Herbert Vego: A quality journalist on board

“No evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods.”
—Socrates

By Alex P. Vidal

IF I were a newspaper or magazine publisher, I would take good care of Herbert L. Vego in whatever means and in whatever capacity and circumstance.
With his experience and solid reputation, he is not only an institution in the media industry in Western Visayas, Mr. Vego is also a quality community journalist and one of the most credible and highly respected media godfathers alive today.
Having him on board in any media outlet is like having a LeBron James in the basketball team; it’s like playing alongside David Beckham in the World Cup; or hobnobbing with Kofi Annan in the United Nations.
In this lifetime, there can be no one else like Mr. Vego in as far as being a paragon in community journalism is concerned.
In terms of character, decency, intellect, values, and gracefulness, seasoned journalist Herbert Vego is notches higher and a cut above the rest. 
In this generation when the “young ones” in the media almost have a shortage of role models to look up to among the “young once”, soft-spoken Mr. Vego fills the vacuum.   

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Seventy-year-old Vego spent his early years in journalism in showbiz even before the Martial Law in the early 70s, and has been writing for nearly 50 years now; yet, he isn’t rich.
He has broken bread with the who’s who in the world of entertainment, business, diplomacy, religion, sports, and politics, yet his name is not there on the elite list of media’s “Forbes” for the rich and famous. 
He still regularly attends in the regular press conferences and other news-gathering events, an imagery that can be likened to “jurassic” Juan Ponce Enrile in the company of grandchildren Julienne Baronda, Mike Gorriceta, Raul Tupas, Braden John Biron, and Lorenz Defensor.
Had Mr. Vego practiced in Metro Manila, or if he had chosen another lucrative profession when he was 50 years younger, he would now be living in a posh Manny Villar-model gated subdivision if he didn’t own a pricey condo unit in Pasig.
If he didn’t stick to local journalism and became a real estate broker, a government appointee, a diplomat, or an STL franchisee, Mr. Vego would now be driving a Cadillac and jet-setting across Macau to Munich, Hanoi to Cologne, and Zaire to Karachi vice versa for his regular vacation trips.
But his brand of existentialism, his towering love for journalism, and passion for writing had brought him to a life in the Coliboaia Cave, so to speak, instead of the kind of lifestyle where he could saunter in the glamour of paradise and the glitzy world of luxury.

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Even when he was making a name in Metro Manila jockeying for some arcane magazines and periodicals, Mr. Vego was aware there’s no money in journalism. 
Unless he engaged in a pyramid scam, purchased his way for a slot in the House of Representatives party-list, became a gambling lord, or dabbled in trafficking of illegal drugs, he knew journalism would only give him peanuts, crumbs and tears, not pelfs and privileges, not a Ford Expedition, an investment in the stock market, or a Tagaytay rest house like the ones being enjoyed by some of his contemporaries in Metro Manila who had shifted to other profitable careers. 
Despite a looming economic uncertainty, Mr. Vego decided to return from Manila to Iloilo 40 years ago and opted to stay for good to embrace his first love: journalism.  
He has written dozens of articles detailing why sticking to journalism as a career is equivalent to a vow of poverty like monks and hermits.
In those articles, he empathetically gave his readers a front seat view why journalists like him can never gain some inroads in the pursuit of material wealth. 
Despite struggling for decades eking out a decent living in the world of letters, the formula of success could only give Mr. Vego citations and certificates, praises, respect from politicians and fellow media workers, and inner satisfaction, but not financial rewards enough to provide for himself and give his family a comfortable and secure life.  

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Mr. Vego epitomizes the predicament of an enterprising journalist in the Philippines with no security of tenure, no regular employment benefits, and who now faces the grim prospect of retiring a pauper and leaving only a pair of sandals for his loved ones.
Journalists also need a healthcare and regular medical checkups just like other laborers.
We have heard depressing stories before about other senior colleagues who had to grapple as indigents during their last days on earth because they didn’t have enough funds during rainy season.  
Mr. Vego can now be actually considered as semi-retired, but journalists, grizzled column writers in Mr. Vego’s caliber, don’t have a retirement. 
We write as long as we have the capacity to think and can still hit the keyboard.
Sickness and old age can’t cripple and obliterate our passion to write and remain in the mainstream.
There have been scores of never-say-quit journalists in sickbed who continued to pound the keys of their typewriters and computers until they could no longer resist death.
(The author, who is now based in New York City, used to be the editor of two local dailies in Iloilo)

