Philippine Journalism Oral History
What was it like to be a cub reporter?
WORKING CONDITIONS: the pay, risks, time-out

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The pay

The word profession, especially if uttered together with doctor, lawyer or accountant, normally connotes a stable income. Unfortunately in the Philippines journalism, one of the so-called noble professions, is better known for the fat salaries it does not pay its editors and reporters. One begins to suspect that a profession becomes noble if its practitioners are barely making a living out of it. Besides journalism we can think of other noble professions like teaching and soldiering, which for some reason are socially acceptable if not necessary, but are usually relegated to those who do not have the means to become an engineer or earn an MBA. A few famous columnists perhaps can claim to six-digit wages, but they are rare exceptions in a field where the norm is the minimum wage.

Journalists may be paid two ways. Those who are formally employed by newspapers on a full-time and permanent basis draw regular salaries. They are commonly called reporters. Outside of the payroll are those who are paid for every column-inch of copy, or photograph published. They are called contributors, people for whom writing is a passion or a commitment that must be pursued despite low economic rewards and regardless of whatever job they might be holding at the same time. Contributors who devote most of their time of the pursuit of news, who are actually full-time journalists working for part-time pay, are called correspondents. (In Western countries, correspondents are full-time employees who are assigned to cover stories in other cities or countries. While most American reporters can only dream of becoming Washington correspondents, the correspondent in the Philippines is inferior to the reporter.)

Most yuppies today will probably not be impressed when Neal Cruz says he started in 1955 with the Manila Chronicle at P360 a month, which was three times the prevailing minimum of P120 and, at that time, was equivalent to $180. For the record, he called that amount "big." (Even at P52 to the dollar, that converts to P9,360, and that is only P2,000 over the current mandated minimum wage of P250 a day.) Yet Felix Lloren was getting the minimum at about the same time in the same newspaper. Five years later, in 1960, Raul Locsin was a Manila Chronicle cub reporter for a peso a day.

As a proofreader with the Philippines Free Press in 1960, Cris Martinez, noted that he was getting P30 more than minimum, at P150 a month. In the same year at the Evening News, another proofreader, Manolo Iñigo, was getting P2 a day. But he said P2 could buy him 20 Coca-Colas, 20 jeepney rides or eight hotdogs. "Mura lang ang pamilihin noon," he recalls. "Piso lang makakaraaos ka na." (Even at 2:1, Iñigo would only be getting a dollar a day today. In Manila the cheapest tin of Coke sells for P11.) Sol Vanzi published her first article in the Manila Times's Women's Magazine in May 1963, she was only 19. She collected P30.

In 1968 Crispina Martinez-Belen was making P250 a month. The Bulletin was paying her P15 an article, and the comics magazines paid P25 for a short story. She started writing for other publications which paid up to P30 per story, more than her Bulletin salary. At about the same time, Efren Danao was a part-time student and part-time legman with the Daily Mirror, for P5 a day, which he called a "princely sum." By this time, Sol Vanzi was making a career move, from Channel 5 to ABS-CBN Channel 2, as a P500-a-month newswriter.

In 1972 Ching Alano was getting P500 a month from the Philippines Daily Express, inclusive of a P150 transportation allowance. For Don Reyes, at the Economic Monitor, the pay was about P400. "As news editor of The Varsitarian I was paid P200. UST paid better considering that I was a student," he said. At about this time, Antonio Lopez was pirated by Manila Times business editor Alfie Locsin to work as a senior reporter for P1,000 a month, "three times my salary at the Voice of the Philippines and the Manila Chronicle...so, I asked for a typewriter and began typing my story. I submitted my story and I got a byline the following morning" (De Guzman and Macatubal 2000).

Up till the late '70s Joe Antonio had yet to achieve full-time employment with the Journal. One time, after phoning in his story on an out-of-town PBA game, his editor, Gus Villanueva, broke the good news: the paper was taking him in, Antonio was told, at P800 a month. (Mojado 1999) At the Times Journal, Alex Fernando was being paid by the column inch, earning him up to P500 a month.

As reporters with the Philippines Daily Express in 1980, Ruby Paurom got P800 and Jenny Santiago started at P900. Jay Gotera put his salary between P1,500 and P3,000. Manolet Santiago got P1,100 when he started with Tempo in 1981. Marichu Villanueva says the Economic Monitor paid her P1,500 as a beginner in 1982 although Manny Mogato in 1983 considered himself lucky that he was getting P1,200 from People's Journal. In the same year, Noel Bartolome was a college student doing "correspondent" work for Malaya from which he was earning up to P3,000 a month. Fresh out of college in 1989, Juliet Javellana was making P3,600 from the Inquirer. Also in 1989 Mina Velasco was working as a day editor at Philippine Newsday which paid her P4,000 a month.

