by YVONNE T. CHUA

WHEN A medium-sized book publisher based in Quezon City set out last year on a trip to a regional office of the Department of Education, Culture and Sports (DECS), she carried a bag bulging with wads of cash.

That afternoon, she needed to thank 10 people for the P20-million contract for the purchase of supplementary educational materials that her firm produced. The deal was funded by the “pork barrel” money of a Luzon congressman who was then running for the Senate.

Inside the room of the DECS supply officer, her first stop, she pulled out a brown envelope from her bag and casually handed it over. She ran into some clerks on her way out of the room and handed each of them a crisp P500 bill for “merienda.”

The publisher then made her way to the accountant who obligated the fund. Another brown envelope was produced. The next stops were the chief accountant, four accounting clerks who helped prepare her check, and the cashier. Out came six more envelopes.

There was one more person to visit before her final stop at the regional director: the auditor, who also gladly took the brown envelope she proffered. At the regional director’s office, she waited awhile before she was ushered into the room. When they were alone, she handed out the last and fattest brown envelope.

In all, the envelopes held P1.17 million—P1 million or five percent of the contract for the regional director; P50,000 for the supply officer; P15,000 for the accountant who obligated the money; P40,000 for the chief accountant; P5,000 each for the accounting clerks; P10,000 for the cashier who released the check; and P20,000 for the auditor. Adding other “thank you’s” to other officials, including the 40 percent for the congressman who provided the funds, the payoffs ate up more than 50 percent of the contract she had landed.

But the publisher was relieved that the DECS people had not demanded more. Perhaps, she surmised, it was because three other publishers were doing the rounds that same afternoon.

Bribery has become a way of life for DECS suppliers, who say the P3-million bribery attempt at the Department of Budget and Management (DBM) last Jan. 19 was just one link in the chain of corruption so deeply embedded in the procurement of textbooks and supplementary materials. They also say the payoffs take place wherever some sort of discretionary power is exercised, from bottom to top—from as high up as Malacañang as the botched bribe try shows, and as low as the clerk cashier who prepares the check.

Over 20 people interviewed for this series, including executives of publishing houses, government suppliers, textbook authors and former and current DECS officials and employees, confirmed the blatant and sophisticated cheating in government purchases of educational materials.

They say it has come to a point that much of the money is being channeled away from textbooks, of which there is a serious shortage, to the purchase of “supplementary materials,” from which bigger cuts can be made. Supplementary materials include books, charts, maps, videos and the like supposed to enrich a child’s learning.

But most of those interviewed, especially the suppliers and publishers, spoke on condition of anonymity, fearing their disclosure would cost them their business with the government.

Agents who have been supplying the DECS since the 1970s years speak longingly of the days when bribes were smaller and bribe-takers were fewer. “People in the old DECS were nicer,” recalled an agent-turned-publisher. “You’d just bring them to a nice restaurant and give them a little. The employees were happy with token amounts.”

But as the funds available for textbooks increased, monetary needs of DECS workers grew and word of the generosity of suppliers spread, DECS officials and employees began clamoring for bigger cuts in government contracts. Even non-DECS people began asking for a slice of the pie. “They grow demanding by the day,” the publisher lamented.

A Social Weather Stations survey done last September ranked DECS as the sixth most corrupt state agency in the eyes of the public, after the Department of Public Works and Highways, Bureau of Internal Revenue and the police.

But a former high-ranking DBM official said that as the Ramos administration ended, DECS overtook the DPWH. So staggering were the bribes from DECS suppliers that many congressmen and senators suddenly shifted their pork barrel (Countrywide Development Fund and Congressional Initiative Allocation) from DPWH to DECS, he said.

The bribes or kickbacks go by the now familiar term “SOP (Standard Operating Procedure).” Agents and publishers, however, prefer to call them “tapon” (“throwaways”) that they automatically budget when they sell their books to the government.

