By Francis Allan L. Angelo

(Last of two parts)

‘Non-member’ is the firewall, not a way around it

The “Traifalgar” piece devotes an entire section to the phrase “non-member Board of Advisers,” under the heading “‘Non-member’ is not an ethical firewall.” It treats the designation as suspicious nomenclature — a formal category that “cannot substitute for an explanation of substantive responsibilities,” a label that “answers none of these questions.”

It answers all of them, once you understand why the label exists.

Chancellor Camposano is not a member of the Institute of Contemporary Economics. He is not a full member; he is not a dues-paying member; he holds no seat on its board; he is not an officer; he owns nothing in it; and he receives nothing from it. He is an adviser. That is not a euphemism for membership. It is a different thing, and it was structured that way on purpose, because he is a public official and the law constrains what public officials may join.

“Domingo Traifalgar” cites Republic Act 6713 at length, so he has read Section 3(i). It defines a conflict of interest as arising when a public official “is a member of a board, an officer, or a substantial stockholder of a private corporation or owner or has a substantial interest in a business.” Those are the triggers. All three of them. An adviser who is not a member, holds no office, owns no shares, and takes no compensation meets none of those conditions. The writer (“Domingo Traifalgar”) is free to argue that the statute should have been written differently. What he cannot do is quote it and then treat compliance with it as the offense.

This is the part I find hardest to be patient about. “Traifalgar” quotes the statutory definition, then examines a role deliberately constructed to fall outside it, and concludes that the construction is the problem. He found the safeguard and wrote it up as the offense. A public official who joins a private organization as a full voting member with a board seat is the thing RA 6713 is about. A public official who declines membership, declines office, declines compensation, and offers advice in his professional capacity is the thing RA 6713 leaves alone — and the piece’s own heading has it precisely backwards. “Non-member” is not merely an ethical firewall. In the statute Traifalgar himself selected, it is the firewall, and it was built before he came looking for one.

If the objection is that a chancellor should not advise anyone at all, then say that plainly and defend it, because it is a remarkable proposition. University leaders sit on advisory bodies for hospitals, foundations, professional associations, cultural institutions, and research organizations everywhere in this country and everywhere else. That is not a loophole in the ethical order. It is one of the things a university is for.

The UPV relationship is governed by a document

The piece asks a series of pointed questions about the ICE–UPV relationship: Does an agreement or written authority exist? Who approved it? Was rent or consideration involved? It presents these as unanswerable, and the presentation is the argument — the unanswered question does the work that evidence would otherwise have to do.

They are answerable, and here are the answers.

A memorandum of agreement governs the partnership. It is not an informal understanding, a favor, or a handshake between friends. It is an institutional instrument, executed through the university’s own processes, which is exactly the safeguard the piece demands and assumes is missing. Every joint activity Traifalgar catalogues — the Pagtalupangod economic forum, the barangay development-planning and budgeting training, the quantum technology forum, the blue economy forum — sits under that framework. Traifalgar listed these events as though their accumulation were suspicious. Their accumulation is what a functioning MOA looks like when both parties honor it.

UP Visayas does not fund ICE. No appropriation, no subsidy, no grant, no dole-out. The piece spends considerable effort establishing that UPV is publicly funded and that its resources are a matter of public interest — both true, and both irrelevant once you know that none of that money reaches the Institute. ICE is sustained by its members, who pay to belong. That is the same fact I disclosed about myself in the third paragraph of this response, viewed from the institution’s side.

On the address. ICE’s registration with the Securities and Exchange Commission and other government agencies requires a principal office address for correspondence and service of documents. That is what the UPV address is: a communications and registration address, arising from the partnership the MOA already covers. It is a filing requirement, not a real-estate arrangement, and treating a line on an SEC form as evidence of institutional capture says more about “Traifalgar’s” method than about the Institute.

The pattern is worth naming. The piece asked whether documentation existed. It never tried to find out. A single email to the university registry, or to ICE, or to me, would have produced the MOA’s existence in an afternoon. Instead the absence of an answer he never sought was written up as though it were the discovery of a concealment. That is the difference between investigation and insinuation, and it is visible in every section of this piece.

On Junie Pama

I will not speak for Junie Pama, who can speak for himself and should. But I have sat in ICE rooms with him for as long as I have been a member, and I can report what I have observed.

