Good evening class. Please bring out your umbrellas, if you brought one. I am going to go around the classroom and inspect your readiness to cope with inclement weather–like some scattered showers and thunderstorms in the early evening…perhaps when you leave this building after I dismiss you…”

My Alpha section junior law class stared back at me blankly, then started whispering to one another trying to confirm the instruction I just gave them.

“He can’t be drunk, he doesn’t drink!” I heard Miss Deema Niwala whisper to Miss Julyrain Arpeggio sitting beside her.

“Well?” I stared back at them with big beady eyes, “is everybody prepared to make it through the rain?”

“Barry Manilow, Arista Records, 1980, sir,” Miss Julyrain chirped.

“Pardon me, what did you say, Miss Arpeggio?”

“When you asked if we are prepared to make it through the rain, it reminded me of the lyrics of the third song in Barry Manilow’s self-titled 1980 album ‘I made it through the rain,’ sir,” the YouTube music vlogger of the class explained.

“Riiiiight…” I said, “everytime you recite, Miss Julyrain Arpeggio, it never ceases to amaze me how well you know pop music. It makes me smile. That’s why I miss you when you’re absent, I can’t smile without you!”

“Oh, that’s in an earlier single released in, 1978, sir, with Copa Cabana on the flipside, it was originally sung by Karen Carpenter in 1974–”

“No, no, no–it’s okay, Miss Julyrain, I’m really more interested in the class’ preparation for the rain.”

“When is this rain supposed to fall sir?” Miss Kata asked.

“According to PAGASA, between late afternoon to early evening so it should be any moment now.”

“You actually believe the weather forecast of PAGASA, Sir??” Miss Deema shrieked.

“Why, yes, of course. They have no reason to lie, do they?” I answered.

“You have no reason to be naïve, sir,” Miss Deema retorted, while rolling her eyes.

“I don’t like your attitude, Miss Deema,” I faked a rebuke, “you do know that PAGASA is a government agency, don’t you?’

“Yes, sir. “

“And you’re aware that those weathermen are highly-trained career public officers, many of them even went into foreign schooling under the sponsorship of the Philippine government, right?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then you must treat any work that they do, any action that they undertake, with a presumption of regularity in the performance of their official duty, correct? These meteorologists are dead serious, they not playing games, you know?”

“Yes, sir. But the presumption of regularity in the performance of their duty does not imply any conclusion of correctness and validity of their work,” Miss Deema replied.

“Did you hear that, class?” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did we hear WHAT, sir??” they chorused.

“Just because PAGASA weathermen are doing their job well, it doesn’t mean we have to rely on their pronouncement as diligent public officers without any question. They are human, they can be wrong.”

I continued, “You know class, there are 1.7-million public officers throughout the Philippine civil service. If only one percent of them made one mistake in one day, that’s 17,000 mistakes per day, or 6.2-million mistakes in one year. That’s an awful lot of mistakes to commit.”

The class gawked at me, this time with wide-open , unbelieving eyes, and go “Ooooohhh……!”

“These public officers assess how much tax you have to pay, whether you’re entitled to a passport or not, whether you are the actual person who must be arrested, whether you should receive a donor organ or it should be given to someone else less sicker than you—I can go on and on. There are literally millions of actions, decisions or dispositions that public officers make while regularly performing their official duties that have far-reaching implications in people’s lives. If they make a mistake, and we just swallow that mistake sitting down, we may not very easily undo some damage that it might cause. So what do you think,

class? Should we take a second look at this ‘presumption of regularity’ thingamajig?” I teased my law juniors.

“I think we better DO, sir” Miss Deema said.

“Alright, then…. Facts—” I cocked the rifle, so to speak, “a certain Melchor Gaspar Baltazar Licoben is appointed general manager of an electric company by that company’s board of directors. By the way, class, what is EMPLOYMENT, according to the Supreme Court?”

“It is a species of PROPERTY, sir,” Deema snapped.

“Correct, and what does the Constitution say about property in the Bill of Rights, Jack?”

Jack Makataruz stroked his mohair a few times as if to activate some brain cells, “No person shall be deprived of life, liberty OR PROPERTY without due process of law, sir.”

“Good. Now, let’s continue. So one day, this woman, Angela Maria Clara Raspael, shows up at the electric company, wearing a business suit with the words ‘general manager’ embroidered on the lapel. She has a plastic laminated appointment paper, with a gold foil dry seal, barcode, serial number, documentary stamp—special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun—in short, it’s got all the works. Very impressive document.”

“Did she obtain it from Recto.” Avenue, sir?” Deema asked.

“No, from Elliptical Road, somewhere around Quezon Memorial Circle,” I answered, breaking up the class into fits of guffaw, sending Miss Deema stomping her feet once more.

