LADY BOSS KNOWS WHERE TO GO—

JUST DON’T RUSH HER

The first person she broke the news to was her husband, Cesar.
“He was so overwhelmed with happiness—for me—that he cried
on the phone,” Charo Santos-Concio tells the Inquirer as she recalls
the evening she was declared the new president of multimedia giant
ABS-CBN.
And the first ones to congratulate her? “The production people.
I have worked with many of them for 20 years—writers, directors,
production crew…”
Charo (or “CSC”) is not the first woman in the country, but certainly
the first beauty titlist (Baron Travel Girl 1976-77), and the first award-
winning actress (1978 Asian Film Festival in Sydney, for “Itim”), to
become president of a major network. She finds parallels in those
crowning moments. “The same feeling of lightness, joy, triumph.”
The announcement on February 29, 2008, effective March 1,
wasn’t completely unexpected. “Gabby (Eugenio Lopez III, chair and
CEO), had been sounding me out. Also, the organization really has
a succession plan in place. But I didn’t know about the exact timing,
until it was announced at the end of the last management conference.”
She didn’t mind the element of surprise at all because, until then,
her mindset had been, “Nothing’s final until it’s final.”
These days, Charo is “very grateful” for the “energy” that she
is receiving from within the network. “I hope I’m right about this
feeling,” she says, “that many people in the organization are happy
about my appointment.”
In 2007, she went to Harvard for the Advance Management
Program. As the industry buzz went—since she was apparently next
in line—it was, indeed, a preparation.
 Charo says the two-month course gives participants a bird’s eye
view of management tools that an executive needs to manage a
bigger organization. “The areas covered are marketing, information,
negotiations. But at its core is leadership,” she notes. “You may be a
technical expert in finance or marketing strategies and still not have
the right values in place.”
She’s the first to admit that she needed the Harvard training. “My
background is content production and I do know about projects and
revenues, profits and losses. But it’s like, I was familiar with the dots,
and that advance program taught me how to connect the dots. And to
add on more dots.”
Her two secretaries agree that the lady boss is a “very hard worker”
for whom 16-hour days are not unusual.
“Well, yes, that I’ve always been, especially when I was just
starting,” Charo, at 52, says. “And even now, if there’s urgent business
to get done, I stay until midnight. If I have a meeting with Gabby,
I’m here at 8 a.m. But on a regular basis, I come in at 10. Production
personnel report at noon and work till the wee hours. So there’s a lot
more activity in the afternoon, onwards. Previews are often scheduled
in the evening. That’s not everyday, but back when I was very hands-
on in production, I could go for three days with very little sleep.”
Meaning, she went home just to shower and change. “Cesar
witnessed all that. Thus, he feels that my appointment is a well-
deserved reward. His support has been such, that he often told me in
the past, ‘Before you are a wife or mother, Charo, you are a person.
You should pursue your dreams.’ Cesar is my rock.”
Home from the management conference in Antipolo, the couple
celebrated with a “simple dinner at home” with their two sons, Cesar
Francis and Raphael Martin.
At the workplace, Charo has moved from her office as executive
vice president and entertainment group head, to the president’s office,
a suite that consists of a reception area, its own monitoring room and
the office proper. Since March 1, 2008, this corner of the building has
been abloom and fragrant with fresh flowers.
Industry observers are eager to know what changes, big or small,
are forthcoming under her stewardship. For example, the new big
boss has always had a foot firmly in entertainment; would there soon
be a shift in the ratio of news/current affairs to variety shows and
 other talent-heavy productions, at least on the network’s free TV,
Channel 2?
Charo’s reply is lengthy and thoughtful: “I’m not rushing things;
I’m still immersing in the other units’ operations. Channel 2 is simply
the biggest, the parent, of these units. The subsidiaries’ requirements
are much smaller in scale. Still, I need the immersion because I’ll be
working on streamlining the operations to bring down the costs some
more, while maintaining content supremacy.”
Should streamlining here read “reorganization”?
“It just means I want the organization to implement more cost-
efficient processes. Also, I’m keeping abreast of emerging technology
because I’d like to tap new blood in this area. I also want to conduct skills
and competence training for writers, directors and production people.”
She continues: “Sometimes people think we’re just free TV. But ABS-
CBN is not only Channel 2. In fact, we’re no longer just a broadcasting
company. We have evolved into a multimedia content company. We
are into all the platforms—publishing, interactive, cable, cinema, radio,