In their meetings, various associations of book suppliers and publishers openly discuss the sums that are set aside for “tapon.” And although they jealously guard the identities of their connections—the “tirador” who negotiates and collects on behalf of a state official, and “fixers”—they generously warn peers to stay away from the “matatakaw” or greedy officials.

DECS suppliers work within a range for the “tapon”—from a low of 20 percent to a high of 65 percent of a contract. The commission that agents actually kept for themselves—five to 10 percent—fell outside the range.

“The range is very fluid,” said a member of the Book Suppliers Association of the Philippines who has been supplying DECS since 1982. Much, she said, depends on the number of DECS offices, government agencies and go-betweens that are involved and how greedy they were.

Bribes also vary according to the source of funds that are used for purchases and the type of materials supplied to schools, said another publisher who once worked for DECS.

The lump sum appropriations that Congress sets aside each year specifically for textbooks and other instructional materials are by no means the only funds available to public schools for these items. Within the DECS system, savings from the Maintenance and Other Operating Expenses (MOOE) at the central and field offices are added to the pot for textbook purchases.

For years, millions of pesos had also found their way to DECS for books from pork barrel funds until these were abolished by the Estrada administration. Local governments also help in the purchase of schoolbooks through contributions from the local school board fund.

Normally, suppliers deal only with the DECS division, region or central office, or two offices at most, at any one time. In these transactions, government auditors inevitably have to be included in the “tapon” to ensure they look the other way when irregularities or lapses are committed.

But when transactions require a realignment of the DECS budget, pork barrel funds and the local school board fund, the chain of corruption extends to the DBM, Malacañang, Congress and local government units.

Long before the Quezon City-based publisher went on her afternoon “appreciation” trip, for instance, she had already handed a broker P5 million or 40 percent of the contract for the congressman who had used part of his pork barrel to buy her materials. She had been told that amount included the five percent that the lawmaker’s chief of staff was to give DBM officials and employees for releasing the SARO or special allotment release order for the transaction.

Weeks before she showered her thanks at the DECS regional office, the publisher had also gone to the school divisions to distribute “cuts” to superintendents who had received the books. This came up to three percent of the contract. The publisher had also taken care of the administrative officer (P7,000 each) and auditor (P10,000 each) in every division.

But she has no regrets about having to give so much grease money. For that particular transaction, she still stood to gain P3 million even after paying the printer and forwarder.

Suppliers said supplementary materials are actually where they and government officials make a killing and not on textbooks, as many believe.

Thus, despite the severe textbook shortage, which has caused textbook to pupil ratio to worsen to 1:6 in elementary and 1:8 in high school, the bulk of purchases for public schools has been used for supplementary and reference materials, from which bigger cuts can be made.

“Manipis lang ang tapon diyan (The ‘throwaway’ isn’t much from textbooks),” said the agent-turned-publisher of textbooks contracts. “It’s 20-all.” She meant the bribes given to the regional office and schools divisions under it add up to 20 percent of a contract.

In contrast, kickbacks for supplementary materials start at a low of 40-all and hit a high of 60-all to 65-all, suppliers themselves said.

In the case of textbooks purchases, regions transact directly with the private sector, and the regional director takes five to 10 percent, said suppliers. The region’s supply, finance and budget, accounting administrative officer and auditor, meanwhile, each expects 0.5 to one percent. The allocation of the division superintendent who receives the textbooks is three percent while the staff gets two percent.

“There are division superintendents who complain about the three percent,” said the publisher, “but they know that we can’t go any higher because they know our profit margins are small.”

The lean margins are due to the price caps and other rigid conditions, including paper specifications and door-to-door delivery, imposed by DECS on textbooks.

While supplementary materials are covered by price ceilings as well, they are allowed a bigger markup. On average, supplementary materials cost 20 to 30 percent more than DECS-approved textbooks because their pricing is based on print run of only 5,000 copies instead of the 50,000 copies used for textbooks. DECS also does not prescribe the type of paper for supplementary materials.

When sold directly to a DECS regional office, suppliers are prepared to throwaway “40-all” for supplementary materials. At least 15 percent would go to the regional director and another 15 percent shared by division superintendents under him.

