FORMER Maguindanao Governor Andal Salibo Ampatuan Sr. is, as far as his statements of assets, liabilities, and net worth (SALN) are concerned, a simple farmer. His son Zaldy, formerly the regional governor of the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), has no other source of income, apart from the pawnshop owned by his wife Johaira.

Yet these two members of the Ampatuan clan alone own 65 properties scattered throughout Maguindanao, Cotabato City, Davao City, and even in ritzy Dasmariñas Village in Makati, home to many foreign embassies and a refuge of the country’s rich and famous. These real properties range from a two-hectare farm lot in Cotabato City, to magnificent structures in Davao City and Shariff Aguak that tower over the simple abodes of one of the country’s poorest provinces. One residential property in Davao City alone covers at least 4,000 square meters, and has a mansion that dwarfs other high-end homes with its opulence.

These properties are included in an array of assets of the Ampatuans that are covered by a 23-page freeze order issued by the Court of Appeals. The order was first issued on Jun. 6, 2011. It has since been extended, but unless there is another extension, the order will remain in effect only until Dec. 2 this year.

It was the Anti-Money Laundering Council or AMLC that had asked the court for a freeze order on all the known assets of the Ampatuans, who were implicated in the infamous 2009 Maguindanao Massacre.

AMLC based its petition, which it submitted to the Court on May 30, 2011, on two major documents: the results of a special audit conducted by the Commission on Audit (COA) on the expenditures of the ARMM from January 2008 to September 2009, and the results of a lifestyle check conducted by a special panel headed by Deputy Ombudsman for Mindanao Humphrey T. Monteroso.

But it was the Ombudsman panel’s lifestyle check, submitted on June 29, 2010, that appeared to be a major factor in convincing the Court of Appeals to issue the freeze order. (Then Ombudsman Merceditas Gutierrez approved Deputy Ombudsman Monteroso’s report on Aug. 16, 2010. Copies of the lifestyle check report were to have been submitted to the Bureau of Internal Revenue, the Philippine National Police, and COA.)

The Ombudsman’s lifestyle check showed that the two Ampatuan family members “accumulated wealth in excess and out of proportion to their legitimate income.”

In part, the report said that based on the documents gathered by the panel, “Andal S. Ampatuan Sr. owned at least 27 houses and lots located at Shariff Aguak, Cotabato City, and Davao City worth an estimated P90,463,262.78, most of which were not declared in his Statements of Assets, and Liabilities.”

The lifestyle panel noted that Andal Sr. declared real properties worth only P21,506,500 when he last filed his SALN in 2007.

Monteroso’s lifestyle panel, meanwhile, said that Zaldy owned at least 38 houses and lots located in Shariff Aguak, Cotabato City, Davao City, and in Metro Manila “worth an estimated P58,488,545.40, most of which were not declared in his Statements of Assets and Liabilities.”

Zaldy had declared real properties worth P34,196,333.50 in his last SALN filed in 2009.

According to the Ombudsman panel, the younger Ampatuan’s real properties include:

• A stately mansion along Tamarind Road in upscale Dasmariñas Village in Makati, reportedly listed under the name of a Delia Sumail. The mansion presently appears unoccupied, although sources revealed that Zaldy used to conduct some of his businesses here when he was in Manila. Too, staffers from the ARMM liaison office in Manila would deliver documents meant for Zaldy’s perusal to this address.
• A residential unit on the 21st floor of the Lotus Tower of the Oriental Gardens condominium along Pasong Tamo in Makati, near Buendia Avenue.
• A mansion along Kalamansi street in Juna Subdivision, just a stone’s throw away from the grander mansion of his father, Andal Sr.
• At least 14 houses and lots distributed throughout Davao City: Nova Tierra Subdivision, Robinsons Highlands, and Juna Subdivision.
• At least 13 houses and lots throughout Cotabato City, mostly in the San Isidro area.

“The panel contends that these undeclared values of real properties can neither be explained nor justified by the net or disposable income of respondent as derived from his Annual Income Tax Returns,” it said in its report.

Zaldy, said the panel, did not appear to have any other means of making a living aside from his salary as Regional Governor of the ARMM.

“The only business interest and financial connection that Zaldy Ampatuan declared was that of the Maguindanao Pawnshop owned by his spouse, Johaira ‘Bongbong’ Midtimbang Ampatuan,” it said.

As for Ampatuan Sr., the lifestyle check panel found that he had not even declared a single real property in Davao City and Cotabato City. And yet Davao City is home to possibly the largest mansion allegedly owned by Andal Sr., a multi-structure mansion that covers an entire block along Kasuy and Kalamansi streets in upscale Juna Subdivision.