global TV, records. With merging technologies, the world will soon go
digital, and we’re going with the flow. By the end of the year, we hope to
launch digital television. Our engineering and corporate planning teams
have laid the groundwork and, by June, we should be testing some areas.”
The Filipino Channel (TFC), Charo adds, has gone IP (Internet
Protocol). “We are going directly to the customers now, via subscription,
because [we feel that] advertising revenues have maxed out. Locally,
digital TV is also designed to go directly to the customers.”
As for the ratio of entertainment to news/current affairs, she says,
“It will depend on the competitive landscape, which I always take into
consideration. When a news program is up against an entertainment
program, usually the entertainment program wins in terms of audience
share. So if you look at the programming grid, news programs are
in more or less the same time slots, and the same is true of variety
shows, et cetera.”
Even if she wanted to increase the number of news/current affairs
programs, she says, “I wouldn’t know where to put them. In the
meantime, we have an all-news channel, ANC, which takes care of the
viewers’ need for fresh information and in-depth analysis of issues.”
In any case, Charo says, “Even in the so-called entertainment aspect,
we mirror real life in a lot of the programs. For instance, ‘Maalaala Mo
 Kaya’ tackles subject matter that occasionally invites the attention
of the MTRCB (Movie and Television Review and Classification
Board). But life is not all happy and joyful; there is a dark side to it
that we also have to show. All told, what should be imparted to the
audience is how one can triumph over that dark side.”
She concedes that news operations is an area that she wants to
“understand better.” Charo explains, “I’m not a news person, strictly
speaking. So I’m immersing myself in that aspect. I want to get to
know the numbers really well. And I’m learning fast. In production,
and in other units that are content-heavy, I’m okay.”
Indeed, shows on the opposite side of news/current affairs—and
their audiences—she discusses with unflinching authority. “I support
shows that enrich the lives of viewers; I’d like to think that our shows
do that. The qualitative surveys we have conducted indicate that our
audience looks for empowered characters, for affirmation. These
viewers are not the desperate kind; they are hopeful for change.
This means our shows are able to connect to strong-character types,
exactly the types that the shows present. They are self-reliant, and
rarely prone to saying, ‘Bahala na.’”
They’re not just empowered, Charo says. Viewers in this sector
are more critical than most. “If we divert from material that they’re
used to, if we present something that pushes creative license, they
react. They demand logic. Remember that we’re also addressing a
global audience that is exposed to high standards of entertainment
and news/current affairs programming in other countries. This global
audience is discerning and ever-ready to speak its mind when it’s not
happy about where the programs are going… and these people do.
We get so much e-mail from them!”
The local counterpart of that global audience, loyal to practically
the same shows, are not necessarily in the ABC bracket. “Economic
stations do not matter in the service of the Filipino—which is our
corporate mission,” Charo insists. “When I talk to producers,
directors, writers and talents, I tell them, ‘If, for one moment we
made the desperate and the hopeless find meaning in life despite their
[difficulties], we have served our audience well. If we are able to
make a person look inside herself through the story of a mother who
rises above all obstacles for the love of her children, then we have
touched their lives, and that’s service, too.”
 Service, Charo clarifies, includes respect. “And so I also tell them
there should be no place for mediocrity in our shows, otherwise we
are not being sensitive to all of the viewers’ needs.”
She gives the Sunday variety extravaganza ASAP as an example.
“A talent cannot just show up that morning and join a production
number. Bawal ang hindi nag-rehearse the day before. I tell them,
‘You owe the public the best performance of your life. Every week.
I cringe when I see a dancer who’s not in sync with the others, or a
singer who cannot lip-sync his/her own number. Recorded na nga e,
dapat naman, masasabayan nang maayos. They can’t be perfect all the
time, true. So I keep reminding them.”
Asked what her position means for women power in the country,
Charo takes a rather long pause. Before she replies, she mentions that
another woman, Kitchie Benedicto, was president of KBS 9 (Kanlaon
Broadcasting System) during the Marcos years.
“I’d like to think,” she proceeds, “that gender was not a factor
in management’s decision. But, well, a woman has certain built-
in strengths. Women pay more attention to detail, for one thing. I
myself don’t work with set formulas. Also, it seems natural to me, as a
