Louis XIV syndrome

By: Juan L. Mercado
Philippine Daily Inquirer

Impeached Supreme Court Chief Justice Renato Corona skewered President Aquino for seeking to install “a puppet” in his place. A budding “dictator,” P-Noy wants the judiciary as his stamp pad, Corona said.

As in Marcos’ “New Society”? Then justices would trot behind Imelda Marcos, shielding her from the sun with a colored parasol. Remember Marcos made a big to-do about complying with Court decisions that he secretly dictated.

The 188 votes at the House of Representatives to dispatch the Articles of Impeachment to the Senate continued the President’s “bullying and threats,” Corona asserted. On the Supreme Court building steps, he vowed not to buckle, unlike the partisan Ombudsman Merceditas Gutierrez.

He mocked Aquino’s stance as “baluktot na daang matuwid” (crooked righteous path). Festooned with black ribbons, court employees chanted: “CJ, CJ, CJ.” They erupted with 56 rounds of applause as, surrounded by his wife Cristina and their children, Corona pledged to thwart an administration bent on “smearing the whole court through malice and fallacies.”

This was a rally in the old Plaza Miranda mould. Would that happen, say, in the lobby of France’s Court of Cassation or on the steps of the US Supreme Court adjacent to the Capitol? Unthinkable.

Alas it gave a coup de grâce to the cherished ideal of “practicing law in the grand manner.” We see instead the Louis XIV syndrome at work.

“L ’etat c’est moi,” this French monarch declared. I am the state. He merged his person with the institution. To humor Versailles’ elite, he appointed advisors as “estates general,” but he didn’t bother to even chat with them.

In the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo painted into the “Last Judgment” mural a pope being bundled to Hades. Among the 266 pontiffs since Peter the Fisherman, there have been a few sleazy characters. Pope Alexander VI was so corrupt that his surname, Borgia, remains even today a tag for debasement. But those who sought reforms did not confuse the Chair of Peter with the occasional bastard who perched on it.

Does Corona confuse charges against his person with a blanket smear of the court? No. He’s not your naïve Goldilocks. The raps range from sweeping his statement of assets and liabilities under the rug to misuse of the Judiciary Development Fund. These do not constitute tarring of the Supreme Court. However, a judiciary can be a convenient shield to deflect charges in a process that will break out of legal straitjackets.

An impeachment is, first and last, a battle for the hearts and minds of citizens. So, Corona spoke in Tagalog to reach the bakya crowd. He used as props his wife and kids as if he were addressing a bare-knuckle political rally.

Corona sallies forth as a dragon slayer, but his armor has two gaps. One, he is a midnight appointee. And second, the majority of Filipinos don’t see him as a justice in the mould of a Jose Abad Santos, Cecilia Muñoz Palma or Roberto Concepcion.

“He is no Claudio Teehankee,” snapped a Malacañang spokesman. In the Marcos Supreme Court, the late Teehankee emerged as the sole independent voice.

Before stepping down, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo issued midnight appointments to a Malacañang gardener, a personal manicurist and the Chief Justice, among other people. “How many jobs did she sign away?” asked Viewpoint in “Attila rides again.” (Inquirer, 5/18/10)

President Carlos Garcia fobbed off 350 nominees. GMA’s father Diosdado Macapagal tripled that to 1,717.

“But hackles bristled when she anointed Justice Renato Corona to succeed Supreme Court Chief Justice Reynato Puno,” Viewpoint noted. “That quarter-of-midnight appointment fractured the constitutional provision that handcuffs a President from making appointments 60 days before stepping down.”

Don’t disco, a score of voices counseled Corona. “Consider former Chief Justice Manuel Moran’s delicadeza,” Inquirer columnist Solita Monsod suggested. After a stint as ambassador, Moran waved away a midnight re-appointment. Leave that decision to the incoming president, Moran said.

“Do a Moran,” former President Fidel Ramos prodded his protégé. Ramos was first to endorse Corona for the Court. If only to save the Court, decline, suggested the Philippine Bar Association and Supreme Court Appointments Watch.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Hamlet warned. Corona did a Corona. In the process, he morphed into a de facto chief justice, former Sen. Rene Saguisag asserted. No, not de jure.

Pulse Asia’s latest survey reveals that “the least trusted among top national officials” is … guess who? Of 1,200 respondents, 27 percent “wouldn’t buy a second-hand car” from this man, as the old saw goes. A 6-percentage point surge was the “most marked movement” in the overall trust rating score.

Wearing crimson togas, senators took their oath as impeachment judges before the Christmas break. Roman aristocrat Cincinnatus, we recall, refused to receive messengers from the emperor until his wife fetched a toga.

In December 2000, Chief Justice Hilario Davide gaveled the Senate to begin impeachment against President Joseph Estrada. Eleven voted to seal the “second envelope” alleged to contain evidence against Erap. They were called the “Craven Eleven.” People Power II erupted and overruled the 11.

Have today’s toga-clad senators learned that the Louis XIV syndrome can be lethal?