The Arroyo Imbroglio in the Philippines

The secret tapes quickly became part of the public domain, and throughout the country the legendary “Hello, Garci?” greeting could be heard as a cell-phone ring tone. The country was riveted by what came to be known as the “Hello, Garci” scandal, and on 8 July 2005 there was a concerted push to force the president from office. First came the resignation of ten members of the cabinet, followed by calls for the president’s resignation by former allies: reformist elements of the Liberal Party, the influential Makati Business Club, and former president Aquino. Opinion polls registered overwhelming majorities in favor of resignation or impeachment. Macapagal-Arroyo survived the crisis with the critical support of former president Ramos and House Speaker Jose de Venecia, Jr., to whom she reportedly promised that she would step down from office and usher in a constitutional shift toward parliamentary government. 9

In its fight for survival, the Arroyo administration quickly tried to shift the topic from electoral scandal to political reform. In her annual State of the Nation address, in late July 2005, Macapagal-Arroyo declared that “our political system has degenerated to such an extent that it’s very difficult to live within the system with hands totally untainted.” While this statement was no doubt an effort to emphasize systemic rather than personal accountability, it had become clear to many that Philippine democracy was badly in need of reform. While the crises of 1986 and 2001 had been primarily concerned with the legitimacy of individual leaders, the “Hello, Garci” crisis highlighted the legitimacy deficit not only of an individual leader but also of an entire political system. In her speech, the president urged the country to “start the great debate on charter change” and specifically mentioned (but did not explicitly endorse) the possibility of shifting the country’s political structures from presidential to parliamentary and from unitary to federal.

Although the Speaker of the House may have desired more wholehearted support for a shift to parliamentarism, de Venecia nonetheless came to Macapagal-Arroyo’s aid in September by ensuring that an impeachment attempt would not muster the necessary support of one-third of the members of the House of Representatives. This is consistent with historical patterns in Philippine politics: The power of the pork barrel enables presidents to make or break the speaker, who in turn must deliver the loyalty of the overwhelming majority of the House.

Other factors also assisted Macapagal-Arroyo in her fight for survival. First, the late 2004 death of Fernando Poe, Jr., her opponent in the elections, deprived the opposition of an obvious figure around whom it could rally. Second, strong public sentiment against the president did not translate into a repeat episode of people power. Demonstrations were called, but they failed to draw large crowds. Many at the time spoke of “people power fatigue,” but there was probably a deeper disillusionment at play. This time around, it was difficult for citizens to nurse hopes that a mere change in leadership would fix the problems of the country. Many seemed tired of being pawns in intra-elite squabbles that ultimately brought little change. Third, Macapagal-Arroyo was aided by widespread concerns over the possibility that the vice-president, former newscaster Noli de Castro, might come to power. Although strong in terms of mass appeal, de Castro is not highly respected among those in the upper classes and has allegedly profited from unseemly journalistic practices. 10 Finally, the president had done a masterful job of cultivating the loyalty of key generals. Despite significant discontent in the lower ranks, the top brass has up until now remained firmly in her camp.

A Tendency Toward Authoritarianism

The loyalty of the generals became especially valuable in February 2006, when a combination of junior officers on the right and civilian forces on the left wanted to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the downfall of Marcos with a putsch to bring down Macapagal-Arroyo. When certain top officers were asked to join, they reported the plot to the Palace. This then led to the declaration of emergency rule, coinciding with the anniversary of the country’s transition to democracy two decades earlier. As Sheila Coronel observes, “That morning in February saw the meeting of the two most powerful narratives of recent Philippine history, the declaration of martial law in 1972 and the 1986 popular uprising. What Filipinos got in 2006 were pale versions of both.” 11

In the end, the demonstrations were suppressed, but the state of emergency lasted only a few weeks and was later ruled illegal by the Supreme Court. Macapagal-Arroyo’s dependence on the military, combined with her administration’s own inclination to launch a crackdown, led to the June 2006 declaration of an “all-out war” against the nearly three-decade-old communist insurgency. This came amid mounting concern over the killings of hundreds of leftists, activists, and church personnel. “As senior officials and military officers labeled members of the legal left ‘enemies of the state,’ and failed to condemn the killings consistently at all levels of government,” concludes a 2006 Amnesty International report, “fears grew that elements within the armed forces might interpret this as a tacit signal that political killings were a legitimate part of the anti-insurgency campaign.” According to Human Rights Watch, not a single perpetrator has been successfully prosecuted. President Macapagal-Arroyo’s own investigative commission concludes that “some elements in the military were behind the killing of activists” and that ranking armed-forces personnel have failed in their duty to investigate, punish, and prevent the killings. After an early 2007 fact-finding mission, a UN special rapporteur expressed concern about the impact of these killings on the democratic process: “It intimidates vast numbers of civil society actors, it sends a message of vulnerability to all but the most well connected, and it severely undermines the political discourse which is central to a resolution of the problems confronting this country.” 12

Further challenges to democratic discourse have come in the form of attacks on the press. In 2006, Reporters Without Borders declared that “[a]fter Iraq, the Philippines is the most dangerous country for journalists.” Thirty-two journalists were killed for their reporting between 1991 and 2006, but only two cases have led to convictions. The government commission on media and activist killings points the finger at “local politicians, warlords, or big business interests” driven by a range of mainly local motives.A newer mode of media harassment was launched by the president’s husband, “First Gentleman” Jose Miguel Arroyo, who in 2006 filed defamation suits seeking a total of $1.4 million in damages against 43 journalists. He objected to stories accusing him of involvement in vote rigging and corruption; if convicted of defamation, a criminal offense, the journalists could also face imprisonment for six months to six years. A government attempt to charge other journalists with sedition in the wake of the February 2006 coup attempt was blocked by the Supreme Court. It is not clear to what extent these legal charges will intimidate or embolden the media, particularly given that libel and sedition laws have not in the past been effective means of curbing media criticism of government officials. Combined with the killings, however, these legal charges must be viewed as an attack on one of the major bulwarks of Philippine democracy. 13