THERE are tragic accidents that one never forgets.
The recent death of Ateneo basketball stars Rene Baterbonia and Divine Adili brought me back to my freshman year at UP Manila in the early 1960s. Back then, I was part of a travel club led by a charismatic student leader. One of the first activities he organized was an excursion to Taal Lake.
The trip was uneventful — until the unthinkable happened.
We rented a banca and a raft. While swimming, our leader suddenly disappeared beneath the water. A frantic search for him soon followed. Fishermen who knew the lake well joined the effort, but still, no trace of him could be found. By nightfall, we had no choice but to travel back to his home in Malate.
His mother stood quietly as we entered the sala.
“There has been an accident,” we said.
She looked at us calmly and asked a question I have never forgotten: “Is he dead or alive?”
I could not answer. I lowered my eyes. And despite my silence, she understood.
More than six decades later, that moment remains vivid in my head. It taught me a fundamental truth: when tragedy strikes, how we communicate becomes as important as the crisis response itself. After all, families seek answers. Communities seek understanding. Institutions seek credibility.
The challenge, however, is that grief rarely follows a script. This is true whether the tragedy occurs in a small barangay, a government office, or one of the country’s most respected educational institutions. Grief may be personal, but public trust is always at stake.
The circumstances surrounding the deaths of Baterbonia and Adili are obviously different. Yet the communication dilemma is precisely the same. What does one say when words seem inadequate? How does one move beyond giving a simple apology? When should leaders speak, and when should they remain silent?
In moments of crisis, one truth emerges: Silence is never neutral.
Many institutions believe that saying less is a good way to minimize risk. Lawyers often advise caution. Public relations experts worry about liability. Administrators fear saying the wrong thing.
But silence inevitably creates a vacuum, and in a crisis, a vacuum is a dangerous thing. It can be quickly filled by speculations, rumors, accusations, and even misinformation. In the age of social media, this process happens at lightning speed. When official voices withdraw, unofficial voices take over. And the narrative no longer belongs to those truly responsible for explaining what had happened.
This does not mean leaders must immediately provide all the answers. Often, they do not have answers in the first place. But what they can provide right away is presence, empathy and transparency. People can accept uncertainty. What they will never tolerate is indifference.
There are also moments when institutions discover that communication cannot be delegated.
Press statements have their place. So do media briefings and social media posts. But there are moments when communication must be deeply personal and direct.
No written statement can replace a face-to-face conversation with grieving parents. No carefully crafted press release can fully convey sorrow. Human beings instinctively recognize authenticity, so it follows that they are also quick to recognize its absence.
Perhaps the most difficult responsibility of leadership is to show up precisely when there are no comforting words to offer.
Leaders sometimes underestimate the power of presence. Families may not remember every word spoken, but they will remember who came. They will remember who listened. And they will remember who had the courage to sit with them in their grief.
Ultimately, accountability begins with truth.
The first instinct during a crisis is often defensive. Institutions worry about reputation. Organizations worry about blame. Yet credibility is rarely damaged by admitting what is known and what remains unknown. Credibility is damaged when facts emerge slowly, inconsistently, or reluctantly. Trust is built through raw candor.
If mistakes were made, acknowledge them. If procedures failed, explain how. If investigations are under way, describe the process. While most people understand that accidents happen, what they might find difficult to forgive is evasion.
Truth matters, yes. But timing matters just as much. There is a notable difference between speaking quickly and speaking responsibly. The pressure to respond immediately can lead to errors, yet waiting too long creates suspicion.
The challenge is to communicate in phases. First, acknowledge the tragedy and express compassion. Second, provide verified facts as they come. Third, explain what actions are currently being taken. Finally, share lessons learned and reforms implemented so it never happens again.
It is important to realize that communication is not a single event, but a continuing process.
In public life, I have witnessed many crises — from political upheavals to natural disasters and national emergencies. Each was different. Yet one principle remained constant: People want honesty more than perfection.
They understand that leaders are human. They understand that organizations can make mistakes. What they seek is evidence that those entrusted with responsibility are actually worthy of that trust.
The mother in Malate understood the truth before I could speak it. She needed clarity more than comfort. Her question cut through all hesitation and all attempts to soften reality: “Is he dead or alive?”
In times of tragedy, society asks a similar question of its institutions: Will you tell us the truth or not?
The answer to that question often determines whether a crisis becomes a moment of healing or a source of lasting distrust.
Words cannot erase grief. They cannot bring back lives lost. But honest communication can provide something indispensable in the aftermath of tragedy: dignity for the victims, respect for their families, and trust that the truth is neither hidden nor delayed.
Sometimes leadership is measured not by the decisions made before a tragedy, but by the honesty, humility and courage shown after it. For institutions, as for individuals, character is often revealed not in moments of victory, but in moments of sorrow.
Because in the end, true leadership isn't about protecting an institution’s name. It is about honoring the lives entrusted to its care.