“You’re missing the point, class,” I banged the blackboard, “apparently, Miss Raspael recently resigned from the mail room and heard that the electric company pays its general manager well. So she took stock of her electrical abilities, and thought, ‘I’m not that bad, I know how to turn a light switch on and off, and I know the rule on how to twist a light bulb when changing it: lefty loosey, righty tighty. I think I can manage, in general, so I must be general manager material!’

The class couldn’t stop laughing. So I banged rhe blackboard again. “Anyway, she wrote the president and said ‘dear mister president, it is YOUR honor to endorse me for this job, so let’s get it on!”

“Marvin Gaye, Motown Records, 1973, sir,” Miss Julyrain said.

“I’m sorry, what’s that, Miss Arpeggio?”

“ ‘Let’s get it on’ is the title of Marvin Gaye’s sexually-explicit song released in June 1973, which some people suspect Ed Sheeran copied sir,” the class’ instant composer detailed.

“Riiiight…” I said, “anyway, so now there are two people, and only one position—start to evaluate the tenability of each person’s claim. Let’s start with Licoben. Miss Deema?”

“Well, for starters, sir, he is already an employee of the company so his tenure in office is primarily ex-contractu,” Deema said.

“That’s a very astute observation, Miss Deema,” I acknowledged, “and when there is a valid subsisting contract between two parties, what can the government NOT do?”

“Not just the government, sir, the VERY STATE itself cannot impair that contract, unless that contract is invalidated for cause.”

“So you are invoking the presumption of regularity in the performance of duty by the company’s board of directors when they appointed Licoben?”

“No, sir,” Deema said, surprising me a little bit….oh, okay, surprising me A LOT.

“Would you like to hear my explanation, sir?”

“I would LOVE to hear your explanation, Miss Deema!”

“Well, first of all, sir, the electric company is a private entity. It may be under government regulation, but it’s still private, just like all banks are under BSP regulation, but they remain private except maybe a couple of government banks with incompetent managers—”

“Stay on track, Miss Deema…”

“I’m sorry sir, so anyway the electric company’s directors are not public officers. Presumption of regularity does not apply to them. Their actions are conclusive upon the company because they are the policymakers of the company. If they hire a general manager, there’s no one in the company higher than them to assail their discretion.”

“Riiiight…” I said, “so you’re saying Licoben is unprotected in terms of state guarantees?”

“NO, sir, I am saying the exact opposite. Licoben’s employment is a police power matter because private employment in the Philippines is governed by Presidential Decree 442, the Labor Code of The Philippines. Labor regulation by legislation is an exercise of the State’s police power. PD 442 is a police power law.”

“What is the implication of that on the comparative merits of the two competing appointments,” Miss Laarnee?

“Well, sir, the employment contract of Licoben consists of hundreds of pages because all the provisions of PD 442 are DEEMED WRITTEN AND INCLUDED in the employment contract of Licoben, whereas the appointment paper of Raspael is just one page, two at most—similar to two-ply toilet paper, sir.” The class break out laughing again.

“Now wait a minute,” I said, “wouldn’t Raspael be entitled to equal protection of the law?”

Deema stood up quickly, “No, sir. Not under PD 442 because she and Licoben are NOT equal. Only Licoben is covered by the Labor Code because he is privy to an employer-employee contract, one that is between him and the electric company. Raspael has no employer-employee relationship with the electric company. Equal protection of the law means equality among equals. Raspael is not an employee. She is not protected by the Labor Code. And she can prove that to herself. She can go to any Labor Arbiter and they will tell her there is no cause of action for “illegal non-acceptance of endorsement!”

“I see…and what about the claim that her appointment paper was created by public officers acting with presumption regularity, Miss Deema?”

“It fails utterly sir, it is only a disputable presumption which cannot prevail against a CONSTITUTIONAL guarantee against being deprived of employment without due process. The facts do not include any mention that Miss Raspael brought action to invalidate Licoben’s employment as general manager first. She wanted a slamdunk, instant substitution—and there is no provision under any law that makes THAT possible.”

I looked around the class and I could see they’re beginning to grasp the intricacies, “Well what about the appointmemt of Raspael, can we evaluate that, too? Where is Jack? Advocate for Miss Raspael, what does she have going for her, Jack?”

“Sir? Uh…..well…uh,” Jack Makataruz hesitated.

“Take your time, Jack,” I said, “think really hard. Come up with one thing—ANYTHING—that works in Raspael’s favor…”

“I got it sir!” Jack beamed with excitement, “her laminated appointment paper would be waterproof, sir!”

Miss Deema just had to have the last word, “that means she can join you in believing PAGASA’s weather bulletins, especially those rain predictions, sir!”**

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