About Joker
Joker Arroyo was my hero, comrade and friend.
It was always a comfort seeing Joker in the courtroom where he masterfully defended activists like the members of the Light-A-Fire Movement and Jose Maria Sison. Of course, he didn’t always win. In fact, he almost never won. It was martial law, remember, and Marcos and his minions were the law. Still, Joker and his band of Mabini lawyers went on fighting, at great risk to their lives and freedom, to uphold the rights of the arrested, the tortured, the disappeared.
It was also good to know that Joker and the Mabini lawyers were at the numerous rallies and marches we attended to protest the abuses of Marcos and his ilk. We knew that although we were never safe from tear gas, water cannons and truncheons, Joker et al would stand up to the riot police and seek out protesters at the police station if anyone was arrested.
Joker with Jun Factoran, Rene Saguisag, and Bobbit Sanchez were the leading lights of Mabini with whom the Women Writers group I belonged to shared martial law adventures, confidences, public statements, legal cases and socials. We were natural allies — the women who tested the limits of press censorship and the lawyers who defended those among us who got into trouble with the regime.
We became fast friends — the Mabini lawyers and the Women Writers. They were a fun group — smart and irreverent when at ease, and brave and even more irreverent in the face of danger. Nothing seemed to faze them and their courage in standing up to the dictator, tirelessly questioning repressive decrees and illegal arrests gave us the courage to take our own risks during what Pete Lacaba called the “days of disquiet and nights of rage.”
Even after martial law ended via People Power, our friendship continued. Joker was Executive Secretary, Jun was Secretary of Natural Resources, Bobbit was Secretary of Labor, and Rene was elected to the Senate, but nothing changed between us, except perhaps with Joker who was at ground zero of the post-martial law political storm. As Cory’s Executive Secretary, he dealt directly with the reporters who covered Malacañang, and as the subject of our reportage, he didn’t like it one bit.
I sometimes covered Malacañang on Saturdays when the regular reporter was off-duty. And that was when I saw the other side of Joker. He was impatient with questions, and cantankerous in his responses. Once, finding my question impertinent, he swatted me away, only half-teasingly calling me a communist. This coming from him whom the military accused of being one for having defended the rights of political detainees!
Joker’s cantankerousness was par for the course. I suspect he put it on when he didn’t want to answer certain questions. He was still the tease and prankster otherwise. But he had a tender side. When I wrote a column about missing my late father who perished with President Magsaysay, Joker wrote me a sweet note saying how touched he was by it.
I was proud to watch Joker in Congress, masterfully prosecuting Joseph Estrada during the impeachment trial, and leading the walkout of the lawyers that led to the massive People Power rally on EDSA that forced Erap to step down. I enjoyed his performance at the Senate as chair of the Blue Ribbon Committee getting to the bottom of issues, his face in a perpetual scowl as he questioned witnesses. It was vintage Joker.
When he began to take political positions that befuddled his friends and allies, I told myself, this was Joker; he had to have something up his sleeve. But he continued to frustrate, and at one event attended by his former colleagues in the Cory government, I was told that someone was assigned to sit with him at a separate table if he showed up. On my way to the ladies’ room, I saw him seated forlornly at a table far from the center and went out of my way to give him a hug. He stood up, embraced me and said, “Thank you for greeting me.” I thought I would cry.
Out of political office, Joker was no longer busy or controversial, and began to be accessible to friends. He attended a reunion with the reporters who covered Malacañang from 1986 to 1992, looking more youthful at 83 than some of the once-young reporters he posed for pictures with. At lunch with the Women Writers and the Mabini lawyers, it was back to old times. The camaraderie was warm and strong, the silliness infectious. It was heady celebrating our friendship, dwelling on our foibles and victories, and teasing one another mercilessly, irreverently amid good food and hearty laughter.
The last time I saw Joker was in October last year, at a book launch in Makati. I was asked if I would share my table with an old man who was seated at the back of the room. I said okay but the man did not show. As I was leaving, I saw Joker seated alone; he was the old man in question but he obviously refused to be fussed over. I hugged him, reminding him of his promise to host a meal for the women writers in his house after Christmas. Typically, he swatted me away like a pesky mosquito, mumbling something that sounded like I was being a nag.
Early last week, I learned that Joker had died. There was no official announcement of his passing, no wake, no fanfare, not even necrological services at the House or the Senate where he served so well, and at very little cost to the Republic. I can almost see Joker impatiently, crankily, swatting away our attention and concern, refusing to be bothered or talked about, as he left us for the great beyond.
Goodbye, Joker. You will be hard to forget.
