ENRICHING DEMOCRATIC DISCOURSE: INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM FOR AN INFORMED CITIZENRY

By Sheila Coronel, Director, Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism
Presented at the 2003 Magsaysay Awardees' Lecture Series
Magsaysay Center, Manila, 2 September 2003

Let me start by telling you a story by way of explaining why I am in journalism and why I have faith in the press, which has been charged -- often rightly -- of being obsessed with scandal and sensation and of believing in nothing but profit.

I believe in the possibilities of the democratic process as well, despite the fact that democracy has caused all of us so much grief.

I believe because unlike many of you in this room today, I am old enough to remember a different time. I was in second year high school when Marcos declared martial law, padlocked Congress, closed down all the newspapers and television stations, and imprisoned politicians, journalists, and dissenters of all stripe. The TV channels of my teenage years were filled with the images of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos. The newspapers carried little else but news of the "New Society" and the good things that the Marcos regime was supposedly doing for our country. There was nothing that hinted of large-scale human rights abuses, the slaughter of Moros in Mindanao, or the plunder of the people's money.

Those of you who are young today will find this hard to imagine. In a world of 24/7 news carried by cable television, the Internet, and freewheeling newspapers and magazines, the sterile cocoon in which I grew up must seem terribly arcane. Imagine what it would be like if the newspapers, the radio stations, and the TV networks carried only one voice, only one version of the world, only the good that the government was supposedly doing.

A quarter of a century ago, the only way to get the truth out was to do so clandestinely, by literally passing newsletters from hand to hand.

Before I went into journalism, I was on the staff of an underground newspaper. We gathered and wrote the news ourselves. Then we typed our reports on stencil -- using a typewriter (which meant that the mistakes had to be painstakingly inked over). Since we didn't have access to a mimeographing machine, the stencil was put on a silkscreen frame. We would put newsprint on the floor, brush ink over the stencil, then press the sheets of paper onto the frame. This is the same process that is still sometimes used for printing on T-shirts. We printed 500 copies of the newspaper, and each of those sheets had to be silk-screened by hand.

You see, it was dangerous to Xerox or mimeograph these kinds of material at that time. We could be found out and reported. We could be arrested and our equipment, seized. Later on, we had access to a real printing press, but that was short-lived. There was a wave of arrests; some of my friends went into prison or the underground.

I, on the other hand, thought I would give "legitimate" that is, aboveground, journalism a chance. In 1982, I joined the staff of Panorama Magazine, then the largest-circulating Sunday magazine. 1982 was the same year Jose Burgos and the entire staff of We Forum, a small, independent newspaper, were hauled off to jail for writing that the medals that Marcos supposedly got for fighting valiantly in World War II were fake.

The rules in the company I worked for were quite clear, although they were never written or even spoken out loud: No stories critical of the ruling family; no photographs that showed the president or any member of the Marcos family in anything but a flattering light; no articles that even hinted that there was something less than legitimate about the family wealth.

An acquiescent press bred an unquestioning citizenry. The reason Marcos remained so long in power was not only because he terrorized the population and used the military to rein in dissenters. It was also because he controlled the media and the flow of information.

Fortunately for me, it was not long after I had become a journalist that things began to change. In 1983, after the assassination of Ninoy Aquino, journalists took risks by publishing independent newspapers that were not beholden to the regime. The so-called alternative press exposed the abuses of the Marcos government and the growing strength of the democracy movement, helping mobilize and inspire hundreds of thousands of Filipinos to take part in the first "people power" revolt. As Marcos's monopoly over news and information crumbled, so did his regime.

What we got in 1986 was freedom. And you cannot imagine how wonderful, how intoxicating it was. For the first time, we could write freely, without fear of censors, without the threat of closure or imprisonment.

In 1986, I was reporting for what was arguably the most intelligent, if not the most read, newspaper in town. Those were exciting times, and there was plenty to write about. After a while, however, the strain of filing stories everyday, of reporting without much depth or reflection took its toll. For a time, I covered Malacañang Palace, a task that entailed waiting for hours on the Palace grounds for officials to emerge, and then throwing questions at them as they walked past. It was called the ambush interview. Its result was the ambush report: short news items cobbled together from whatever the officials said, stories often bereft of background, context, or meaning. When the day's reporting was done, I would drive, utterly frustrated, from the Palace to the office of The Manila Chronicle where I worked. This, I thought, was not what journalism was all about.