Start with the fact that dismantles the KABALAKA section of “Crossing the Lines” outright. The Institute of Contemporary Economics is not a party to the KABALAKA Memorandum of Understanding. ICE “is not a signatory, has no contractual obligations, receives no financial benefit, and has no implementation role under the agreement.” Pama signed solely as general manager of Quantum Digital Services, in exactly the way MORE Power and Metro Pacific Iloilo Water signed for theirs.

Now recall what “Traifalgar” built on those facts. He asked who prepared ICE’s assessment of the arrangement, whether Pama helped draft or approve it, whether he recused himself, whether it underwent independent review, and what conflict-of-interest policy governed it. Those questions presuppose that ICE had something at stake in the agreement. ICE had nothing at stake in the agreement. It is not in it. Recuse from what, exactly? A think tank commenting on a disaster-preparedness partnership it is not party to and gains nothing from is not managing a conflict. It is doing the thing think tanks exist to do.

Then look at which way the money runs, because the theory requires it to run one way and it runs the other. The memorandum is not a procurement contract and awards no business to QDSI. The company’s contribution is in-kind — internet connectivity, communications infrastructure, technical ICT support — supplied at its own cost as corporate social responsibility. QDSI was not paid. QDSI gave. Strip away the vocabulary and the scandal on offer is this: a technology company donated connectivity to a disaster-preparedness program, and a think tank chaired by that company’s manager said disaster preparedness matters.

“Traifalgar” half-sensed the problem and tried to wall it off. “This is a conflict-of-interest question, not a procurement question,” he wrote — it says nothing about whether QDSI obtained the agreement properly or whether public funds were directed to it. That disclaimer reads like caution. It is actually a retreat, because the procurement version is the only version that would have mattered, and it was unavailable to him. No public funds were directed to QDSI. There was nothing to obtain. He quietly abandoned the story that would have been damning and kept the vocabulary that made it sound as though he hadn’t.

What is left is the thing I have watched at close range for as long as I have been a member. Pama’s chairmanship of ICE is voluntary, non-profit, and uncompensated — a civic role, not a commercial one, and he draws the line between the two himself: QDSI “delivers technology solutions,” while ICE “develops ideas, encourages informed public discourse, and advances policy recommendations in the public interest.” In every meeting I have sat in, he has not once advanced, endorsed, or steered the Institute toward any business interest he represents. Look at the agenda those rooms have actually produced — water security, grid reliability, heritage-district revitalization, barangay budgeting capacity, disaster resilience. If the Institute is his instrument, it is a remarkably badly aimed one.

This is what people here mean when they say para sa bayan. Pama has spent more than four decades in technology and telecommunications and has spent much of it giving the proceeds of that experience away — to ICE, to the UP Visayas Foundation, to ISAT University, to alumni and civic organizations, in roles he describes as “publicly known, transparent, and, in many instances, voluntary and uncompensated.” Philanthropy and community building are not a cover story for business. In this case they are the opposite of business: they are what a businessman does with his time when he is not making money.

And notice what unites all three of the men “Traifalgar” named. I pay dues to ICE and receive nothing. Pama chairs it without compensation. Chancellor Camposano advises it as a non-member, unpaid and outside the statute’s every trigger. A network assembled for gain would have gain in it somewhere. Follow the money through this one and you will find it flowing steadily in the wrong direction — out of the pockets of the people supposedly captured by it.

One last thing, on his own account rather than mine. “Traifalgar” concedes that the Daily Guardian story on KABALAKA disclosed Pama’s dual role, letting readers see the overlap, and then complains that disclosure “did not eliminate the underlying conflict.” But eliminating things is not what disclosure is for. It puts the facts before readers so they can judge — the exact standard he invokes against me in his opening sentence and discards the moment somebody meets it. Public discourse must “distinguish between the appearance of overlapping roles and evidence of actual misconduct.” That is not a plea for leniency. It is the difference between reporting and insinuation, and it is the distinction this entire article was constructed to blur.

The architecture of insinuation

I want to describe how this piece is built, because readers deserve to see the machinery.

It concedes, then insinuates anyway. “There is nothing inherently objectionable about reporting the findings of a think tank.” “None of these positions is improper on its own.” “Governments routinely receive ideas from think tanks… and there is nothing illegitimate in that exchange as such.” Each concession is immediately followed by a pivot — “the conflict arises when,” “the significance lies in the density of the overlap” — that reintroduces the accusation the sentence just retired. Nothing is ever alleged. Everything is implied.

