Domingo M. Guevara, Redeeming an Industrialist: A Passage from Soil to Coil

'FORGOTTEN' MAY BE A STRONG WORD FOR someone whose ideals and deeds touched the lives of many, yet understood by a few. 'Forgotten' may be a strong term for someone, whose vision and acumen provided livelihood in the tens of thousands and countless more. Yet, when the tables are turned, the exact case is forgotten: Filipinos somehow forgot to honor a beautiful mind that gave us a spark of imagination, life can scarcely do without.

Prized and pride of his peers, he visualized in graphic clarity an industrialized Philippines long before the word 'industrialization' entered the national psyche. Born and raised in colonial Philippines, he grew up, seeing the teeming entry of Chinese and Japanese migrants skimping for a tiny living space in a country billed with "the highest living standards in Asia." As the US possession in the Pacific, the economic windfalls were self-evident. There was so much money to be made here. The needles pointed in that direction: the compass couldn't be all wrong. Colonial Philippines was the sailing point of Chinese migrant workers, whose offsprings today govern the controlling stakes of GNP. "Inggoy" to his friends, Domingo Guevara first saw light in the heart of Bicolandia on Saturday, 2 January 1909. The same year coinciding his birth saw the introduction of the world's first washing machine — a staple of home electronics today — by the Hurley Machine Company of Chicago. As if by ominous co-incidence, his birth foresaw his imprints on his country's electronics industry.

His birth was cradled in the gentle folds of Iriga’s verdant landscapes, where the seasons meld seamlessly, in a town where the monsoon’s return whispered through the lush canopy beneath the majestic Mayon, a murmur of raindrops patterning the broad leaves and the distant thunder rolling like a slow drum across the sky. This son of Camarines Sur was rooted deeply in the soil of his birthplace, growing under the shade of family and the wide expanse of sapphire skies, until the winds of ambition beckoned him far from the paddy fields of Pili to the burgeoning city streets of Manila.

Barely in his teens, his temper met its baptism of fire. An American doctor had the audacity to move his fence way beyond his perimeter, encroaching on the adjacent property. When he learned the transgression, his friends joined him to confront his offending neighbor. But his friends soon backed out upon learning that Inggoy was pitted against an American. Left alone and deserted, he confronted Dr. Richmond,"I am warning you not to force me to fight back; I'm prepared to fight! The teen stood his ground. Many years later, when two (2) Japanese soldiers attempted to extort money by selling him radios they looted from his other shop on Calle Raon, his mettle locked horns, "Why should I pay you for something that's mine? Embarrassed the Imperial soldiers departed, leaving his radios returned.

If your eyes grace my narratives, forget not the microchips embedded in your MacPro or iPhone. Yet the success of microchips is the direct outcome of transistors and cathode tubes on the circuit boards. In his early twenties, Guevara's imprints were trolling on the circuit boards where his hands toiled copper coils wired together. His life journey from genteel landowner found its mark: a passage from soil to coil.

Manila, with its relentless pulse and chaotic beauty, became the canvas upon which Guevara painted his dreams. In 1935, from a modest radio repair shop, he birthed a brand name, marking the inception of a journey that would thread through the fabric of Philippine industrial history. The name “Radiowealth" was an offshoot in the rhythm of times. When Manuel Quezon was sworn in as president of the Commonwealth Republic, it ignited a trend that was hard to resist. Many businesses started using the name "Commonwealth". Guevara's brainchild was no exception: "Commonwealth Radio". Soon, it became clear that the need to distinguish itself from the rest was overwhelming. Since then, "Radiowealth" was both as a household term and a brand name, flourishing under Guevara’s nurturing hand, a beacon of innovation — a promise of what Filipino ingenuity could achieve. It stood against the backdrop of a country teetering on the cusp of war and later martial law, a period that draped shadows over his aspirations like the heavy monsoon clouds that darkened Manila's skyline.

Through the decades, as the city heaved with the growing pains of independence and identity, Guevara's ventures mirrored this struggle. The rise of Radiowealth, from radios to a pantheon of home appliances, was a testament to resilience, echoing the persistent hum of Manila's heart. Yet, there was also the quiet tragedy of the Sakbayan — his vision of a vehicle entirely conceived by Filipino minds and hands. Though the Sakbayan might be bare and basic, it was a moving object in kinetics on the roads, decades before Korean's Hyundai , Malaysia's Proton Saga , China's BYD , Vietnam's Vinfast and India's Mahindra were still in blueprints on the drawing board. In sum, Guevara was the visionary, but sadly for non-Filipinos. He knew in his heart, that only an industrialized Philippines, with manufacturing on the frontlines could command dignity and respect within the family of nations. It was a dream that bloomed like the brief and brilliant flame of an orchid in the rainy season, luminous against the Hagabat storm yet ultimately fleeting.