‘Wonder woman’ who believed in me: Judge Rita Bascos-Sarabia

“Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything. It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it.”
-- Trey Parker

By Alex P. Vidal

NEW YORK CITY -- The late Judge Rita Bascos-Sarabia was a councilor in Iloilo City in the Philippines when she and another city councilor, former City Prosecutor Jose Junio Jacela, volunteered to defend me in court pro bono against the libel cases filed by a group of politicians in 1999, or about 20 years ago.
They approached me like true Christians offering their sincere legal services.
I didn’t have any prior acquaintances with both city officials aside from listening to them debate with fellow city councilors in their regular sessions at the Sangguniang Panlungsod every Wednesday afternoon as a city hall beat reporter.
But Judge Rita and Fiscal Jacela were some of the many Ilonggos who believed in me; they were at the frontline doing their darn best to ensure that an innocent journalist wouldn’t spend a minute in jail.
Prior to the sensational litigation, they were among those who regularly read the columns and the news I wrote in Sun Star Iloilo Daily; they were convinced of my absolute innocence.
They sacrificed precious hours and resources, and collaborated like clinical surgeons saving the life of a terminally ill patient.

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I watched in awe while listening to these topnotch lawyers convince the court of my innocence as an accused in at least 38 counts of libel, a bundle of criminal cases “too good to be true” owing to its abundance (I will write a separate story about this).
One time, I felt guilty while watching Judge Rita undergo arrest proceedings inside the Hall of Justice after a trial judge in another branch meted her with a “contempt of court” and ordered her arrest for missing another hearing not related to my cases.
Because of the large number of cases Judge Rita was handling in the morning, sometimes we had to hop from one branch to another like airport passengers scrambling to locate the boarding gates in the eleventh hour.
Judge Rita and Prosecutor Jacela were so determined to win our cases that they never showed signs of weariness and boredom as the hearings prolonged, prompting some court personnel to refer to them as the “Wonder Woman” and the “Bionic Man.”
Before the Bionic Man became a city legal officer under the administration of Mayor Jed Patrick Mabilog and before the Wonder Woman was assigned in Makati City, all the libel cases filed against me, my late former publisher Marcos “Mark” Villalon, and columnist Wenceslao “Mat” Mateo, Jr. have been dismissed.

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Judge Rita did something special that will forever be etched on my memory.
Sometime in June 2001, or several weeks after the May 14, 2001 elections, newly elected Iloilo Vice Governor Roberto “Obet” Armada passed by in the coffee shop of Iloilo City’s Amigo Terrace Hotel and saw me together with now Prosecutor Carol Salvatierra and now Public Attorney Office (PAO) lawyer Gerlie Uy while we were having an editorial meeting for our Iloilo Today publication.
We congratulated the smiling Vice Governor Armada, after which he immediately told me: “Ti, join ka na sa akon office. Kinahanglan ko ang writer (Come and join in my office now. I need a writer).”
I didn’t believe the vice governor was serious about the invitation when I nicely declined his offer right in that moment until Judge Rita entered the picture several days later.
Judge Rita, then a city councilor and coming out from her City Hall office on her way to Vice Governor Armada’s office in the Capitol, “kidnapped” me while I was gathering stories in the City Hall.
To make the long story short, we ended up inside the vice governor’s office where I was “formally” introduced to all and sundry as Vice Governor Armada’s new “staff member.”
I realized that Mrs. Ana “Ting Ting” Abogado-Armada, the vice governor’s wife, was Judge Rita’s cousin.
I learned furthermore that both Vice Governor Armada and Judge Rita have been my avid readers; and they both believed in me.
I never failed them, I was confident.
I will miss you, Judge Rita Bascos-Sarabia, my great lawyer and my “Wonder Woman”, our “Wonder Woman”. Thank you for believing in me.
You left us too early, but I know that we shall meet again in God’s time and kingdom.
(Judge Rita Bascos-Sarabia succumbed at the Western Visayas Medical Center past 9 o’clock evening on Dec. 26, 2018 from complications from an infection of her exposed wounds caused by explosion from a gas leak in an LPG tank. She is survived by her husband, Atty. Rene, and children, Katherine, Ina and Rex. Her wake is at the Gegato-Abecia Funeral Services in Coastal Road, Iloilo City. Viewing started on December 29, 2018. She will be buried on January 6, 2019.)