S1E81 - The law treats all equally, but some are 'more equal' than others

y now there are just a handful of students I still have not called for recitation for the first time. I quietly swore to myself I’d run the entire class list before the Finals. 

     I think one way to do that is to avoid calling the chatterboxes of Alpha Class: students like Deema, Kata, Jack, Juan, Hannah—even Jeffrox Laquiza Layao, evidently--these people can talk the wallpaper off the wall, if you let them. 

     So before I even stepped off the car in the parking lot, I made sure to isolate their classcards and put a rubber band to bind them together and placed them at the end of the deck.

     So when I walked in the classroom, I was annoyed to see these very same people raising their hands ALREADY.

     “I haven’t even asked a question yet, for crying out loud!” I said.

     “Sir, we have a question!” they all chorused.

     “We’re not discussing THAT, whatever it is,” I stood firm. 

     Of course, I caved in almost immediately, “What?? What is your question, Mister…uh…where’s Mister Denze Dean Pumayag?”

     “Present, sir. Actually, I have no question…”

     “Shut up!” I blocked the retreat right away. Of course he has a question and even if he didn’t, I know this class. In a matter of seconds, someone will have written the question on a small piece of paper and slipped it to the guy reciting to ask me, to throw me off my prepared lecture. 

     “I ask the questions,” I said, “and let me start with, are you another one of those people with a two-part first name also, Denze Dean?”

     “I suppose so, sir. That is my compound first name—Denze Dean!”

     “Hmm…we’ll you’re missing a letter ‘L’ somewhere,” I observed, “if that thing went all the way to ‘Denzel,’ you might have a shot at a date with Miss Deema there, or with one of the Ondafli twins, Miss Glad or Miss Gladys!”  I teased the hunk-looking fellow who, I see from his classcard, is from Itogon, Benguet.  

     He also looked to me to have some kind of very diluted Japanese blood, perhaps.

     “Denze is a Japanese name my half-Japanese mother gave me, sir.”

     I knew it. 

     “Of course,” I said, “Itogon was one of the last stands of the Japanese Imperial Army in Northern Luzon during World War II. So I take it your father was some kind of ninja or samurai or Kawasaki or something?” 

     “Oh, no, sir! My father is Filipino-Chinese. His name is Justo Co, sir.”  Mister hunk said.

     “Well, if your father is surnamed Co, shouldn’t your surname also be Co?”  I asked.

     “Uhmm… my parents did not marry sir, because of the war. It was just too frantic at the time. But my father always wanted to marry my mother, it was my mother who kept saying ‘no, let’s wait for the right time’ I think because she just didn’t want to give up her maiden surname, sir.”

     “I see. What’s your half-Japanese mother’s FIRST name?”

     “Ayuko, sir.”  For some reason, the class started giggling and Miss Deema started lightly stomping her feet again. Clearly, these bastards know something I don’t.

     “Let me sort this out, Denze Dean,” I put things together slowly, “You bear your mother’s maiden surname because your father kept proposing marriage to her and your mother kept saying no?”

     “Yes, sir. That’s right.”

     “Your father introduced himself to your mother, knelt before your mother and said, ‘Hi, Justo Co…’ and your mother replied ‘Ayuko Pumayag??”  the class exploded in boisterous laughter. 

     “The comedy writes itself, sir, hehehe,” Denze Dean said.

     “I know,” I said, “and at the rate Miss Deema here stomps her feet at every funny situation in class, she’ll wear out those pink sneakers very quickly.”

     “If you find my name too long, you can just refer to me as ‘Dean Pumayag’ sir,” Denze said.

     “You CONSENT to me calling you ‘dehin pumayag?”  the class burst out in more guffaws.

     “No, I think I’ll just call you ‘Puma’ in class,” I said and it brought a huge, stupid grin to his face.

     “I like it, sir! It’s only one syllable away from ‘pumasa!” the fellow said.

     Jack butted in, “or one syllable away from ‘pumalpak.”  More guffaws. Again, I had to bang the blackboard.

