Dear Sir,

Our generation is known for having a sense of entitlement that goes with our excellent command of social media and technology. We complained about the rigors of law school: difficult examinations, endless readings, classroom terrorism, and insufferable professors. We were attracted by the lucrative prospects of the legal profession and its promises of personal grandeur and self-advancement. We were a conceited bunch of young people who were too eager to attach J.D. or LL. B. to our names, thinking this would make us clever and formidable.

Until the NUPL, the organization that you founded, introduced us to the alternative legal practice called ‘people’s lawyering.’ The bankruptcy of mainstream legal thought which fetishizes success was exposed to us, revealing at the same time the great potential of the law to empower the poor and the oppressed. We learned techniques, both legal and meta-legal, which we otherwise would not have learned from the pages of the Supreme Court Reports Annotated (SCRA). In other words, purpose replaced our own selfish reasons for aspiring to become lawyers.

We came to know you, a legend not only in this jurisdiction but also in international circles. We started looking up to the rockstar of the Philippine legal profession. We became your fans. But aside from appealing to us with your revered status in the legal world, you inspired us with the fact that you chose the inconvenient path of representing the poor and the oppressed, fighting difficult legal battles fro the people. You did not wince, even in your frail health and old age, at the immense task of ending abuses, correcting wrongs, and vindicating human rights. You restored honor to the legal profession.

We did not have much opportunity to know and learn from you personally. We do not have many memories of you to share. So that if many of us here are looking back on the life you lived, we are instead looking ahead to the lives you would like for us to lead. In a sense, the rest of this letter reads like a turnover ceremony, albeit a posthumous one, where the key to the meaningful practice of people’s lawyering is being handed by its pioneer to the next generation of aspiring people’s lawyers.

In your passing, we talk about our loss. But we, law students, would like to look at it another way. You have left too great a legacy for us to think only of loss, as we have a lot to inherit from you. Someday, we will succeed you in your legal battles, which are not merely cases but real-life struggles of the various sectors of society. We will be heirs to your legal practice, by which you pursued social justice and furthered public interest. And long before your last illness, we have been bequeathed the best legacy of all – your example as foremost people’s lawyer: your passion, selflessness, dedication, wisdom, and vision.

Your shoes will surely be hard to fill; but we will persevere, knowing that your life’s work has been the handiwork of patience. We will always strive to have your heart and steadfastness of will, and yes, even your brilliance. We will emulate your discipline and keenness for detail. In times of adversity, we will ask, “What would RTC do?” and look back on the lessons you have imparted to those who came before us. If we get tired and weary, we will draw strength and courge from the people – our clients. You said so once: “We have brave clients. They deserve brave lawyers.” Like you, we will be resilient but our principles will be unyielding in the face of hardest challenges and the biggest of foes. In the courtroom and in the streets, you will always be our guiding light.

You will persist in us and guide us in our commitment to the poor and the oppressed. For, as NUPL had said, “people’s lawyers like you never die. You just live in the work of the next generations of people’s lawyers.”

With love,
The Next Generation

Statement read by law students during a tribute to Romy T. Capulong, Sept. 18.