It disclaims the exact inference it engineers. “This piece raises questions… it does not conclude that Camposano has violated RA 6713.” “This is a conflict-of-interest question, not a procurement question.” “This piece makes no claim of bribery, unlawful fund transfers, or a quid pro quo… and none should be read into it.” Count them. Each disclaimer sits at the end of a passage constructed to produce precisely the reading it disowns. That is not caution. That is a writer arranging for the reader to reach a conclusion he has calculated he cannot defend.

It makes overlap into evidence. Iloilo has one national university, one major press, and a civic community small enough that most of us have been in the same room. The piece treats this demographic reality as a conspiracy and calls it “density.” The argument is unfalsifiable by construction: every denial becomes further proof of the network’s coordination.

It asks questions instead of answering them. Section after section resolves into stacked interrogatives — Did he participate? Did he approve? Was that disclosed? Did he recuse? Under what authority? Rhetorical questions are free. They cost Traifalgar nothing and place the entire burden on the accused, which is the point of using them.

And it never once picked up a phone. Not to me. Not to ICE. Not to UPV. Not to Chancellor Camposano, whose name appears in the headline. There is no interview in this piece, no request for comment, no document obtained, nothing that could not have been assembled from a search engine in an afternoon. Its sources are an About Us page, a jobs-listing site used to establish a company’s leadership, several Facebook permalinks, and a set of press releases — all formatted in immaculate MLA with hanging indents. The citations are dressed as scholarship. The reporting underneath them does not exist.

That combination — flawless bibliographic form, uniform paragraph architecture repeated across every section, hedges recurring almost verbatim (“nothing inherently objectionable about,” “differs in kind, not merely in degree,” “the significance lies in”), rhetorical-question cascades, and a total absence of human contact — reads to me like something assembled rather than reported. I would not put it more strongly than that, and I do not need to. Whether a person or a program produced these paragraphs matters less than the fact that nobody, at any point, did the one thing journalism requires: asked the subject.

I would have answered. I am answering now, unprompted, to “Domingo Traifalgar,” who could not be bothered to send a single email under a verifiable name.

The standard, applied evenly

The “Domingo Traifalgar” piece demanding that three named people disclose their affiliations was distributed anonymously, from a free email account, by blind carbon copy, to a working journalist, with no publication behind it and no accounting of Domingo Traifalgar’s own interests, associations, or motives in Iloilo’s civic and political life.

I do not raise this to dodge the substance — I have answered the substance in the opening parts of this column. I raise it because the piece’s central proposition is that readers cannot properly weigh an argument without knowing the interests that accompany it. I agree with that proposition completely. I have applied it to myself in the third paragraph of this response.

But there is something more specific here than hypocrisy, and it goes to the trade “Traifalgar” is attempting to practice.

Opinion contributors are held to a disclosure standard. It is not exotic, and it is not a courtesy. Any newspaper worth reading requires a contributor to supply four things before a word of his argument reaches print: his name, his profession, his general location, and his interest in the subject he has chosen to write about. That is why a piece on mining policy tells you the author is a geologist in Cebu, and why a piece on rice tariffs tells you the author farms in Nueva Ecija. Readers are entitled to know who is talking and why they care. Editors ask because the answer changes how the argument should be weighed.

“Traifalgar” supplied none of the four. Not the profession; not the location; not the interest. Not, so far as anyone can verify, the name.

Now hold that against what he is asking of us. He wants my membership disclosed, Pama’s commercial roles disclosed, and the Chancellor’s advisory relationship disclosed — and he wants all of it because, in his words, readers cannot properly evaluate an argument unless the interests accompanying it are visible. He is right; that is the rule. He then asks his own readers to accept several thousand words of accusation while withholding every single item the rule requires of him.

The irony is sharper still, because there is an obvious remedy he declined to use.

This is not an abstract principle I am invoking against him after the fact. It is Daily Guardian policy. Contributions, corrections, and errata submitted to this paper are all governed by it: we require the contributor’s name, profession, general location, and interest in the subject before we publish. We apply it to every contributor, including — especially — those who write against us. It exists precisely so that a reader encountering an argument in our pages knows who is making it and what they have at stake.

And this is not hypothetical, because a copy of “Crossing the Lines” did reach the Daily Guardian inbox.

So, the policy was not something he failed to encounter. It is something he encountered and did not meet. He gave us a name and nothing else — no profession, no location, no statement of his interest in ICE, UP Visayas, or this newspaper. Those are the four items our contributors supply. He supplied one of them, and the one he supplied is the one nobody has been able to verify.

