classification and range of penalties provided in Art. 4.2, Part III of the Broadcast Code.”

The penalties do not seem to be commensurate to the wrongdoing.  Among its options, the KBP chose not to suspend Rogas and Tulfo for the major ethical offense of interviewing Mendoza during the most crucial stages of the crisis.

In the first place, however, the KBP decision, comparable to a mountain’s laboring to produce a mouse, had been almost a year in the making. In all that time, its Standards Authority simply decided not to include GMA Network Inc. (GMA-7) in its investigation because the network is not a KBP member.

Beyond ironic

And yet GMA-7 committed similarly egregious violations of the Broadcast Code as ABS-CBN 2 and TV5, among them that of reporting police and SWAT team movements in the afternoon of the 23^rd. The KBP “solution” to this dilemma was to ask the government to get involved, in effect providing government a justification for media regulation in the name of self-regulation!

The KBP actually suggested that “the Office of the President, through the Office of the Executive Secretary, and with the assistance of the National Telecommunications Commission (NTC), support the KBP in establishing a system or mechanism by which the Broadcast Code is made to apply to all broadcast stations in the country, without exception, in the interest of promoting the principle of self-regulation (and accountability) in the country’s broadcast industry.”

The statement is beyond ironic. Media self-regulation means that media institutions themselves enforce ethical and professional standards among their members without intervention from the government or any other external agency. And yet here is one of the alleged mechanisms of self-regulation itself asking for government intervention—and in the name of self-regulation.

Although it does not have authority over non-members, there is nothing to stop KBP from reviewing and evaluating the performance of all broadcast media organizations.

ABS-CBN 2 paid the fine of P30,000 imposed on it for its lapses in the coverage of the Aug. 23 hostage taking, but neither agreed with, nor admitted any liability in connection with the KBP decision. On the other hand, TV5 appealed the decision, arguing that the police should have intervened in its coverage, again in effect arguing for government regulation by admitting its inability to itself decide, on the basis of media ethics and professional standards, how their reporters should have behaved. TV5 also argued that it was unfair that while it was being sanctioned, non-KBP members like GMA-7 “get away unscathed no matter what it does.” RMN similarly appealed the KBP decision, insisting that they had not violated any provisions of the broadcast code.

GMA-7’s withdrawal of membership from KBP has indeed prevented its being investigated by KBP and exempted it from whatever sanctions it may impose, in both the Aug. 23 hostage-taking incident as well as others. And yet the KBP could have looked into GMA-7’s coverage despite its non-membership, and cited it for the lapses in its coverage without imposing such sanctions as fining it the paltry sum of P30,000. Non-KBP membership, as TV5 correctly argued, should not be a license for any media organization to commit ethical and professional lapses that help make things worse rather than better during crisis situations.

KBP needs to review its mindset as far as non-KBP members are concerned.  It needs to affirm that it has the option to evaluate GMA-7’s and other non-KBP members’ performance, if for no other reason than the fact that public interest requires it.

Of equal concern for KBP, however, should be the lesson it is imparting to both its members and non-members otherwise: If non-members can “get away unscathed”, as TV5 complains, what is to stop KBP members from taking the same path of resigning their membership as GMA-7, and eventually scuttling the entire self-regulatory imperative in Philippine broadcast media?

IF MONEY is the root of all evil, particularly in the corruption-tainted Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP), then perhaps the government might do well to deny soldiers access to cold cash.

At the same time, however, it must make sure that the logistics and supplies get to the battlefield in the right quantity at the right time.

Or perhaps the government might require that all military contracts for goods and services be covered by a strictly enforced electronic procurement system.

As well, if the logistics system is good and efficient, the government might ban the conversion of funds and congressional insertions in the AFP’s budget altogether.

Or even, that the Armed Forces be restricted to managing only its budget for Personal Services, and civilian agencies be tasked to disburse the military’s monies for Capital Outlay and Maintenance and Other Operating Expenses.

Moreover, it may make sense to just give soldiers and officers each their own automated teller machine or credit cards, so that their salary and every financial transaction could be billed on it, and a paper trail of who spent what for which items could be preserved.

These are among the reforms for cleansing the AFP of corruption that have been pitched not by technocrats or finance managers but about a dozen officers who spoke with the PCIJ for this series.

The proposals, all well-argued and reasonable but some in contradiction with each other, stem from a lot of reflection amongst soldiers that had been triggered by the ongoing Senate public hearings on corruption in the AFP.

The flipside of this resort to rumination is a sense of worry and foreboding among officers that too much talk about corruption, and little action, will injure the AFP more.

For one, they say the public parsing of the graft and the warts of the AFP is causing demoralization in the ranks, especially among frontline troops. The toll on troop morale may not be visible yet, say the officers, but it could soon reach rupture point unless the commander in chief and senior officers step in promptly to clarify the issues.

For another, the officers fret that the discussions are sending the wrong message to young officers that, by the examples of the generals now accused of corruption, it is all right to steal, and when caught, to just feign loss of memory or forge a plea bargain deal. That way, one gets to still keep part of the money.

Faith in the chief

One general remains hopeful, saying he wants to keep faith in the commander-in-chief, President Benigno Simeon Aquino III. “Before the elections (May 2010), I wanted to leave the service or stage a coup,” he says. But when P-Noy ran, I thought, there’s still some hope.”

But he says President Aquino – who is still a few months short of completing his first year as the country’s chief executive – should reach out more to the troops amidst the assault on the AFP’s honor, and the troops’ morale.

“We need top leadership who could drive down the message to the lowest levels,” the general says of Aquino’s clarion call of integrity in public service. “The problem is it hasn’t been driven down, from him to the Cabinet to the chief of staff, downward. That’s really hard.”

For sure, though, the officers familiar with the flaws of the procurement and accounting processes in the AFP are happier now that corruption in the military is a topic out in the public domain. Says another general: “Those in the know, we know this is just the tip of the iceberg and we have a golden opportunity to clean up now. If only we could, we’d distribute kwitis (sparklers) and have fireworks at the camps to celebrate!”

Corruption glossary

Indeed, the level of corruption in the military has risen to the point where it has spawned its own language. Military officers interviewed by the PCIJ shared some of the common terms used within the organization to describe corrupt practices:

• Cost of Money – the money or resources lost to corrupt practices. For example, 20 to 30 percent of a military project cost may go to bribes and other corrupt practices.

• Conversion – A unit that has a budget allocation for paper clips or bond paper may opt instead to “convert” the items into cash for other uses. Normally, the conversion entails a loss, or a “cost of money.”

• Cleared Money – Money that has already been “fixed” or freed up for use by a unit commander. Usually, this is money obtained through unauthorized means, such as conversion or RTS.

• RTS (return to sender) – “The AFP is one big laundry machine,” one very senior military officer told the PCIJ. Legislators and other executive departments insert items in the military budget in exchange for a return of up to 30 percent.

Retired Commodore Rex Robles admits that the problem of conversion in particular is so widespread in the military that many unit commanders take it as a fact of life. “I admit I converted, too,” he says. “We have converted items into cash that we can use.”

One of the founders of the Reform the Armed Forces Movement (RAM), Robles was also a  member of the Feliciano Commission that looked into charges of military corruption in the wake of the 2003 Oakwood Mutiny led by then Navy Lt. Sg. Antonio Trillanes.

Trillanes and 300 officers and men from special forces units in the military had taken over the posh Oakwood Apartments in Makati to demand the resignation of then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo. Trillanes and his group accused Arroyo and her officials of milking the military and selling arms to the government’s enemies.

Robles believes the problem of conversion arises from the inflexibility of the military. If, for example, a unit is given reams of bond paper when it really needs more boots, a field commander will resort to conversion in order to get the equipment he needs. Inevitably, there is a “cost of money” involved in the conversion.

“It became acceptable because of the restrictive policies,” says Robles. “If (the item needed) is not in the budget, you’d find a way to get it.”