The mansion remains unfinished, as parts of the stone and concrete fence had not yet been fully painted. But solar panels have already been installed on the roof, reportedly in order to power water heaters for an indoor swimming pool. That mansion was raided by operatives of the National Bureau of Investigation backed up by army armored personnel carriers in December 2009, when the government was still looking for firearms owned by the Ampatuans. That lot covers 4,105 square meters in a residential neighborhood.

Other real properties allegedly owned by Andal Sr. include:

• Various properties in Davao City, including several parcels of land in Juna Subdivision, Marfori Heights, and Matina Crossing.
• Various properties in Cotabato City, notably in Moreno Subdivision, Kakar, and Rosary Heights.
• Various properties in Shariff Aguak, including the mansion along the national highway near the capitol. The compound of the mansion is so large that it also houses Andal Sr.’s personal mosque.

The panel noted that Andal Sr. had no visible means of livelihood other than a farm he had declared in his SALNs, which earned him “a farm business income of less than P200,000” from 2001 to 2002. Nevertheless, it said that Andal Sr.’s income surged to P1,558,220.60 in 2003, “eight times higher than the previous year’s amount.”

“This sudden surge in income is highly questionable considering that the only declared business of Andal S. Ampatuan Sr. was his farm business,” the lifestyle check panel reported. – PCIJ, November 2011

By knowing where these streetlights have been built, residents and most especially commuters may actually locate the lampposts, and propose to their LGUs where else in the city more should be installed. Or, they can report to their LGUs where lampposts need repair, consume energy 24/7, or even, where there have just a swarm of lampposts.

The value or lack of value in LGU spending on lampposts is a matter that citizens may also compare, if they are so armed with data on the unit cost of these lampposts.

For instance, of the six cities that provided documents regarding their streetlights as part of the PCIJ audit, Makati turned out to have the biggest number of lampposts at 4,803 that the city said were constructed from 2004 to 2010. Malabon comes in second with 2,929, and then Quezon City with 1,660, Mandaluyong with 1,616, and San Juan, 921.

While specifications were not provided, the price variance for the lampposts that various LGUs install in NCR is an interesting matter. Documents showed that in Malabon, each lamppost costs P31,486.80 while in San Juan, each unit costs P49,621.90.

In Makati, the cost of a lamppost ranges approximately from P240,000 to P280,000. This amount, according to Makati City Engineer Nelson R. Morales, includes the following: excavation/restoration and other civil works, wirings and conduits, illuminated street names, programmable lighting controller, and MERALCO service connection. Morales also noted that the “cost varies depending on additional problems that might be encountered (on) site” such as “drainage diversion, unavailability of Secondary Distribution Facilities, and others…”

How much LGUs pay in public funds to maintain the lampposts are curious details, too. Quezon City spends P34.85 million per month on average, or more than a million pesos a day, on the power consumption of its lampposts. Its projected power consumption for 2011, as of March, 14, 2011, is a hefty P418.20 million. And of this amount, the projected power bill for so-called ornamental lampposts account for 41 percent, or P171.31 million. – With research by Anne Jeanette O. Priela, Krystal Kay S. Jimena, David Faustino T. de Castro, Essen Mei M. Miguel, Henor G. Gotis, Eric H. Rivera, and Stephanie Directo, PCIJ, July 2011.

The net increase in his wealth: P39,559,102, or 256 percent more in just 12 months.

The spike in his net worth was, in fact, first recorded in June 2010, a month after the elections, when Aquino filed his mid-year Statement of Assets, Liabilities, and Net Worth (SALN), as the law requires all winning candidates to do before they can assume office.

In June 2010, Aquino reported a net worth of P50,194,000. This would increase by P4 million in the next six months, hence the P54-million net worth that he declared in the end-2010 SALN that he filed on Apr. 25, 2011.

The rate of increase in Aquino’s wealth in the last year is unequalled by even his own record from 1998, when he first filed his SALN as a member of the House of Representatives, representing his home province of Tarlac. On his first term in the House, Aquino declared a net worth of only P8,707,247, which rose to P13,941,627 in 2007. This translates to a net increase in his wealth of only P5,234,380, or a growth rate of only 60 percent in nine years.

To be sure, the P36.9-million excess campaign donations that he had reported to the Commission on Elections (Comelec) does not account for Aquino’s recent big net worth increase. Indeed, in his December 2010 SALN, he reported only P228,961 as his only “liability,” which he said represented his “Tax Payables” to the “Bureau of Internal Revenue” or BIR. 

The liability, imputing an applicable 30-percent tax levy, indicates that Aquino had earned compensation income of only P707,989, or roughly P58,999 in gross monthly pay, for the whole of 2010.