woman, that I realize I’m dealing with human beings here, basically.
Talents, for instance, go through different phases of maturity at
different times. I have to be sensitive to each one’s growing-up phases,
struggles, frustrations, dreams, pains, insecurities.”
Sounds more like a religious mission than a job description.
“Gabby says I’m too nurturing,” Charo says, laughing. “Maybe I
am, but I’m also a disciplinarian. I exact excellence and I can dispense
tough love. Magalit ka na sa akin ngayon, kasi tinuturuan kita. I guess
I am able to say it in a calm way, but I say it anyway. And I find that
people, well, they respond, they toe the line.”
Apart from hard work, she says one other thing has kept her on track:
“I’ve always been a movie fan. As a teenager, my dream was just to
enter the premises of ABS-CBN. During school break in the summer, I
would come to Manila from Mindoro, and queue up at the gate on Scout
Esguerra. I would call out to the guard, ‘May tiyo po ako rito (Jimmy
Navarro, program director pre-Martial Law years), please naman, papa-
sukin n’yo ako.’ I just wanted to watch ‘Stop, Look and Listen’ live.”
Obviously, the memory has stirred up feelings, too. “Totoo ’yun!”
Charo says, her voice at least two notes higher. “I’ve been a fan
 of ABS-CBN all my life. Pinanood ko lahat ng top hits dito—‘Tang
Tarang Tang,’ ‘Buhay Artista,’ ‘Magandang Tanghali’ of the late Pancho
Magalona, ‘An Evening With Pilita,’ ‘The Nida-Nestor Show’… lahat!”
So, did the guard let her in?
“No. I finally went through the gate when I was a senior Mass
Comm student at St. Paul College. Nag-practicum ako right in this
same building. During Martial Law, I landed a job as production
assistant on ‘John En Marsha.’ KBS na noon, wala na ang Lopezes, and
the Benedictos had taken over. That was when I met Dolphy. Nag-PA
din ako sa ‘Mr. Public Service’ ni Tony Santos, Sr.”
She’s happy to say that ABS-CBN hit P1.2 billion [in revenues] last
year. In 2007, she says, earnings were pegged at P700 million. She
attributes the “jump” to increased synergy among production, sales
and marketing.
Charo explains: “There was more creativity in revenue-generation.
For example, a 30-seconder spot is no longer good enough for
advertisers. So now we have what is referred to as product intrusions.
To illustrate, in ‘Maging Sino Ka Man,’ John Lloyd Cruz, who endorses
Biogesic, has this scene with Chin Chin Gutierrez, where she gets
a headache. John Lloyd very casually hands her a tablet and says,
‘Eto po, magaling ’yan.’ Or something to that effect. He doesn’t even
mention the brand name. The client was very happy with that. But the
execution should be seamless. The concept is very much like in James
Bond movies, halimbawa, pag pinapakita ’yung mga BMW or Seiko
watches. Very casual, hindi hard sell.”
She says the product intrusions carry their own price tags, “because
the client gets a lot more exposure.”
Another growth driver was global subscriptions. “Today, 40
percent of revenues come from these subscriptions,” Charo notes.
“Dati, 100 percent, all from advertising. We see the ratio going 50-
50, eventually, especially now that we’re offering varied content to
specific market niches. We have products for the young, we have a
lifestyle channel for women, and so on. The ultimate challenge is to
deliver content that will satisfy all these niches.”
This year, the parent platform, Channel 2, is still bound to generate
the biggest revenue. “But we have encouraging projections for digital
TV, once it rolls out,” she says.
 “Nalihis ang buhay ko [leading to broadcasting],” she recounts,
“nung naging Baron Travel Girl ako. That was when Lino Brocka saw
me. He called me the next morning. Sabi niya, ganito, tuloy-tuloy,
‘You don’t know me but I saw you in the contest last night. I am Lino
Brocka. My friend, Mike de Leon wants to cast a new face for the lead
role in his first directorial job. Would you care to audition? Punta ka
sa LVN bukas, 8 o’clock.”
That film feature was the memorable “Itim.” She would spend a
good number of years in the movies. Charo reminisces: “Other projects
followed, in the movies, and also on television. But my heart was still
in production work. I was cast in a lot of Armida Siguion-Reyna’s
television projects—‘Ilaw ng Tahanan’ and ‘Mga Kuwento ng Pag-Ibig.’
Favorite guest niya yata ako e. Maybe because I was always very
punctual; she liked that. I observed everything she did as producer. ‘I
can do that,’ I said to myself.”
In 1981, she got that break with Bancom Audiovision. For her
first project, she worked as line producer on “Kisapmata,” again with
Mike de Leon. She was also in the lead cast. “I am the only surviving
member of that cast,” Charo says. “I worked with Charito Solis, Ruben
Rustia, Vic Silayan, Jay Ilagan—ang gagaling nila! They won all the
acting awards in the Manila Film Festival that year. Ako lang ang hindi
nanalo. It’s true. The movie swept all the awards except Best Actress,
which went to Vilma Santos for ‘Karma.’ It didn’t matter to me naman
because, as line producer, I was very, very proud; it was my baby.”