Lokohan na lang?

Most military officers PCIJ has talked to insist that conversion is a necessary fact of life under the AFP’s present system of the armed forces. Most logistical supplies are programmed and purchased in Manila, before being shipped to remote areas such as Jolo or Tawi-Tawi. What this means is that many times, programmed items are far removed from needed items.

But conversion may be only the tip of the problem. Ironically, the knee-jerk reaction of military officers to unbending bureaucracy is what causes a host of other problems with corruption.

Officers say that once soldiers think they can justify circumventing standard operating procedures in the name of “improvisation,” abuses follow easily. Robles himself says the tactic has been “abused.”

Brig. Gen. Benito de Leon, head of the AFP Management and Fiscal Office that is tasked with the disbursement of funds to line units of the AFP points out as well: “The big problem there is the culture that you encourage, ang lokohan (resorting to lies and trickery). We are making them more inured to the idea of corruption.”

“We are now breeding a new generation with a twisted or mangled understanding on the process and perception of government,” de Leon adds. “Naglolokohan lang pala tayo (It seems we’re all just lying to each other).”

He says that contrary to popular perceptions, there are already mechanisms in place that provides a check and balance within the AFP organizations. “For example,” he says, “when it comes to procurement, the logistics family should be providing the oversight function. There is also no lack of offices that aim to make sure that transactions are in order, such as the internal audit service, which looks into the use of funds, and the inspector general’s office, which checks the efficiency and economy of the functions of other offices.”

“The problem, however, is the people involved,” says de Leon. “When you look at why there seems to be some collusion, you’ll see that some people have been assigned to a particular office for a long time, so there’s already familiarity. There should be rotation, as much as possible.”

Reforms under way

According to de Leon, the AFP has been taking steps to strengthen internal control of funds at its highest levels beginning in 2006, when it abolished the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Comptrollership J6, and set up four independent offices to take over the functions. These include the Resource Management Office (RMO), the Management and Fiscal Office (MFO), the Office of the Internal Auditor (OTIA), and the Accounting Center, which all report directly to the Chief of Staff.

De Leon relates that the breakup of J6 caused some logistical issues because personnel whose functions overlapped were initially confused about their assignments. Still, he says, the breakup introduces more checks and balances to the system. “It also makes it harder for the heads of the offices to collude,” he adds. “The close association that was there in the past (when J6 was in place) no longer exists.”

These days, de Leon proposes more specific reforms:

• Develop a more efficient logistics or procurement system to avoid or eliminate conversion of funds.
• Have fewer bulk purchases in Manila that entail tremendous costs for forwarding supplies to the frontlines.
• Allow ground commanders flexibility in deciding how to spend their units’ budgets.
• As a complementary effort, shift the accountability for funds from GHQ finance and budget officers to the ground commanders.
• Develop a culture of honesty and transparency among officers assigned to budget, finance, and accounting duties, from Day One of their assignment.

The proposal appears counter-intuitive: to prevent corruption, government must relax its rules on the disbursement and allocation of funds in the military. But de Leon argues, “You provide more lattitude to your officers, but you also require greater accountability.”

De Leon concedes that the proposed system probably has its own set of problems. But, he says, this would still be an improvement to the present system, where almost all military units think they are justified in using conversion to meet their needs.

De Leon may have an ally in retired army Brig. Gen. Ricardo Morales, who says, “If the AFP had an efficient and effective logistics system, there would be no need for conversion. Everything would be provided for.”

No excuse at all

A fierce advocate of reforms in the military, Morales says that there’s no excuse for the AFP to not be able to streamline its logistics system. “We’ve been fighting the same battles for 40 years!” he says. “There are no needs in the field that we can’t already anticipate.”

Curiously, though, the core values that the PMA had drummed into the heads of military cadets for four long years should have helped its graduates in the military guard against corruption. The PMA motto is “Courage, Loyalty, Integrity” – values that no God-fearing citizen would argue against.

A cadet pledges to abide by a time-honored code from the very first moment he steps into the PMA: “We, the cadets, do not lie, cheat, steal, nor tolerate among us those who do so.”

But then PMA graduates are a fraternity of their own, and fraternal bonds are sometimes stronger than the more ambiguous concepts of loyalty to government, country, or the rule of law. Classmates call each other ‘mistah,’ and hold dearly to the concept of fraternal loyalty with the ferocity of a medieval knight.

In his 1999 book, Closer than Brothers, Alfred W. McCoy noted the intense bond of loyalties that link Cavaliers, or graduates of the PMA. He cited the example of Col. Oscar Martinez, who was accused of mismanaging the Retirement and Separation Benefits System (RSBS), the AFP pension fund.

“Without pausing to assay the credibility of the charges, both (former Police Director-General Panfilo) Lacson and (former Army Col. Gregorio) Honasan rallied to their class valedictorian, threatening reprisals against any who would harm him,” wrote McCoy. “’Remember,’ said Senator Honasan, ‘this is the notorious class ’71. There were 106 of us who graduated in that class, and we’re solid.’”

Integrity forgotten

“What is commonly said of the academy’s motto is: Courage, Loyalty, Integrity,” recalls a PMA graduate who is now a general in the Armed Forces. “The last one (Integrity) is erased easily in most grads. Especially for those exposed in their line of work to the public.”

There is, in fact, another pledge that seems to have an even more far-reaching effect on PMA graduates. Written by 19^th century U.S. writer Elbert Hubbard, it is also used by many law enforcement and security agencies around the world: “If you work for a man, in heaven’s name, work for him/ Speak well of him and stand by the institution he represents/Remember- an ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness…./If you must growl, condemn, and eternally find fault/Why! Resign your position/And when you are outside, damn to your heart’s content/But as long as you are part of the institution,  do not condemn it/ If you do, the first high wind that comes along  will blow you away.”

It’s a well-meaning pledge, says an active-duty Navy captain. But he also says that it has become the common justification among military men not to reveal any information that may be detrimental to even just the image of the armed forces. This is even if corruption is already happening right in front of them.

“What I say myself is that, don’t include me (in the deal), give it to someone else,” says the captain. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see, keep it to yourselves.”

“That’s how we are, whatever the commander wants, we follow,” says another officer. “If you’re unwilling to, then get out of the service.”

Honor vs whitewash

Yet there are many officers who bristle in such situations and find themselves seething. Asks a senior officer: “Why is it that some cavaliers seem to be using PMA traditions and the concept of honor in order to hide corruption issues from the public, in the name of ‘protecting the honor of the institution.’ When is it a matter of honor, and when is it a whitewash?”

Robles also comments that while there are bad eggs, majority of the officers corps and the rank and file are honest soldiers who make do with what resources is handed to them by their leaders, whether civilian or military.

“Many of us grew up with a stilted sense of honor, or an overestimated sense of honor,” says Robles. “But if you want to excise a cancer, excise it, but use a scalpel and not a backhoe.”

Morales, a graduate of PMA class ’77, for his part remarks, “What is the important word in the PMA? It is ‘Philippines!’ The people own the academy.”

“This is all happening in spite of the honor code,” he says. “In the end, the PMA is just a school that is just supposed to produce officers who can fight and win battles. Yet we’re not only losing, (some graduates) are also corrupt!”

De Leon meanwhile says that the current swirl of controversy involving the military may yet turn out for the better. “I think there’s a window of opportunity right now for the AFP,” he says. “Maybe something good, in terms of policy or even awareness, will snowball out of (these discussions).”

Morales also warns, “The younger officers are watching us. Can you imagine what they will do years from now if this is uncorrected?” – With additional reporting by Jaemark Tordecilla, PCIJ, February 2011

Calisthenics time for soldiers at a camp in North Cotabato. PCIJ Photo by Winona Cueva.

