Prostituting the craft

published 7 Sept 2007, MST

The craft I refer to is one I know so well, writing, although the prostitution may apply to many other disciplines.

The power of words is not to be underestimated. Most times, judgment on anything is passed not on the basis of its being right or wrong but on how well arguments are presented. Are the words accurate? Phrases authoritative? Are sentences and paragraphs coherent? Attention-catching? Logical? Persuasive? Therein lies the contest—in the courts for the judges, in media for public opinion, or in any form of correspondence.

Hence it is not an exaggeration to say that crafters of words can shape or sway the sentiment of the masses, or a group of people at the very least. Or nudge it a little.

Some of the “more established” ones are smug with this knowledge and play it to the hilt. They write for or against anything—regardless of what they really think, if they bother to think at all—for a consideration. They have ceased to stand on the merits of their writing ability and now merely ride on the clout they have managed to acquire over the years.

In doing what they do, they bring disgrace to the craft. That they willingly, consciously and flagrantly do so makes them hopeless, and so we won’t bother with them, at least in today’s piece.

This is, instead, about overzealous and unsuspecting young people who risk becoming instruments of corruption, or some other ill.

Take the story of a schoolmate, F. (Here I go again with initials, but some people just don’t want their identities revealed and hope instead the lessons they impart will compensate for their anonymity.)

F was a scholar in one of the top universities in the country. He was a good writer; he attended workshops and published his work in his university’s literary publication. By senior year he was already working, earning a few thousands writing scripts uttered by puppets in a children’s television show.

Immediately after graduation, F looked for a full-time job and settled for a position in the corporate communications unit of an Ortigas-based company. He was driven to earn yet more since at the time he was already married and a father of two. So on the side, he wrote speeches and press releases for his uncle’s clients. The uncle ran a small public relations firm.

The speeches were harmless, initially. It was usually for a city mayor who addressed a graduating high school class or a technocrat who delivered his inauguration remarks. F was tickled at the idea that these important people were uttering his own words. The additional income was a bonus.

Sometime in 2003, one of the clients he wrote for, another public official, liked his speech so much that he offered F a job at the agency which he headed. And no, F didn’t have to start from the bottom: He would be, at once, Executive Assistant V. He resigned from his corporate job. This, he thought, was the break he had been praying for.

Only a few months after, this government office came under fire for a controversial deal. F found himself swamped with work. He was not new to writing speeches and press releases, and so he churned them out, one after the other, so it seemed. He also designed presentations, wrote letters to the editor and all other forms of correspondence, basically defending his boss, claiming he was innocent and insisting the said transaction was above board. It was plain and simple firefighting.

Oh, and the perks! F got dragged into meetings with prominent people— it didn’t matter if he looked like some dog trailing his boss anywhere. He was overwhelmed at being right at the center of all the action. He was sent on out-of-town trips. The overtime pay was handsome. The best reward was his boss’ statements that F was doing his job well: “I have yet to meet a better writer.” Or “no one else could read my mind better.” F was floored by such compliments from no less than a VIP. How was he to know then that this official was the master of sweet talk and nothing else?

Inspired, F became more hardworking than ever. He didn’t mind if he left the office at 8 p.m. every evening, attended weekend or holiday meetings, and picked up calls from his boss or his chief-of-staff even if he were, say, in his own kid’s birthday party. When his wife complained she was seeing so little of him, F said he was doing it for the family.

That employment didn’t last long, though, because F decided to pursue Law studies.

Now that equally controversial issues are hounding his old office in government, F feels he may have channeled his good faith and hard work into a cause—and a person, his boss— that was hardly worthy.

He realized he served as a mouthpiece, and a mindless one at that. He’s been had. He didn’t really know the truth then, and everything he wrote was just a rephrasing of everything he was fed. It was a no-brainer job, disguised by all the glitter. He would never know whether or not his former boss was guilty—that was top-level information that he, a lowly, eager employee, had no way of being privy to.

He cringes at the thought he may have used his God-given skills defending someone whose real color he didn’t even know.

F says it is all right to champion something as long as you believe in it. It is good to stake your name for someone if he were really innocent or were really doing something commendable. Likewise, one should be brave enough to criticize someone’s actions if they are genuinely objectionable.

But one must never embrace it blindly, as if on crusade. “You will only end up feeling stupid afterwards. Like I did.”

There are countless other bright, hardworking, eager, idealistic young people like F. I hope they read this and think twice about what they are doing. And, hey, there is a liberating thought: It is never too late.