In the case of supplementary materials offered to congressmen and senators, publishers often budget “50-all” as “tapon.” As much as 30 to 35 percent usually go to the legislator and his staff, five percent of DBM, and the rest to the DECS office that receives the pork barrel. But there have been instances when kickbacks reached 60 to 65 percent because the lawmaker kept the 30 or 35 percent for himself or demanded 40 percent.

An ex-staffmember of several lawmakers said suppliers went directly to legislators to offer their books. The lawmaker’s chief of staff or a relative acted as the “tirador” and negotiated with the suppliers.

“The practice was kaliwaan,” said the staff. The supplier gave half of the SOP as soon as the lawmaker signed the letter to the DBM identifying the titles he wanted to purchase with his pork barrel. Either the supplier or the chief of staff followed up the release of the SARO from DBM. When the SARO was released, the supplier went back to the legislator to pay the balance of the SOP.

The staff noted that some suppliers even got legislators to sign requisition issue vouchers, which is against auditing rules. And since the titles were already specified, it was futile for DECS to hold public biddings.

Division superintendents and district supervisors enjoy one privilege that their regional bosses do not: they have at their disposal the Special Education Fund (SEF) or the local school board fund.

The fund is drawn from proceeds of the one percent real property tax a city, town or province collects. It is intended for teachers’ allowances, construction and maintenance of schoolbuildings and instructional materials and school supplies. In some rich Metro Manila towns and cities, the SEF reaches P500 million each year.

Only the local school board, co-chaired by the governor and school superintendent or the mayor and the district supervisor, has control over the SEF. It is what many book suppliers run after these days, offering SOP of “20-all” to “40-all,” depending on how powerful the school superintendent or district supervisor is. If the school official is co-equal with the governor or mayor, then the SOP rises to “40-all,” because the two would split the kickback in half. If the school official is subordinate to the local official, his share is normally cut to five percent.

To be fair, not all state officials demand SOP. One ex-Central Luzon governor, for example, refused the 15 percent share offered her, asking that it be used to buy more books. What she didn’t know was the superintendent got five percent of the contract. One former congressman also often asked that his share be used for supplies that public schools needed.

But the former governor and the former congressman are exceptions. Said a supplier: “The majority of them are spoiled and greedy.”

Aside from payoffs, DECS suppliers have resigned themselves to doing extras for school officials, especially when they come to Manila. Said a publishing house executive: “Suppliers fetch them at the airport, billet them at an expensive hotel, give them pocket money, chauffeur them around town and buy the pasalubong that they would bring back to their provinces.”

But what irk suppliers are state officials and employees who wangle for more money or break their word. One supplier said she was forced to cough up 20 percent instead of the agreed upon 15 percent after a DECS regional director threatened to give the contract to someone else. “I had no choice,” said the supplier. “Right behind me were people willing to take over.”

A broker who cornered millions of pesos in pork barrel funds also said some lawmakers became greedier as the years went by. On his first term, a popular Southern Luzon congressman settled for 20 percent. But on his second term, he demanded no less than 40 percent.

One ex-DECS official asked an agent to turn over to him the entire 20 percent intended for the central office, promising to take care of the shares of “helpful” employees. But the agent later had to shell out another five percent for DECS employees because the official kept all of the money.

Suppliers are also finding out that clinching contracts from the local school board is not that simple, especially in Metro Manila. Publishers now shun one city after several agents were told to first see the mayor’s wife, who asked them pointblank, “Can you give a car?” They were then told that the car was on top of the SOP they were to give to the mayor.

Some suppliers suggested that if the government is serious about curbing corruption, it might want to run a lifestyle check on DECS officials and employees.

According to the suppliers, one high-ranking education official who resigned last year now has a posh resort in Mindanao. A retired regional director, meanwhile, owns a house in Ayala Alabang and Xavierville. Another ex-regional director operates a big private school in Luzon. Remarked the agent-turned-publisher: “They’re so corrupt, it makes you cry.”