If he had enrolled his P36.9-million excess campaign donations as part of his income in 2010, according to the BIR’s Revenue Regulation 7-2011 dated Feb. 16, 2011, Aquino should have paid millions more in taxes.

BIR Commissioner Kim Jacinto-Henares tells the PCIJ that the excess campaign funds were not recorded in the Income Tax Return (ITR) for 2010 that the president filed within the deadline last Apr. 15.

But the growth in his net worth may be well explained by other sources, according to both Henares and Presidential Spokesperson Edwin Lacierda.

And while what actually happened to the P37-million excess campaign funds he raised in the May 2010 elections remains a puzzling web of details not fully disclosed or even documented, it seems the latest increase in his net worth may be reasonably explained, at the very least.

Asked earlier to explain Aquino’s rise in affluence, Lacierda had told reporters that the president had realized P17 million from the sale of a family property in Antipolo City, aside from inheriting assets following the death of his mother, former President Corazon ‘Cory’ C. Aquino, on Aug. 1, 2009.

Henares also tells the PCIJ that the Aquinos had sold in 2010 a “sizeable” prime property in Antipolo that was part of the estate of the Sumulong clan, the maternal relatives of Cory Aquino.

Saying she is not at liberty to disclose details or documents, unless cleared by the president, Henares instead offers that she has verified that the Aquinos had paid “a very substantial amount” of capital gains tax due from the sale.

The president also recorded in his December 2010 SALN two real properties as “inheritance” – a “residential house and lot” in Quezon City that he valued at P13,796,167, and a “commercial lot” in San Juan City that he valued at P7,016,906. The two properties accounted for a more P20-million increase in the value of his real properties, from only P761,440 in December 2009.

Again, Henares says the records of the BIR show that the President had paid the rightful “estate tax” on these two inherited properties.

But other than the rise in value of his real properties, what accounted for Aquino’s wealth explosion in 2010 was a P17,031,484 in “receivables” that Lacierda had explained to be the value of the Antipolo property that the Aquinos had sold.

A third discernible source of wealth growth was the “cash on hand and cash in banks” that Aquino reported in December 2010. It nearly doubled to P6,223,704, from just P3,246,900 in December 2009.

The steep climb in Aquino’s net worth in the last 12 months had also been boosted by the decision of youngest sister, entertainment celebrity Ma. Kristina Bernadette Aquino-Yap, to forfeit her claim on the estate of Cory Aquino, in favor of her only brother, says someone close to the president.

This meant, the presidential friend says, that instead of the four Aquino daughters and the president getting 20 percent share each, P-Noy, Cory’s only son, received a 40-percent share.

Moreover, two liabilities that Aquino reported in his 2009 SALN had disappeared by 2010: “mortgage payable” in the amount of P3,826,740, and “other payable” in the amount of P1,500,230. In other words, he grew his wealth even as he settled over P5 million in debts in just 12 months.

Other than showing bigger positive numbers, Aquino’s December 2010 SALN is also remarkable for the suddenly absent names of nine family-owned companies in which he listed holding business interests and financial connections until 2009.

It seemed like the president had divested himself of all his shares in these companies, quietly and secretly, if also according to law. Lacierda tells that PCIJ that the absence of these companies in the latest SALN of Aquino “indicates” divestment. The presidential spokesperson, however, has yet to accede to the request for documentary proof.

Five of the nine companies that used to crowd Aquino’s SALNs, though, had been reporting net losses in recent years: Tarlac Development Corp., Jose Cojuangco & Sons, Inc., Tarlac Distillery Corp., Paniqui Sugar Corp., and Luisita Golf & Country Club, Inc.

Only three seemed to be still in the black: Central Azucarera de Tarlac, Liberty Insurance Corp. and Luisita Marketing Corp.

No records could be found with the Securities and Exchange Commission for a ninth company, Pedro Cojuangco et al., in which Aquino had declared interest in his SALNs from 2006 to 2008.

To be sure, the rate of increase in Aquino’s wealth last year is unequalled by even his own record from 1998 to 2007, or before he became president.

When he first filed his SALN as a member of the House of Representatives, Aquino declared a net worth of only P8,707,247. This rose to P13,941,627 in 2007, a net increase of only P5,234,380. That redounds to a growth rate of only 60 percent in nine years, or a modest 6.6 percent wealth expansion per year. – PCIJ, July 2011

This includes all of the 43 organizations that now have nominees sitting in the House of Representatives.

Of the 169 or so party-list groups allowed to participate in the electoral contest, however, at least 26 (or about 15 percent) remain without SECEs filed with Comelec, even though they are subject to the same electoral laws as the ‘mainstream’ political parties.