     I was right. I wasted too much time and now Miss Kata (or it might have been Jeffrox) had already slipped a note to ‘Puma’ with a written question.

     “Sir, we saw on TV the rich guy who ran over a security guard with his SUV in Mandaluyong has surrendered. And instead of putting him in handcuffs, the police even hosted a press conference for him. Why is that?”  Puma surreptitiously read the note.

     “Because he is rich.” I said.  

     The class fell silent.

      “Oh, I’m sorry, class. Were you expecting a long answer?”  I said sarcastically. So I said it again. Slowly this time:    

     “Beeeecooooos….heeeee….eeeees….reeeech!”

     I could sense the deep anger welling in the hearts of my Alpha class. These are law students. They’ve been weaned on a rich diet fed them by all their professors teaching nothing but law and order, justice and equality, and good triumphing over evil.

     Deema stood up, her eyebrows bouncing up and down, her right forefinger oscillating like one of those woodcarving penises that spring out when you pull off the barrel, “But what about the constitutional guarantee of equal protection of the law, sir??”

     “What about it?” I said.

     “Well, the Bill of Rights is very clear and emphatic about it, sir. no person shall be denied the equal protection of the law. The law must treat everybody equal, which means the police must treat this SUV driver accused of FRUSTRATED MURDER the same way they treat any other person accused of a serious crime!” Deema said.

     “Well, if you must know, Miss Deema, the police is treating this accused a hundred times even MORE HARSHLY than  another person also accused of serious crime. So I think we can afford to let this one slide by.”

     “Never!” Miss Laarnee Iwasan suddenly interrupted, “the law must be the same for everybody, the treatment must be the same for every accused. Besides, WHEN sir? WHEN did the police treat somebody LIGHTER than they are treating this one now? Please tell us!”

    “Okay,” I sat back in my chair, “do you remember on September 19, 2021 some guy named Julian Ongpin—let’s pretend we don’t know what relation to the former Trade Minister—was caught with 12 grams of shabu in a hotel in La Union, not far from here. So a case for illegal possession of shabu was filed against him. Then less than a month later, November 15, 2021, the charge was dismissed.”  I said, as I leaned farther back on my swivel chair, stretched my legs and put up my feet on top of the table.

     Jack Makataruz stood up, “It’s 12 grams of a banned substance alright, sir, but the Dangerous Drugs Act requires a minimum of 20 grams for it to be considered above personal consumption volume. It’s really tough to get a drug-trafficking conviction out of 12 grams.”

     “Oh, did I forget to mention?” I said, “his girlfriend was also found dead in his hotel room.”  The class went, “Oooooooh……!”

     “The police said there were no signs of any physical struggle, no ligatures on the neck, no slit wrists, no loud screaming at night, no broken glasses, no torn drapes or blood-stained curtains or upturned furnitures, no suicide note—police said there was NOTHING to suggest that anything untoward happened in that room with just him and his girlfriend inside…well, if you don’t consider the presence of a dead body as ‘untoward’, of course.”  I said, looking at my fingernails to suggest total boredom.

     Cabo Buhan, my law student with a pre-Med undergrad, stood up next, “I guess the law is harsh but it is the law, sir. You said it yourself, the police found nothing in the crime scene—“

     “They found a dead body,” I interrupted.

     “Right, sir, which might have been just comatose and just died later during the autopsy,” his classmates burst out laughing once more, “in any case, sir, the prosecution has the burden of proving Julian Ongpin’s guilt beyond reasonable doubt, don’t they?”

     I looked at him disbelievingly, “There are no words--”  the class burst out in guffaws again.

     “—to even begin to describe how ridiculous that sounds, Cabo.”

     “Anyway,” I continued, “your classmate Cabo here is wrong. In this case, the prosecution did not have any burden to prove anything.---”    

     “What Rule is THAT, sir??!” Deema practically screamed.

     “The Rule of Non-Necessary Acquittal,” I said. My students’ eyes all grew wide.

     Aha! For the first time, Teacher’s Pet is stumped. Even she didn’t know the Rule, so she meekly said, “Can… can… can you please state that Rule again, sir?”

