A story’s cost in lives
By DJ Yap
It was sunny and steaming when I came rushing to the Quirino Grandstand that morning. By nightfall, the skies were in a rage.
Until the last minutes of the 11-hour hostage drama of Aug. 23, the mood behind the press line was calm. Journalists milled about, chatting, munching on snacks, updating their Facebook pages and interviewing on the side.
“Please tell him (Rolando Mendoza) to finish by three. We have a deadline, you know,” a fellow print reporter told me in jest.
It wasn’t that the press was too jaded or cared too little. They were just taking their cue from the police. When the authorities relaxed, we relaxed. When they tensed up, we tensed up as well.
For the most part, the police showed neither haste nor urgency. No one seemed alarmed by the possibility that Mendoza would snap. As the hostages were freed one by one, we felt no reason to doubt it would end peacefully.
“I hope no one dies,” a reporter from another broadsheet said. “If it ends well, this story is going to hit the front page tomorrow and we’ll forget about it in a few days. But if one Chinese hostage dies, this will be the banner story for weeks.”
I agreed: “We’re going to have an international incident on our hands.”
The nearest we could get to the tourist bus was about a hundred feet away near the stage of the Grandstand. The press occupied two areas, one at the south side and another in the opposite direction near the precinct that served also as the command post of Chief Supt. Rodolfo Magtibay, Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim and company.
The Inquirer sent three reporters – Jeanette Andrade, Marlon Ramos and me – to cover, and a fourth, Philip Tubeza, filled in toward the later hours. The instruction from the desk was to get colors and quotes. I wasn’t expected to show the big picture but to paint little scenes.
On at least two occasions, the police line was breached by media–RMN‘s Erwin Tulfo, who had talked to Mendoza on the phone and asked to be allowed to interview him on the bus (the request was denied) and an ABS-CBN News Channel news presenter.
But after gunshots had been fired, the journalists rarely strayed out of the police line – and scolded all others who tried.
Like the locals, the Hong Kong media were an aggressive bunch. They were not above elbowing, pushing or shoving others for a better angle. Jeanette recalled nearly getting into a fight with a Chinese reporter who kept pushing her umbrella out of the way.
I missed lunch so I bought something to eat from a stall at past 6 p.m. I was wolfing down rice and pork adobo when the first gunshot was fired. Bang! In a snap, I grabbed my bag and ran to the scene.
The atmosphere had turned frantic. Reporters swooped down on the authorities. Who fired the shot? Was any of the hostages hurt? The police were tight-lipped.
A commotion occurred at the precinct. Mendoza’s brother Gregorio had run to the cameras, dramatically announcing that he was about to be arrested. His family members were hysterical. Gregorio sat on the ground, refusing to budge. TV cameramen swarmed around him. Finally a
mobile car was called in, and Gregorio was spirited away.
Truth be told, most of the reporters were unimpressed by the tears and the wailing. I didn’t know then that this was being broadcast, or that the live coverage would provoke Mendoza to go berserk.
Order was soon restored. Reporters converged at the precinct. I learned from the desk that RMN had managed to interview Mendoza, who threatened to kill hostages on air.
At 7:15 p.m., a series of gunshots was heard. Not long after, the driver, Alberto Lubang, jumped out the window and ran, screaming: “Everybody is dead!” A hush fell on all of us.
Rain started pouring in torrents. We took shelter at the precinct, although we were barred from the offices. Earlier, only Susan Enriquez of GMA-7 had been allowed to enter the command post, drawing grumbles from the ABS-CBN reporters. The official explanation was that Enriquez’s presence had been requested. (By whom, we weren’t sure exactly.)
The other journalists at the south side were in far worse straits. They were closer, and thus more exposed to the pouring rain – and stray bullets.
Leonard Postrado, a Manila Bulletin reporter, recalled how they were completely soaked as they lay on their stomachs, ducking their heads as shots rang out. The journalists looked out for each other, shouting warnings to those who might be in harm’s way. Every gunshot drew a scream, a gasp, or a shudder.
Others had come prepared. GMA-7’s Mike Enriquez was all decked out in Kevlar and had a small army of personal bodyguards around him. “At first I thought he was from the SWAT,” Leonard recalled.
An audibly rattled Mike reported about the teenage boy hit by a stray bullet. He claimed he was “a few feet” from the boy, eliciting sniggers from those with him. An ABS-CBN reporter commented that since Mike was fully protected “from head to toe,” he was probably safer than even most of the policemen. It was a little funny.
More shots were fired. We stared at the TV monitor in silent horror. A sister-in-law of Mendoza watched it with us. I heard her whisper: “Rolly, what have you done?”
Minutes later, sirens from Red Cross ambulances filled the air. The authorities supplied us with the missing gaps and confirmed what we had guessed: Several hostages were dead, and so was Mendoza. The only surprise was that there were any survivors at all.
In the days that followed, we heard excuses, denials, finger-pointing and hand-wringing. Everybody took a hit: Mendoza, the government, the police and the media.
Was the press at fault? It would be easy for a newspaper reporter like me to say I was just doing my job, kept out of anyone’s hair and endangered nobody’s life.
But that would be too convenient. It’s no longer a question of blaming one segment of media –TV and radio – and absolving all others of their collective responsibility. The Philippine press as an institution must answer for this.
The blood spilled on Aug. 23 was not on our hands. But it was blood we could have helped prevent from spilling.
It was Mendoza who pulled the trigger. It was the police who bungled the assault. But the last person Mendoza talked to was one of us. Among the things that sparked his fury was footage that resulted from our pursuit of the story.
Journalists often remark that “no story is worth their lives.” But it’s not always about us and the dangers we face on the job – especially when performing the job spells the difference between a life lost and a life saved. No story is worth other people’s lives, too.
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DJ Yap has been working as a reporter for the Philippine Daily Inquirer for five years. He finished journalism at University of the Philippines Diliman.
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