Unfortunately, Comelec may have a hard time meting out penalties on these errant groups, based on PCIJ’s attempts to track them down. For one, of the 26 party-list organizations that didn’t file SECEs, PCIJ was able to send letters of clarification to only six because whatever contact information they had on record apparently was no longer applicable.

For another, of the six that PCIJ was able to contact successfully, only three so far have replied.

Hassan U. Dalimbang, founding chairman and first nominee of the Filipino Muslim Organization (Fil-Mus), readily admitted to PCIJ that he had not submitted a SECE “(in spite) of the fact that I had known very well the Rules and Regulations governing electoral contributions and expenditures in connection with the May 10, 2010 elections.”

In his letter to the Center, Dalimbang said he had not filed the papers as required by law because he had lost in the elections anyway and his “mind was sidetracked” by his involvement with issues concerning overseas Filipino workers or OFWs, which he considered more “pressing” and needing of his “immediate attention.” But he also said that his non-compliance was because the “receipts of all expenditures…were inadvertently lost during the campaign and election periods.”

Dante Francis M. Ang II, first nominee of Ahon Pinoy (which aims to protect the rights and welfare of OFWs), for his part said that were it not for PCIJ’s letter, the group “would not have known” that it had not filed its SECE.

“All the while,” wrote Ang in a letter dated May 27, 2011, “we assumed that our finance manager had taken care of the reportorial requirements.” He then said Ahon Pinoy would “submit a belated report to the Comelec as soon as (the group has) gathered all relevant documents.”

The Koalisyon ng Katutubong Samahan ng Pilipinas (KASAPI), which represents indigenous peoples, meanwhile said that it had submitted by courier its SECE to Comelec on Aug. 25, 2010. In a written reply to PCIJ’s queries, KASAPI administrative officer Jhon Jeff Tolentino said that this was after the group had received notice from Comelec asking it to submit its SECE.

KASAPI’s Jun. 7, 2011 letter to PCIJ came with a copy of its SECE, along with tracking information provided by the courier company. The tracking information showed that the parcel was received by a certain Trifona Root at Comelec.

When PCIJ last looked at Comelec’s files last April, though, it failed to find any copy of KASAPI’s SECE. Then again, this is the same government body that up until recently had conflicting lists of accredited party-list organizations, leading to confusion over which should be included in its roster of SECE non-filers.

In fact, Comelec had as much as 187 party-list groups on the official ballot. But when PCIJ tried checking on the supposed 36 non-filers based on a list drawn up by the Comelec’s Law Department, it found that a number of these had already been disqualified by the Commission way before the elections.

Among these groups was the United Filipino Seafarers (UFS), which had its registration as a sectoral party dismissed on Dec. 11, 2009. Its motion for reconsideration was denied by Comelec on Feb. 2, 2010. It was thus a perceivably irate Nelson Ramirez – president of UFS – who wrote to PCIJ last May that its being on the Comelec SECE non-filer list was “ridiculous.”

The Comelec Law Department has since cleaned up its SECE non-filer list. Whether it can get non-compliant party-list organizations to clean up their acts is another matter. – With research by Jessa Mae Jarilla, PCIJ, Julys 2011

CCT beneficiary-families are also very thankful and happy about the benefits they receive from the program.

And while there have been no widespread changes in the sources of independently-generated income and income-levels of 4Ps households since the program began, the cash grants have eased the severity of lean periods and enable more expenditures and consumption of basic necessities and some non-staple commodities and services during abundant periods.

At the barangay level, the program seems to have helped increase the number of children who have been immunized, as well as in improving children’s weights and families’ ability to manage sickness in the household. Greater awareness of maternal health concerns was also observed.

One significant change, though, was in the physical and material readiness of the children to attend school. Indeed, the IPC researchers note that the CCT children came to class clothed more properly, equipped with the necessary materials, and with full stomachs. The clothing, materials and projects, and food also seem to have made students more interested to come to school and be more active in class.

Parents as well were more participative, interacting more with teachers to monitor their children’s performance. At the very least, they no longer had to feel ashamed about any unpaid school fees.

A reduction of child labor in the areas visited by the IPC was attributed to the program’s frowning on child labor. The need for children to work at an early age remained just so poor households could survive, but the CCT program seems to have led to greater awareness and sensitivity about child labor.

Now the bad news: It remains unclear whether the positive behavioral changes observed were simply a result of the beneficiaries’ compliance with the CCT conditionalities (and could therefore disappear once the program ends) or actually signal the onset of long-lasting improvements.

The CCT families themselves were very unsure of how they would fare once the program ends, seemingly convinced that their future was still bleak. Majority did not see how their children could continue without the CCT, much less complete their schooling.