By the late 1980s, the euphoria of freedom had evaporated. The media was increasingly being accused of abusing its liberty, of using it for the basest of motives: to sell newspapers and news programs. We were told that we did not deserve our freedom, that we were incapable of assuming the responsibility that went with it.

In 1989, we formed the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism. We were a group of like-minded journalists, and we realized that we couldn't do the kind of reporting we wanted if we remained in the newsrooms. The structure of newspapers, and their unforgiving, daily grind, were not conducive to in-depth reporting. Moreover, the interests of media proprietors sometimes limited what we could write about.

Let it also be said that we were confident of our abilities and of what we could do. We thought it would be such a waste if we languished in the newsrooms, if we frittered away the free press for which so many had so ardently fought by being content with merely filing stories that shed no light and uncovered nothing new.

Because we had experienced being journalists at a time when the media was muzzled -- with disastrous results on the governance of our society -- we were keenly aware of the need for a watchdog press. We thought that the techniques of investigative reporting -- which include the use of public records, extensive interviewing, and in-depth, long-term research -- are crucial if the media is to be an effective watchdog.

Through the years, the use of these techniques have enabled us to ferret out corruption in the highest places -- including the presidential palace, Congress, and the Supreme Court. We have also employed them effectively in exposing the link between politicians and logging, the evil of child labor, and the roots of military mutinies.

Our work is based on two fundamental premises: First, the capacity of citizens to understand the issues that have an impact on their lives, and second, the power of an informed citizenry to effect positive change.

From where do we draw such faith in the power of the people? Many in the media, after all, believe that all the audience wants is to be entertained, that out there are just passive consumers perfectly content with nonstop titillation.

We believe otherwise, and our faith has been reaffirmed by events. In 2000, my colleagues and I at the PCIJ began our most ambitious investigation: the unexplained wealth of then President Joseph Estrada. That investigation took nearly a year, with five journalists, three researchers, and about a dozen interns taking part. All we had to begin with was coffee shop talk of fancy mansions being built for presidential mistresses and of Estrada taking cuts from various business deals.

The President was then immensely popular and enjoying an uneasy honeymoon with the media. He was also very sensitive about criticism and had in fact hit back at his media critics in various ways, including the withdrawal of advertising and forcing the sale of a critical newspaper to one of his cronies. When we embarked on our investigation, we were not even sure we could publish our reports. But we thought we should do the research first and worry about its dissemination afterward.

One track of our investigation focused on the formation of corporations by the President and his various families. This required lining up at the Securities and Exchange Commission to get corporate papers. Through a computer search, we found that Estrada and his families had formed 66 companies. We needed to examine the records of these companies so we could put our research together. The problem was we could only get three records a day, so that task alone took many weeks.

The second track of our research was the acquisition of real estate and the construction of houses for presidential mistresses. This entailed getting land records in the various municipalities where the houses were being built. We did this by trial and error because we didn't even know in whose names the properties were registered. We also talked to architects, interior designers, contractors, landscape artists, even roof-tile suppliers, as well as neighbors, village associations, even security guards.

What we found was this: The President, who had been in office just a little over two years, had acquired 17 pieces of real estate since he assumed office in 1998. By our estimate, these properties totaled P2 billion, and most of them were in the name of either shell companies or presidential cronies. We found a pattern in the use of a law firm to incorporate the shell companies, and in the use of contractors and project managers for the construction. We examined building plans and photographs and we found the houses were built in a uniformly opulent style and were designed by some of the country's top architectural firms.

By the time we were ready to publish our first report on the mansions, Ilocos Sur Governor Luis "Chavit" Singson had dropped his bombshell about the President receiving payoffs from illegal gambling. By then, the media environment was starting to change and had become more receptive to investigative reporting about Estrada. The public, too, was hungry for information about the goings on at the Palace, in part because all these were, for the most part, hidden from public view till then.

After our first report on the mansions was published, more and more individuals came to us to offer information, thus facilitating the publication of more reports. We received tips through email, text messages, phone calls, and letters. Some informants sent us photographs of the houses; others provided exact addresses that made the paper chase much easier. In the end, three of our reports were cited in the impeachment complaint filed by the House of Representatives against the President.

More than that, our reports -- which were published in newspapers, aired on television, and disseminated on our website and in countless email groups -- opened the eyes of Filipinos to the truth behind a President who said his heart was with the poor. We documented -- on paper, and in meticulous detail -- the heights of presidential excess. For example, we found building plans showing that one of the most fabulous presidential mansions -- which was being built on a 5,000-square meter property in one of Manila's most exclusive gated communities -- had its own beauty parlor, theatre, sauna, a living room the size of a hotel lobby, and two gigantic kitchens, one for preparing hot food, the other for cold food.

