My Closing Remarks for the 74th Anniversary of the Cagayan de Oro Press Club

Good evening, friends, colleagues, fellow truth-tellers.

Tonight, as we celebrate 74 years of truth-telling — a legacy of the Cagayan de Oro Press Club, we don’t just celebrate an institution. 

We celebrate a stubborn, caffeine-fueled, ink-stained, deadline-beating spirit that refuses to fade, even in the age of AI, trolls, and TikTok “news.”

Seventy-four years. That’s older than most of our city’s bridges — and unlike some of those bridges, the Press Club is still standing strong. 

We are, after all, the oldest press club in the Philippines.

When we say “legacy,” we’re talking about people — journalists who chose the hard way over the easy story, and who often paid for truth with sleepless nights and sometimes with their lives.

And for me, that legacy has always been personal. My late father, Emilio Velez Corrales, once stood in front of its members as club president. 

You know, when Emilio was in charge, the Press Club didn’t have much. But, we owned the building.

He used to say, “Patsada! Hoeey!”

That was the dead giveaway he’d had one drink too many.

One particularly somber noon, Emilio said we were going to play a writing game. He said I was ready. It was a simple game. He would write one sentence and I would write a sentence, too, but it should support Emilio’s sentence until the story unravels.

Our first try, set in World War II, went like this–and this became one of our inside jokes:

“I remember that fateful moonless October night by the beach as if it was like a millisecond ago” – Emilio

“The crackle of dried Talisay leaves were muffled by muted thuds of waves lashing the sandbar” – Cong

“It was moonless alright but the amber sparkles of what seemed like a myriad fireflies congregating around a Talisay beside my nipa hut gave the night a dreamy and magical ambiance” – Emilio

“Suddenly—like whiplash–two Japanese bastards came storming the beach and raped the women and cut the children down” – Cong

Of course, we never got to finish the story because Emilio, tears dripping from his eyes, could not stop laughing.

“Patsada! Now, that’s one sick story you got there. Posong ka gayud,” he said while slapping his knee, still giggling.

The modern challenge

Today, we are digital, supposedly enslaved by algorithms.

Our deadlines are instant and news cycles have been 24/7. 

Our critics are… well, sometimes anonymous trolls and are surprisingly creative.

But the mission remains the same: seek the truth and tell it well.

To be the voice of the voiceless and to hold people in power to account.

In short, comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

This year’s theme — “Pag-utingkay sa kamatuoran, nagpabiling hagit natong tanan” — reminds us that truth-seeking is not a one-time story; it’s a lifetime assignment. 

It's a mandate that we take seriously as the fourth estate.

Whether we wield pens, cameras, or smartphones, our duty is to keep digging — utingkay — even when the soil is hard and the glare is harsh.

Looking ahead

As we celebrate our 74th year, let’s not forget to laugh — because humor has always been a journalist’s secret armor. 

My father used to joke that journalists live longer because stress runs away from people who chase it every day.

Maybe that’s why the Press Club is still alive at 74 — we’ve learned to laugh at chaos, fact-check the rumors, and still file the story on time.

So tonight, let’s raise our glasses to the generations before us, to those in the field right now, and to the next wave of reporters who will inherit not just our bylines, but our courage and wit.

Here’s to truth that endures, laughter that heals, and stories that will always matter.

Happy 74th anniversary, Cagayan de Oro Press Club — may our microphones never go silent, our pens never run of ink, and our coffee never run out.

Thank you, and good night.