Generation of journalists owes him
(Editor’s Note: The author is a daughter of Felix B. Bautista, whose 20th death anniversary on Sept. 6 was marked by the publication by his 12 children of a collection of his writings titled “From the Desk of the Editor.”)
My dad said that when I was 8 years old and he was rushing a speech for President Diosdado Macapagal, I volunteered to write it for him. I don’t remember that, but I remember waking up in the morning to hear the clickety-clack-clack of his trusty Underwood typewriter. He would be writing a speech or a column, cigarette in his mouth, coffee to his right, no drafts anywhere.
There would be just the clickety-clack-clack, a puff of smoke, more clickety-clack-clack till he would whip out the paper, staple the typed sheets, and put them in a manila envelope for pickup by some VIPs’ driver.
Felix B. Bautista, my dad, got published in a nationwide magazine, Graphic, at age 15. At 19, he was already writing speeches for the governor of Pampanga. And at 39, he became editor of the Evening News.
My dad was a journalist—but with a difference. Though he enjoyed the adrenaline rush that chasing deadlines brought and probably had newspaper ink running through his veins, he gave up his profession when martial law snuffed out press freedom.
Even as he was head of the journalism department at the University of Santo Tomas, my father refused to teach journalism under martial law conditions. He shifted to teaching theology for a time because “theology never lost its relevance, particularly under oppressive conditions.”
Then he began working for the Church.
Ecstatic over Veritas
So when Manila Archbishop Jaime Cardinal Sin, my dad’s boss at Cor Manila (the official publication of the archdiocese), asked him in 1983 to start the Veritas newsmagazine to break the stranglehold that the dictator Ferdinand Marcos had over the country’s media, he was ecstatic. He could go back to doing what he loved best. Freely and without fear.
As my dad wrote in his editorial in the Evening News in March 1962, “The function of a newspaper is by no means an easy one: never must a newspaper lack the courage to fight for its beliefs and the concepts of freedom for which the newspaper profession has always stood, even in the face of opposition, abuse and the violation of its rights by men who grow mad with power.”
“Despite the technical advances that have been made in this field, the newspaper remains basically the same: a disseminator of truth, a champion of freedom, a bastion for the relief and safety of the oppressed.”
Ultimate reward
In Veritas with its battle cry, “The truth shall set you free,” my father found the perfect medium to fight for what he believed in.
Reading his columns and editorials in the Veritas now, I am awed at what he wrote. He exposed the lies of the Marcos propaganda machine, the corruption of government, the shamelessness of its officials, even Marcos’ fake medals, in language frighteningly direct and uncompromising.
He and Veritas reaped local and international awards, but none would come close to the ultimate reward that printing the truth helped reap: freedom for his beloved Philippines.
My dad lived through very exciting times. He was there during the so-called “Golden Age of Philippine Journalism,” the dark years of martial law, and finally the glorious days of people power and what he called “The Miracle of Asia.” Oh, the stories he would tell!
A storyteller
And tell them he did, to his children, to his staff, but most of all to the writers of Varsitarian (the “V”) where he was publications director for many years, as well as to his students at the UST Faculty of Arts and Letters.
My dad was an engrossing storyteller and teacher, and I found this out firsthand when I joined the “V” initially as reporter, then as news editor and later as editor in chief.
He did not believe in asking his students to read thick books on news writing, editing, layouting. Neither did he require them to take down copious notes as he lectured. Instead, he would start off with basic principles and reinforce these through examples.
Different roads
Today, these same students have become prominent journalists and communicators themselves. As Jullie Y. Daza wrote in her column soon after my dad’s passing on Sept. 6, 1991, “he single-handedly produced an entire generation of reporters, writers and editors.”
“Today, there is not one newspaper office, reputable or otherwise, that can say it does not have a Felix Bautista alumnus somewhere up there on the totem pole, on top of the pecking order,” Daza wrote.
I was often asked why I did not go into journalism. None of us siblings did, even if we probably had the potential to become successful newspapermen or writers ourselves.
In truth, my dad discouraged us from going into journalism. He said the newspaper profession was a serious choice to make, and would probably not allow us to live comfortably unless we sacrificed our values and gave in to temptation.
But perhaps the real reason is because we would never have become half as good, half as fearless as Felix B. Bautista, journalist.