Our reports ensured that Filipinos would not remain clueless about such excesses. Our articles were discussed and debated by citizens who had an interest in the affairs of government. And we witnessed, during four days at Edsa in January 2001, what an informed citizenry could do: they could oust a thieving president. At Edsa, we also saw for ourselves the power of conscientious reporting in holding officials to account.

Investigative journalism is hard, lonely work. One cannot keep on plodding without faith, without a sense that one is making a contribution to public discourse and to building a vibrant democracy. Citizens, after all, cannot debate intelligently if they do not have the information they need. They cannot decide wisely if they are bereft of knowledge. The rigorous research that investigative journalism requires results in the production of new knowledge, in the uncovering of new information that empowers citizens. Compelling reporting, especially of scandalous corruption and abuse, also has the power to engage citizens -- and to enrage them. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It relies on the collective wisdom and action of informed citizens. Without this, democracy is a sham.

Investigative reporting helps make such engagement possible. Sometimes, it also makes people so angry that they demand that something should be done. In countries such as ours where democratic institutions are fragile and corrupt, and where the rule of law is at best erratic, the journalist's role is not just to passively record events. Because other institutions are weak or compromised, the press -- not just in the Philippines, but in other countries that are similarly situated -- has ended up doing what the police, the courts, parties and parliaments should do: exposing malfeasance, calling for reforms, and encouraging public action against corruption and the abuse of power.

Most of the time, the fear of media exposure is the only deterrent to official abuse. Officials often have no qualms about stealing from the public coffers. They know that courts can be corrupted and the wheels of justice not only grind exceedingly slow, sometimes they do not grind at all.

Investigative reporting can help break this chain of impunity. In some notable instances, media exposés have compelled corrupt officials to resign. If they don't, public pressure forces governments to bring to justice those guilty of malfeasance. Because of investigative reporting, wrong policies are reversed, extravagant projects are shelved, and politicians whose misbehavior has been exposed lose elections.

Investigative reporting, therefore, helps educate both officials and citizens on the notions of accountability and transparency. By exposing crooks, investigative reports not only publicly name and shame them. Exposés also show that corruption and the abuse of power are not publicly acceptable, and that those guilty can expect retribution, if not from the trial courts, at least from the court of public opinion.

In addition, investigative reporting helps curb some of the excesses of a free press. This is especially true in new democracies. A media explosion often follows the fall of dictatorships. After Ferdinand Marcos was toppled in 1986, for example, scores of new newspapers and radio stations sprang up, as citizens basked in the novelty of a free press. In Indonesia, hundreds of new newspapers opened after the 32-year reign of President Suharto ended in May 1998. Indonesians called it the "euphoria press." Euphoria is a wonderful thing, but it does not always give birth to good journalism. There is a lack of skilled journalists to staff the news organizations created by the media boom. The boom also results in intense competition, which often means racing for the headlines and sacrificing substance and depth.

Investigative reporting offers a way out of these problems. It addresses the problem of skills by forcing journalists to sharpen research and reporting techniques. It helps resolve the problem of sensationalism because investigative reports require sobriety and depth. They require that journalists be careful with their methods and that they act in a manner that is above reproach.

We have seen that investigative reports also help sell newspapers and give publications a competitive edge. If constantly exposed to excellent reporting, audiences develop a more discerning palate and will learn to tell the difference between fast-food journalism and substantial reading fare. In time, they may even get weaned from the merely distracting and entertaining, and will demand more in-depth reporting. Unless exposed to new ideas and better kinds of journalism, audiences will stagnate and news organizations will be stuck pandering to their undeveloped tastes.

Apart from improving the quality of the media and the audience, investigative reporting helps widen the scope of journalistic freedom. By constantly digging for information, by forcing government and the private sector to release documents, and by subjecting officials and other powerful individuals to rigorous questioning, investigative journalists expand the boundaries of what is possible to print or air.

At the same time, they accustom officials to an inquisitive press. Officials eventually realize that releasing information benefits the government. If official information is not available, journalists will tend instead to report lies, rumors, and speculations, with no one the better for it. It may take time, but officials must be convinced that informed citizens make better citizens, even if in the process government takes a beating in the press. Any government, no matter how corrupt or autocratic, has reform-minded officials and bureaucrats who appreciate the journalists' role and are willing to cooperate with reporters in the release of information. In the long term, the constant give and take between journalists and officials helps develop a culture -- and a tradition -- of disclosure.