NORTH COTABATO – While senators and generals in Manila were bickering over who got more millions in pabaon among outgoing chiefs of staff of the Armed Forces, Sergeant Rolly was wondering why his meager salary had thinned some more.

And then his pay check showed that General Headquarters (GHQ) had made deductions for several loans that he never took out.

Sergeant Rolly is just one of more than 100,000 soldiers who have kept their ears cocked to the ongoing Senate investigation into the staggering amounts that some generals have allegedly stashed away in bank accounts and prime real estate here and abroad.

When the PCIJ spoke with him last week, Sergeant Rolly was agonizing over how he could fix the erroneous deduction made on his pittance of a pay. After all, from his camp here in North Cotabato, GHQ seems like a world many light years away.

Yet, of course, soldiers have other cash benefits, however similarly small. Sergeants on combat duty draw a monthly combat pay of P500, or P16 a day.  And this is already a steep increase from December last year, when combat pay was pegged at only P8 a day.

But no one would probably argue against the fact that P16 for every day that a soldier is sent to the frontlines to embrace injury or death from enemy fire is peanuts. This is especially when the amount is compared to the multimillion pesos in pabaon and pasalubong money that, as had been alleged in the Senate, outgoing and incoming chiefs of staff get. And all that, for warming their seats at air-conditioned rooms most days of the year.

Yet still, for the record, Sergeant Rolly said that his morale remained high, and that he was willing to let this small hiccup in his pay slip pass. He must keep his focus, he said, on his duty to serve country and people.

The same went for Private Lenny and a second Sergeant Rolly. Yes, they said,  they monitor the Senate hearings live on their camp’s television set. The revelations made at the hearings, they add, should not distract them from their job of fighting the communists.

“Basta maganda at tama ang utos sa amin, kailangang sumunod kami sa utos (For as long as we get good and correct orders, we must follow),” said the second Sergeant Rolly.

His friend Sergeant Ed said that he, too, has not been affected by the dirt that has so far been dug up at the Senate hearings. In part, that might be because Manila is too far away, and that it takes time for the soldiers here to get the latest reports.

“We are not updated about what happens in Manila so it seems like we are not affected,” he said.  “We just follow orders from upstairs.”

All the men in uniform at this camp seemed to echo just one mantra: “Obey first before you complain.” Such is the nature of military training and the concept of the chain of command that soldiers have been told to respect. Many would not dare cross the official line.

The officers at this camp allowed the PCIJ to speak with the soldiers on the condition that no questions are asked about the details of the Senate hearings, the generals, or the pabaon scandal. All throughout the interview, an officer stood by to monitor the answers of the soldiers, as if the mere presence of reporters would spark an epiphany among rank and file, and widespread discontent.

It's war as usual for these soldiers at a camp in North Cotabato. PCIJ Photo by Winona Cueva.

Still, not every military officer has chosen to put blinders on his men.

One brigade commander based out of Mindanao told the PCIJ that he had talked to his men about the scandal rocking the AFP. Instead of ignoring it, the commander said he tried to put the discussions in a more positive light for his men.

“I’ve been talking to my troops, telling them na huwag ma low-morale dahil dito,” he said. “This is even a good indication that government is doing something now about the system.”

He said he told his troops that in truth, “hindi lang naman sa military ito; sa iba nga, mas masahol pa (this is not just a problem in the military. In the other agencies, it is even worse).”

The commander knows whereof he speaks. Several years ago, he himself was sanctioned by his superiors for daring to speak out against irregularities within the AFP.

“Sabi ko sa troops ko, let’s put this in a positive note,” he said. ”If these things had not been exposed like the 2004 ‘Hello, Garci’ wiretapping scandal, nothing will change and we will not shape up.”

Transparency seems counter-intuitive to an institution like the AFP that is built on secrecy and security. It also appears to run counter to the concepts of the chain of command and obedience to superiors.

“We are a proud organization kasi,” said one general. “So we should not be the first to talk against the institution.”

There was general awareness among soldiers here of the Senate hearings on corruption in the AFP. That is as far as it goes for now, with different commanders taking different discussion tracks with their men.

For sure though, the troops watch the hearings when they could. But the troops qualified that the usual order of their viewing preferences is the soap opera “Imortal” and “Mara Clara” first, then the news, and finally, the live telecast of the Senate hearings.

It’s small comfort to know that in some camps, soldiers have access to cable TV, and in others, none.   – With reporting by Ed Lingao, PCIJ, February 2011

EIGHT YEARS ago in 2003, the PCIJ had exposed how the soldiers themselves were arming the enemy, by selling bullets and guns at fat discounts to rebels. To make matters worse, the transactions transpired at the very heart of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) command: the General Headquarters at Camp Aguinaldo.

That early, a New People’s Army (NPA) cadre code-named Ricky visited Aguinaldo on and off to purchase wares of war from soldiers. The bullets went for P5 a pop, even though the government at the time spent P14 to make or purchase each one.

The sale of guns and bullets by some soldiers to rebel groups and warlords is an old cottage industry, according to contacts from the NPA and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). Then and now, government arsenals have become a dipping pond for rebel groups, thanks to soldiers given to making quick money.

More stories on anomalies in the military would follow, by the PCIJ and other media outfits. Talks about reforming the AFP would inevitably spring up after every story. Yet as the recent hearings on corruption in the AFP at the Senate have shown, such talk has resulted in little action.

Clearly, people and paper combine to affirm with certitude that corruption – petty, big, and bureaucratic – unfold with impunity, and has become massive and routine in the AFP. The stories that officers and men tell are validated in audit reports and official documents filed from years ago.  More than ample testimonial and documentary proof of corruption in the AFP exists. Yet it seems like officials investigating the issue simply do not know where to look, or just do not want to know.

For instance, the reports of the Commission on Audit (COA) on the AFP and the Department of National Defense (DND) from 2007 to 2009 alone speak of more tragic tales of corruption, with more real victims and bigger costs on the treasury. Among these:

• The AFP paid 184 “pensioners” aged 95 to 110 years old a total of P2.3 million in September 2009. This apparent case of ghost beneficiaries actually cost more, or P27.6 million, if the pension benefits were computed for the 12 months of 2009.  The average lifespan in the Philippines as of March 2010 is 71.6 years for women, and 66.1 for men.
• Aside from these centenarians, a random audit in 2009 of pension payments totaling P243.2 million showed that the entire amount went to 18,051 pensioners and their heirs without birth dates, and 4,220 other pensioners without addresses indicated on the AFP master list of retired personnel.
• From 2007 to 2009, the AFP signed 22 “perfected contracts” for supplies (binoculars, squad automatic weapons, hand-held radio, basic trainer aircraft, light support watercraft, patrol killer medium, 76mm ammunition, explosive ordinance disposal bomb suit, etc.) under the AFP Modernization Program. As of December 2009, copies of these “perfected contracts” had yet to be submitted to the Office of the Auditor, the COA said.
• Nine supplies contracts worth a total of P1.96 billion funded under the AFP Modernization Act Trust Fund and awarded from 2003 to 2006 had been marked by delayed deliveries ranging from nine to 181 days. But as of December 2009, the COA said the AFP had not submitted the delivery receipts for seven of the nine contracts, and in all cases, had not shared information on contract amendments and extension of delivery dates.
• From 2002 to 2009, the DND had not collected or could not explain a total of P918.2 million in “accounts due from National Government Agencies,” including
  • Multimillion pesos for such items as “construction of PGMA SONA school buildings (DPWH)” that apparently refer to projects that then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo had promised in her State of the Nation addresses and entrusted to the Department of Public Works and Highways to implement, using funds tucked in the DND budget.
  • On Apr. 19, 2007, or three weeks to the May 2007 congressional and local elections, the DND released P549.7 million “to fund Foreign Military Sales P1-B under the RP-US Defense Assessment” that officers say need not be funded by the Philippine government at all.
  • In the last three months of 2008, the DND made several multimillion-peso fund releases for such opaque reasons as “for intelligence reform projects,” P11.3 million;  “to support program of expenditures,” P20 million; “to support program of expenditures,” P51.5 million; “reclassification of other prepaid expenses for procurement service account,” P5.9 million, among others.
• Cash advances worth P4.2 million for local and foreign trips made by officers and employees of the DND from 12 years ago remain unliquidated as of December 2009, including P1.5 million of the P3.6 million issued to then Secretary Gilberto Teodoro for three foreign travel schedules. Also listed with unliquidated cash advance of P346,490 is former Defense undersecretary Salvador Mison, and another P342,058, a general reportedly in the running for the position of AFP chief of staff.
• Cash advances worth P7.06 million remain unliquidated as of December 2008 in the AFP, including over one million pesos each issued to three captains who are special disbursing officers from the military’s Maintenance and Other Operating Expenses (MOOE) funds, and about a total of P1.8 million issued to seven officers from the Personal Services (PS) fund that should pay for the salaries of soldiers.