     “My pleasure, Miss Deema,” I said as I sat up and looked the class straight in the eye, “The prosecution shall have absolutely no duty to prove any fact or allegation in a criminal case that was NEVER FILED.”

     The Alpha Class fell silent. 

     “See, here, class. In the Ongpin case, there is certainly wrongful death. There is substance abuse, and there’s CCTV footage supporting circumstantial evidence. No murder case was filed. Not attempted, nor frustrated, not even homicide. Not even serious physical injuries, if you really want to stretch the sarcasm that far.”

     “So here in this more recent SUV ‘traffic accident’ you don’t even have a dead body. If police were not minded to file a case in the La Union incident which had a dead body, what do you think they will do in this case with a couple of broken ribs?” I asked rhetorically.

     “Equal protection demands that you exercise the same discretion—AND INDISCRETION—when dealing with two more or less similar situations.     See, the police have IN BOTH CASES declined to identify the accused initially, they have given both accused time allowance to surrender voluntarily, they have issued a non-restrictive ‘lookout bulletin’ and said in BOTH CASES that this was not equivalent to a ‘Hold Departure Order,’ they have allowed lawyers to represent persons who are ‘at-large’ without even warning those lawyers that THAT is textbook ‘obstruction of justice,’ I could go on and on,” I said, "and that's for BOTH CASES. So what more equality can you possibly ask for??"

      “Equal protection? I say that as far as the PNP is concerned, this is all par-for-course for them.”

      “But when something looks suspicious on its face, shouldn’t government prosecutors step into the picture, sir?” Deema asked.

     “That’s the OLD RULE,” I explained, “in the old days, a FISCAL doesn’t have to do much contemplation. He just takes ONE GLANCE at the situation, and if he thinks there is PRIMA FACIE--that means "on its face"-- showing of a crime, he can indict a suspect. What is the rule today, Miss Kata?”

      “PROBABLE CAUSE, sir,” Kata said meekly, “it gives the prosecutor a great leeway to determine if there is reasonable grounds to engender a well-founded belief that a crime may have been committed, before the prosecutor can indict.”

     “Count them, class: (1) reasonable grounds, (2) well-founded belief, (3) that a crime MAY have been committed--that’s THREE levels of discretion, versus one under the old rule. You give me that much allowance to GUESS, I’ll toss the coin everytime!”  I said.

     “But that is ABSURD, sir!” Deema said.

     “Take it up with Congress, Miss Deema,”  I said, “I’ll see you next week. Class dismissed.”*

(You can read the other lectures you missed in class here: “alphasectionclass.blogspot.com”)

S1E80 - Why do Filipinos love to notarize EVERYTHING?

ven with just 25 students in a class, it’s easy to skip calling a few names for recitation when you’re just shuffling classcards randomly. Those who escape being called are considered the “lucky” ones—but all luck runs out eventually.

“Where’s Mister Jefferd Roxas Layao?”

“Present, sir!”

“Haven’t I ever called you to recite before, Mr. Layao?”

“Not yet, sir, but I’m always ready!” this bright-faced fellow, who defied the odds of getting called to recite for months, said.

“You have a very political-sounding middle name there, Jefferd. Are there any more interesting things to know about ‘Roxas’?” I asked.

“Yes, sir! It’s NOT my middle name. It’s my second name, I have a two-part first name—Jefferd Roxas—that’s why my friends call me ‘Jeffrox’ for short, sir.“

“Really? That’s interesting. So what is your middle name, Jeffrox?”

“Laquiza, sir!” his classmates are starting to giggle. Miss Deema Niwala, who was sitting behind him, was starting to stomp her feet lightly as if anticipating something funny.

“Now, wait a minute,” I said, “are you telling me your full name is ‘Jeffrox Laquiza Layao??” the whole class burst out laughing.

“That’s what my father named me!” Jeffrox said proudly.

“WHAT is your father’s name, Mike Hanopol??” I asked. The whole class is roaring with laughter now, Miss Deema is at full gallop doing her feet-stomping routine.