Carefully researched, high-impact investigative reports help build the media's credibility and support among the public. The press as an institution is strengthened if journalists have demonstrated that they serve the public interest by uncovering malfeasance and abuse. A credible press is assured of popular backing if it is muzzled or otherwise constrained. Such support may not be forthcoming if journalists squander their freedoms on the superficial and the sensational

Public support buttresses the media's capacity to play its watchdog role. Investigative journalism gives the media not only more bark, but also more bite, making them better watchdogs. The better the media, the more capable they are of finding proof of wrongdoing, the more they can hold powerful individuals and institutions accountable.

Dictators like Marcos and Suharto could rob their countries blind not only because they controlled the levers of power, but also because they muzzled the media. Such plunder by similar regimes in Africa and Latin America was possible partly because of an acquiescent press. Would these leaders have been able to get away with their crimes if inquisitive journalists had dogged their trail and exposed their abuses? Probably not. This is why democracies need skilled journalists with the ability and the courage to ask tough questions and to keep an eye on those who wield power and create wealth. Otherwise, they risk being trapped in a cycle of plunder and abuse.

Increasingly, in many parts of the world, the realization dawns that democracy does not bring an end to corruption, cronyism, or environmental devastation. Abuses merely take new forms. Corruption, for example, becomes more decentralized, no longer concentrated in the head of state and his family. Many more snouts feast on the public trough and it becomes ever more important to guard it. The criminal waste of public resources continues in scandalous proportions and very often, unless the media expose these crimes and unmask the criminals, reforms do not take place.

The danger, of course, is that sustained reporting on corruption would lead to widespread cynicism about government. Investigative reports must make an impact in terms of policy reversals or personnel changes, or at least the initiation of official investigations of the wrongdoing that they have exposed. Otherwise, citizens will think that nothing can be done, and they will view exposés as yet another distraction proffered by the media.

Often, news organizations that have invested in an exposé will try to make sure that something does happen, by eliciting reactions to their investigation or writing follow-up stories that examine what has been done. Sometimes, all the media get involved in an issue, with reporters from various news organizations investing resources to follow up on a particularly explosive revelation. This was the case with Estrada, when both television and print reporters followed the trail of the unexplained wealth story that we broke.

Investigative journalists are lone-ranger types: many of them work best alone or in small teams. The PCIJ itself has realized that if reforms are to be sustained, there must be a conscious effort to develop a community of journalists who can trade techniques and sources as well as provide each other support when they are being hounded by the powerful. Thus, we regularly conduct training courses for journalists in the Philippines and in Southeast Asia. The role of press organizations is also important. These groups can act as lobbyists for journalists' rights and for greater access to information. They can monitor infringements on press freedom and develop mechanisms to assist and protect journalists. Press groups can also help improve skills through training and internships.

In 1998, the PCIJ, together with other journalist associations in Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines got together to form the Southeast Asian Press Alliance, a watchdog group to promote press freedom in the region. The alliance facilitates exchanges of information among press groups, keeps track of press-freedom violations, and conducts training seminars. The PCIJ is also a founding member of the Freedom Fund for Filipino Journalists, which raises funds for journalists who have been killed or hurt in the line of duty.

In the end, however, journalists alone cannot solve social ills. Civil society plays a role and eventually, the wheels of government have to be set in motion to fight malfeasance and abuse. At best, journalism plays a catalytic role. Investigative reports enrich public debate and put on the news agenda issues that should be of concern to citizens. By probing, for example, the consequences of corruption in terms of the quality of government services or the magnitude of the waste of public resources, journalists help readers to understand the problems of governance and to make decisions about who they should vote for and what changes they should demand. At their best, exposés should make people angry rather than cynical, and move citizens to action. Outrage makes change possible.

Ideally, investigative reporting should help raise the level of public discourse by bringing issues of corruption away from personal attacks or partisan politics to the level of policy, institutional, and social reform. Apart from the psychic rewards of exposing crooks, "naming and shaming" are important because they make corruption visible and intelligible to the public. Investigative journalists should look not only at who is responsible for the wrongdoing they have uncovered and how it was done, but also at why it was possible, and how it can be corrected. For this reason, the PCIJ has featured the work of reformers, whistleblowers, and organizations combating corruption. Citizens need to be informed about innovations that have worked or reforms that have been implemented -- and what still needs to be done -- so they can temper their outrage with a measure of hope.