She turns wistful. “When I think that all of them are gone… I
realize, ’di ba, maybe I have a mission.”
The network president says, she watches TV programs from the
perspective of an ordinary viewer. “The movie fan’s POV (point of
view) still resonates with me. I swoon over love teams,” she admits,
vainly trying to suppress a giggle, in vain. “I have a strong sense of
who will make a good love team. I got kilig about the pairing of John
Lloyd and Bea Alonzo.”
It’s no secret, either, that “Ma’am Charo” has always had a soft spot
for Piolo Pascual. Asked who she thinks is the perfect screen partner
for Piolo, aside from herself (this interview has been punctuated with
crackling laughter from both sides of the exchange, but none so crisp
as the one that follows this last question), she holds up a cupped palm
 to her face and takes a moment. She says at last, “I see very good
chemistry at work between Piolo and Angel Locsin.”
Little wonder then, that her current favorite show is the duo’s
“Lobo.” She feels out of sorts, she says, when she misses an episode.
She is assured that she doesn’t have to, but she explains, “I don’t feel
this way about all of Piolo’s shows. I just really like the way the story
is evolving. And it’s very different from the other series that we’ve
done. Also, I really think it appeals to the young. Medyo meron pa
akong dugong bagets.”
Another favorite is “ASAP”. Also “Wowowee.” She reveals, “When
I’m stressed, I go to ‘Wowowee’ when it’s airing, even for just one gap.
Nawawala ang pagod ko.”
Charo has long realized that she’s good at what she does as “both
a creative and production person.” But the possibility of landing on
the very top of network operations was sparked 11 years before her
appointment, when the late Eugenio “Geny” Lopez Jr., president and
CEO at the time, verbalized it.
She remembers it well. “That was in 1996, about two years before
he passed on, and it was during a cocktail party where he announced
the promotion of Gabby as CEO and Freddie M. Garcia as president.
Geny was looking at me when he said, “I think, several years from
now, ABS-CBN will be ready for a woman president.”
She remembers going beyond thrilled, if only because he believed
in her. “Even if the old man (also called ‘Kapitan’) didn’t see me
everyday pala, he appreciated what I had been doing for the network.
Though he often called execom meetings, he wasn’t involved in day-
to-day operations. But I should have known that he was sensitive in
that way. Every Christmas, he would personally hand us our bonuses.”
The Kapitan is top candidate because Charo had excellent mentors
in people skills. There are familiar names on that cherished list of
professional influences. “Mike de Leon was my first teacher,” she
says. “While I was still his artista, he often invited me to watch post-
production work. He taught me the basics of editing. I think he saw
how interested I was, and also that I was a good student.”
Lily Monteverde taught her “the commercial side” of movie
production. “Alam mo naman ang mga pelikula ko, hindi tipong
blockbusters.” There also were Freddie Garcia, Gabby, Jake Almeda
Lopez (Geny’s best friend and general manager before Martial Law)
 and the late Rolando V. Cruz (assistant general manager in Freddie
Garcia’s time). “Everything I know about television, I learned from
them,” Charo says.
But it’s not as though she sailed gently through 20 years then (she
joined the network in 1987). Cesar, whom she married in 1982, has
been such a pillar of strength precisely because she needed one at
landmark points in her career.
“One such time was when we lost the ratings in Mega Manila (last
quarter of 2004) after 17 years of being Number 1,” Charo relates.
“When you’re a creative person, your work is an extension of yourself.
Losing our audience share felt to me like a rejection of my whole
being. It was a big blow to my self-worth.”
She got out of the slump by confronting her fears, she says, “by
being honest about where I was wanting, and then buckling down
to work.” The worst part of that episode, she looks back, was that
she panicked. “I was adjusting to a new environment. Mr. Garcia had
retired and I had no one to run to, no buffer. The buck stopped with
me. Nataranta ako. I made panic calls that did not help the situation
at all.”
“Panic,” she says, this woman who makes it a point to speak softly
as a matter of course, slowly when the situation requires, sweetly
whenever possible.
“Actually, I managed to stay calm on the surface… so calm, that at
times I felt catatonic. I didn’t throw ash trays at people, you know...
but I was not sure about my calls and I stopped following my instincts
because I started doubting my judgment. You know how it happens?
You blame everyone when, in fact, you just got scared.”
She is over that, she says with conviction. “I still don’t have all
the answers. I don’t expect to perform miracles, I’m not Superwoman
and I cannot change things overnight. But I know what I want to
do, I know where to bring the organization. And I am a very patient
person.”

Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 30, 2008

WHEN HEARTS SING,
WHO LISTENS?

Up in the mountains, just before daybreak, everything is stilled—the

same way the city is hushed in the first seconds of a power blackout.
But where there are no shrieks of dismay or scrambling for
candles and matches, no children to keep quiet or order to bed, the
silence is awesome.
Listen. You have only a few moments to imagine bullfrogs, cicadas,
myriad reptiles and countless other creatures each cocking an ear
for… what?
A signal.
Exactly how it comes naturally escapes anyone merely seeking
respite from sensations borne of synthetic stimuli and life in the fast
lane. It comes anyway, this signal, recalling which, the mind ticks off
contenders:
1) the first ray of the sun, piercing the dark sky like a mystic silver
sword;
2) the flapping of a bat’s wings as it hurries back to its cave;
3) the last bit of sparkle as the fireflies call it a night.
And then it starts, the singing—suddenly, and in perfect cadence
on the very first notes. Are there as many species of birds out there as
there are melodies? Is there an actual rhythm to the eccentric owl’s
resonant solos? Do geckos mark time? Do roosters observe sound
patterns? Did cicadas inspire the first maker of castanets?
What was the first morning like?
Could these creatures in fact be an organized chorus? Who taps the
baton? Who is their audience? It is easy to imagine that they sing for
whoever listens. Maybe so, but it takes only one cresendo to melt the
ego. Reason slips off the top of the head and down the back of it, all
 the way to the throat where it chokes, now an emotion distilled
from a thought. Further down it goes to find, at last, a heart that beats
in time with the music all around. The listener sings, too!
Who swings the baton? Who is the audience?
Atop a cluster of hills in Malaybalay, Bukidnon, when night
disengages just before daybreak, a Benedictine monastary rouses for
the first morning prayers. Come, let us adore Him! Sleep is a most
tempting mistress for the less committed, but even sleep succumbs
to a deeper restfulness delivered by chanted Scripture. If dreams are
tears in search of flight, meditation makes the search audible and
prayers grants it form—sometimes with words, often without. The
chanting is for praise; for deliverance it is essential to keep still.
Curiously enough, doing nothing and thinking nothing—with
the end in view of hearing and discovering—require, for many, an
effort beyond physical activity. Each one has set a trap for himself.
Ascertained and unfastened, the trap ceases to be.
Seek silence, not always in solitude. If it finds you first, let it in. the
heart will sing; Someone will listen.

Philippine Daily Globe, March 29, 1989

BALICASAG ISLAND:
EDEN NO MORE

Part 1: Trouble in paradise

Queen for a day, the islanders seem to sing to you as they lay small
matfuls of shells at your feets.
In 20 seconds flat you are trapped, ever so willingly, in a pool of
merrily blinking—are they alive, you wonder—treasures from the sea
not a paddle’s stroke away.
Tritons, murexes, cowries and nautiluses… there must be a God!
He rules the earth and, this done at each day’s end, He retires to the
sea where He paints the creatures gold and green, brown and blue,
aqua and silver, red and orange, violet and pink. The perfectly white
ones He merely polishes to a glow.
How else to explain the visual feast?
“Mura lang, ma’am (they’re very cheap),” your welcomers chorus.
“Bilhan mo kaming lahat (buy something from all of us).”
If they decide that they like you, you don’t even have to pay them
then and there. You can bring the money “next time,” whenever that
maybe, or send it through any of the fishermen from the “mainland,”
who make periodic visits. It doesn’t matter, not to them, who you are
or where you come from.
Their island is known as Balicasag, one of 11 sites recommended
with pride to diving enthusiasts by Bohol tourism officials. It is a
15-minute motorboat ride from Gak-Ang Point, the tip nearest Panglao
Island, which the islanders refer to as “mainland.” Divers who have
explored the island swear there couldn’t possibly be a more intriguing
site in the world.
Balicasag, just a little over four hectares from shore to shore, is
ringed by fringed reefs that make for incredible drop-off points: the
 waters slide to a maximum depth of 10 feet, then plunge abruptly
anywhere from 160 to 180 feet. Even nondivers can tell where the
plunge stars. The water changes in color from beryl to deep blue
throughout the day.
The ragged sides of the island’s drop, referred to by the islanders
as “wall,” has cavelets, overhangs, cracks, tunnels, arcs, shelves
and, near the bottom, deep caves. A great variety of fish swim
along the wall, including game fish such as groupers and jacks. The
wall is covered with probably all known coral varieties.
Balicasag’s menfolk, needless to say, have been fishermen for a
good hundred years, maybe more. Guillermo Paculba, the oldest
islander at 82, says he cannot remember a single day when he didn’t
have fish at the table, both his own and his parents’ before that.
The women, in their own words, “weave mats and make babies.”
They also catch shellfish, partly for food, partly for vending to
occasional tourists.
Either because they are constantly reminded that their island is
a marine reserve area, or because islanders know by instinct where
life and the means for it come from, the people of Balicasag—less
than 600 at the latest count—guard the island and its resources
with unwavering fervor.
They use nets to catch shellfish, but not in areas where the nets
are likely to tangle with a coral: “Masira man ang coral o mabasag
ang shells.” Instead they use fishing lines with a sinker, no hook,
which they leave in the water for a maximum of two days, enough
time for shellfish to line it all the way up to the water surface.
This same fervor makes the otherwise gentle folk regard with
apprehension outsiders who stay for more than the usual length of
time for recreation.
In late 1986, the islanders were told that Balicasag would soon
be known as “Leisure Island.” The Philippine Tourism Authority
was going to build and develop a resort there where they could
work, and which they would eventually manage. The people were
excited beyond belief.
Last week, however, they refused to discuss the resort—there
are six finished huts now, a small administrative building, and
two more huts going up—and if they looked in that direction at
all, it was with anxiety, among other things. They said they were
 recently told that no one among them could build another house
on Balicasag.