“Never mind, don’t answer that question,” I just said, “I’ll just assume that because you ARE a jeproks, you must have inherited a strong 1970’s hippie influence from your father.”

Deema interrupted, as usual without being called, “Oh, no, sir! Jeffrox is the farthest thing from a hippie! He’s a total prude, look at him. He has short hair, he shaves, brushes his teeth, he even takes a bath everyday!” Deema said, barely completing her sentence before erupting in more guffaws she couldn’t hold back.

“What kind of hippie takes a bath everyday??” I said, “you are a disgrace to your hippie stereotype, Jeffrox!”

My Alpha Class was roaring in laughter so hard, I had to bang the blackboard to restore decorum in class.

“Alright focus, people! FOCUS!” I said, “this evening I want to clarify a concept that many ordinary Filipinos have a lot of misgivings about, and that is: what it means to have a document NOTARIZED. What is a Notary Public, what does he do, what is the effect when something is notarized yada yada. Alright, Jeffrox, can you tell us, what is a ‘PUBLIC INSTRUMENT?’”

“A traditional gangsa that anybody can play, sir?” Jeffrox played around a bit. I know he knows the answer, so I gave him a stone-cold stare to flush out the real answer.

“I’m sorry, sir…a ‘public instrument’ is any document that is kept in a public archive. All information contained in such a document belongs to the public domain which means anyone from the public may have access to such information and may even obtain a copy of that document as a matter of right,” Jeffrox said.

“That’s correct. Now where is this ‘public archive’? Where can one go and research about a public instrument?” I asked next.

“It exists in three places, sir. In the files of the notary public who notarized it, in the records of the Clerk-of-court of the place where the notary public is commissioned, and for documents ten years or older in the microfilm archives of the National Library,” said Jeffrox.

“Very good,” I said, “now who is this Notary Public that you keep mentioning?”

“Well, here in the Philippines, sir, a Notary Public is a LAWYER who has been commissioned by the court to authenticate the authorship of documents and administer oaths for that purpose, for a limited but renewable period of two years,” said Jeffrox.

“Are all lawyers notaries public, Jeffrox?”

“No, sir. But all notaries public are lawyers. Some lawyers, like you sir, don’t bother to renew their notarial commissions after they expired,” Jeffrox said, letting out a little bit of private information only my students know.

“Well, in my own defense,” I began to explain, “I spent a princely sum of money going down to the Supreme Court to get my clearances, filing my petition in court, and everything only to notarize 10 documents in 2 years. So it’s been cost impractical.”

Deema stood up, “We’ve always wondered about that, sir, why don’t you make a decent living out of notarizing documents, like many lawyers we know out there?”

“Well, they notarize a lot of documents. I don’t,” I said.

“But why, sir? Why do you notarize so few documents?” Deema chased the matter some more.

“Well, if you must know—and this is part of what I want to discuss tonight—I discourage people from having everything notarized if it’s not necessary. The other day a parent asked me to notarize her daughter’s ‘Field Trip Liability Waiver Form’ because without it the school would not allow her daughter to join a field trip. I said my commission is expired but I don’t recommend that she go to another notary, who I’m pretty sure would gladly notarize it.” The class went “Oooooooh…..!”

“Jeffrox, explain to your classmates why you think my action was correct.” I said.

“Yes, sir. You were correct because the school’s liability, if anything untoward happens to the child during that field trip—that cannot be waived. School teachers are in ‘locu parenti’ standing, meaning they act as substitute parents. So they are always responsible, even if the parents release them from that responsibility through a waiver. That waiver is invalid, sir, because it’s contrary to law and public policy.”

“And an invalid waiver is what, Jeffrox?”

“It’s defeasible, sir, it's no good. It’s a mere scrap of paper.”

“Would notarizing that waiver make any difference?” I followed up.

“No, sir. Notarization cannot add validity to an invalid instrument. But it is an element of validity for SOME documents,” Jeffrox answered.

“Explain that, Miss Kata—where are you??”