These and other adverse findings that COA has enrolled in its reports on the AFP and DND paint a sorry picture of a military and defense establishment too cavalier or negligent in how it handles public funds. Or as retired Commodore Rex Robles puts it, some officers and men in the AFP take “a very casual attitude about money… they think every problem could be solved by simply throwing money at it.”

Big-ticket deals

To be sure, all Philippine presidents after the EDSA People Power Revolt of 1986 had failed to rein in the AFP as it entered into various big-ticket procurement deals that were marred by kickbacks, collusive or negotiated bidding, conflict of interest, or sheer inefficiency and waste.

The return of democracy after EDSA had also democratized access to military contracts and turned money-making a free-for-all process in the AFP. This was in contrast to the nearly absolute control that strongman Ferdinand E. Marcos and his cronies wielded over public funds and state resources.

But the Philippines’ post-1986 presidents not only tolerated the corruption in the AFP, friends and associates of some of them are said to have even pushed some big, questionable contracts onto the military.

Beginning 1986, vested political interests started cornering AFP projects particularly in the acquisition of aircraft, boats, munitions, vehicles, and communications equipment. Soldiers then talked about the purchase of S-211 trainer jets from Italy’s Agusta company in the late 1980s by people close to then President Corazon ‘Cory’ Aquino. After the delivery of 12 trainer jets, six more were ordered.

Together with two retired generals, Cory Aquino’s associates later formed a company that was the local partner of the firm British GKN for the supply of Simba armored vehicles. The company chose to be located at the former U.S. naval base in Subic after Fidel V. Ramos had already been elected president.

Under Ramos, a former chief of staff and defense secretary, the Armed Forces launched a Modernization Program in the mid-90s with an initial budget forecast of P50 billion.  It was not funded by Congress all at once, prompting a Ramos government proposal to support the program from the proceeds of the bases conversion contracts, along with the sale of Fort Bonifacio.

When Ramos bowed out of Malacanang in 1998, the government still had no money for the AFP Modernization Program. The billions of pesos raised from the sale of Fort Bonifacio are still not fully accounted for to this day.

‘Emergency’ purchases

Ramos’s immediate successor, Joseph ‘Erap’ Estrada, stayed at the Palace from June 1998 to January 2001, or only 31 months. He set aside funds for the AFP Modernization Program. Yet, soldiers and officers say that under Estrada, the munitions and supplies used in the “all-out war” against the MILF became the biggest source of corruption.

In recent weeks at the Senate, former AFP budget officer George Rabusa testified that back then, the military purchased apparently overpriced munitions from Thailand without bidding. But since there was an emergency at the time in Mindanao, the military justified it as an “emergency purchase.”

The conflict in Mindanao and the intermittent offensives that the AFP mounts there have become the usual, useful handles of the AFP top brass to justify so-called “emergency” deals that need not be submitted to competitive bidding.

Crystal balls?

In April 2008, for instance, the supposed “emergency” triggered by the violence that followed talks on the proposed memorandum of agreement on the Bangsamoro Juridical Entity (BJE) was invoked by Estrada’s successor, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, to justify the P1-billion “emergency” purchase of Howitzer and mortar rounds.

Perhaps the generals had crystal balls. Hostilities in Mindanao would not break out anew until August 2008, or four months after the AFP top brass recommended the “emergency” purchase.

But that was not the end of it. The conflict had already subsided yet the contract had dragged on for two more years as a political and legal issue. Many officers had favored the Israeli company Talon to win the contract owing to its track record in delivering supplies on time. But accounts from military insiders indicate that another contractor with links to a retired general stopped Talon. The general, the insiders say, promised to award the deal to a company with connections to one of his former Philippine Military Academy (PMA) classmates.

The insiders say the general, who was later appointed Cabinet undersecretary, convinced then Defense Secretary Gilbert Teodoro to stop the deal; Talon went to court. When he succeeded Teodoro as defense chief, Norberto Gonzales gave the contract back to Talon to resolve the case. As of 2010, the howitzers and mortar rounds had yet to be delivered.

Stellar performer

In truth, it is Gloria Arroyo who emerges as the stellar performer among the four post-EDSA presidents on two counts: under her, the AFP clinched more sweetheart deals with contractors, and also got a parade of 12 chiefs of staff, a number given to sprucing up edifices in the camps.

Military officers say that under Arroyo – who spent a record nine years as the country’s chief executive and the military’s commander in chief – numerous big contracts worth billions of pesos were awarded, mostly without bidding, for, among others, the repair of Jacinto-class Corvettes, as well as the purchase of night-capable attack helicopters, smaller multi-purpose attack craft for the Navy, radio sets, Kevlar helmets, and even assault rifles.

In the Air Force, officers refer to Peter Rodriguez of Asian Aerospace Corp. as one of the most favored contractors because of his closeness to Arroyo and her husband, Jose Miguel ‘Mike’ Arroyo, as well as to retired Gen. Eduardo Ermita, who had also served as Arroyo’s defense secretary and executive secretary.

By the accounts of many officers, Asian Aerospace had lent Arroyo its Lear jets on several occasions for her travels in country, and sometimes overseas.

As Arroyo’s chief of staff starting July 2007, Gen. Hermogenes C. Esperon Jr. also signed a supplemental contract worth nearly P800 million for the repair of three Jacinto-class patrol boats, which were former British Royal Navy boats stationed in Hong Kong and acquired before the territory’s handover to China in 1998. The signing happened days before he stepped down from his post in March 2008.

The thing was that even before Esperon came in as chief of staff, his predecessor had signed a P1-billion contract for the repair of the same boats. In other words, for the repair of three second-hand patrol boats, the military was now committed to two contracts worth a total of nearly P1.8 billion.

Esperon, one of the generals implicated in the “Hello, Garci” wiretapping scandal, was supposed to retire in February 2008 but Arroyo extended his tour of duty so he stepped down the next month.

Sweetheart deals

According to AFP sources, contractors eyeing sweetheart deals usually start the courtship by offering all-expense paid travels to officers assigned to do platform studies, sign contracts, and disburse funds.  The same officers typically take more trips later, also expenses paid often by their hosts, during post-qualification tests or before a notice of award of contract is finally signed.

Hence, before even earning commissions from these contracts, overseas trips to the manufacturing yards or headquarters of these contractors have come to be expected by these officers as part of their “privileges.” Retired Commodore Robles says that many trips have meant staying abroad for weeks;  sometimes, the more fortunate guests get to stay for one to three months abroad, all his expenses billed on the contractor.

In the pattern of some contractors from the United States, Israel, and the United Kingdom, South Korea’s government and some contractors from there have in recent years hosted some generals in Seoul. The Koreans have been angling for contracts ranging from the repair to supply of brand new and second-hand boats, trucks, and even the copper that the Philippine arsenal needs to manufacture bullets.

