The last man standing is a woman
MANILA, Philippines - Leni Robredo has been up since 5 a.m. The Vice Presidential candidate who, as of press time, is leading in the polls, has clocked in barely two hours of sleep. She got home at 3 a.m. from a political rally in Iloilo, collapsed on her bed, woke up at 5, and has been hustling since 7 a.m. There were media interviews, a gathering to attend, and various meetings with barangay officials in Quezon City, Muntinlupa, Paranaque, and Makati. But her day wasn’t over yet. It was five days until the national elections, and candidates like her are on turbo mode, covering as many bases as they can. And now, she had a pesky Supreme writer in her personal turf, recorder at the ready.
Leni swooped in on me for a maternal hug and plopped down on the chair right in front of the air-conditioning unit. Speaking in Bicolano, she asked her help Jo for a cup of green tea and requested for five minutes to breathe and regroup. (Trivia: Leni used to be a coffee fiend. Once upon a time, she could drink up to eight cups a day. Severe acid reflux ended the love affair.) It wasn’t easy to shake off a feeling of awe — in front of me was a woman who could very well be the country’s second most powerful leader, and here she was, so human, apologizing to me over nothing but a well-deserved breather.
Unlike most of the others vying for the Vice Presidency, the 52-year-old Leni Robredo didn’t want to run in the first place. You can even say that if the national elections were the fantasy movie it’s so often made to be, Leni would be Frodo Baggins, an unlikely heroine from a Shire called Naga.
The popular story is that Leni’s journey began in 2012, when her husband, the late, great DILG Secretary Jesse Robredo, perished in a plane crash, and she was thrust into public consciousness. But the truth is that Leni began her life of service much earlier than that.
Her “awakening” happened in UP’s Molave dormitory in 1983, on the day Ninoy Aquino was assassinated. To the youth today, the EDSA Revolution is but a nebulous uprising you read about in history books (or not), but to Leni, it changed her life. “Grabe yung urge for me to work in government. May fire within na alam mong kailangan mong sagutin,” she says of her days marching against the dictatorship.
EDSA happened in February ’86, Leni graduated in April of the same year. She asked her father to allow her to work for the government instead of going to law school — and surprisingly, he agreed. This is how it all started.
Whirlwind Romance
In June of ’86, the 21-year-old fresh graduate applied for a position at the Bicol River Basin Development Program Office (“Para siyang NEDA pero in charge lang siya of Bicol development”), which, she heard, had a new head. She arrived at the man’s office with a killer resume and a handwritten note from the Bicol governor himself, a friend of Leni’s father. “Yun naman yung kalakaran dati,” she says with a shrug. But the man who interviewed her was far from impressed. His name was Jesse Robredo. “What do you need this for? Don’t you know that this is a different time?” he said of her note. Leni was so humiliated, all she could do was apologize. “Sabi ko, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I thought it was required. It was a lapse of judgment.’” Jesse dismissed her with a curt, “the position has been filled,” but told her she could leave her CV and they’ll let her know if anything opens up.
And something did open up. Not in the planning section she was eyeing, but in the agency’s communications department. Leni went back for another interview and once again, she came face to face with the straight-as-an-arrow 28-year-old head, who asked her to write an essay on the spot. “Ang sinulat ko, ‘The Role of Cory Aquino in the EDSA Revolution.’ With the benefit of hindsight, yun yung bumilib siya [sa akin], dun sa essay na sinulat ko.” On August 18, 1986 (the same day Jesse’s plane crashed in 2012), Leni reported for work, and their officemates began teasing her and Jesse soon after. (Another trivia: Before Leni joined Jesse’s team, Jesse used his service car to go home. But when she started taking the employee shuttle service, he would join the carpool; his car, all but forgotten.)