Philippine Daily Globe, March 24, 1988

Part 2: Where are the teenagers?

There is no electricity on Balicasag Island, no water system, and
hardly any teenagers.
The whole gamut of reasons for all three stems from the island’s
distance from the rest of Panglao town on Bohol, to which it is
attached by law. This distance is both a blessing and a handicap, but
the islanders seem to accept the situation as a fact of life, not unlike
birth and death.
They do question their lot, but not quite often enough to initiate
permanent changes.
“Kawawa kami dito, ma’am,” says Eva Sales, 29. “ If it doesn’t rain,
we have no drinking water.” But she is smiling broadly as she says this.
Would she consider living on the “mainland” (Panglao town proper, a
half-hour motor boat ride away)? “Hindi, ma’am, Masaya kami dito.”
Deprivation and unhappiness are not the same thing.
There are 93 houses on the island, not counting the huts in a resort
that the Philippines Tourism Authority is currently building. Many of
these houses, while made of nipa, have galvanized-iron roof gutters
that lead to concrete mini-reservoirs in which to store rain water for
drinking. These structures are usually bigger than the houses. Those
who cannot afford to build them, buy water from slightly better-of
neighbors.
While the men fish and the women go about their chores, the
children of Balicasag are either in school or out on the beach frolicking.
School is a two-room affair, where classes for all levels up to
the sixth grade are held simultaneously. There are about 20 seats
in each classroom, 10 each facing opposite directions. Drawings—of
sea creatures and coconut trees, boats and huts, clearly by small and
uncertain hands—are posted on the bulletin boards. The strokes are
awkward, but colors are abundant. If classrooms are only as cheerful
 as the children who use them, the schoolkids of Balicasag are a
sunshiny handful.
A small chapel—14 pews in all—is dedicated to St. James the
Warrior, in whose honor is celebrated one of only two annual Masses,
on July 25. The other one is celebrated on May 18, in honor of the
Virgen de las Flores. On both occasions, a priest from the mainland
comes, first to hear confession, and then to say Mass.
The rest of the year, the rosary is recited (alternately in English
and in Boholano) Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.
Eva is in charge of a donation box that is presented to visitors at
the end of every “tour.” It is rarely ignored, and is never unwelcome,
Eva notes.
But where are the teenagers?
“Gone off to work,” says Gerondia Hornido, 37. “After grade six
here, few ever proceed to high school. They go to Panglao, Tagbilaran
or Cebu; the lucky ones to Manila, to work as domestic helpers. Many
of them return when they’re about 30 years old.”
That’s when they marry, still among themselves. Some couples
come home together already married from wherever they found work.
Rarely does anyone marry a non-islander.
This sense of community is constant. At the entrance to a nipa-and-
bamboo community center hangs a big poster in English reminding
the islanders that they are living in a marine reserve area, and so
should act accordingly.
Not that they need reminding. The islanders have long ago gone back
to traditional ways of catching fish and shellfish with the least effect on
the corals beneath. Using dynamite is a mortal sin; nets at best, are a
necessary evil; the fish line is best for shells—and definitely no hooks.
Guillermo Paculba, at 82, the island’s oldest citizen, stresses,
whenever asked, that he lost his right hand while dynamite-fishing,
“but in Negros, not here.”
At the community center, the islanders congregate for parties and
rites, and also to discuss such matters of consequence as: 1) Which
pregnant woman is due this month? 2) Are the stand-by pump boats
in good condition? 3) Is there reserve gasoline in the drum? and 4) Is
the accident and mortuary fund increasing?
To explain: Very sick people and pregnant women on their due
date are transported to the mainland because there are no doctors
 or midwives on the island (just one faith healer/herbalist turned to
in desperate situations). They are taken on a community pump boat,
one of two constantly on standby. Mang Piring, owner of one of only
two sari-sari stores, is in charge of a drum of gasoline, which is used
only to fuel the community pump boats during emergencies.
Balicasag has some sort of an accident–and–mortuary committee,
which is tasked with handling mishaps and deaths at sea. The dead are
buried on the mainland. Three other community pumpboats are used
for periodic shopping on Panglao. The people pitch in for gasoline.
All in all, the islanders are pretty organized. Curiously, many of
them do not mind staying in Balicasag all their lives. Monica Paculba,
80, Guillermo’s wife, says the times she went over to Panglao are too
few to remember. “I was born there. I do not remember why I went
the other times. I will be buried there.”
Her husband, she says, is more adventurous. “He’s gone very far
from here in his paddleboat. As far away as the tip of Mindanao.”

