Speaker Jose de Venecia did not come, but sent instead his daughter. Posthaste, Mr. De Venecia promised to build a hospital for HIV patients for us. He immediately conflated gayness with HIV, and thus lost our votes. Secretary Oscar Orbos and Renato de Villa came – both clean-cut, good-looking, and bright. Senator Lito Osmeña came and gave us a brisk overview of his promdi program of governance. Only three candidates snubbed us. Vice President Joseph Estrada, whom we did not miss; Mayor Alfredo Lim, the tough cop; and Manoling Morato. Don’t ask me why Manoling snubbed the gathering of gays.
And then there was Raul Roco. Previous to that day, Mr. Roco had sent his son Rex to speak on his behalf during our Pride March programs, assuring us of his support for our advocacy. That day, Mr. Roco himself came. In his signature shirt aflame with vivid flowers, he ambled into the cavernous hall of the Film Center. His CV was short, his speech concise. He prefaced his words with poetry. From memory, he recited the whole of "Ithaca," a poem about journeys and destinations. He erroneously said it was written by an Egyptian poet, and was promptly corrected by Neil Garcia, my Ladlad co-editor. Neil said that the gay Greek poet Constantin Cavafy wrote it, and Senator Roco just smiled.
Neil also asked what would Senator Roco do if he knew that one of his campaign managers was gay? Could the campaign manager invite his boyfriend to the victory party at the Palace? Senator Roco said there should be no problem. Another query asked his opinion about two men adopting a baby, which the Department of Social Welfare and Development frowned upon.
Schooled in English literature and the labyrinths of law, Raul Roco knew the social and political movements of the 1960s – the ones that liberated the blacks, women, gays, lesbians and nations. He knew about feminism, for wasn’t he called an "honorary woman" in Congress for shepherding through the legislative mill the anti-sexual harassment and anti-rape bills? Thus, he saw LGBT rights through the lenses of human rights, the way they should be seen. I wrote about this encounter in my column, which was reprinted in Gaydar: Essays.
The second time I saw Senator Roco was at the lobby of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I came to the CCP to watch the Jeunes Ballet du Monaco. But at that time, there was a tug-of-war between two sets of CCP board of trustees. That night, Mr. Baltazar Endriga and his group that included Pitoy and Virgie Moreno wanted to enter the lobby. Three burly cops barred them. The group outside pushed the door, the cops pushed them back. The pushing and the shoving went on for a few minutes, and I was beginning to sink with shame for there outside, gaping, was the crème de la crème of the diplomatic corps.
Finally, like Superman himself, Raul Roco pushed the door and asked who ordered the cops to bar Mr. Endriga and company? Flustered, the cops muttered that somebody from the CCP called them and said there were "troublemakers" outside the lobby, and they should not be allowed entry. I interviewed Senator Roco briefly, then my friend Ces Drilon came and led him away for another short interview. Pretty soon, an elegant woman who was almost six feet tall wanted to enter the lobby. Again, the burly cops stood in her away.
"Hala," I finally told them, "that woman is Ambassador Pu Yin of China. If you don’t want the trouble in Spratlys to reach you here in CCP, you better give way to her." In a flash, the cops stood aside. Ambassador Pu Yin strode onto the lobby, the soft silk of her gown shimmering in the air.
The third time I met Senator Roco was in December 2003. On behalf of Ang Lunduyan, the national network of Filipino LGBTs, I had written to Senator Roco and asked him if his party, Aksyon Demokratiko, would like to adopt us as their party-list candidate for the May 2004 elections. Senator Roco sent one his deputies to talk to us. However, the Commission on Elections had decided to change the deadline for the filing of party-list candidacies from the mandated February 2004 to October 2003. They did this without the benefit of widespread publicity. Almost 50 party-list candidates failed to get accreditation. Somebody from Comelec told me that they did that so they could save on paper, since the party-list candidates would make for a long list during the elections. But at whose expense?
We at Lunduyan were naturally dismayed. In my heart of hearts, I knew that one day, something would happen to the Comelec. There must be a God, for now, the kindest words that you could say about the Comelec is that they are inefficient. The rest are unprintable.
Senator Roco’s party then suggested that I could run as their congressional candidate for the third district of Quezon City. But Maite Defensor had done a good job, building hospitals and schools, and I thought she would run again. However, in spite of the many posters trumpeting her name in my district, Maite did not run. Instead, an older, obscure relative with the same family name ran. The alternate won without competition, but even the councilors in our district got more than the 57,000 votes he received.
When I heard that Senator Raul Roco died, I went to Maria della Strada Chapel on a Saturday afternoon. In a cool, blue casket, he lay, draped by the brilliant tricolor of the Philippine flag. Beside me, a young woman was weeping. She said she was one of the many scholars that Senator Roco had sent to college, with neither fanfare nor publicity. I touched the part of the glass that covered the senator’s heart, and told him to ask the Powers-That-Be for some kindness for this land.
Beside the casket was displayed Senator Roco’s writing table and chair. On the desk were notes for his autobiography, his writing pen, and some books. One of them was the Selected Poems of Dylan Thomas. Sonia, the senator’s wife, said Dylan Thomas was one of her husband’s favorite poets. And then in a flash I remembered the most famous line from the poet.
It said: "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."