In September that year, Jesse went to their house to formally ask her parents if he could take her to watch the UP Chorus concert. Their first date was at a church. It wasn’t love at first sight for Leni, but he won her over in time. “From the first date, inaraw araw na ko bisitahin. Araw-araw may flowers. Pero he was very proper, very old school. Siguro dahil mas matanda siya sa akin. Basta hindi niya ako inaaya lumabas kung hindi niya ako ipapaalam sa parents ko.” They were a couple by October, and he proposed in December. The proposal was nothing grand, but it was sincere, it was true. Over dinner, he said, “Wala ka nang kawala sa akin,” and gave her two rings: “Yung wedding ring ng parents niya tsaka yung college ring.” She said yes, because it felt right. “When the right one comes along, you’ll know eh. No matter how long or how short you’ve known each other.”
Leni the wife and mother
In a word, her 25 years with Jesse Robredo could be summed up as “blissful.” Leni says they were “best friends” and that they hardly ever fought. “Sabi ko siguro ganun yun kasi alam na kukunin siya nang maaga,” she reflects. He was a romantic who wrote her love letters; a devoted partner who, no matter how intense his schedule became as a mayor and later, as a cabinet secretary, never forgot to text her. Jesse was generous with his I love you’s, and had a penchant for matchy-matchy couple outfits — something that made Leni cringe. (Once, he came home from a trip to India bearing tela in obnoxious prints and had them made into a dress for her and a long-sleeved polo shirt for him.) If he had a flaw, it was that he tended to get jealous, which meant he tagged along with Leni even on the rare girls’ night out. (“Lahat ng labas ko kasama siya. Kahit mayor siya, okay lang sa kanya naghihintay sa tabi.) But before you box him as a possessive partner, Leni clarifies, “Paminsan parang nasasakal din ako. Pero masuwerte ako kasi nakikita ko yung friends ko na yung mga asawa walang pake.” That character flaw was a small thing vis-a-vis how he was overall: “Never akong binigyan ng any reason to feel insecure. Telepono niya ako pinapahawak. Para sa kanya ako ang pinakamaganda.”
Their union produced three children. As a mom, she calls herself “indulgent,” definitely not the kind who imposes curfew or lectures until her kids’ eardrums erupt — and for a good reason. “Tingin ko mas naturuan ko yung mga anak ko by example, how I lived my life. She wasn’t a clingy wife, but she’s admittedly a clingy mom, one who insists they all sleep in the same room. She’s the type who’s very involved in their schooling (“Ang husay ko kayang gumawa ng mga outline ng mga anak ko. Puwedeng i-museum.”) and is present at all their milestones. (Despite her insane schedule, she attended her youngest daughter’s moving up ceremony to Grade 11 a day before this inteview.) “Outside of my work, devoted na devoted ako sa mga bata.”
Leni the vice president?
Leni walks me over to their home, the condo next door, and I am shocked by the modest size and the simplicity. This is the Philippines after all, where politicians reside in palatial cribs, not borrowed digs. If she becomes the next VP of the republic, Leni doesn’t want to hold office at the Coconut Palace, which she deems too grand. “Sana mas simple, yung hindi gagastos yung gobyerno ng malaki. Mas gusto ko lang magkaroon ng maraming satellite offices kahit basic.” She’s excited about winning because then, she can push her advocacies forward: “people empowerment, changing mindsets as far as governance is concerned, giving more voice to the marginalized.” But if she doesn’t win, life goes on, and her work as a community worker, an NGO worker will continue.
The VP hopeful looks like she’s ready to pass out. Their cozy condo has that effect, making you want to curl up on the couch and sleep. Would she leave this? Would she move to a bigger place when she wins VP? The answer is a definite no. “Hindi kami dito aalis,” she says with finality. Naga will always be home, her roots are there, and she has no plans of buying a house here in Manila. She tells me that she never wants to lose herself. “Yung pagkatao namin, hindi yun naaaral. Yun na yung kung sino kami from Day one hanggang ngayon, hanggang kinabukasan.”
In that case, Leni Robredo, wife to a late statesman, mother to three girls, NGO-worker-turned-Congresswoman, you are our VP.
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