In the past, Seoul had given Manila old and obsolete F-5A/Bs and PKM (patrol killer medium) boats. These days, Korean-made KIA and Hyundai cars, and trucks often roll out of Army and Marines headquarters in Fort Bonifacio.

It seems like Seoul now wants Manila to return the favor. Seoul has been eyeing supply contracts that would be funded under the AFP’s Capability Upgrade Program that was launched in 2003 by then Arroyo Defense Secretary Avelino Cruz.  For a while as defense chief until June 30, 2010, Norberto Gonzales was also negotiating for a P5-billion Multi-Role Vessel for the Navy from Seoul. A seacraft similar to the Death Star mother ship in George Lucas’s epic “Star Wars” movies, the purchase would purportedly enhance the Navy’s sealift capability.

Edifice complex

Aside from forging big-ticket contracts, though, a number of Arroyo’s chiefs of staff had also shown a propensity for building or refurbishing edifices and infrastructure facilities, at significant costs on the AFP’s budget.

The late Angelo Reyes, who led the military out of the barracks in the EDSA People Power 2 revolt of 2001, had the defense department painted and then spruced it up with first-class toilets. Reyes had served as Arroyo’s first chief of staff and later, first defense secretary, from 2001 to 2003.

The late chief of staff Arturo Enrile, meanwhile, built the AFP a theater cum museum. Soldiers later saw the rise of the “Great Wall of General Abu,” referring to the walls of Camp Aguinaldo that were repainted and rebuilt under then Chief of Staff Efren Abu, as well as the enormous canopy that rolled out under Chief of Staff Benjamin Defensor.

The officers interviewed by the PCIJ agree on one thing: some contractors themselves trigger fund conversions in the AFP just so they could sell their wares. Among the tactics of these suki contractors, they say, is to advance payment for still non-existent or to be negotiated contracts by covering the expenses of some generals on local and overseas travel.

More graft lairs

At the Senate, former Colonel Rabusa has so far identified three AFP staff units as the most prone to corruption:  J2 (Intelligence), J3 (Operations), and J7 (Civil-Military operations).

Wittingly or unwittingly, he has skipped mention of what officers tell the PCIJ are also the virtual wallets of crooks from inside and outside the AFP and the Defense department: the AFP hospitals and medical services, the engineering brigades, and huge lump sums under the control of the most senior officers.

The latter includes items like Office Supplies Expenses; Food Supplies Expenses; Travelling Expenses (local and foreign); Gasoline, Oil and Lubricants Expenses; Consultancy Services; and several similarly opaque but separately funded items like Representation Expenses, Confidential Expenses, Extraordinary Expenses, and Miscellaneous Expenses.

These expense items – the easiest to snitch from and thus among the most abused by crooks – are the sources of what could be called bureaucratic graft in the AFP and DND, say some officers.

This is why the rank and file talks about how medicine bottles are filled or diluted with water at military hospitals. And while on paper, too much money has supposedly gone to buying hospital supplies and equipment, in practice these are often in short supply when soldiers are injured or fall ill.

Barter deals

Such an environment may thus help explain why some frontline troops have also taken to bartering their AFP-issued equipage for a quick buck.

At the lowest level, an ordinary corporal can sell his bullet to a sari-sari store in the remotest villages.  Troops say that a soldier can exchange one live .45-caliber bullet or one round of an M-16 rifle for a bottle of GSM (Ginebra San Miguel) or two cans of sardines.  With the blessing of the supply sergeant, a unit could sell sacks full of bullets to a local warlord or businessman or the unfriendly rebel units nearby, say some soldiers.

The records of the AFP abound with tell-tale signs of these barter-trade deals. To explain the loss of their guns and ammo, all that the traders have to do is file after-operation reports saying they have used up 100 rounds during one encounter with a band of rebels. The battle may even be invented, the number of bullets fired in a five-minute skirmish, bloated many times over. After all, whatever it is the troops say, fiction and all, would the generals at headquarters find out, or even care to find out?

Big, gray middle

Marines Col. Alexander Balutan, commander of the 1^st Marine Brigade based in Cotabato, says that at core, it seems like corruption goes unchecked because of the gray areas in the AFP procurement and budget processes.

“Sabi ko sa mga PMA graduates, since I graduated in 1983, I see to it my gray area is very narrow,” Balutan told the PCIJ in a phone interview recently.  “Kung very narrow ang gray area, you can easily discern black and white, right or left. You must maintain na klaro ‘yan or narrow.”

Corruption has unfolded, he conceded, because to some officers, the gray domain is a big, broad middle.

“There are officers after graduation who choose to make wrongs seem right, so the gray area becomes really wide,” said Balutan. “That’s when the decision becomes confused… Once a problem comes… they can no longer discern in a system that is unclear.”

He said the grayness of the situation has often been invoked to rationalize many crooked deals. “That’s the argument,” he said. “The gray area has become way too wide. If it’s very narrow, it would be easy to decide – there would be no room for argument, because you know it’s wrong.”

Being decisive about what is right and what is wrong is what troops in life-and-death situations at the frontlines deserve at the very least from higher officers, said Balutan.

“Because if you’re a soldier in battlefield, your decision needs to be exact because you’re talking about people’s lives,” he said. “You can’t say, wait a minute or that you’re not sure. That’s how (clear) it also should be in managing the AFP’s funds and resources.” – With reporting by Ed Lingao and Jaemark Tordecilla, PCIJ, February 2011

Former Armed Forces of the Philippines AFP vice chief of staff Eduardo Ermita served as executive secretary. Angelo Reyes and Hermogenes Esperon Jr., both former AFP chiefs of staff, handled several portfolios, while former Philippine National Police director generals Leandro Mendoza and Hermogenes Ebdane were appointed transportation secretary and public works secretary, respectively.

Retired officers peppered the rest of the Arroyo administration as well. Alexander Yano, Roy Cimatu, and Generoso Senga parlayed their stints as AFP head into diplomatic posts; Dionisio Santiago led the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency after retirement; and former PNP chiefs Avelino Razon, and Arturo Lomibao also held key government positions.

The presence of these generals in government, critics said, was a sign of just how politicized the military had become under PGMA. The appointments, they added, were simply a way for the government to reward allies who have remained loyal to the president. The Arroyo administration, for its part, tried to justify the appointments of retired military and police officers by touting their qualification and competence.

Harder to justify, however, is the revolving door policy for appointing military chiefs. In her nine years in office, Arroyo appointed a total of 12 generals as AFP Chief of Staff: Reyes, Diomedio Villanueva, Cimatu, Benjamin Defensor, Santiago, Narciso Abaya, Efren Abu, Senga, Esperon, Yano, Victor Ibrado, and Delfin Bangit. Setting aside Reyes – actually a hold-over from the Estrada regime – seven of these men held the post for less than a year, with Defensor barely having enough time to have a cup of coffee as chief, serving only a total of 69 days.

Critics hit the policy, noting how the flux of leaders prevented the armed forces from pursuing much-need reforms. Many also viewed the tactic as an act of political pandering for favored generals by a government faced with questions of legitimacy after the ‘Hello, Garci’ scandal.

With the military having been part of two popular revolts that ousted incumbent presidents, it paid for Arroyo to have the generals on her side. And with recent reports of AFP chiefs receiving multi-million peso going-away packages, it looks like it certainly paid for generals to receive Arroyo’s blessing for the post – if only for a few months. “That quickly became the game in the AFP, to get to the top so you can get your pabaon,” says retired general Ricardo C. Morales, a fierce advocate of reforms in the Armed Forces.

To be sure though, the entry of military officers into politics began long before Arroyo took power. During the early Martial Law years, several military officers were also in civilian posts, with some even going into local government. And far from having a diminishing political role in after EDSA, the military has only steadily grown as an actor in the country’s political equation. “The military, once it intervenes, cannot go back to the barracks,” Gregorio Honasan, a leader of the Reform the Armed Forces Movement that was behind several coup d’état attempts in the late ‘80s, told the PCIJ in a 2006 interview.