I want to be exact about what I am and am not saying. I am not saying we refused to publish him. I am saying he submitted a piece demanding disclosure from three named people while declining to disclose anything about himself, to the very newspaper whose contributor policy requires it, in a piece whose entire argument is that arguments cannot be weighed without knowing the interests behind them.

And he did not wait. A contributor who wants to be published submits his piece and answers the editor’s questions. “Traifalgar” sent it to us and simultaneously pushed it out by blind carbon copy to a working journalist elsewhere. That is not a man seeking publication. That is a man seeking circulation, with a submission to a newspaper attached to it — and the difference matters, because the second route requires nothing of him. Anyone who knows enough about journalism to quote three codes of ethics knows exactly what an editor asks a contributor for, and knows what it means to route around the asking.

The offer is open, and it is not rhetorical. Give us the four items — your profession, your general location, your interest in this subject, and a name we can verify — and the Daily Guardian will publish “Crossing the Lines” in full. I will publish it. A piece accusing this paper’s editor-in-chief of an undisclosed conflict is exactly what a newspaper that means what it prints on its masthead is obliged to run. The standard that applies to you is the same one you spent several thousand words demanding of me, and I have already met it in the third paragraph of this response.

There is one honorable reason to write without a name, and it deserves respect: genuine risk. Journalism protects sources and, occasionally, authors who would face retaliation for what they know. But that protection is earned by exposure to danger, and “Traifalgar’s” own bibliography establishes that he faced none. Every source he cites is public — an About Us page, university press releases, Facebook posts, a job-listings site, a statute, a handful of our own articles. Nothing he used required inside access, a confidential source, or any risk whatsoever. He was not protecting himself from anything except the obligation to be evaluated.

That is what separates a whistleblower from a person who simply prefers not to be examined. And it is why anonymity here is not a neutral choice of format. It is the one asymmetry that makes the whole piece possible: three named people, with verifiable careers, reputations, and interests, are placed under examination by someone who has arranged to have none of those things looked at.

“Traifalgar” might consider applying his own standard to himself. He set it, and I have met it. So should he.

An invitation, and I mean it

Having said all that, I would rather have a conversation than a correspondence war.

To Domingo Traifalgar — or to whoever writes under that name: sit down with us.

Come to the Institute. Meet the people who run it — the professors, the chamber-of-commerce figures, the lawyers, the economist who runs it day to day, the man who spent twenty years at UNDP. I will walk you through what ICE actually does: how the research gets produced, who is in the room, what happens to a proposal after it leaves the building, and what a membership does and does not entitle a member to. Ask about the dues. Ask to see the memorandum of agreement with UP Visayas. Ask where the money comes from and confirm for yourself that none of it comes from the university. Ask about the water strategy and who stands to gain from it. Ask me anything you would have asked if you had written to me before publishing.

If, after that, you still believe there is something here that requires answering, write it — and put your name on it. I will publish your response in the Daily Guardian, unedited, alongside my own. That offer stands regardless of what you conclude.

We say on our masthead: We Write. You Decide. You quoted it back at me, and you were right to. Readers can only decide when they have the whole picture. Come and get it. The door is open, and it has been the entire time.

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Francis Allan L. Angelo is editor-in-chief of the Daily Guardian and chairperson of the Iloilo Media-Citizen Council. He is a dues-paying member of the Institute of Contemporary Economics and receives no compensation from it.

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Sources

Chay Florentino-Hofileña, News for Sale: The Corruption of the Philippine Media (Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism with the Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility, 1998; expanded edition, 2004). National Book Award finalist for journalism, 1998. https://old.pcij.org/books/news-for-sale-the-corruption-of-the-philippine-media/
Ethical Journalism Network, “Untold Stories: Philippines” — on envelope journalism, AC-DC, political retainers, and block-timing. https://ethicaljournalismnetwork.org/philippines
Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility, “Journalism and Public Relations: Friends or Enemies?” https://cmfr-phil.org/media-ethics-responsibility/journalism-review/journalism-and-public-relations-friends-or-enemies/
Republic Act No. 6713, Code of Conduct and Ethical Standards for Public Officials and Employees. https://lawphil.net/statutes/repacts/ra1989/ra_6713_1989.html
Philippine Journalist’s Code of Ethics. https://www.columbia.edu/itc/journalism/j6075/edit/ethiccodes/PHILIP_1.html