By: Jullie Y. Daza
CHRISTINE Herrera, 49. Invoking editor’s prerogative, I called her Christine Guerrera. A warrior masquerading as a reporter. Fighter. Subversive. She saw only black and white, never gray. She was driven by hunger, the hunger for news and to tell the story well, even if it could mean another libel suit. She lived for her scoops, the deadline kept her going, by the hourly last-minutes to chase her sources, pursue her leads, trust her gut, ignore the “no comment” comments that would’ve deflated another reporter.
Christine Herrera, gone too soon. Dear Lord, you’ve taken her from us, you don’t know how she’s going to upset the peace and order up there, in her obsessive bid to unravel the mystery of life in the afterlife. This very minute she’s devising ways and means to scoop the h-ll out of the older journalists who’ve preceded her into your kingdom.
For starters, she’ll be needling and wheedling St. Peter to reveal the names of those VIPs who have been denied access beyond the pearly gates. What a story Peter’s list would make, back on earth, with Christine’s byline.
Congress was the Guerrera’s beat, and boy did she beat them up. Those were the days at Manila Standard during the era of Ricky Razon, when the editors enjoyed her not-for-publication, behind-the-scenes secrets, where with Fel V. Maragay covering Malacañang, their daily reports caused politics to sizzle and coruscate with scandals, denials, betrayals, lies and coverups.
Christine could be mischievous but she was reliable. I once told her, go ahead, make more mischief, I like you better that way. Her nose for news was a God-given, her sources trusted her.
But she could not trust herself to give up smoking. The last time we met for lunch with the Plaridel group two months ago, she snuck out twice to take her nicotine break (as was her habit). I scolded her lightly, but it was no skin off her nose. She had put on 2 or 3 lbs – which serious smoker gains weight beyond the age of 40, anyway? – and she was as lively as usual. Last Sunday, while in Bangkok with friends, her body suffered two deadly events, stroke and heart attack.
We’ve lost her, irrevocably, and now our Christmas party for five will not be complete, if there will be one at all.
Then again why not – with Arnel, Joyce, Hector – so we can recall Christine Guerrera’s war exploits and laugh and laugh until we drop the iced tea, the coffee, the composure.