Says the IPC study: “At this rate then, whether school attendance will translate into academic achievement, completion of education, and eventually gainful employment remains blurry. Parents themselves can only be hopeful about their children completing high school. They acknowledge the lack of other income generating opportunities, high cost of education, and limited provision and duration of 4Ps as major constraints to their children’s full acquisition and benefit of education. The teachers recognize the same formidable constraints and are likewise wary, even befuddled about opportunities for children and youth from the (CCT) households.” – Che de los Reyes, PCIJ, May 2011

The biggest of these “pantawid” initiatives, of course, is the Conditional Cash Transfer (CCT) or the Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program (4Ps) that has been allotted P21 billion in the 2011 General Appropriations Act (GAA), and a substantial part of it funded with loans from the World Bank and the Asian Development Bank.

Three other programs are also listed under the 4Ps, each with its own hefty budget: the “Supplemental Feeding Program” (P2.88 billion), “Food for Work for Internally Displaced Persons” (P881 million), and “Rice Subsidy Program” (P4.23 billion). Altogether, these other subsidy programs are worth an additional P8 billion.

In the CCT and these other programs, the 2,500-strong Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) has been designated lead agency, with other agencies as co-implementers or mere deputies. One can say that the DSWD suddenly has its plate full not just with too much work, but also too much money.

In fact, the P21 billion set aside for the CCT in the GAA this year is more than double the allocation that the DSWD received last year. It is also the largest cost item in the department’s budget, eating up 62 percent of the agency’s total allotment of P34.2 billion for 2011.

(To coincide with the recent observance of Labor Day, Aquino launched through Executive Order No. 32 the “Pantawid Pasada” or Public Transport Assistance Program. Under it, a targeted total of 214,596 jeepney and tricycle drivers and operators received “smart cards” pre-loaded with up to P1,050, or roughly a fuel assistance of P35 a day for one whole month. The program’s launch, which had energy department officials handing out cards to drivers who had queued for hours, cost taxpayers at least P225.32 million, net of administrative expenses. The implementing rules for EO No. 32 say that Pantawid Pasada has an initial allocation of P450 million.)

To be sure, cash grants to targeted beneficiaries have been acknowledged as better and less-costly safety net measures, in contrast to price subsidies that tend to benefit even the rich. It is not clear, however, how these cash-outs supplement each other, or what outcomes they are designed to yield, under the Philippine Development Plan for 2011-2016 that the government fully disclosed only last week.

It’s also unclear how a small executive agency like the DSWD will be able to implement these programs efficiently, without sacrificing its regular tasks under its “social welfare arm” – providing assistance to victims of abuse and exploitation, and relief assistance in times of disasters. DSWD Secretary Corazon ‘Dinky’ Soliman herself says these tasks should go hand-in-hand with the agency’s “development arm” that includes implementing the CCT.

At the very least, the DSWD likes to say that the pantawid programs complement its work. It also bristles at any suggestion that the programs involve dole-outs. Thus, the Rice Subsidy Program is also called “Rice for Work.” It aims to augment the incomes of about two million small-scale farmers and fishers nationwide during lean months following the harvest season. The DSWD says it is equivalent to their wages for 14 days’ work in a month.

Like the beneficiaries for the CCT, the farmers and fisherfolk who will benefit from the Rice for Work program will be selected through the National Household Targeting System for Poverty Reduction (NHTS-PR). Supposedly, the distribution of rice subsidies had already begun last May 15.

The CCT’s P21 billion, meanwhile, is meant for distribution among 2.3 million poor households by year end. It’s an ambitious undertaking that poses a huge administrative challenge for DSWD to implement. Accordingly, it will also extract a substantial cost, as a closer scrutiny of Republic Act No. 10147 or the GAA for Fiscal Year 2011 reveals.

In other words, not every centavo of that P21 billion will go to poor families. Also eating up a hefty portion of the budget are amounts earmarked for activities related to disbursing those cash grants and for keeping the entire undertaking up and running. The budget for these operational, administrative, and capital outlay altogether amounts to about P4 billion, or a fifth of the total CCT budget.

Translated, that means that for every P100 that the government will be spending for the CCT this year, P80 will go directly to poor families as “cash grants,” while the remaining P20 will be spent in the course of bringing that money to them. And that’s not even counting the P100-million budget for selecting the recipients of cash transfers through the NHTS-PR.

A Cabinet secretary said the huge administrative cost of the CCT that is being implemented “top-down” is an attempt by the Aquino government to plug “leakages to corruption,” which marred many pro-poor projects in the past that were implemented “bottom-up” or with local government agencies as coordinators.

It’s an overhead cost that seems really huge. But the DSWD sees it as a necessary investment that would help ensure that the program would be free of leakages and shielded from political influence.