“I’m here, sir!” my English-major student stood up, “if the law specifically requires a document to be a ‘public instrument’ then notarization is compulsory, like in contracts, deeds, conveyances—anything that might require proving under the Statute of Frauds, sir.”

“Let’s not get too deep here, Miss Kata, but WHAT is the Statute of Fraud?” I steered her back to basics.

“It’s the precautionary concept behind the expression ‘TALK IS CHEAP, TALK IS FORGOTTEN’ so the law requires contracts to be written in black-and-white, and for the contracting parties to swear by its contents under legal oath, sir. In other words, all contracts must be ‘public instruments’ to be actionable.”

“What does it mean for a contract to be ‘actionable’ Mister…. Makataruz. Where are you, Jack?” I looked for my student with the mohawk hairstyle--or sometimes with a bandido bandana on his head.

“I’m here, sir! A contract is actionable if the parties can sue upon it. That’s why the law requires contracts to be notarized, so the court doesn’t waste any time making the parties prove their obligations,” Jack answered.

“Suppose one party raises the defense that he did not understand the contract?”

Deema stood up, and before I could say anything, she took off, “You were going to call me, sir!”

“I was??”

“Yes, sir, because you wanted to ask what role the notarization plays in that situation. Well, a notary ascertains two things: (1) that the persons appearing before him are the same persons who executed the document, and (2) that they swear under oath they understood what it meant. So, in a way, a notary public is like a forensic quality control officer who saves the court a lot of time investigating a contract. It does make court proceedings a lot more efficient, doesn’t it, sir?” said the class ‘teacher’s pet.’

“Normally, I call on students because I want an answer,” I said, “I don’t really call on them because I want a question!” her classmates giggle.

“Wrap this up, Mister Dimacaawat. Where are you, Juan?”

“I’m here, sir!” Juan stood up, “so the main reason, really, why documents are notarized is to bind the persons who make those documents to honor any statement, declaration or undertaking they knowingly made, so that they cannot wiggle out of them if anybody from the public confronts them with a copy of it, or with any information derived from those documents.”

“What if they contradict what they said in those documents, Juan?”

“They commit perjury, sir. It’s a criminal case, lying under oath. And in terms of how expensive the recommended bail for it is, it’s way up there with falsification of public instrument!”

Deema butted in, “So who said TALK IS CHEAP? Not if you’re a liar!”

“Okay, that about covers the basics,” I said, “next meeting, I want you to to research ahead on how to determine if a document is a fraud. And I want examples.” I said.

“I can give one now, sir!” Deema leaped up, “an appointment paper is fraudulent if you lack the qualification but got appointed anyway!”

“Save it, Miss Deema,” I growled at the girl, “class dismissed!”*

S1E76 - The stringent requirements for getting a TRO

am deeply bothered by that Temporary Restraining Order (TRO) issued by a court stopping the holding of the Annual Regular General Assembly of Members (ARGAM) of the Benguet Electric Cooperative (BENECO).

But before anything, let me make my proper disclosures: I am not counsel of either party in that case. I am not even a registered member-consumer-owner (MCO) of BENECO. I am, of course, a lawyer, and I do represent some individuals connected with BENECO but NOT in that case.

Also, that ARGAM was supposed to be held last June 4, but because of the TRO is was not held. So whatever I write here is moot and academic, the law-abiding community is complying with the court’s order. No one is defying it, least of all me.

The reason I’m writing this is for purely educational purposes. Ignorantia legis non excusat. Ignorance of the law excuses no one. This is another way of saying nobody has any excuse not to try to understand the law. There is nothing so arcane or difficult about the law that one can say, “I don’t understand it so how can I obey it?” No, no, no—the law is written in simple English. You CAN understand it. Anybody can. But, at the very least, you have to TRY.

This also places the burden on those of us who DO understand the law better than others to help advance the cause of legal education in this country. If you’re not happy with the state of political awareness among the average citizens, TAKE THE BLAME because you who knows better could have educated some of them.