Informants placed entry-level salaries for the years 1999 and 2000 at P8,000 to P11,000, which is slightly above the current minimum wage of P7,500 (at P250 a day). And people who have stayed long enough talk of offers to double their pay. Marichu Villanueva, who says she was pirated several times, said she was making P18,000 a month as one of the Philippine Star's top reporters. Efren Danao disclosed that he collected around P30,000 a month as a Philippine Star editor.

Gene Orejana complains of what he called starvation wages when he was a cub reporter with the Manila Times in 1985: He had to borrow from the maid at home for food and transportation. Shirley Matiaz-Pizarro found the pay very depressing when she was covering the police beat, especially considering that her newspaper, the Manila Bulletin, was not inclined to publishing too many stories from her beat. "Kapag payday sa halip na masaya ako, malungkot ako," she recounts. Aldrin Cardona, as a sports correspondent in 1989 with the Inquirer, was paid per column centimeter. Most of it went to his taxi fare.

Other reporters described their pay as "mababang-mababa," "very, very, very small," "a very measly sum." Ruel de Vera says he had shoes that were worth more than his Inquirer salary in 1994.

Chelo Banal says she doesn't remember talking about a salary or even asking for one. Juliet Javellana said she was too excited about her job she didn't have the time to think about salaries. It also helped that she was single. "It didn't matter that it was so small," said Javellana. "The psychological reward is greater." Journalism is not a goldmine for the honest newsperson. Estela dela Paz says that Raul Locsin used to tell people who expected to get rich to try out another job.

But journalists are not the lowest paid, claims Teodoro Locsin Jr., who think that bank employees make less. However he agrees that newspaper salaries are not enough and journalists are forced to take on other jobs. "The newspaper becomes the second job. That's why they come in late," says Locsin. "There is no solution to it, except, everybody should be single."

Yet there are the occasional, legitimate financial successes, but they usually occur among the marquée names like Manila Bulletin publisher Nap Rama -- who claims to having paid P1 million in income-taxes alone in 1999 -- and the foreign correspondents. When President Aquino in 1986 invited Val Rodriguez to be her personal photographer, he was already making up to P80,000 a month as a stringer with the Associated Press.

Sol Vanzi made her modest fortune not as a newspaper reporter but in facilitating the work of foreign media. As an ABC correspondent she was getting paid $200 a day covering the 1986 snap election. She found it smarter to rent out TV news cameras, of which she had 10, and the foreign networks were forking out $500 a day for each camera. She adds:

[In 1999] Finland television used my services for eight days as a producer and researcher. I got cameras from my old employees -- sila na ngayon ang mga may cameras -- and in nine days kumita ako nang $4,000. Nung kampanya ni Erap [1998], I worked for CBS Australia's 60 Minutes and in 15 days I made $9,000. Ngayon kakatapos lang para sa Discovery Channel -- about Imelda’s shoe museum -- and made $2,000 for two days' work.
Sad to say, for every Sol Vanzi there are hundreds of journalists who technically live just around the poverty line.

Risks

H.R. Knickerbocker once wrote that "whenever you find hundreds of thousands of sane people trying to get out of a place and a little bunch of madmen struggling to get in you know the latter are newspapermen" (Rosenblum 1993). Assuming all journalists are burning with the same desire to get the facts or picture, there naturally are risks when one covers a war, an earthquake, typhoon, hostage-taking, coup attempt or even a drug bust. Covering the aftermath doesn't excite viewers and readers as much as covering a breaking event. There are also risks when one's reporting, no matter how innocuous it seems to the reporter and his editors, irritates a third party, like a politician or a businessman who might resort to legal or, worse, extralegal measures to save their sullied reputations.

The risks involved in the practice of journalism depend of course on the reporter's beat and on the individual reporter's enterprise. To the laid-back journalist, even a military combat zone can seem like the safest place in the world. All he has to do is stay in the headquarters or the press room and wait for a spokesman to hand out press releases or conduct a briefing. On the other hand there is no sleepy assignment, not even the health or education department, to a truly aggressive reporter.

