Elegy for a patriot
I cannot claim to have known him as well as others. I have lived abroad for over 30 years now, but news of his passing has left me, oceans away, utterly saddened, and sundered.
There are many tales about Rene Saguisag. Some stories are too absurd and apocryphal to be believed, but many of these narratives are actually true.
He indeed used to sell eggs and cut grass for a living. His brilliance astonished the Benedictine friars at San Beda College and impressed Harvard University which awarded him a Master’s of Law degree.
His resume lists pages and pages more of welldeserved accolades. Many luminaries will speak of his humility, honesty, and heroism. Then, there are the countless, nameless members of the masses whom he so generously and defiantly defended.
I knew RAVS as my boss, my mentor, and my godfather at our wedding.
For a few years in Malacañang and in the Senate, as his confidential assistant, I witnessed, firsthand, how in the putrid morass of Filipino politics there was this man who remained unsullied by filthy lucre, unimpressed by fleeting fame, and undeterred by coups and corruption.
Legendary are the stories of RAVS insisting on returning gifts sent to our office, including gallons of ice cream which were brought back to the astonished donor in a completely melted state.
A contribution from a questionable source was turned into a fund for the needy. What would have ended up, as expected, in a politician’s pocket was instead given to the sick, the homeless and the hungry.
I know this particular report is factual since he entrusted me with this charitable trust. While some of his fellow so-called “human rights” lawyers ended up as billionaires in mega mansions, RAVS lived in the same modest home on Bigasan Street in Palanan, Makati, uncommonly proud of his simple lifestyle that was so comically incongruous with his opulent peers’ endless quest for wealth.
RAVS and I got along very well in that we were both sticklers for grammar and for properly citing one’s sources.
His beloved and battered Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations was always close at hand. It was a daily routine we had. I would review his articles, letters, and legal documents and return these papers back to him with my comments, which to my unceasing utter delight, he would incorporate in his writings.
We both loved words, how lilting and soul lifting a phrase could be just as we were both aware of how words could cast fog and shadow over truth or condemn and cut to pieces an innocent man’s worth and repute.
RAVS spoke gently, sometimes he could barely be heard. Oh, but what he had to say, in a measured manner that was so succinct and rapier sharp, could render a powerful figure into a quivering, blabbering buffoon.
A chess aficionado. A warbler of show tunes. And who knew? A master ballroom dancer.
RAVS was not all legalese. Oh, how we relished hearing his peals of childlike laughter.
And every time I went back home, he would make it a point, always, to see me even as he grew weaker and weaker.
First, with a cane. Then, a wheelchair. Yet, though words now failed him, his eyes still shone with that unmistakable inner glow.
RAVS remained fiery and fearless. Thank you, Ninong RAVS. For proving to the world that just like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills is never a lost cause.
(The writer worked with and knew the late Rene AV Saguisag well, enough to give us an idea of what kind of guy he was, and why those who knew him will miss him so sorely.)