First of all, reject the popular suggestion that TRO’s are “for sale.” In fact, TRO’s are FREE. If you are one of those new lawyers who just took your lawyer’s oath—or one of their new clients—understand that obtaining a TRO is NOT a great achievement or an indication of exceptional legal prowess. TRO’s issue as a matter of course (the variety that lasts for 20 days extendible). And a 72-hour “emergency TRO” will issue as a matter of course AND with only the most nominal requirement of due process. Don’t expect a thorough contemplation of the deepest arguments for and against a TRO to be the basis upon which it is granted. You might be thinking of an INJUNCTION (whether preliminary or permanent)—that uses up more brain matter to argue for or against and win. But a TRO? Any prudent judge will err on the side of granting it because it is much easier to prevent an action than to undo its effect.

But what a judge must do is just make sure the person (natural or artificial) applying for the restraining order is ENTITLED to it.

To be entitled to a restraining order, you must prove that you have sought it to protect a CLEAR RIGHT. This requirement is so specific that the Rules and the Supreme Court has often qualified that this right must be A RIGHT "IN ESSE" (meaning starkly essential).

Let me illustrate the difference of an ordinary right from a right in esse. If you want to rebook a bus or plane ticket, that is an ordinary right. But if you are already at the boarding gate, and the flight stewardess refuses to let you board because you were late 10 minutes so she gave your seat to a chance passenger, you have a right “in esse” that is about to be trampled on. Sure, you and the flight stewardess can debate about the validity, interpretation and application of the punctuality policies of the airline. At the boarding gate is not the time and place to do that. So you don't need overwhelming arguments and evidence to make your point. The mere fact that you have a PAID TICKET--and who knows how the course of your life will change if you miss your flight--ought to be enough. So long as the darned airplane is still on the ground, and the flight stewardess herself is not yet inside the plane, your right is demonstrably in full motion and presently in total exposure to risk. Time is of the essence and you are running out of it.

Of course, this is not a perfect analogy but you get the idea.

Is the applicant for the TRO in the BENECO case possessed of a CLEAR RIGHT IN ESSE?

No.

It is well argued that General Manager Engr. Melchor Licoben is being challenged, along with some members of the Board, for having no authority to act. Then WHO has the authority to act in lieu of them? Have they CLEARLY demonstrated their ability to carry out that authority?

It is not enough to point out that Licoben's or the Board's authority is doubtable. You must present an UNDOUBTABLE authority yourself. You must rely on the strength of your own claim, and not on the weakness of the status quo. In the case of BENECO, the leadership controversy is now pending resolution before the Court of Appeals. It needs no pointing out that the CA is higher up in the hierarchy of courts than a Regional Trial Court. In situations like this, the Supreme Court always reminded judges to observe a "becoming respect and ordinal deference" to the wisdom of a higher jurisdiction.

You don’t have to go into a long and deep discussion about who is the “right authority” and who is not. You can flaunt an appointment paper signed by the UN Secretary General and it would make no difference. A court does not need to look for evidence of everything at such a preliminary stage. There are certain things a court can take "judicial notice" of--meaning to appreciate as factual without need of proof--such as clearly observable facts or generally-known public information. Judges are intelligent people, they're not idiots.

So a court cannot shirk from making judgment calls that amount to conclusions not needing proof. In effect, the Rules tell a judge, “What do YOU think? You should know, because there are certain common sensical things you are supposed to know by reason of the fact that you ARE a judge.”

For example, a judge cannot NOT know that GM Licoben and the assailed board directors ARE HOLDING OFFICE at the BENECO building. The judge cannot NOT know that he or she himself or herself is paying his or her electric bill to BENECO. He cannot NOT know that his electricity has not been cut by reason of not paying his bill to ANYONE else.

Owing to the great amount of press coverage of the events of last October 18, 2021--when persons claiming authority to take over BENECO dismally FAILED to enforce such authority, even with the overwhelming use of force and law enforcement personnel bristling with high-powered guns--ANY judge has ample reason to pose and say, "Teka muna, e bakit hanggang ngayon 'outside the kulambo' pa rin kayo kung kayo talaga ang may karapatan?"