Rowena Aquino considers the Mayon volcano eruption of 1993 her most dangerous assignment to-date. For Raul Dancel it was the Mount Pinatubo eruption in 1991 when he was a brand-new reporter with the Manila Times. He and other journalists were at a satellite base at Subic base. The shelter they were occupying had collapsed. "Nanilim bigla. It was noon and suddenly it was dark. Umuulan. We thought we were going to die," he recalls. "Every minute lumilindol, umuulan ng buhangin. Tapos kumikidlat pa. Akala mo end of the world na." (Araño 1999).

Inday Varona recalls her first radio broadcast, even if she was a newspaper reporter:

I was with a broadcast reporter and suddenly, an ambush happened right in the middle of a busy street [in Bacolod]. I was left holding his two-way radio and his station was calling to him. There was nothing else to do but report for the radio station even if I didn't know how to speak Ilonggo all that well and I wasn't even a broadcaster. My cadence was different but I did it. They were laughing at me afterwards because they told me, "There were guns and moans in the background, and you were reporting, in a very malumanay voice, 'Oh, another one just died.'" (Lua and Sy 2000)
Just before martial law, Felix Lloren was covering the Liberal Party rally at Plaza Miranda. The big story was not the speeches which politicians, who belonged to the party rivaling Ferdinand Marcos', never got to make:
Yung PRO ni Ramon Mitra tinawag ako kaya after the National Anthem, nag-cross ako ng stage. Wala pang isang minuto bumagsak na yung first bomb. Yung kasama ko sa inalisan ko natamaan. Swerte ko nga dahil tinawag ako. Yung kasama kong taga Manila Times, si Ben Roxas, gusto siguro kumuha sa mga casualties. Nag-cross siya, nasalubong niya yung second blast sa stage. Wasak ang leeg niya. Pero naagos ako sa mga tao at nakatalon mula sa stage. Umikot ako sa likod. Maraming namatay. Maraming nasugatan, sina [Jovito] Salonga, [Eddie] Ilarde, [Ramon] Bagatsing. (Iledan and Ong 2000)
Boo Chanco, who also covered the Plaza Miranda rally for ABS-CBN, said that when he was young he was more daring:
I was near Quiapo Church, near the opening for the pedestrian underpass. When they started throwing the bombs and I didn't know if I should run. But I couldn't run because I was on air. In any case, we didn't get scared until we realized how bad it was. My mother said she felt good when she heard my voice on the air. But I told her that it could've been a replay. (Chanco 1999)
Just out of college, Sol Vanzi was a young woman looking for adventure. She quickly got tired of her Women's Magazine assignments. She asked Jose Luna Castro, editor of the Manila Times, for a hard-news assignment and she was told to cover an out-of-town election. "Tuwang-tuwa naman ako. Imagine, Ilocos Sur? Doon lang ako makaka-out of town. Di ko naman alam na wala palang tumatanggap ng assignment ng Ilocos Sur elections dahil patayan, barilan! Alas-singko pa lang ng hapon nakasarado na lahat ng bahay. But I went. Pinanindigan ko na, I had to learn how to speak Iloko in one week," she said. She adds:
Hindi Manila Times ang nagbigay ng baril sa akin kundi NBI. On election nakita ko itong mayor ng Sta. Catalina, Ilocos Sur. Ayaw niyang ipaboto ang hindi niya botante. Sabi ko, "News ito!" I took my camera out and started taking pictures of him. Nakasuot pa siya ng uniform ng PC Rangers. Meron siyang baril at saka ang dami niyang bodyguard. Naka-itim silang lahat. Tinututukan nila yung mga di nila kakampi at di pinapaboto. Saka ako nagkukuha ng pictures.

He told me to stop, but I said, "Hindi pwede, press freedom! It’s my right. The public has to know." Binaril ako! Buti na lang nagtago ako sa likod ng momumento. We were in a public plaza. Tinamaan ako sa left knee at sa right thigh. Dalawang bala. I stopped. Tapos I walked away. Di ko pa nafi-feel yung pain. Ganun pala yun. Tago muna. Nakita ko na hindi na niya ako pinapansin. Maya-maya hindi na ako makatindig. Para na'ng bali ang paa ko. Dinala ako sa clinic at ini-stitch ako. I had to go back to Manila. Di na ako makalakad. (Pascual 1999)

Covering the Mindanao conflict from the sides of both the military and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, Butch Galicia found himself treading the dangerous middle ground. He recalls having just interviewed a man who was introduced to him as the highest official of a Moro camp. As soon as the rebels dropped him off in the city, he was taken by government soldiers to headquarters. The general wanted to know about certain details of the camp. His response was, "If I told you whatever I saw inside their camp, could I tell them what I see inside your camp?" That, said Galicia, ended the conversation. "Until now, I have close contacts with them," he says. "You're not a spy, you're not anything else but a reporter. And people want you to provide them with the truth."