Philippine Daily Globe, March 25,1988

Part 3: Will tourism make islanders happy?

There seems to be no doubt, as far as the Philippine Tourism Authority
is concerned, that a tourist resort is the best thing that could happen
to the 600 people living on Balicasag island, off Panglao, Bohol.
A Memorandum of Understanding signed by the PTA and the
Philippine Navy (since the area is a marine reserve) specifies that
the two agencies “will jointly undertake the establishment and
construction of an Underwater Sports and Aqua Marine Development
Center with billeting facilities and other amenities on Balicasag
Island.”
The memo was signed April 6, 1987, several months after the
actual construction of portions of the resort, which, PTA General
Manager Ramon P. Binamira said, started late 1986 with a budget of
P1.5 million (other reports place it at P10 million). The memorandum
goes on to say that the “center” is expected to “protect a marine life
sanctuary that will showcase a model for marine environmental
conservation, ecological preservation and tourism.”
 It is presumed that the PTA and the Navy had previously concluded
that tourist facilities and marine reserves are compatible, in spite of
nationwide experiences to the contrary. The memo seems to draw
strength from Presidential Proclamation 1801 signed by former
President Ferdinand E. Marcos on November 10, 1978, declaring
Balicasag Island a tourist zone and marine reserve along with more
than 60 others all over the country.
The memo does provide, however, that the Balicasag project shall
be established “without alienating said island.”
If “said island” refers by any chance to the people, this agreement
is already being violated. The islanders are anxious. They have been
told that the PTA is bent on “preventing further human migration to
Balicasag.” To start with, they cannot build any more structures there
without permission from tourism officials.
They didn’t know, of course, that Presidential Proclamation 1801
ruled as illegal “constructions for any purpose introduced within the
zones without prior approval of the President of the Philippines (upon
recommendation of the PTA).”
In short, the 600 people in the 93 houses on Balicasag are not even
supposed to be there; how can they question the PTA project the way
they do?
Binamira is miffed. “It is not the islanders who are anxious,” he
says. “ It’s just some people there who have dubious operations that
will be disturbed when the government steps in .”
He singles out the lighthouse keeper, one Anen Sales, as the one
whose activities are most likely to be affected. Sales, Binamira alleges,
corners sales of the fishermen’s catch and seems to have reserved for
himself the right to decide who will live on that island.
“The people know they are going to benefit from the project. There
will be jobs. They will be trained to run the center. In the end they
will own it. It will be the first community-managed tourist spot in the
world. They are not complaining.”
He says it is reckless of Panglao Mayor Benedicto Alcala to say that
the plan—for the islanders to work in and eventually run the resort—
is implausible because they are uneducated. “A stupid assumption,”
the PTA official says.
“If he (Alcala) doesn’t have faith in the people of Balicasag, I do.
What I’d like to see there is a world-class tourist spot run and owned
 by locals. It’s about time Filipinos got the bigger share of profits
from resources like this.”
At the moment, he points out, foreigners either own or profit the
most from operations of hotel-restaurant facilities for tourists. “It is
not uncommon to organize Philippine tours before the participants set
foot on RP soil,” Binamira points out. Everything is paid for abroad—
in Tokyo, for instance. Once they get here, what do they spend in the
hotels or resorts where they stay? Most probably just enough for salt
and oil to cook their food.”
Binamira admits, however, that “upon the recommendation of
ecology experts,” the island will have to be decongested. “Please take
note: It is not the PTA that is determining this. It is Nature. There
is such a thing,” he adds, as “maximum absorptive capacity of the
environment.” He mentions that he is a former executive director of
the Environmental Center of the Philippines, and continues, “Specially
in cases of islands like this one, there is a limit to what we call ‘load
on ecology.’ We have not quantified it—but it is being studied, let me
assure you— how many people per hectare can stay on Balicasag. As
soon as we determine this, the community, not the PTA, will decide
who will stay and who will go. In 1983 there were only 40 or so huts
on the island. Now the number has more than doubled. This cannot
go on.”
In effect, Binamira says, the PTA is merely trying to avoid another
Boracay. He explains, “In Boracay, it has been determined that the
maximum ecological limit is 29 huts per hectare. This means the
amount of rain water that the soil absorbs within a given period
is equal to the amount the people in these 29 huts would use up
drawing from the soil for the same given period. If this relationship is
disturbed, there is imbalance.”
Worse, he says, because there are already so many septic tanks and
wells dug too close too one another, the people in Boracay may just be
“drinking their own urine.”
But back to Balicasag: why not avoid another Boracay altogether
by nipping it in the bud? Is a tourist center the answer to all of the
islanders’ prayers (if they pray at all for anything more than rain,
continued good weather and a bountiful harvest)? Will running or
owning a resort and being around foreigners make them happier than
they are now?
 It doesn’t really matter, says the Department of Local Government.
Even if the case reaches the courts, it has only to be proven that converting
the island into a resort is for the good of the majority, and Balicasag turns
into Leisure Island at last. “Exercising the right of eminent domain,” a
DLG legal consultant says, “the state, through expropriation proceedings,
can take over private properties for public use.”
Public use!
What about the beaches and the reefs that the islanders so vigilantly
care for?
By Binamira’s own telling: “In 1983, there was a very bad typhoon
that completely ruined the corals there. My son, Ramon Jr., a diver
who loves the place, came home in tears. The people were distraught,
he told me, and they needed help. I sat down with the people. I said
they could try to make the corals and fish grow back by segregating
a portion of the area around the island and not fishing there. Maybe
just a half-kilometer stretch; leave it alone for a while. I must say
what I witnessed— they loved their island so much, they went to fish
elsewhere. They guarded the rehabilitating corals with their lives. In
two years, the restoration was incredible. Just look at the island now.”
Maybe that’s the best thing they do. Maybe they don’t have to be
entrepreneurs; just proud islanders.

