Outside the box: The saddest law office in the world

It’s easy to miss the sign, just the words “notary public” and a room number on a piece of bond paper on the wall behind a girl tending a roadside photocopier. I went up two flights of stairs in a nondescript building and knocked on the door. “Ito ho yung notary public?” I asked around. A middle-aged man quickly came to the door, smiled and replied, “Dito po.” A ratty white T-shirt, its neckline frayed, hung loosely from his shoulders. He was wearing a pair of shorts and sandals, and would not seem out of place in a suburban house lounging on a lazy Saturday morning, except that this was a busy Tuesday afternoon in the heart of a bustling commercial district in Quezon City. It was late December, and I needed to get a legal document done before the end of the year.  This was the only one that offered notary services near the office where I had to submit the document, and as he went about stamping it, there was nothing to do but look at the surroundings. A jumble of plastic grocery bags and piles of documents covered the tables, all coated with dust. Small tubs of dishwashing paste sat on top of a cabinet beside a refrigerator, next to a wall where a yellowing certificate with the Supreme Court logo hung proudly, along with a plaque from a prominent civic organization. Complete volumes of SCRA lined the shelves along one wall, and on a side table, there was a box of bakery products. At the far end of the room sat a younger man, his feet propped up on a chair and his backpack resting on the floor. I had been wondering about the bottle of alcohol on the table when he slowly stood up and started removing needles sticking out of the head of an elderly lady whom I had not noticed earlier; she had been hidden behind two feet of documents piled high on the table. We chatted about acupuncture for a while, as he advised the lady -- who seemed to be a relative of the lawyer -- about bad air and other causes of disease. While the healer was talking, one would surely be forgiven for thinking that if only the place had been cleaned a bit she probably wouldn’t get sick. No amount of modern or traditional medicine would cure diseases in what could well be the saddest law office in the world. The notary public brought to mind the gaggle of lawyers who would get an eyeful from Commissioner Haydee Yorac during election protests in the 1980s, when the weirdest members of the legal profession seemed to emerge from the woodwork. Back then I wondered, if there are hao siao reporters and AC-DC broadcasters, what do lawyers call those who are not quite as respectable as their other panyeros? At a higher level, the same spectacle is unfolding right before our eyes with the televised impeachment proceedings. There are many who deserve to be scorned, while other players get our reluctant albeit pitiful respect for their valiant defense of obvious wrongdoing. Far worse, however, is the scandal that has engulfed what should be the most respectable of our institutions. As a supposedly merit-based and non-political branch of government, the judiciary is our last recourse in resolving conflicts. But when the Chief Justice himself rails against a colleague on national television for allegedly plotting to get his seat, can the ordinary taxpayer be faulted for losing faith? It must be a very sad courtroom, indeed, when the high court meets en banc once a week while the public is feasting on every little detail of its leader’s dealings most weekday afternoons. In fairness, just like the notary public who was very gracious and nice despite his shabby surroundings, the Chief Justice appears to be a decent man on the surface. There are those who fault pride and ambition, the weaknesses of many a tragic character through the ages, for his current predicament. But while it will only take some sweeping and dusting to give the lawyer’s office a healthy sheen, it will take a thorough housecleaning to get rid of the legal malady that afflicts our courts.