In the 1970s photographer Manny Goloyugo was sent to cover what should have been a surrender ceremony in which Muslim rebels would turn over their weapons to the military. As it turned out, both sides had yet to reach an agreement, and the rebels held him hostage. "Hindi naman nila ako sinaktan," he recounts. "I was asked to stay in one area, where I could not take photographs. They confiscated my camera and clothes, so I was out there in briefs. Anyway, it was on a beach so while the negotiations were going on I was sunbathing and swimming."

During the 1986 EDSA Revolution Joel Lacsamana found himself in Camp Aguinaldo where the leaders of the anti-Marcos mutiny, Fidel Ramos and Juan Ponce Enrile, were holed up. Suddenly, Lacsamana recalls, Enrille turned and announced: "This is it, ladies and gentlemen. Marcos is about to bomb this building in the next 30 minutes. Anybody is free to step out right now and save their hides." Despite the very real possibility, he said, the reporters on the scene simply looked at each other "but nobody moved." (Hermanos 1999)

Bulletin photographer Rudy Liwanag, still in his 30s, has shot police raids, coup attempts, drug busts:

Minsan Binibining Pilipinas ang kino-cover ko nang may tumawag na [military] opisyal. Takbo kami sa airport at sumakay ng helicopter. Iyon pala eradication ng NPA marijuana plantation ang pupuntahan namin at 11 days ako doon. Pero after three days nagulat na lang ako may initsang bag galing sa helicopter, nandoon na damit ko. Noong unang tatlong araw pinapahiram lang ako ng mga sundalo ng poncho at ng tulugan. Ang mahirap yung kinakain ng sundalo, de-lata at hinalo-halong gulay na may konting suka. Kahit na ayoko kinain ko rin. Mainit na kanin lang, minsan niluluto pa sa kawayan.
Another very real risk reporters have to take is when wounded egos resort to defamation suits or scare tactics. Reporting for a La Union newspaper, Jose Gonzales drew a libel suit over a smuggling story for identifying the alleged importer. Although he was also a law student at that time, the case gave him sleepless nights, more so when it went all the way to the appeals court to get it dismissed.

Sometimes the risks of the job involve witnessing events you know you can never relish, like executions. Juliet Javellana covered the hanging of Flor Contemplacion in Singapore and had the chance to spend a week with Contemplacion and her family before her execution. Javellana says it was the most depressing thing she did for the Inquirer. The effect on her: "I became more aware of the plight of female domestic workers who are separated from their family. They are very lonely and all they earn, they send back to their families. And when they get into trouble, nobody is looking after them."

Ray Arquiza was a neophyte reporter when he was assigned to the electrocution of the convicts in the Maggie dela Riva rape case:

We were standing on the sides of the room which was approximately 12 feet by 16. On the far end, stood the electric chair with those big belts to hold the arm and feet of the convict. We witnessed the electrocution of the five convicts, one after the other. When one of them was brought into to the execution chamber, he could still walk, but when he entered the room and saw the electric chair he suddenly became weak, collapsed and the prison guards had to drag him to the chair. The same behavior was displayed by the four others.
Jenny Santiago and Manny Mogato are two more examples of journalists who ignore risks to their safety in order to get the story. Santiago, then a Tempo reporter, pretended to be a legal worker to interview a priest in Samar whom the martial-law military had detained on suspicion that he was a communist:
I went to Samar with Yvonne Chua of the Express. I pretended to be the cousin of Father Kangleon whom I had not met. Before the interview, Yvonne and I were accompanied by one of Kangleon's priest-colleagues. We were interviewed by the military officer in charge of Kangleon. While I was being questioned about my background, the priest who accompanied us was shaking. We were served coffee. Nagra-rattle yung kanyang coffee cup. Ako naman, okey lang. Of course I didn't say we were from media. I told the officer: "I'm an Ateneo law student and my cousin, I understand is detained here." (Lagman and Misa 2000)
Mogato learned that stowing himself away in a military transport plane was his only way to report on the hostage-taking in 1989 of a general in Zamboanga city -- and get a scoop. Gen. Renato de Villa, then armed forces chief of staff, had organized a special rescue team. But at Villamor air base, Mogato was told that the mission was strictly military. "I sneaked into the plane, and hid myself in the ammunition compartment. It was all bullets," he recounts. "It was only one hour after the plane took off that I came out. Gen. de Villa was really mad at me. He said, 'Why are you here? Who authorized you to come?' But I was already on board and they could not turn back. I only had P30 in my pocket, I had no clothes, and I stayed in Zamboanga for five days." (Santiago 1999)

