NOW that I think about it, it sounds apocryphal. We were plodding from the Cebu City Hall to the Capitol on the first day of Cebu Press Freedom Week, which always opens with a parade. Most of us were bleary-eyed, unaccustomed to walking at 7 a.m. on a Sunday. We were also unaware that the day’s newspaper had rolled off the press late, thanks to a combination of mechanical trouble and editorial shenanigans.
When a group of newsboys at the corner of Osmeña Blvd. and Sanciangko St. saw the SunStar contingent approach, they (allegedly) held up copies of SunStar Daily and chanted, “SunStar Delay! SunStar Delay!” Newsroom veterans always got a good laugh every time this story was told. But now I’m not sure how factual it is. I seem to remember hearing the chant myself, but memory plays tricks, as we all know. It sounds too witty to be true, but I’ll accept it if two or more credible witnesses (who were not nursing hangovers then) can vouch that it did, indeed, happen.
These days, we get heckled not by newsboys but by some of our readers and viewers on social media, some of whom happen to be incumbent or defeated public officials. For the most part, the comments amuse and keep us grounded. One of the earliest lessons you’re taught as a journalist is that mistakes are inevitable. But you can recover from them and perhaps even avoid repeating them. I learned to tell a pistol from a revolver because Wilfredo “Boy” Veloso summoned me to the desk where he pored, nose to page, over each day’s issue and pointed out that one had a cylinder that held the ammunition “and revolved, which is why they’re called revolvers.”
One day, before Cebu Press Freedom Week had become an annual celebration, an attack on Sir Boy made it clear that the right to express an opinion, no matter how inconvenient it was for some public figures, was more fragile than Cebu’s working press had thought. In November 1991, four men led by then-major Esa Hasan walked into the old newsroom along Osmeña Blvd. and confronted Veloso about some columns he’d written on the campaigns waged by the Narcotics Command. They carried high-powered guns (neither pistols nor revolvers, but semiautomatic rifles, I’m told). No shot was fired, although you can imagine how intimidating that must have been. It didn’t stop Sir Boy from writing, though. It didn’t stop SunStar Daily, as it was known then, from celebrating its ninth anniversary less than three weeks after that.
This incident happened half a year before I first joined SunStar as an intern, but I am certain it’s not apocryphal. It happened and was well-documented. It has become part of the colorful lore of Cebu’s working press. And while I have decided to stop working as a full-time journalist, it is a history that I will continue to study, try to learn from, and value. There isn’t enough space here to tell you about all the journalists I’ve had the honor to work with and be taught by. Not enough space for all the inside jokes and advice we’ve shared over coffee or a quick and often late dinner. Sixteen years ago, when he heard that I was taking driving lessons, my former teacher and editor Pachico A. Seares gave me two books, “Defensive Driving” and “Advanced Defensive Driving.” This year, I will finally have the time to read them.
Journalism is not for the faint of heart, which sounds like a cliche but is nonetheless true. It won’t make you rich, if you’re honest. It is likely to give you heartburn, insomnia or incurable cynicism, unless you develop early the habits to prevent these ills. These days, it faces challenges on multiple fronts, including a disrupted business model and the relentless propaganda armies of autocrats. But for all that, it also remains tremendous fun. If you’re the sort of person who enjoys telling or listening to a good story, if you relish working with others as irreverent and as full of questions as you are, nothing comes close to it.