By Bree Hamada
(On June 30, the Baguio Midland Courier announced that after 77 years of publishing as a community newspaper, it was ceasing its operations on July 22, 2024. Women Writing Women Philippines is reprinting this post, with permission and some edits, from the Facebook page of the Baguio Midland Courier. The newspaper’s tagline is “Fair. Fearless. Friendly. Free.”)
The Baguio Midland Courier was deep-rooted. My generation was assigned as the “runners” by our grandparents, parents, aunties and uncles, fetching the latest issue of the Midland to deliver to every Baguio household, to the central business district or to the nearest kanto (corner) every Sunday.
It was a part of our weekly routine, a staple after Sunday mass where corner newsstands would offer the paper, reaching even the most far-flung parts of the Cordillera.
This weekly routine began early for me. On Fridays, the newsroom would start buzzing. Fridays were my favorite, as it meant it was my “TV day” as Papa would be busy with Midland, leaving me the TV all to myself.
Though I was not a runner fetching the latest issue, thus sparing me from the sermon of not delivering to a lolo who dreadfully awaited the weekly crossword puzzle or an auntie wanting to read the True or False for the latest chismis, I was a runner delivering papers or a USB from Papa’s old computer, written by the finest writers, back to the newsroom next door. He would shout my name, and I’d fetch the hard and soft copies of approved articles.
Papa was a journalist. He knew each writer’s jargons and writing styles, he’d know where they’d miss a comma or two (experts make mistakes) and decisively know their specialties and reinforce them.
Manong Jogin was made to write about sports, as a bonus, could write through his cartoons.
Manong Harley would photograph the entire city, even from the sky—he was our idol.
Ma’am Rimaliza, Jane, Hanna, Leia and Ofelia were the ears, and would deliver through their writings the countless stories and news a small region had to offer; they were there, present, and lacked no judgment.
They were Fearless.
The newsroom branched under a home where a family, sleep deprived journalists and newsboys reside.
Papa made the main newsroom the homiest way imaginable with Manong Joel, Aries, John, Roldan, Rainier Paul, and the rest having their computers for laying out the Courier pages arranged inside a homey Baguio newsroom sitting comfortably on soft ergonomic work chairs hand-picked by Papa over the old wooden chair he used to work on, believing that the staff deserved greater comfort.
Under the home were the printing machines operated by Manong Nick, Jaime, Tony, Jaime, Jon, Nelson, Lawrence, Regor, and Nestor, among others. After printing, they would pass through this small tunnel connecting old antique printing machines to the folding area. The printing and folding process was where I saw how Papa was also an architect.
He knew exactly how to design and build a small home into a small printing press. This tunnel under the home was small, but as a little girl, it was an elaborate tunnel used as a playground to scare my cousins and where I’d roll on my Penny board.
There was a small pulley from the paper stockroom to the printers, another of Papa’s strategies that made me think we had an elevator.
On Saturdays, the sound of printing machines served as a soothing lullaby of white noise for us to sleep. Everything was meticulously planned, using basic tools and space, the Midland staff still delivered each week, setting the gold standard for print media in the Cordillera, not only for me but for everyone I know.
At the front desk on Kisad Road, people would be welcomed by Ma’am Diane, Betsy and Mary Joy, whose mother, Manang Adela, prepared warm and hearty meals for the entire Courier staff every press night. We’d steal small portions if we had no ulam (viand) at home—they were the best meals. Ma’am Diane and Mary Joy knew the crevices of how the paper operated, forming connections with all advertisers.
Rendering service to the people, they were Friendly.
It wasn’t until I started taking classes on Media and Literacy under Sir Kevin Angyab that I truly understood how significant the small printing press under our home was. Sir Kevin once invited Ma’am Jane to speak to an entire batch of students about journalism. I saw her, typically timid and graceful, as a hero speaking to TikTok and Instagram fanatics about the enduring relevance of print media.
Mentors like Sir Ian Layugan and Teacher Beng Garcia showed me that even young individuals my age should be given a platform for their writings and speeches. Sir Ian would send essays and articles of young Baguio journalists over to the press—creating proud memories for these students. There will always be new writers, endless news, a vast mountainous land where writers will forever be called to cover.
Though I was a minute part of the weekly paper, it was always home. Countless opinions on culture, education, health, sports, politics, and a handful of libel cases among other topics was where I saw Papa was also a convict.
There was a libel case filed by an Iloilo publisher against 23 Baguio journalists in 1999. Papa, in the words of Manong Jimmy Laking, left a lasting impression when he paid for the bail bond of at least two Baguio Correspondents and Broadcasters Club members who were not his employees.
In 2006, Papa and Lola Cecil were thumped with two libel cases in a Regional Trial Court, where a city official sought for a PhP4-million award for both cases. The cases were dismissed for lack of probable cause. Papa would joke around asking what prison tattoos would look best on him. Writing is Free.
As we write to find out about things we don’t understand, stories will forever abound throughout the Cordillera. Papa had no loyalties, no person to kiss their feet. Papa, Uncle Billy, Nanding and Ocay were Fair.
While it wasn’t surprising to many, as a doctor by profession, Papa also knew how to revive the paper, literally and figuratively, beyond mere business considerations but through each employee and news article.
During company trips to the beach, everyone had a role to play. Ma’am Mary Joy and the rest of Charlie’s angels organized, planned, and booked our stays at a simple resort for a short vacation.
We’d find Manong Nick and Lawrence sloshed over their heads by the beach. Manang Adela would feed a handful of press-raised families, and Tita Emilia would come out wearing curlers on her head acting as a mother to all. I would also see Papa and Mama Emma lovingly holding each other as they sang karaoke. These sights were the mainstay of the paper I knew, a tight knit family who whenever vacation was over, had a service to uphold—strongly, without fail and with perfection (typos were never, never, NEVER allowed).
Though unfamiliar with all the logistics and work really needed to keep a decades-old paper running, I realized that it was all hunger, drive, journalistic excellence, and particularly, a tight Courier family that made the Midland what it was.
Papa contributed to Midland being a part of Baguio, and helped make the paper an iconic standard, a legacy. It may be difficult that an institution that delivers news became gloomy with apprehension that times are changing. This is a lesson that through change, we must survive.
Though it hits our egos and pride, we accept that technology will overpower manual machinery, a view that Papa and Kuya Kenneth foresaw (they’re the smartest people I know after all). Fair, Fearless, Friendly and Free service.
Papa’s insights were passed on from Lolo Oseo and Sinai. No one chooses to grow up in a home where beside family bonfires, there would be a newspaper binding room just beside where newsboys would fold the paper until dawn, where my childhood dog, Muffin would run around inside an editorial newsroom, where every Christmas, serious journalists would play Breaking the Pot blindfolded and Bring Me, and where Papa would work to the detriment of his health for news that the community needs.
Though he was firm, and often resembled Angry from the movie, Inside Out, his trusted staff knew he only sought excellence.
Papa’s various roles showed he knew how to look beyond, and was smart and innovative. He was always that old man sitting on his old, wooden chair in front of his old computer wearing a sando with holes, flip-flops and boxers, calling Manong Ador through his old telephone. I have always been proud to call him, Dad.
This is not a goodbye, perhaps just a wakeup call. The Midland Courier will persistently be present in Baguio homes, and hopefully make a comeback in another form. I wish that the Baguio community will help revive the paper, and pull it away from retirement.
RIP Midland, you would’ve loved ChatGPT. WWW
About the author: Bree Hamada is the daughter of the late Dr. Charles M. Hamada, former publisher and general manager of the Baguio Midland Courier.
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