Time-out

If the pay is poor and the job more often than not risky, do reporters get the much needed break? The answer is yes, but not exactly like the way it is in the real world. Journalism is not a 9-to-5, Mondays-through-Saturdays kind of thing.

"We don't have any hours. We don't have any holidays. We work on Christmas day, New Year's day and even Good Friday," says Sel Baysa. According to Rowena Aquino, "kung kailan holiday mas lalo kaming dapat pumasok." To Butch Galicia, unless the world stops spinning and nthing happens, "then perhaps we can sleep tightly."

Journalists, says Jenny Santiago, work six days a week and the one day off is not necessarily a Sunday. Further, Neal Cruz observes, journalists are used to working on holidays. In fact, they must expect to work long hours on holidays. "Otherwise there will be no newspaper the next day," he adds.

Aldrin Cardona says that the only real vacation he had was seven days off -- after 10 and a half years -- when his wife gave birth to their baby daughter.

Just like the rest of the labor force, journalists get paid extra for working on holidays, but coming to work is mandatory. If that is not possible one must arrange for someone else to cover, "months ahead," says Jean Cordero.

Even the day off is not sacred, says Manolet Santiago. When an editor decides to cancel a day off, the reporter has no choice but to go to work, "maliban lang kung may sakit ka." Inday Varona says "only a fool" would take a leave during a crisis, when big stories are waiting to be covered. "There's the attraction of being there when the whole thing's blowing up," she says. "Kahit naka-leave, nagka-cancel ng leave."


Felix Lloren:

When I started [in 1955 with the Manila Chronicle] I received only P120 a month. That was the minimum wage. Four pesos a day lang. Before martial law, ang pinakamataas kong sweldo 1,200 ata. (Iledan and Ong 2000)
Neal Cruz:

Ang starting salary ko [with the Manila Chronicle in 1955], P360 a month. [The dollar-peso exchange rate was] 1:2 pa noon, so that was $180. That was big. (Javier 1999)
Raul Locsin:

I applied as a cub reporter for the Manila Chronicle. I think it was in 1960, for about P30 a month. (Rillo and So 2000)
Manolo Inigo:

As a proofreader [with the Evening News in 1960] minimum wage lang ang natatanggap ko. Kundi ako nagkakamali, P2 lang [a day]. Pero mura lang ang pamilihin noon. Yung Coca-Cola P0.10 lang. Ang pamasahe sa jeep, P0.10 din. Ang hamburger, hotdog sandwich P0.25. Piso lang makakaraos ka na noon. (Chua 2000)
Cris Martinez:

[As a proofreader at the Philippines Free Press in 1960] I was receiving P150 a month, P30 higher than the minimum wage. (Tan and Hing 2000)
Elinando Cinco:

At that time as cub reporters [in 1961 with the Manila Times] we were paid more than the minimum salary of P120 a month. (Gandoza 1999)
Sol Vanzi:

[I was] 19. My first article was published by the Women’s Magazine of the Manila Times in May of 1963. I did not stop. Babayaran ka ng P30 per article. (Pascual 1999)

I moved to Channel 2 [in 1969, from Channel 5]. I was paid P500 as a news writer.

Nung mag-snap election [1986] I had to resign from ABC News kasi all the other competitors were renting cameras from me. And my cameras were making more money than me. The cameras were renting out for $500 a day. I was making only $200 dollars a day [with ABC]. I had 10 cameras. Dami kong kinita non.

During the August 20 [1999] rally ni Cory, Finland Television used my services for eight days as a producer and researcher. I got cameras from my old empleyado -- sila na ngayon ang mga may cameras. In nine days, kumita ako ng $4,000. Nung kampanya ni Erap [1998], I worked for CBS Australia's 60 Minutes. In 15 days, I made $9,000. Ngayon kakatapos lang para sa Discovery Channel, it’s about Imelda’s shoe museum, $2,000 for two days work.