Philippine Daily Globe, March 27, 1988

 THE AUTHOR

Emelinda “Emmie” G. Velarde (Litt.B. Journalism ’70), started her

newspaper career right after college, as a feature writer and news
reporter for The Times Journal, covering the education, health and
social welfare beats, until she became editor of the entertainment
section. She later moved to Philippine Tribune, and then the Philippine
Observer, in the same capacity. In 1987, she became lifestyle and
entertainment editor of the Daily Globe (at the same time, she co-
anchored a public service program on radio dzBB, “Kayo Naman Po,”
with Senator Leticia Ramos-Shahani).
Soon after, she worked with The Philippine Graphic as associate
editor and then as editor-in-chief of its sister publication, Mirror
Weekly. In 1996, she took a stint with Asia Television in Hong Kong
as English news sub-editor. Back in Manila two years later, she signed
up with The Manila Chronicle as Lifestyle editor, and then with The
Manila Times as editor of the Sunday Times Magazine.
Before joining the Philippine Daily Inquirer in 2002, she was editor-
in-chief of the monthly glossy magazines Mall and Lifestyle Asia.
Velarde is the author of All-Star Cast (Cine Gang Publication,
1981), a collection of celebrity interviews; and co-wrote/ edited
Aparador Ni Lola—Past Lives, Precious Objects (Anvil Publishing,
2003), a collection of essays by 17 celebrity authors.
Velarde has won the Catholic Mass Media Award for Best Feature,
for one of three interviews she conducted with actor Rudy Fernandez,
all of which are included in this book. The following year, she won
one of the First UST AB Gantimpala Awards for Journalism.
The daughter of Humildad C. Agbay and the late Artemio S.
Gonzales, Emmie was married to Josefino L. Velarde (they are now
divorced but have become and remain very good friends), with whom
she had two children, Ricardo and Vida, both married now and with
bright and wonderful children of their own—Carlos, Raja, Amira and
Aki—to whom this book is happily dedicated.