It is quite ironic to see soldiers who have spent a good part of their careers battling Maoist insurgents prove true the old Mao Zedong maxim that “political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.” But the door to political power for military officials has also come through the ballot instead of arms. Three of Corazon Aquino’s military chiefs used the position as a springboard for their political careers; Fidel Ramos went all the way to the top as president, Rodolfo Biazon served as senator for 15 years and is now on his first term as a representative, and Renato de Villa tried to duplicate his mentor Ramos’s feat by running for the country’s highest office in 1998.

Former Army colonel Honasan won a seat in the Senate in 1995 in spite – or some would argue, because – of his past as a putschist; when his current term ends in 2013, he would have served in office for 15 years. Navy lieutenant Antonio Trillanes followed Honasan’s footsteps, becoming a senator in 2007 despite being incarcerated.

In the 2010 elections, Army general Danilo Lim, Marines colonel Ariel Querubin, retired Army general Jovito Palparan, and former Air Force colonel Hector Tarrazona sought positions in the upper house, but none of them won a seat. At least 48 former soldiers and policemen ran for elective office in 2010, including Esperon and Ermita, who lost congressional races in Pangasinan and Batangas, respectively. Elective office, it would seem, is a perfectly natural post-retirement option for ex-officers.

Yet despite the participation of these ex-officers in the electoral processes and their substantive representation in executive and legislative positions, things have remained dire for the AFP.

Morales argues that success against insurgency should be the measure for judging the AFP. By that token, he says, the organization has completely failed. In an unpublished 2003 paper, Morales explained: “The AFP has failed to transform its resources into battlefield victory. It is an inefficient user of public resources. If this were otherwise then an increase in the Army’s budget must result in a reduction of rebel strength. The historical relationship between the Army budget and NPA guerilla strength shows that military operations have a minimal effect on the communist insurgency.”

Political scientist Marcus Schulzke, in a paper published in 2010, said that the low level of professionalism in the Philippine military is responsible for the AFP’s poor response to the insurgency. “Security forces,” Schulzke wrote, “are often politicized and put into service of one faction of politicians working against others.”

Schulzke traces the problem of politicization to the regime of Ferdinand Marcos, who fostered loyalty among troops by promoting favorites instead of the most talented. The EDSA revolt only served to worsen the situation. Observed Schulzke: “The ranks were already packed with officers used to acting based on personal ties. But the transition to democracy allowed them to feel a greater sense of influence over the political sphere.”

In the 1991 book Filipino Politics: Development and Decay, David Wurfel noted that the system for the promotion of officers ranked colonel and above required presidential appointment and confirmation by the Commission on Appointments. “Nomination may have been based on the political judgment of professional peers,” wrote Wurfel, “but confirmation was strictly political.”

Even worse, the culture of corruption has managed to isolate honest officers in the armed forces. Military insiders say that officers who refuse to participate in money-laundering activities are branded as not being team players, and are quickly sent off to less glamorous assignments.

Morales says that personal ties and other extraneous factors, instead of merit, have become the military’s bases in selecting its leaders. “We don’t have a system for selecting who among the (officers) are fit to lead at the highest level,” he says.

Schulzke argues that the development of an apolitical officer corps promoted through a meritocracy should become top priority in any discussion of AFP reforms. A meritocratic system, he wrote, “would discourage officers from becoming involved in politics, thus reducing the risk of corruption and allowing them to focus on restoring national security.”

“By eliminating the politicized promotion system,” he continued, “officers would no longer have to worry about winning a popularity contest and would thus be free to make unpopular decisions like disciplining corrupt subordinates or waging a less glamorous, but more effective counterinsurgency focused on winning popular support.”

For Morales, the first step in turning the military into an apolitical bureaucracy should come from the civilian government. He acknowledges that after EDSA, civilians have been intimidated by the military, whose threat of an uprising hangs like a Damocles’ sword for the government. This intimidation, he explains, has prevented people from making the AFP accountable.

“They only selected, as chief of staff, who they thought could control the armed forces,” he says. “But there’s no oversight; no one’s looking into the living conditions of the soldiers, the state of preparedness of the air force and the navy, the state of training. There’s no civilian leader who goes to the camps and looks at the motor pools, the classrooms, the ammo dumps.”

Morales says that as the people’s representatives, civilian government officials need to be more involved. He also proposes a return to basics to underscore civilian supremacy over the military, such as holding formal ceremonies for issuing arms to soldiers. An elective official would then present the gun to a soldier as a reminder of where the real authority lies.

“Power comes from the people,” says Morales. “When a soldier finally wraps his hands around his weapon, he should be thinking, ‘This is not mine. This was only lent to me by the Filipino people so that I can defend them.’” – PCIJ, February 2011

MORE THAN a generation ago, idealistic young members of the Philippine military had formed groups like the Reform the Armed Forces Movement (RAM) and the Young Officers Union (YOU) and rushed out of the barracks to defy their commander in chief, strongman Ferdinand E. Marcos.

Not long after came the EDSA People Power revolt, a civilian-backed military uprising that led to the ouster of Marcos and the return of democracy to the Philippines.

This week, the nation marks the 25^th anniversary of that revolution, which most Filipinos had hoped would mean a fresh, clean start not only for the armed forces, but for the entire country as well.

Indeed, for the last 25 years, the Philippines has managed to hold on to democracy, however flawed its version has been. But reforming the military has proven to be an even more difficult task. In the last few weeks, in fact, the stigma of corruption has hung over the armed forces, with the highest levels of command accused as the predators, and troops of the lowest ranks and taxpayers, their prey.

Even those like retired Army Gen. Ricardo C. Morales cannot hide their disgust over what they say is a ‘dirty’ military. Morales, who Marcos had branded on national television as one of the RAM putschists in 1986, recently told PCIJ in an interview, “The armed forces was created by society. It is owned by the citizens. It is the people who gave our soldiers their coercive weapons. But now the owners are angry.”

In an unpublished paper he wrote in 2003, Morales had also said that the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) suffered from widespread corruption and incompetence. These “two evils,” he said, “are evidence of a systemic malaise, a defective culture allowed to germinate and take root over several decades and eventually adopted as an organizational value.”

Data and documents that PCIJ had gathered for half a dozen investigative reports on irregular transactions in the AFP in the last 10 years had indicated this as well. In an effort to come up with a ‘corruption map’ in the AFP that would help inform current discussions on the issue, the PCIJ revisited these data and interviewed men and women in uniform anew. It also looked at official audit reports and other government documents.

When pieced together, the anecdotes from military insiders point to a culture of corruption within the armed forces that is so pervasive it has developed a language of its own. Unfortunately, it is a sorry tale that is borne out by official reports and other documents that go back several years.

Same, same & worse

“It used to be that the demarcation for corruption (in the military) was north of the Agno River,” says a general, referring to the country’s fifth largest river system located in Pangasinan, the corridor to the Ilocos Norte bailiwick of the late Marcos.

But now, he says, corruption seems to have inundated the entire AFP and has become “nationalized.”

The general says that another difference between the “old” and “new” systems is “two percent.”

Before the formation of Bid and Awards Committees (BACs) was required across all public agencies under the Procurement Reform Act of 2003, he says, easily about 20 percent of project costs were lost to crooks. With the BACs in existence, the figure climbed to 22 percent, including the two percent that some auditors exact from every deal.

“Two percent for regular contracts lang, ha,” the general clarifies. “With ghost deliveries, the auditor gets five percent.”

The kickbacks are bigger also because more people now have to sign on to contracts, under new laws, he adds. “Before,” he says, “there was no procurement service, the signatories were few.”

“Everybody takes some blame here,” says a colonel and former senior budget officer who like most of the military insiders interviewed by the PCIJ requests anonymity. “Everybody is guilty. The system has really been ingrained, even the families (of soldiers) should mend their ways.”