Crispina Martinez-Belen:

1968? We were only receiving P250. But we also had transportation allowance pero maliit lang, minimal... Sa comics P25 ang short story. The Bulletin was paying me P15 per article. So I was also writing for Banawag and Liwayway which paid P25 or P30 per story. I was earning actually more than my salary. Sabi nila wala raw pera sa writing. Sabi ko kung hardworking ka naman meron din. (Gandoza 1999)
Efren Danao:

I worked only for half a day because I was still a student. [As a legman for the Daily Mirror in 1968] I got P5 a day which was a princely something ... When I worked with the Daily Star, I was getting P250 pesos [a month]. The minimum then was P180 a month. Then P1,800, P5,000. Now I'm getting more than P30,000 [with the Philippine Star]. (Ongchap 1999)
Val Rodriguez:

[1971] Ginawa akong regular stringer ng UPI sa Hawaii. So pupunta ako doon, they would give me film. Ang bayad noong araw per photo was $3 lang. Walang photo, walang excuse kasi walang ibang salary.

In 1986 I was invited to work with Mrs. Aquino. So I had to resign from AP. Maganda yung experience, nakakatuwa. At AP I was receiving salaries from P65,000 to almost P80,000 a month. My first salary from the government was P4,000. Sabi nga ni Mrs. Aquino talagang nahiya naman siya pero ako naman, I get my president di ba? (Encarnacion and Icasas 2000)

Ching Alano:

1972, P350 basic and P150 for transportation. Imagine, P500! Monthly! (Deri 1999)
Don Reyes:

Mahirap noon. Would you believe I was only getting about P400 [in 1972 at the Economic Monitor]? As news editor of The Varsitarian, they were paying me P200. I think UST paid better considering that I was a student. (Mendoza 1999)
Joe Antonio:

I was covering a Crispa-Toyota game in Cebu [in the late '70s]. Noong araw naman kasi walang fax. Itatawag mo at dito nila sa Manila ita-type over the phone. After dictating my story, ang sabi ng boss ko, si Gus Villanueva; "Jo, I have good news for you. Na-aprove na yung pagiging regular staff mo. Ang starting salary is P800." (Mojado 1999)
Chelo Banal-Formoso:

I don't remember talking about a salary [in 1974]. I don't even remember asking. When you're a young reporter, your salary's only so much, you can't afford a car. Which was one reason why some reporters would teach college, or would teach high school or would teach on the side so they can pay for their cars. (Viguera 1999)
Monica Feria:

Dati [1975] P800 yata. Siguro ngayon kapag entry level or bagong graduate P8,000 or P11,000. (Mallari 1999)
Alex Fernando:

I started with the old Times Journal in 1977. I was paid by the column inch. My pay check was only P500 for a whole month... I started as a reporter [with the Philippine Star in on July 28, 1986 and got a monthly salary of] P7,000. (Lareza 1999)
Ruby Paurom:

Eight hundred bucks [in 1980, Daily Express]. (Alcancia and Sim 2000)
Jay Gotera:

A very measly sum: [As a reporter with the Daily Express in 1980] the salary was around P1,500 to P3,000 a month. (Tolentino 1999)
Jenny Santiago:

We're one of the lowest paid professionals. Even during that time, I remember in the early '80s, the starting salary wasn't even P1,000. It was around P900 only. Now the starting salary is only about 10,000. (Lagman and Misa 2000)
Manolet Santiago:

Nagsimula ako sa Tempo [1981], P1,100 lang. Nang magresign kami nung 1989 dito nasa P5,500 na ako. (Hassaram and Hassaram 2000)
Marichu Villanueva:

Yung salary ko P1,500 sa Economic Monitor which at that time [1982] malaki na for a beginner. Pero industry-wise, average yun. Makikita mo as you grow, you go on with your profession, makikita mo tumataas din yung salary mo. Parang they recruit you, they pirate you. Basta mataas. Pagdating ko sa Times Journal, correspondent ako diyan. Per column inch naman ang basis, kung gaano kahaba ang istorya ko, how many stories I submit. Masipag ako kaya malaki kinikita ko sa Times Journal nung correspondent ako. Then I became a full staff reporter sa Manila Standard, double ang salary. Sa News Today, naging full time ako, mga P3,500-plus yata ako nagsimula rito. My editor here recruited me to his newspaper, then doubled my salary. Kasi when you are are pirated, dino-double nila ang salary mo just to get you. So right now, I’m receiving at the Star mga P18,000 a month. And yung latest nga, yung bagong Manila Times, they were trying to recruit me as news editor, double my salary. Kaya makikita mo talagang pag nagpa-pirate, double nang double. (Manicia 1999)
Manny Mogato:

[In 1983 at People's Journal] I was lucky I was given P1,200 per month. (Santiago 1999)
Noel Bartolome:

Noon estudyante lang kami corespondent kami [sa Malaya, 1983], per piece yun. Ang monthly nun mga P3,000, P2,000. (Datu 1999)
Ben Rosario:

As a correspondent [with the Bulletin in 1983] I was receiving mga P300 per month. Pagkatapos yung starting ko nung naging regular ako, I think that was P3,000. Siguro kung pakakainin mo lang araw-araw ang pamilya mo, kung hindi mo bibigyan ng magandang education, ieenroll mo sa ordinary schools, kulang siyempre. Kailangan magtrabaho din ang wife mo. If you rely sa suweldo namin, talagang tagilid. Hindi ka mabubuhay. Although hindi comfortable, hindi ka rin masyadong hikahos. (Siy 1999)
Gene Orejana:

[As a cub reporter with the Manila Times in 1985] I was paid "starvation salaries." My salary for 15 days wouldn't last for 15 days. I had to borrow from our maid for food and transportation. I didn't get allowances. It was very difficult at that time. (David 2000)
Shirley Matias-Pizarro:

The pay was very depressing. The Bulletin is very conservative. So all my police stories just landed on the Metro page, yun mga kapira-kapirasong ganun. And we got paid per column-inch thing. So kung gaano kalaki yun story mo, times P7 yata yun. So imea-measure yon. Very seldom ako magkaroon ng malaking article, kasi police nga ang beat ko. Pag payday sa halip na masaya ako, malungkot ako. (Lua 1999)
Priscilla Arias:

[In 1988] wala pa akong one month, nabigyan na kaagad ako ng incentive ng office, ng transportation allowance. Kasi productive ako. (Mahinay 1999)
Juliet Javellana:

I started on a salary of P3,600 in 1989. I just graduated and I was so excited about having a job with the Inquirer. I didn't have time to think about the salary because I was still single. It didn't matter that it was so small. The psychological reward is greater than the material rewards. (Lim 1999)
Aldrin Cardona:

As a correspondent [in 1989], you got paid by the story that you give. They had this measurement of paying you around P30-40, and then you spent the same amount for taxi. (Alonte and Jusay 2000)
Mina Velasco:

Mababang-mababa yung salary ko doon. I started 10 years ago [1989, as day editor of Philippine Newsday]. P4,000 yung starting pay. (Alonte and Jusay 2000)
Raul Dancel:

A reporter [with the Inquirer] would earn about P8,000 a month. If you added all the compensation [profit sharing, mid-year bonus, 13th-month pay, and Christmas bonus] you'd pretty much get around P12,000 to P15,000. (Araño 1999)
Ruel de Vera:

I don't think I can tell you how much my salary was [with the Inquirer in 1994] but it was really very, very, very small. I can't tell you what it was it was so unbelievably low. I have shoes which are more expensive than my salary back then. (Francisco 1999)
Teodoro Locsin Jr.:

It's not true that newspapers pay the lowest. People who work in banks are paid much less. But it's really not enough to keep a family, etc. So, almost everyone has a second job. So Today, the newspaper, becomes the second job. That's why they come in late. There is no solution to it, except, everybody should be single. (Ng 1999)
Nap Rama:

Now [as Manila Bulletin publisher] I pay for my taxes lang P1 million. So, you can imagine how much I get paid. (Pua and Tee 2000)
Time out

Rowena Aquino:

Dito weird kasi kami. Pumapasok kami kahit may bagyo. Kung kelan holiday mas lalo kami dapat pumasok. (De la Cruz 1999)
Sel Baysa:

We don't have any hours. We don't have any holidays. When you're working in media forget about vacations. Forget about sick leave. If possible, don't even entertain being sick because it's not a part of the media man's dictionary. We get no holidays here. We work on Christmas day, New Year's Day and even Good Friday. (Bautista 1999)
Alvin Capino:

There are no holidays. You are given one day off a week and you work for the next six days. (Advincula 1999)
Aldrin Cardona:

We have to sacrifice even our family time. Even if it’s [typhoon] signal no. 6 you have to be physically present here. The only real vacation I had after 10 and a half years was when my wife gave birth to my daughter. That was 7 days off. (Alonte and Jusay 2000)
Jean Cordero:

May holiday pay, pero hindi kami pinapayagang umabsent. Kailangang pumasok ka, o kaya makipagusap ka months before na aabsent ka. (Sy and Tan 2000)
Neal Cruz:

We are used to [working on holidays]. If you work for a newspaper, you must expect to work long hours on holidays. Otherwise, there will be no newspaper the next day. Almost all work on Sundays. (Javier 1999)
Raul Dancel:

The only time off we have [at the Inquirer] is Good Friday and Black Saturday. But in our section we get Sundays off. They pay us for holiday and overtime. (Araño 1999)
Butch Galicia:

The newspaper business does not have any holidays, unless the world stops moving and nothing happens, then perhaps we can sleep tightly. (Mercado 1999)
Jenny Santiago:

The job requires us to work more than eight hours a day. Sometimes there are days when there are no big events, we just have to look for new stories. But we don't observe holidays. Usually we observe six-day workweeks. And the one day off is not necessarily on a Sunday. So even sometimes on Christmas, on New Year, All Saints day, we still have to report for work. (Lagman and Misa 2000)
Manolet Santiago:

Kunwari day-off ka. Pag sinabi ng editor na cancel day-off bukas, kailangan kasi natin ng tao na ano, cancel day-off ka. Hindi ka pwedeng tumanggi maliban kung may sakit ka siguro. (Hassaram and Hassaram 2000)
Inday Varona:

Theoretically, we have vacation leaves sick leaves, all that stuff, as other workers are. But when there's crisis, the unwritten rule is that only a fool would take a leave. There's the attraction of being there when the whole thing's blowing up. Kahit naka-leave, nagkaka-cancel ng leave. (Lua and Sy 2000)
Deadlines

Sel Baysa:

In the Manila Bulletin, in my case, the deadline is four o'clock in the afternoon. If your story comes in after the deadline, it will land not on the page of the newspaper but in the trash can. (Bautista 1999)
Ana Santos:

Being the city editor, I am required to be inthe office earlier than the others because I supervise the reporters. By 2 p.m. reporters submit their summaries [which] I print and give a copy to the publisher. Usually the other editors come from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. Each one is given a specific page to lay out. So from the summaries, we get the chance to pick whatever stories we want to use for our pages. We have the metro and national sections so each editor has the opportunity to choose whatever story he wants. As soon as the stories are picked out, the editor assigned to the page edits the stories filed by the reporter. (Santos 1999)
The risks

Inday Varona:

Bacolod was a pretty dangerous place to work in the '80s. I covered the aftermath of the Escalante massacre when bodies were still all over the ground. People were brandishing guns, and actually using them. And we get plenty of threats-like letters and telephone calls. During the EDSA revolution, there was also a rally in Bacolod. The police chief started pulling me and like the journalists started a tug-of-war with him. Lucky for me I was with two Italian journalists who were bigger than he, and some of his cops -- because Bacolod is a small place where family friends or were my friends -- so eventually I managed to get out.

[In another occasion] I was with a broadcast reporter and suddenly, an ambush happened right in the middle of a busy street. I was left holding his two-way radio and his station was calling to him. There was nothing else to do but report for the radio station even if I didn't know how to speak Ilonggo all that well and I wasn't a broadcaster. So my cadence was different but I had to do it. They were laughing at me afterwards because they said, "There were guns and moans, and you were reporting. And you had a very malumanay voice, 'Oh, there's another one dead.'" (Lua and Sy 2000)

The perks

People's Journal

Radito Torres:

Yung mga reporter pag naka-scoop may incentive. Madalas may mga out of town na sagot ng kumpanya. Yung iba sa amin libre pakotse. Kami naman binibigyan kami ng libreng gasolina. Kapag gumasta ka sa labas in the line of duty, kunin mo yung resibo irerefund sa iyo. (Calma and Chavez 2000)
Philippine Star

Efren Danao:

The Philippine Star has one of the most progressive management in the newspaper business. They give us more benefits than workers in other newspapers. They set aside a certain percentage of their net income for the workers. We have 13th month pay, educational assistance at the start of the school year, Easter bonus, anniversary bonus, Christmas bonus, 14th month pay and sometimes a performance bonus and a productivity bonus for selected employees. Of course, they have worked with sub-housing agencies to provide housing housing projects for employees on very liberal terms. (Ongchap 1999)