Heroes, aliases, and receipts

By Herman M. Lagon

Sometimes a debate takes a wrong turn so quietly that everyone is already several kilometers down the road before somebody asks, “Teka, saan ba talaga tayo papunta?” Something like that happened during Vice President Sara Duterte’s impeachment trial when senator-judge Robin Padilla began asking about the aliases of Philippine heroes. Rizal had Dimasalang. Bonifacio had Maypagasa. Marcelo H. del Pilar had his pen names. Then came Padilla’s apparent ace: Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. once traveled under the name Marcial Bonifacio. All historically interesting. But the Senate was examining confidential funds, not conducting a quiz bee on Philippine history.

To be fair to Padilla, his basic instinct was not completely unreasonable. An unusual name is not proof of wrongdoing. People use pseudonyms for perfectly legitimate reasons. Writers have pen names, undercover agents assume identities, informants need protection, and revolutionaries trying to evade colonial authorities certainly had good reason not to carry calling cards with their real names. Even the COA witness, state auditor Roderick Wamil, did not say the 2015 rules prohibited aliases. His testimony was narrower: Joint Circular No. 2015-01 was silent on them. It neither expressly allowed nor prohibited their use.

But that is precisely where Padilla’s argument wandered off course. Prosecutor Mae Divinagracia clarified that the prosecution was not arguing that aliases themselves were illegal. More importantly, the prosecution had not even taken the position that the unusual names on the acknowledgment receipts were necessarily aliases. The defense, she said, had not formally made that claim either. Before we defend the aliases, perhaps we should first establish that they are aliases.

Padilla nevertheless invoked our heroes. Eventually, he asked whether Divinagracia knew Marcial Bonifacio. She did not. Padilla supplied the answer: Ninoy Aquino. Then senator-judge Bam Aquino, Ninoy’s nephew, entered the exchange with one short clarification: yes, his uncle used Marcial Bonifacio to return to the Philippines from Boston, but Ninoy did not have confidential funds. It was funny because it was simple. Ninoy’s alias explained why a political exile might hide his identity. It did not explain how government money should be documented.

This is a familiar error in reasoning: two things share one characteristic, so we begin treating them as though they were equivalent. My neighbor and I may both own motorcycles. That does not mean his traffic ticket belongs to me. A teacher may use “Sir Batman” in the faculty group chat; that does not mean he can put Batman on the payroll and tell accounting that Bruce Wayne will explain later. Context matters. So does the question being asked.

The same caution should apply to the prosecution. Strange names should not become comedy material masquerading as evidence. “Mary Grace Piattos” does not become fictitious simply because the name makes people think of a restaurant and potato chips. The materials also note that a viral graphic containing additional joke-like names such as “Miggy Mango,” “Chippy Mcdonald,” and “Annie Gher” was fabricated. If we demand accountability from government, we should demand factual discipline from its critics as well. A fake meme does not become true because it attacks someone we dislike.

The more serious questions are sitting underneath all the jokes. Wamil testified that COA’s audit was document-based and focused on compliance; it did not determine the actual identities behind the names. That reveals a larger institutional problem. If confidential operations legitimately require protected identities, how does government preserve that secrecy while still allowing authorized auditors to verify that the people and transactions actually exist? That question deserves more Senate time than whether Dimasalang sounds stranger than Piattos.

Think of a journalist protecting a confidential source. Readers may never learn the source’s identity because revealing it could cost someone a job, liberty, or even life. But the reporter and responsible editors must have reason to know that the source actually exists. “Confidential” cannot mean “I invented Juan, but trust me.” Government faces the same tension on a much larger scale because what changes hands is not merely information. It is taxpayers’ money.

And there is real money involved here. The impeachment article concerns the alleged misuse and improper liquidation of PHP 612.5 million in confidential funds, while COA’s PHP 73 million notice of disallowance concerned insufficient liquidation documents, according to the material. The unusual names themselves were not the stated basis of that disallowance. That distinction is important because an alias proves neither guilt nor innocence. What matters is whether the expenditure meets the applicable rules and can withstand lawful scrutiny.

This is also why Padilla’s historical analogy ultimately works against itself. Marcial Bonifacio had a real, identifiable Ninoy Aquino behind the name. We know why he used it and who he was. Invoking Ninoy therefore proves only a modest point: sometimes people have legitimate reasons to conceal their identities. It cannot authenticate somebody else’s acknowledgment receipt. Rizal’s Dimasalang cannot do it either. Historical precedent may explain an alias; it cannot liquidate a peso.

None of this settles Vice President Duterte’s guilt or innocence. That is precisely why an impeachment court hears evidence instead of Facebook comments. Senator-judges should examine the documents, listen to witnesses, test competing explanations, and distinguish what is known from what is merely assumed. The same discipline should guide those of us watching from home. In politically charged cases, perhaps the hardest intellectual habit is also the simplest: resist the temptation to believe something merely because it favors our side.

Padilla was therefore right about one thing: aliases are not automatically sinister. But he was defending the right answer to the wrong question. The Senate does not need to determine whether Filipinos have ever used aliases. We have, for centuries. It needs to determine whether the questioned public expenditures were lawful, adequately supported, and accountable under the rules governing confidential funds. An alias may hide a name. It cannot answer for the money.

***

Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.