He says that the liberties taken by the ‘team players’ with public funds are described as either kalayawan (greed) or kahalayan (vulgarity). But he also stresses: “There is no ‘Mr. Clean’ here. I am – we are all – part of the system. The system will devour you.”

It is a system that apparently has many fathers: some senior and junior officers, some lawmakers, some executive officials, and favored contractors who use the AFP as a ‘clearing house’ or ‘laundromat’ of funds they pilfer and steal.

Military officers themselves say that these characters, singly and together, juggle, convert, or realign funds; enroll ‘insertions’ in the budgets of the AFP and the Department of National Defense (DND) that they encash later; conduct collusive bidding and accept ghost deliveries; award contracts to favored suppliers for fat commissions; or simply pocket the money as pabaon or personal slush fund.

These shenanigans thrive and succeed in part because, says the colonel, the military is by nature “secretive.” Soldiers are trained to follow orders and shut up, he points out.

The good gets benched

The system has also been set up to ‘punish’ those who refuse to play along. According to military insiders, those who are ‘non-team players’ get benched or bangko, which in the AFP means being transferred to hardship posts.

“For the team player, the benefits go beyond the monetary,” says a captain. “Even with the selection board (for promotions), the non-team player gets passed over, you will not be recommended. When there’s an order, your only choice is to answer either ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘Yes, sir’.”

Those with less than honorable mindsets are thus able to get away with practices such as one called lastiko or funds juggling.

Explains one general: “GHQ (general headquarters) will approve the fund allocation in favor of the units, and the units will convert these to cash. When the cash is ready, the unit commanders will keep a small percentage, and on orders of GHQ superiors deliver the bigger balance, in bags of peso bills, to either a higher officer or a lawmaker.”

The general says some of these funds are actually amounts that some members of Congress had inserted or tucked in the budgets of the military and the DND, while the General Appropriations Act is undergoing congressional review. In these cases, the process is more well-known as ‘return to sender’ or RTS.

“It starts with the GAA approval (process),” says the colonel. “Once some lawmakers get wind of the money, there’s already a big-time ‘dealer’ at the top. And once the cash is ready, a call to the higher-ups will say this should go to whoever (a contractor).”

The colonel says that on the commander’s cue, the budget item is obligated and encashed by subordinates. “All the planets will align so that it will go to the caller,” he says. “It would look like it went through a bidding, so that the contractor’s name could be placed in the minutes.”

Most times, of course, the lawmakers involved leave some amount with the AFP. “If the politician is generous, only 50 percent would go back to him,” says the colonel. “If he is greedy, 80 percent.”

Inter-agency transfers

The colonel also says that even executive agencies have turned to the AFP to launder dirty money by way of inter-agency fund transfers. “We give it back to them in cold cash as ‘cleared’ money,” he says.

The colonel says he knows first-hand of one case in 1997 involving a constitutional agency, along with several other cases in which the institutions involved belonged to the executive branch. For the case with the constitutional agency, the colonel says,   “Dalawang maleta, milyon-milyong piso, binalik namin sa kanila, walang tanong-tanong (Two suitcases with millions of pesos, we returned that to them without any questions).”

It’s really as simple as dumping dirty clothes in a washer, he says. “If your unit is a washing machine, bagsakan ‘yan ng pondo (it becomes a dumping ground for funds),” says the officer. “’Pag labas niyan, pera na (When it comes out, it’s clean cash).”

But it’s a trick employed by the AFP and the DND themselves, he admits, with the latter supposedly more notorious in ‘cleaning money’ through inter-agency fund transfers. All it takes, he says, is “a little coordination” between the DND and the budget department for the transfer to another agency to go smoothly.

“For example,” says the colonel, “if the DND had P40 million for projects and… the projects used just P20 million, the (balance) is transferred to other agencies. There the money is grabbed by the big-time contractor who already has the ‘blessing.’ Once the money has been tagged for someone, those at the bottom will just align it.”

Vouchers by bulk

Certain days of the year also find personnel at major AFP units in Metro Manila busy “mass producing” disbursement vouchers and other project documents, insiders say. One of the most “crucial” dates, says one officer, are the last working days of the year – when the military and defense establishments have to obligate funds already allocated in the closing year’s budget, and quickly. Otherwise, the funds would revert to the National Treasury.

“Assembly line ‘yan, about 10 to 20 people quickly preparing vouchers,” says the officer who witnessed the practice in December 2007. At the time, the Armed Forces had to obligate “about P100 million,” he adds. “The needed signatories are just waiting to sign them, and they’re already stamped as well. All the commander has to do is sign them once he arrives.”

He says that the names of favored contractors are listed as suppliers in the vouchers. There are usually five to 10 names that take turns as the ‘winner’ in the contracts, he says, but “there is just one syndicate, really.”

Obviously, though, this syndicate has a counterpart within the military. According to several officers, the same military personnel are involved in the crooked deals, on account of the functions they perform and because they command control and discretion over funds.

The officers say the major and bit players typically include:

• Budget officers of the various units, service commands, and the GHQ, who are known as the “special disbursing officers” (SDOs) and “military finance officers” (MFOs) in military circles;
• Assistants or deputies of the SDOs and MFOs;
• Personnel who prepare and encode the covering documents for the transactions of the budget officers;
• Personnel of the procurement offices;
• “Money bags” or persons who actually deliver the cash to their recipients;
• Personnel of the accounting offices;
• Internal auditors of the units/commands;
• The Commission on Audit’s resident auditor/s and his/her deputies;
• Members of the “Acceptance Committee,” or the group assigned to inspect and receive the deliveries by contractors of supplies and services purchased by various units and commands;
• Officers assigned to the accounts of the AFP and DND from the Department of Budget and Management;
• Personnel in parallel/similar agencies from the DND; and

• Officers and commanders authorized to sign for their units/commands as heads of agencies, including the chief of staff and his J-staff and deputies.

The entourage

The colonel also notes that nearly all senior officers share one habit: wherever they go, they bring along their finance or disbursing officer as part of their entourage. When the senior officer moves up in the AFP ladder, his comptroller is sure to rise with him as well, says the colonel.

Other insiders say there is even a charmed circle of budget and finance officers who have been groomed early on to rise to the most lucrative posts at the GHQ and the major service commands. Members of this ‘Comptrollers Family’ of course need to be good in finance work, but as the colonel points out, “before you get accepted, may patronage na agad ‘yan.”

The amounts that can be authorized for release actually have varying caps or ceilings, according to rank or designation of the commander or signing authority. The lawful caps on the signing authority of commanders are:

• Chief of staff, up to P50 million;
• Commanders of major services (Army, Air Force, Navy), up to P25 million;
• Area commanders, up to P10 million;  and
• Battalion and brigade commanders, up to P1 million.

Contracts and expenses of the AFP involving more than P50 million meanwhile require the signature of the defense secretary.

To get around the caps, however, some commanders have resorted to “chop-chop” deals or cutting up a project into multiple contracts that enable them to release bigger amounts than they would have been allowed.

These “chop-chop” projects are also sometimes rationalized as “emergency” purchases that are supposedly needed by the men in the battlefield.

For sure, the AFP’s fighting men and women have many real emergency needs. And, says the general who has commanded a brigade, “in the field, the military’s tendency is to address the problem immediately. What you need tomorrow, you have to have now. As a commander, whether you beg, steal, or borrow, (getting it) is a matter of survival. If I need things, I will not wait for GHQ to tell me, ‘Let’s plan first.’ The GHQ’s culture is simply different.”

The GHQ led by the chief of staff oversees the operation of seven Unified Commands across the nation, as well as 13 AFP-wide support and separate units assigned to intelligence, training, logistics, civil-military operations, and health services. The latest official count puts the AFP’s troop strength at 127,000 men and women, of which 70 percent belong to the Army.