It is easy to STATE A RIGHT, but what the law requires for you to be able to obtain injunctive relief is to demonstrate that right to be SO CLEAR it has prevailed over prior challenge.

So if some party comes forward and says, “I have this certification and that to show that I am the REAL authorized person” the judge can—in fact, MUST—say, “How can I believe you? It is certainly NOT CLEAR to me why you are outside BENECO and the persons you are assailing are INSIDE of it.”

Secondly, a restraining order is intended to temporarily stop the doing of an ACT. It is never intended to suspend the effectivity of a law, ordinance, document or contract. The holding of the ARGAM is a provision in the bylaws of the cooperative, which is continually effective by operation of law.

Let me illustrate this more clearly using another analogy. If you think a candidate is not qualified in an election, you can seek to disqualify him—stop him from doing the act of running for office—but you cannot stop the holding of the election itself.

An act performed by an INDIVIDUAL is legally stoppable because the court can acquire jurisdiction over that person. But an act performed by the general populace IS NOT capable of restraint because it is impossible for the court to acquire jurisdiction over the general public.

This is why, in my humble opinion, no court can stop the holding of a general assembly (of any electric cooperative) AS SUCH and THAT LATE IN THE DAY—on the eve of the event itself. But let me be clear. In my own law practice, I have successfully stopped the holding of stockholders’ meetings of corporations. How? By barricading the board room with a court order? No--by obtaining a court order stopping the corporate secretary from causing the publication of the NOTICE OF STOCKHOLDERS MEETING. This meant that the “general populace” that was supposed to meet would never have known when, where and what time to meet. I stopped it early.

Suppose the Board Secretary had ALREADY published the notice, would I have given up? No. I would have filed a MANDAMUS to compel that board secretary to revoke that announcement. I don’t know if I would have won, but I know I would have been able to obtain court jurisdiction over the board secretary.

My students in Alpha Class (those spoiled brats!) have heard me explain that “you cannot command anyone who cannot hear you.” That’s the simple meaning of jurisdiction.

Thirdly, a temporary restraining order—and in fact, EVEN a preliminary injunction—cannot be issued if it would have the SAME EFFECT as the FINAL INJUNCTION being sought itself. Otherwise, what’s the point of holding any further hearings?

This is why most of my friends who are judges are loathe to restrain DATED EVENTS. It’s not like if you prevent Juan from celebrating his birthday with a TRO, you can tell him later when the TRO is lifted, “go ahead, Juan celebrate your birthday NOW!”

By stopping the ARGAM which is mandated by the bylaws to be held on a specific date or dates, you prevent its being held for the remainder of the year—because the bylaws do not permit it to be held at any other time.

So by the simple reckless granting of a TRO, the court in effect cancelled the holding of the ARGAM for 2022—and that is way , way MORE than even the petitioners themselves prayed for.

If, after hearing full arguments, the court decides NOT to grant the ultimate permanent injunction, the court certainly cannot say in its Order, “go ahead, hold your ARGAM YESTERDAY!”

This is why as fluid and flexible as it is to decide whether or not to grant a TRO, every judge must be circumspect in so deciding because not all judgment errors are reversible by appeal. Some things are simply irreversible, you cannot force toothpaste back into the tube.

Lastly, although I said TRO’s are FREE, injunctions are NOT. Before an injunction can be issued, the petitioner must state his willingness to POST a bond , in the amount fixed by the court to answer for any damages that the BENECO might suffer if it is proven in the long run that the petitioners were NOT entitled to the injunction. How does a court arrive at a pecuniary estimation of that damage? Among courts in Manila, Quezon City, Makati and other courts I’ve been to, the judge FOR A SIMPLE INJUNCTION of an event of this magnitude and implications would usually require a bond of AT LEAST One Million Pesos.

If you don’t post this bond, will the court dismiss your petition? Yes. In fact, worse than that, if you even FAIL TO STATE that you are WILLING to post such bond, the court should dismiss your complaint right away.

That is--in a perfect world, of course.*