That goal, coupled with the magnitude of the undertaking, prompted DSWD to hire thousands of personnel, albeit on a contractual basis. Most of these personnel – called municipal links (MLs) and city links (CLs) – are social workers, but they are not to be confused with municipal social welfare and development officers (MSWDOs) who are employed by the local government unit (LGU). So while the MSWDOs report to the mayor, the MLs and CLs report to DSWD’s regional offices.

The agency has offices in the 16 administrative regions of the country, excluding the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao, but does not have units from the provincial level down. All local social welfare and development offices are under the supervision of governors and mayors.

Under the CCT, the DSWD is now scheduled to hire 2,300 contractual ground monitors – the MLs and the CLs – fattening its staff complement twice over.

Among the tasks of the CL/MLs are to coordinate with beneficiaries regarding cash-grant transmittals, as well as with municipal social workers on the conduct of family development sessions. The CL/MLs also monitor compliance of the beneficiaries to the CCT’s conditions and serve as the first line of grievance redress.

To make sure that each ML or CL will be able to closely monitor each CCT family, each is assigned 1,000 beneficiaries. There are about 2,000 CL/MLs under the DSWD’s employ at present, but by the end of the year, that figure is expected to reach 2,300. By then, the department expects to have 2.3 million CCT beneficiary-families.

That also means the DSWD will be spending P34.5 million a month or about P414 million annually just for the salaries of the CL/MLs, each of whom gets P15,000 a month.

But the GAA lists even a bigger amount under “Salaries and Allowances” for the CCT since there are other DSWD personnel (newly hired and otherwise) who are also involved in the program. According to Soliman, such involvement would make the program “integrated within the agency rather than (have) a separate foreign-assisted program unit…that will end when there is no more funding.”

But it’s actually “trainings” (sic), not salaries, which are the second largest cost item in the CCT budget. For this year, the “trainings” allocation is P1.6 billion, or monthly expenses for the item of P135 million or P4.45 million per day. The DSWD argues, though, that this would ensure that the CL/MLs and DSWD staff would be able to do all the tasks assigned them for CCT.

There are mechanisms for monitoring DSWD’s performance and accountability for the program. For instance, a GAA special provision specifically requires DSWD to “submit to the DBM, the House Committee on Appropriations and Senate Committee on Finance separate quarterly reports on the disbursements made for the Program or post on its official website, at least on a quarterly basis, the beneficiaries identified under the NHTS-PR National, utilization of amounts, status of implementation, program evaluation and/or assessment reports.”

The DSWD has transmitted its first-quarter report on the CCT, according to a staffer of Sen. Franklin M. Drilon, chair of the Senate Committee on Finance. The report was dated April 18, 2011, or two weeks after the close of the first quarter. No copies of the report, however, have been disclosed as of this writing.

With such a big increase in the CCT budget, President Aquino himself found it prudent to have yet another mechanism for monitoring the program. Inserted in the special provisions is the president’s veto: “The Oversight Committees on Public Expenditures herein created in the Senate and House of Representatives shall strictly monitor the effective implementation of the (CCT) Program.” – PCIJ, May 2011

Based on the data he enrolled in his sworn Statements of Assets, Liabilities, and Net Worth (SALN), what follow are the highlights of the financial history of Mikey and wife Ma. Angela Montenegro Arroyo. Last Thursday, Apr. 7, 2011, the Bureau of Internal Revenue filed a P73.85-million tax evasion complaint against the couple.

1992

Mikey began his stint in public office as a legislative staff officer to his mother, then Senator Gloria Macapagal Arroyo. Entries in his 1992 SALN were filled with “N/A” or “not applicable.” Mikey, 23 at the time, had zero net worth.

1993

Mikey declared a net worth of P50,000 – all cash on hand.

1994

Earning P7,370 monthly, Mikey’s last recorded net worth as a Senate employee was at P320,000 in 1994. He resigned Dec. 16, 1995.

2001

This is a significant year for the Arroyos – Mikey was elected vice-governor of Pampanga and his mother became President. From his last recorded SALN in 1994, his wealth grew by over 16 times this year at P5.72 million – all in personal assets. By this time, Mikey should be paying income tax for his salary as vice-governor. As well, he should also be paying income tax for the talent fees he earned in the three movies he reportedly made this year. One of the most prominent ones is the “Mahal kita… Kahit sino ka pa!” (I Love You… No MatterWho You Are!) where he starred opposite Judy Ann Santos.

Tax records from the BIR shows that Mikey originally registered on Apr. 18, 2001 as a One Time Transaction (ONETT) taxpayer with Revenue District No. 21 B, South Pampanga under Tax Identification Number 210-543-613-000.

