'Blighted': The novel as indictment

Legal eagle Frank Chavez unveiled another facet of his persona last week when his novel Blighted was launched at Filipinas Heritage Library.

A street pugilist for prize money in his Negros boyhood, a lifelong scholar who lifted himself up by the bootstraps to escape poverty by making do with his inherent intelligence and determination, Frank as “promdi” eventually entered UP Diliman, subsisted on an avocado tree he climbed on penniless, moonless nights when no one was looking outside the dorm, and went on to law school where he graduated cum laude.

As he rose up the ranks as a fiery lawyer, and found his way to government through the Cory Aquino years, becoming Solicitor General from 1987 to 1992, Frank’s in-your-face manner when confronting issues and legal matters made him a man you either admired or abhorred.

Even President Cory was often non-plussed over how to “handle” this Sol-Gen who saw fit to go hammer-and-tongs after everyone he perceived to be on the other side of the law. He was and still is no diplomat, nor does he care much for the PC police (that’s Political Correctness, not your usual kotong specialists or so-called “euro generals”). 

But there’s also a side to him that’s blessed with disarming charm, his bedimpled smile, candid disclosures and authoritative articulation often winning over media figures and other allies long desirous of good governance.

And when he offers more than wee drams from his collection of single malt bottles while also sharing his recollections of travels in Scotland and the rest of Europe, then he easily dismantles armors of grumpiness such as what my literary and jazz bar bro Pete Lacaba and I may display when our throats are far from microphones or tulip glasses.

Not so surprisingly, Frank has authored an intriguing didactic novel, something described in blurbs as a “searing commentary on the present state of affairs in his hapless country that he loves so well, damning corruption and abuse of the poor by the rich and powerful, law enforcers, and members of the judicial courts.”

Philippine Star columnist Domini Torrevillas goes on to add: “It is a travelogue, courtroom drama, a series of lectures on the political-social condition and on convoluted minds and temperaments rolled into one. The novel does not bank on sexual undertones but on harsh realities to draw readers’ attention. That Frank would turn to the novel as his genre for truth-telling makes us the better for it.”

PDI editor-in-chief Letty Jimenez Magsanoc pitches in:

“Author Frank Chavez sure gets right to where the dirt is. And he digs up dirt again and again to chronicle the pervasive culture of corruption in all departments of the national and local governments, the corporate world down to the grassroots and the family.

“... This is a monumental reference book for a detailed summary of alleged massive corruption under the present dispensation.

“... Using story-telling tools and Socratic, didactic devices, the narrative is as timely as today’s headlines and as timeless as the values of clean, disciplined, honest government for, by and of the people.”

Other glowing commentaries on the book have been penned by such media stalwarts as PDI columnist Dr. Randy David, Manila Standard/Today columnist Antonio Abaya, the venerable UP Law professor Laureta, and litterateur Lacaba.

Some readers might question the inclusion of travelogue details that appear as a refresher course in servicing the author’s own memory of his enviable jaunts abroad, and have nothing much to do with the often gripping core narrative. This reader sees these sections as breathers that provide a distancing from the litany of indictments against Philippine society and governance, which would otherwise prove so oppressive the way they’re strung together without let-up — all-too-familiar as the cited anomalies may be to all of us.     

It’s a quick and easy read, a fast one, a page-turner as it is, revolving around a courtroom drama involving three young men charged with a heinous crime. The wheels of justice, Philippine-style, the way they clank up and groan hither and thither, fueled by either influence or nobility, are the real and nearly palpable central characters. 

At the launch last Monday, someone at our table remarked upon a quick browse of some pages of the book — available in both hardbound and softbound editions and distributed by Anvil at all National Bookstore branches — that certain real-life characters seemed easily identifiable.

Among the book launch attendees I could identify were my fellow Bedans Lino Dionisio (SBC Alumni Association president), UPM-PGH Surgery department chair Dr. Boy Hilvano, cause-oriented construction magnate Delfin Wenceslao, as well as DSWD Sec. Esperanza Cabral, former president Erap Estrada, Ballsy Aquino-Cruz, Margie Juico, BusinessWorld columnist Albert Gamboa, Star columnist Josie Lichauco, Randy David, Letty Magsanoc, Tony Abaya, writer Marla Yotoko-Chorengel, Frank’s sister Samantha who’s almost equally celebrated as a singer, and a legion of lawyers (some of whose kind were not exactly exempt from the indictment the book delivers).  

Emcee Atty. Mike Toledo called on Atty. Laureta for extended remarks, as well as a couple of readers, André de Jesus and Frank’s own daughter Tippi, to share excerpts from the novel. Following is part of one of those excerpts, which I share sans enclosing quotation marks so as to allow full flavor to Frank Chavez’s authorship. 

* * *

No secret in the Philippines, especially in Manila, remains a secret forever. The deadly whisperers of Manila society have an uncanny way of unraveling all kinds of secrets. 

Soon the rumor mill was thick with talk that 48 hours after his release, Pabs Garcia left the country for an unknown destination. Then, the tongue waggers had it that Johnny Garcia and his inner circle of friends, a week after Pabs was released, went to Hong Kong on separate flights but that after an overnight stay there, eventually met up in Paris. Then the group proceeded by private jet to a private villa in Nice, Southern France. There, Johnny treated his friends to a blowout beyond their expectation and imagination for three days and three nights. 

About a dozen courtesans between the ages of 19 and 24 were flown in from Morocco, Paris, Belgium and Spain. They were strikingly pretty, with legs that seemed to start from their shoulders, pouting lips, beguiling smiles and full, defiant breasts. From all indications, they were carefully selected by a procurer with impeccable taste, commensurate to the financial capacity of the sponsor.

Those in the group too old for prurient adventure just hit the bottle and eventually hit the hay, assured by the thought that their secret bank accounts had once again been fattened by their good friend. 

Jabba caught up with the group on the second night, but the best of everything was reserved for him. All appetites were attended to and sated. At the height of their bacchanalian abandon on the second night, the now inebriated Johnny couldn’t contain himself. In front of all his other friends, Johnny genuflected in front of Jabba, held the latter’s hand, and in a loud voice declared:

“I will forever be indebted to you. I believe in you implicitly. You are my master.”

He made a big show of kissing the master’s hand. And Jabba roared with laughter. The fat man said, “I told you so. I told you I’ll do it. I will not fail you because you have never failed me. You always deliver your side of all our agreements.”

The group, the rumormongers continue, came back to Manila on separate flights after that six-day compensation trip. And the queen whisperer ended their session with quite a tale.

“When one of the older members of their group came out of his room leaving his French lady partner behind, all the others were waiting for him, and he complained he couldn’t go beyond one. And somebody said: ‘You have reached the age of frustration!’ And the older member asked why and he was told, “Because you realize for the first time that you couldn’t do it the second time!’ Then came the clincher: ‘But not to worry, our Romeo here (referring to the eldest in the group) has reached the age of desperation, and when asked what that was, he said, “Our friend realized for the second time he couldn’t even do it the first time.”

Resounding laughter filled the coffee shop.