Perhaps what so turned off PDu30 about the front-page Inquirer photo of the body of Michael Siaron cradled in the arms of his weeping widow Jennilyn Olayres, which he dismissed as “drama” during his State of the Nation Address no less, was that it gave a “face” to his war against drugs.
And that is the human face of the Duterte campaign: a grieving widow, a slain young man, and a populace that could do nothing but look on as police waited for operatives to process the crime scene.
Many times, we consumers of news and media seek refuge in the anonymity of the people who make the headlines and the fine print of news stories. When news of the “war against drugs” first emerged, we were “protected” in a way by not knowing any more details about the fatalities of that war beyond the claims of police that they were either drug users or pushers, and in a few instances even drug lords or marketers.
We may have been shocked or alarmed by the rising numbers, and how rapidly the body count was building up, but as long as the victims remained nameless and faceless—literally, as some were wrapped in trash bags and packing tape—we could take refuge in platitudes and hand-wringing.
But what to do with the heart-rending image of Jennilyn tearfully embracing the lifeless body of her Michael? What to do with the story we were told in the Inquirer’s Sunday edition, that they shared a shack amid the floating trash of a clogged estero in Malabon, and that photographer Raffy Lerma felt so helpless and hopeless when his own journalistic instincts and his duty as a citizen prevented him from responding to Jennilyn’s cries for help, for fear of contaminating the scene of the crime?
* * *
AS a journalist, I couldn’t help but be struck by the quality of Lerma’s photograph, by the human drama of the image, the dramatic lighting, the stark contrast with the surrounding darkness. Apparently, others, primarily PDu30 supporters, lost no time denouncing the powerful image, claiming it was nothing but “drawing,” or a posed photograph.
And that is why, going beyond a photo caption and a headline, this newspaper decided to dive deeper into the life and death of what writer Eric Caruncho called “an invisible man.”
And with Caruncho’s story, and Lerma’s account of how he came to take that photograph and the feelings he shared with other photo journalists after yet another street killing, the mask of anonymity that allowed us to dismiss Siaron’s death as just another news item, has been torn away.
I can’t help but wonder, though, just exactly what PDu30’s plan was when he declared a “war on drugs.” Was this what he had in mind: the mindless, careless, ceaseless killing of suspects? One would think bringing an end to the drug trade should begin and end with going after the big fish, the bosses who fund, manage and profit from the shabu labs and networks of pushers and drug runners. But already, the President has said he would have to order the invasion of “another” country to pull up the drug menace by the roots. So in the meantime, we’ll just wait for the body count to rise, for more Siarons to die, and more Jennilyns to mourn?
Where and when (and how) will this madness end?
* * *
WONG Chu King, an immigrant from Amoy, China, couldn’t have arrived in the country at a worse time. A few years after his arrival, the Philippines was thrown into the chaos of World War II, and despite the uncertainty and risks of the time, managed to build, with the help of four assistants, a small cigarette business, peddling his merchandise in the eskinitas (alleys) of Divisoria.
With “liberation,” King managed to establish La Campana Fabrica de Tabacos, nurturing it into a major business that exists to this day. But the vicissitudes of the war left him with a single dream: As a sign of his gratitude to God for sparing his life during the war, he pledged to do all he could to improve the lives of other war survivors. And up to the present, the foundation named after him remains dedicated to providing opportunities for others.
Espousing “transformation through charity,” the foundation provides opportunities for the needy but deserving, “changing the world—and doing the impossible—one small step at a time.” This it does with the help of around 5,000 volunteers, and managed by his surviving family members.
Today, the Wong Chu King Foundation (WCKF) Inc., founded in 1990 by his heirs, engages in educational and apostolic charities, many of them in areas where tobacco farming, the backbone of the business, is common. As an expression of its ties to tobacco farming communities, WCKF provides scholarships to deserving young men and women, especially to dependents and beneficiaries of tobacco farmers.
Also a major part of WCKF’s projects are outreach programs for institutions like the Home for the Elderly (formerly Golden Acres) and the White Cross Orphanage. On a wider scale, the foundation also engages in projects that address problems like health and nutrition, youth and family welfare, and disaster relief. While its scholarship programs are managed directly by the foundation, other programs are carried out by NGOs. Funding for these charitable and development programs are sourced from donations and contributions of members of the Wong Chu King family and from supporters.
Certainly, King, whose birth is commemorated this week, would be the first to approve of and appreciate how his commitment to God and his adopted country now lives on through his descendants and his business family.