2002

This year is yet another momentous one for Mikey. He married Angela A. Montenegro and became father to Mikaela Gloria the same year. He also starred in at least one movie titled “Walang Iba Kundi Ikaw” (No One But You) with Geneva Cruz and Roi Vinzon.

His 2002 SALN in filed with the Office of the Ombudsman says that his net worth decreased by more than P700,000 this year. This entire amount was deducted from his cash on hand and in bank, which meant that he did not buy any new piece of watch or clothing and shares of stock as the acquisition costs of these items did not change from last year’s.

On Jun. 19, 2002, he would register again with Revenue District No. 39, South Quezon City under TIN 914-841-267-000. The TIN issued in Pampanga would only be cancelled later in Jul. 22, 2009.

Just the same, Mikey should be filing tax return and paying income tax for his salary as vice-governor and talent fee as actor.

Records from the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), meanwhile, reveal that ‘Juan Miguel M. Arroyo’ is listed as shareholder in Klub Don Juan de Manila Inc. and Franchino Farms Inc. as of 2002. These companies were not listed in Mikey’s Dec. 2002 SALN.

Speaking on behalf of Mikey, lawyer Ruy Rondain says Franchino Farms is listed in the 2002 supplement while Klub Don Juan need not be declared because it is a foundation.

2003

The PCIJ found no record of Mikey’s 2003 SALN at the Office of the Ombudsman and the Pampanga Human Resources Management Office. A copy of this SALN, however, was provided by lawyer Rondain.

Mikey supposedly made two movies this year: Masamang Ugat (Bad Origin) and A.B. Normal College.

As well, Mikey should be filing an income tax return and paying tax for his salary as vice-governor and talent fee as actor.

2004

Mikey’s fortune as an elected official recorded the steepest increase this year when he assumed the position of Pampanga Representative. In 2004, an election year, the neophyte congressman declared a net worth of P76.53 million, which is 15 times his P5-million net worth in 2002. Mikey and his lawyer explains that majority of the properties that were added to the lawmaker’s net worth was Angela’s, a heiress to an old-rich family.

The Arroyos made big acquisitions this year. They bought a P4-million house and lot in Lubao, Mikey’s hometown in Pampanga, and an P8-million house in posh La Vista Subdivision in Quezon City. These transactions would have led the couple to pay documentary stamp tax (P1 for every P200 of the value) and transfer fee (75 percent of the 1 percent of the property’s fair market value). If they bought the property from a buyer/seller, then it’s likely that the buyer/seller had them pay for the value-added tax (VAT) or sales tax. As well, the couple would have to pay real property tax (1.5 percent of the zonal value) for the house and lot annually.

His wife Angela is listed as director in five companies: Pacific Activated Carbon Co., International, Pacific Activated Carbon Inc., H.M. Montenegro Co., Inc., Titan Megabags Industrial Corp., and Titan Megatiles Industrial Corp.

In the case that Angela earn from dividends declared by these companies, a 10-percent final withholding tax will have to be paid. This tax, however, will not be filed in the stockholder’s ITR, but in the company’s tax return along with its audited financial statement.

2005

The couple bought a P49.5-million house in the United States, which would mean that they should have paid for necessary taxes in the country. They also made improvement worth P15 million for the La Vista house. If they hired a contractor, then it’s likely that the contractor had them pay for the VAT. VAT would also have to be paid for the P5.8-million furniture that they bought this year.

In an interview, Rondain said that the couple made two sales in 2005 – the house in the U.S. and the P8.5 million worth of jewelry. If they made profit off these sales, then they should have paid the corresponding income tax. The Bureau of Internal Revenue (BIR), however, discovered that Mikey and Angela did not file ITR in 2005.

As well, Mikey acquired loans from certain relatives worth P27.5-million. Loans this big usually require an affidavit or promissory note, says a tax lawyer. These papers are subject to a documentary stamp tax of P1 for P200 of the value. In the case that the creditor earns from the loan interest, then he or she would have to declare this in his or her income tax return.

SEC records show that ‘Angela M. Arroyo’ is also listed as shareholder in Bethestda Computer Institute Corp. in 2005. This company is not declared in the 2005 joint SALN of the couple. Rondain has knowledge about the company.

Angela also gave birth to their second daughter Marie Angelique this year.

2006

The couple listed a new house in the U.S., which he bought from the sale of the other house. Just the same, he would have to pay for the taxes applicable in the country.

Mikey’s cash on hand and in bank also increased by P15 million. If he earned from bank deposit interest then it will be subject to 20-percent final withholding tax by the bank.

This year, Mikey declared three businesses: Mikey’s Horseman Bar and Grill, Inc., Visualtoon Creations, Inc. and LPG Auto Gas.