On Tuesday, 10 November 1971, Guevara was elected to represent his region to the 1971 Constitutional Convention, yet he was no politician. But he felt he had little choice. With laws stacked against Filipino entrepreneurs, the framing of a new Constitution could result in prioritizing local industries — just as foreign countries protect their own skin. Among other economic provisions, he fought for: a) banning of luxury goods importation; b) tax exemptions for foreign loans; c) prohibition of raw material exports such as iron, copper and aluminum ores, and d) reducing public holidays. But what bedeviled him the most was the behavioral infraction of his fellow delegates. Rampant absenteeism and notorious tardiness were costly. A committee deliberation calendared for 9 am would be held at 2 pm for lack of quorum — assuming there would be no walking out . But there was a glaring exception; absolute punctuality in collecting one's salary, and when one is scheduled to deliver a speech. He wondered aloud whether non-punctuality can be criminalized? Politicians did not quite get him right that in business, time is money. He ditched the idea, imagining the guilty party will show up late anyway in reporting to prison. As for discipline, he was equally ruthless. It started at home, not imposed from above. His children who inherited DMG companies reported at factories and warehouses, toiling grits and grease, and initiating a bond with the lowest co-worker. An hour late meant salary cuts, a method of instilling the rigors of discipline and punctuality. Recalling that politicians were non-punctual with time appointment, they were all the more stark with non-payment. Two Philippine president never paid him for goods delivered. When asked to pay up for helicopter rentals, Ferdinand Marcos kept saying, "tomorrow." When Imelda Marcos ordered the installation of computer mainframe in her office, the same gripe pounded him. Somehow he had to cover it from his pocket to his supplier and creditor. Dealing with non-paying clients, he was strongly allergic to doing business with the Government. He might as well be a lawyer offering his services pro bono . Instead, the revered businessman found himself in the thick of deals: puro abono .

As Guevara roamed the streets of Mandaluyong, transforming it into a hub of light industry, his path often crossed with the city's lesser-seen residents. Sparrows, locally known as "maya" bird flitted through the open windows of his factories, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the whir of machinery. In quieter moments, he would watch these small heralds of nature weave through the air, a reminder of the delicate balance between man's creations and the natural world.

His priorities were even more pronounced.

When tempted to buy consumer goods, he would first create a business that will in turn buy those goods. He made his wife and children wait before they had their own sprawling house in San Juan, though he had the money all the while. Simply because he wanted to buy from the profits instead of buying from the principal. As a result, both the principal and the house stayed under his name. In his mind, life need not be a zero-sum game when you can have both.

In the December 1969 issue of Reader's Digest , DMG firms were identified as "attuned to the needs of a growing nation." Guevara was pinpointed as "a self-made industrialist" rising to the helm through "sheer business ingenuity," inspite the consecutive aftermath of the Second World War, Korean War and Vietnam War. In 1954 barely after its reconstruction, Radiowealth was cited as "The electronic firm of the year," manufacturing a complete line of home electronics from radios, electric fans, color televisions, stereos, electronic organs, refrigerators, freezers, air conditioners and laundry machines. And mind you. That was 1954 when today's Sony, Panasonic, Toshiba and Matsushita were his pliant students.

The narrative of Domingo Guevara is woven with threads of hope and melancholy — of grand visions often dimmed by the turbulent storms of external forces. His legacy, etched in the corridors of industry and the streets named in his honor, speaks of both the triumphs and trials of a man whose heart beat in sync with the rhythmic lashings of rain on nipa huts, whose dreams soared as high as the Philippine eagle, and whose spirit was as indomitable as the storm of monsoon season itself.

Three (3) consecutive Philippine presidents, Carlos Garcia, Diodado Macapagal and Ferdinand Marcos personally awarded Guevara as "industrialist of the year." The first Filipino automative manufacturer was distributing 70,000 (Volkswagen and Sakbayan) cars per year and the undisputed leader in home electronics, Guevara was well within his sights to usher the gateway of Philippine industrialization. Sadly, politics intervened to the detriment of the nation.

Buy-in offers of shares were made without payment. Resistance would mean outright retaliation; government banks squeezed financing, BIR recalculated taxes by adding more zero digits, Customs levied higher tariffs and Mayor's permits were nowhere renewed for the flimsiest reason, or no reason. For Marcos kleptocrats, DMG was the prized loot; it symbolized the green lane to industrialization. With martial law enforced, the sinister hands of theft were untied. His companies were seized, falling like houses of cards. With DMG companies slipping from his hands, Guevara was no longer half the shell he once knew. He was dead accurate about industrialization; Philippine neighbors were dead right about following him; but Filipinos were dead wrong about both.

The cycle of life returns to whence it came, when death ends, begetting where life begins. Battered and blued, his dreams refused to cave in. His ability to emerge from the bruises of depravity and from the wounds of despair was exceptional — more to others than to himself. The country's economic history is indeed a better place, forever enriched with his presence in the tunnels of time.

Throughout his struggles from zero to hero, as his credo battles Nero, his spirit neither flinched nor faltered — much like the flickering light of a midnight candle in the wind. In the end, his mettle had the last word.

He was unvanquished.

VEE DAVID Prisoner of Literature Writer-by-the-sea Sunday, 23 June 2024 Miyazaki, Japan