The country lost a statesman this week. Jose de Venecia Jr. was many things to many people: Speaker, negotiator, coalition builder, global networker. But to those who watched him up close, he was also a man who believed deeply in the power of dialogue. He carried with him a kind of optimism that politics could still be a bridge, not a battlefield. His passing feels like the quiet closing of a long, complicated, and consequential chapter
I saw JDV often during the Ramos years, from 1992-1998. As part of the President’s close‑in media team, I covered countless foreign and local trips where he was present most of the time as part of PFVR’s delegation. And yet, in all those years, I never managed to take a proper photo with him, just the two of us. I kept assuming there would be another assignment, another flight, another moment. It’s a small regret, but it lingers.
One memory keeps returning to me now. In August 1996, PFVR instructed me to cover JDV’s visit to Jolo, Sulu at a crucial point in the peace process. We boarded the Jojo-bound special military flight together with the rest of his party. It was a kind of mission where the air feels heavy with purpose, but the people inside move with quiet confidence. JDV’s task was to lay the groundwork for PFVR’s first meeting with Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) Chairman Nur Misuari, a meeting that needed to happen before the GRP–MNLF Peace Agreement could be signed.
And here’s the part that still makes me laugh at myself to this day. Instead of taking a photo with JDV — the man I was literally assigned to cover — I ran after Misuari for photo ops. (Priorities of a young reporter, I guess.) It’s funny now, but it also explains why the only photo I have with the late Speaker was a group shot taken days later, during the historic FVR–Misuari meeting in Malabang, Lanao del Sur on August 19, 1996.
That meeting was more than a political milestone. It was a reunion 10 years in the making. The last time PFVR and Misuari had seen each other was in September 1986, when Ramos, who was then chief of staff of the armed forces, accompanied President Cory Aquino to meet the Moro rebel. A decade later, they met again, this time to push the peace process forward. JDV was one of the quiet hands guiding that moment, stitching together conversations, relationships, and possibilities.
Looking back, I realize how many chapters of our political history I witnessed from just a few steps behind Manong Joe, as he was fondly called. His legacy is immense. PFVR owed part of his successful term to JDV, who built the Rainbow Coalition in Congress, a broad, disciplined alliance that enabled the passage of more than 200 landmark laws during his six-year term. It was one of the most productive legislative periods in modern Philippine history, and JDV was its architect.
But beyond the numbers and the laws, what stays with me are the human moments — that flight to Sulu and the sense that history was unfolding in real time and that I was lucky enough to witness it.
In remembering JDV, I remember not just the statesman, but the steady, thoughtful presence behind so many turning points in the country’s history. Rest in peace, JDV!
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