Conversion good, bad

“I buy my own electric wires, I dig my own well,” he says. “If you wait for the request to go through, it will be put on the program only in the next year, so you wait two years before you get the pump or generator you need.”

Because it can address urgent needs that could spell life or death for frontline troops, the so-called ‘conversion’ of funds from one legally enrolled purpose to another not recognized as an expense in the approved budget has become a notorious ‘gray area’ for the military.

The general himself says the practice can serve a good purpose. But he says its bad side surfaces whenever it is used to rationalize less urgent supply contracts from which some officers and lawmakers would be getting fat commissions.

He recalls one such case of conversion by the GHQ in which he says he was asked if he needed anything. He says he replied that he needed radio transceiver sets.

“I was then told, ‘No, you need helmets’,” recounts the general. “And they delivered helmets, saying, ‘This is what you need.’ Even if you don’t want to receive it, the attitude was, that’s your problem now.”

Stuck with the helmets, the general and his troops decided to test them out for ballistics. The bullets, he says, “went through and through.”

The helmets were so bad, says the general, that the GHQ seemed to have wanted to send its own troops to their death. – With reporting by Ed Lingao and Jaemark Tordecilla, PCIJ, February 2011

Those words were penned 25 years ago by a young idealistic officer who was going off to a different kind of battle. Then Army Capt. Ricardo C. Morales thought it best to write his parents a final note before he jumped into the void.

Morales was a member of the Reform the Armed Forces Movement (RAM), a group of rebellious military officers that had hatched a plan to topple the Marcos government. The trusted aide de camp of First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos, he was the group’s ace in the hole. The plans had him as the rebel commandos’ guide into the Presidential Palace to capture the First Family.

“Since I knew the route inside the palace, my job was to lead the assaulting element,” Morales recalls. “I did not expect to survive so I wrote that letter to my parents.”

But something went terribly awry. RAM leader Gregorio Honasan had tried to recruit yet another Palace insider, Maj. Edgardo Doromal. Doromal, however, squealed, and Presidential guards moved swiftly to arrest Morales and two other military officers.

On the evening of February 22, 1986, just six hours before the planned commando assault, then strongman Ferdinand E. Marcos appeared on national television for an emergency broadcast. Marcos announced that he had foiled an assassination plot against his family, and presented the three captured military officers as evidence.

Ferdinand Marcos presents Ricardo Morales to media.

“They were part of an aborted coup d’etat, an assassination plot against the President and the First Lady,” Marcos declared on television. To Marcos’s left sat a glum and ashen-faced Capt. Morales, still dressed in the dark bush jacket favored by security aides at the time.

“Once I was caught, I thought, ‘I’m a dead man,’” Morales recalls. “I was thinking, whatever happens, I hope it’s going to be quick and painless.”

But the wheels of history have a way of turning things upside down. While Morales was thrown into prison in the Presidential Security Command (PSC) compound, then Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Constabulary chief Fidel Ramos barricaded themselves inside Camp Crame. Millions of folk poured into the streets to protect the military rebels from Marcos’s might while military units began defecting to the Enrile-Ramos side.

Four days later, Ferdinand Marcos and his family landed at Hickam airfield in Hawaii, ousted after 21 years in power by the People Power Revolution.

But what Morales wrote to his parents 25 years ago remains fresh as ever. Indeed, they may as well have been written for the institution of which he was part for much of his life – and which he had tried to shake up with opinions that sometimes flew in the face of established traditions of the long grey line.

In 2003, then Colonel Morales wrote a controversial critique on the failure of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) to crush the communist New People’s Army after more than 30 years of fighting. In less than diplomatic fashion, Morales pointed to deficiencies in leadership, training, and widespread corruption in the military.

Today, Morales sits as executive vice president and general manager of the Armed Forces-Police Mutual Benefit Association.

In 2004, Morales was in the news again when he wrote AFP chief of staff Gen. Narciso Abaya pointedly asking whether he had already initiated any probe into the activities of AFP comptroller Carlos Garcia. Months earlier, Garcia’s wife and sons had been arrested for smuggling $100,000 into the United States. Garcia’s wife told U.S. authorities that the money was from kickbacks from armed forces contractors.

Morales found it strange that while the United States had already begun its own investigation, the Philippine military was reluctant to lift a finger to probe into the matter. Abaya would even appoint Garcia deputy chief of staff for plans and operations.

When Morales was stripped of command of the 404^th Army brigade in Davao del Norte in 2005, though, it was apparently because he had posted a message in a Philippine Military Academy alumni e-group that military officers found particularly disturbing.

In the message, Morales criticized the military leadership for building the P18-million, 60-room Sampaguita Family resort in Boracay, supposedly to boost troop morale.

“How can the 60-room resort in Boracay improve the (Armed Forces of the Philippines’) capability to fight?” asked Morales in his email. “Who determined this priority? We have hospitals without medicine and they spend money for this resort?”

These were reasonable questions. For years, soldiers in the field had complained of poor food, bad ammunition, and a pathetic combat pay of P8 per day. But Morales pushed the envelope by dancing dangerously near the ‘C’ word.

“The time has come for all good men to come to the aid of their society,” Morales wrote. “The time for talking is over; the time for action is now. The next ‘coup’ will be peaceful and open. Enough of leaders who talk about reforms but do not understand what they are saying. Enough of this organizational stupidity.”

Interestingly, Morales by then had already distanced himself from his more adventurous comrades. Even now, Morales says of his colleagues who had launched several coup attempts against the Cory Aquino government: “I don’t believe in military adventurism, it is just disruptive.”

Nevertheless, Morales’s superiors put him in the freezer for almost a year. After that, Morales felt his career going downhill. Long a field officer and a battle-tested soldier, his last posting, as Fort Bonifacio camp commander, was for him an insult. “I just hauled garbage there,” he would say of his last job before he retired from the service in 2009.

For all the faults perceived by his superiors, Morales possessed a startling innocence, even naiveté, which he kept as he went from the jungles of Jolo as a young 2^nd lieutenant, to the halls of Malacañang, as aide of a dictator’s wife, to his postings as brigade and camp commander.

Ricardo Morales on a tour of duty in Jolo, Sulu

In Jolo in the late ’70s, he had railed against inefficiency as troops who got wounded after three in the afternoon faced no chance of medical evacuation. Soon after, he was plucked from Jolo to write a manual on lessons learned from the field. To his surprise, his commanders billeted him in a five-star Makati hotel while he worked on the manual.

This was when he had his epiphany of sorts, he recalls. “After three to five days, I thought, there’s something wrong here,” Morales says. “My soldiers are living on miswa (wheat noodles) and sardines. I don’t have to live in the Intercon.”

Later in Malacañang,, he walked the corridors of power with the high and mighty. The contrast between Manila and Mindanao was too great for the battle-hardened officer. He now says, “Something was not right. I could see things happening for myself. At this rate, this political system that we call an imperfect democracy will collapse and the communists will take over.”

The night People Power was born, however, the only warrior who was in the greatest danger at that time was not even part of it.

Morales, locked up inside the PSC compound, had no idea what was happening outside. He does recall the last night, when he heard the intense beating of helicopter rotor blades overhead, as if someone had come – or someone had gone. Then someone opened his cell door.

“I said, ‘Am I going to be shot now?’” Morales remembers. Instead, he was brought before an Army general, who surprised him by saying that Morales was now in charge of security in the area.

A giddy Morales then saw Marcos’s bulletproof car. He hopped in it and drove around the compound. He did the same thing with an abandoned tank. “It was,” he says, “like I was back from the grave.”

He retired as a general in 2009 and now works as executive vice president and general manager of the Armed Forces-Police Mutual Benefit Association, Inc. These days, Morales says he feels as free as he did then – certainly free to say whatever he wants about the institution he had tried to serve well all his life. – PCIJ, February 2011