In the case that Mikey earn from dividends declared by these companies, a 10-percent final withholding tax will have to be paid. This tax, however, will not be filed in the stockholder’s ITR, but in the company’s tax return along with its audited financial statement.

2007

The couple no longer has the U.S. property in their SALN. Significant increases, however, are recorded in their cash in bank and on hand (P46.7 million) and investments worth P44.33 million and P14.74 million.

It should be noted that Mikey’s 2005 to 2007 SALNs bear the note “TENTATIVE (Not yet including the 2005 [2006] [2007] Financial Statement of Spouse).”

CSC’s Ariel Ronquillo says that the note would mean that the information included in the SALN would be that of the declarant’s only, and not including his spouse’s assets or finances.

Rondain, however, says that the couple might have marked it tentative because they are saving it for amendment later. “I think they might just been careful,” he says.

Mikey also listed two new companies in his name: Beach Way Park and Los Manos Verdes Inc.

2008

The couple’s cash increased by P4.95 million, but their furniture decreased in cost by P1.3 million. Investments in various companies also increased to P15.24 million. Liabilities, meanwhile, decreased from P58.22 million to P56.87 million.

The BIR said there is no record of the couple’s ITR filing this year.

Mikey declared a new business entity, U18 Properties, Inc.

2009

Total personal assets decreased as the total amount of liabilities also decreased, which results to Mikey and Angela’s net worth of P101.35 million.

The couple allegedly did not file their ITR this year, according to the BIR.

Mikey also listed three new companies in his name: La Vista Investments and Holdings, Inc., Lourdes T. De Arroyo, Inc., and Asia Pacific Islands, LLC. – PCIJ, April 2011

Nine months ago, Aquino ran, won, and sealed a “Social Contract with the Filipino People” that promised “transparent, participative, and accountable governance.” His Budget Secretary, Florencio B. Abad, speaking at the Open Government Initiative forum of U.S. President Barack Obama held in Washington, DC, last January, precisely hyped this policy of the Aquino administration.

At that event launching “a global partnership for open governance,” Abad said: “One primary reason why our country has lagged behind our Asian counterparts is that national leadership had been susceptible to patronage, entrenching a culture of concealment, exclusivity and impunity throughout government. This is because official information had been sparse, and the space for people’s participation in governance had been very narrow.”

A key ally of Aquino, Abad might have spoken too soon. Last Monday, the Office of the President put up more barriers to requests for SALNs, paving the way for a more restrictive access to information regime than that which prevailed under former President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.

Last Feb. 8, the PCIJ wrote the Office of Executive Secretary Paquito Ochoa, Jr. to request copies of the SALNs of Ombudsman Ma. Merceditas N. Gutierrez and her three predecessors, Simeon V. Marcelo, Aniano A. Desierto, and Conrado M. Vasquez.

It took Ochoa’s office 35 days to respond to the letter. And it did after the PCIJ had filed a second letter and made six follow-up phone calls. The law says government officials must respond within 15 working days to such requests.

Last Monday, Ochoa’s office finally responded in a letter signed by Senior Deputy Executive Secretary Jose Amor M. Amorado.

But the letter was a big damper. In it, Amorado said the PCIJ must first submit copies of its “registration documents (i.e., Securities and Exchange Commission, Bureau of Internal Revenue, Mayor’s Permit), and “an executive summary sufficiently describing the use of the SALNs requested.”

These requirements, according to Amorado, “comply with laws and administrative issuances related to the disclosure of SALNs.”

To be sure, Amorado opened his letter with a cheerful note. “I am pleased to inform you that the data you requested are available for photocopying or reproduction at the Malacañang Records Office – Office of the President.”

The PCIJ promptly phoned the Records Office only to find out that it only has the SALN of Gutierrez as former Justice Secretary and as former presidential legal counsel of Arroyo – or five years before she assumed the post of Ombudsman.

Amorado apparently did not check at all that the PCIJ, in its first letter, requested copies of Gutierrez’s SALN as Ombudsman from 2005 to 2010. It was only in its second letter that the PCIJ sought copies of the SALNs of Gutierrez as Justice secretary and presidential legal counsel.

In earlier queries with Presidential Communications Secretary Ramon ‘Ricky’ Carandang, the PCIJ had learned that the Palace is as clueless as everyone else about the SALNs that Gutierrez filed as Ombudsman.

Last March 13, Carandang wrote the PCIJ.  “I have conferred with Executive Secretary Ochoa about your query. The Office of the President does not have copies of the Ombudsman’s statements of assets and liabilities and net worth. The Ombudsman has not submitted these documents to the OP.” – Malou Mangahas and Karol Anne M. Ilagan, PCIJ, March 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

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