In the dock

An expert on banking laws pointed out to me yesterday that the “absolute secrecy” requirement in Republic Act 6426 or the Foreign Currency Deposit Act is addressed to banks, not depositors.

A public official with foreign currency deposits need not issue his own written permission to declare such accounts in his statement of assets, liabilities and net worth (SALN).

The law requiring the filing of SALNs does not make a distinction between Philippine and foreign currency deposits; all assets must be declared, the expert pointed out.

At the end of nearly three hours of testimony yesterday, Chief Justice Renato Corona invoked RA 6426 in refusing to bare his dollar (and even peso) accounts, several of which he now admits exist.

During his monologue yesterday – three times longer than a typical state of the nation address – Corona scored major points against his accusers.

But the points started vanishing as he refused to waive the secrecy of his bank deposits, belying his repeated pronouncement that he has nothing to hide.

You can understand the disdain in that dare for 189 lawmakers to issue waivers on the secrecy of their dollar and peso bank deposits before Corona issues his own waiver. If there is strong resistance to the passage of amendments to the Anti-Money Laundering Act of 2001, to include more predicate crimes such as bribery and terrorism, it is because there are lawmakers with assets that need to continue being protected by bank secrecy laws.

But the Chief Justice surely realizes that he is the one being tried for his fitness to remain in his post. This is not a case of (as Justice Secretary Leila de Lima observed) you can’t convict me because we’re all guilty.

After yesterday’s performance, complete with his trademark tears, I don’t think Corona earned new fans among the senator-judges. He walked out on a court that has so far performed its challenging duty with credibility. The court’s presiding justice, Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile, is enjoying high popularity because of his handling of this historic case. The Senate did not deserve that rudeness.

Stalking out of that court, which had just given him three hours to harangue all his perceived enemies non-stop without allowing them to answer back (some of them weren’t even there), simply reinforced some of the worst perceptions about the Chief Justice.

Corona was well enough to walk out of the session hall unassisted, and he clearly ignored Enrile’s order for him to return to the witness stand.

Locked in by the Senate, Corona then took a favorite tack of officials of the Arroyo administration when they wanted to avoid congressional grilling: he took a sick leave from the proceedings.

It was a telling display of Corona’s attitude toward the law and the institutions he avowedly cares so much about. He can be cited for contempt of the impeachment court.

* * *

In the dock for the first time yesterday, Corona actually managed to skewer the Basa side of his family, and again the Land Registration Authority (LRA) for the wrong information about his 45 real estate properties.

He also attacked Ombudsman Conchita Carpio-Morales for her Senate testimony (on the invitation of the defense). But he lost points when he admitted having “only” four dollar accounts and three peso accounts, all of which he admitted omitting from his SALN. RA 6426, he explained, guaranteed the absolute secrecy of dollar deposits, while the peso accounts in his name belonged to his family.

Listening to his monologue, it was sometimes confusing to determine his income status.

On one hand, he said he wasn’t born poor; his parents could afford to send him to Ateneo de Manila and to Harvard, so why was anyone questioning his assets?

On the other, he indicated a humble background, saying that living a frugal life allowed him and his wife to accumulate assets over several decades, which they invested. No part of that wealth, he insisted, was stolen from public funds. He tossed in the detail that they don’t have maids, to illustrate his point about simple living.

Corona repeated previous explanations to debunk the prosecution’s accusation that he had 45 real estate properties, and explained why he failed to declare the current market value of the five that he actually owned. The prosecution had been previously skewered over the information provided by the LRA.

But after his walkout, Corona’s brownie points were dissipated. And when he was brought back to the session hall on a wheelchair, it was too reminiscent of his patron, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Since Enrile, unanimously backed by his colleagues, has threatened to consider the impeachment case submitted for resolution if Corona does not allow himself to be cross-examined, the Chief Justice may be back on the witness stand today, recovered from his supposed hypoglycemic episode. As of last night, he was reported to be headed for a hospital.

If Corona returns to the witness stand, perhaps someone should advise him to stop the tears. There was a recent story about men being turned off by women’s tears during an argument, no matter how valid the woman’s complaints. There is a similar effect on a disbelieving audience; tears are as contrived as claims of having a direct line to God.

Corona can also use an adviser on attitude, although at this point it is too late, and it’s doubtful that he would listen anyway.

His concluding statement (and Enrile’s response) was a defining moment in the impeachment trial.

“Now the Chief Justice of the Republic of the Philippines wishes to be excused,” Corona said before stalking out of the session hall, without bothering about the Senate’s response.

It was a display of impunity – something that ought to be avoided by anyone in the dock.