Into this dark, disturbed world an occasional gleam of light brightens our path. Such is the function of the Hon. Barry S. Gusi, who rang the Post recently with urgent tidings of the Gusi Peace Prize. If, like me, you have never heard of the Gusi Peace Prize, you should know that the nominees for this year's award are Sophia Loren, the King of Thailand and Jackie Chan - a disparate bunch, which demonstrates that the prize (which last year was given to, among others, a former Mr Universe and to Fernando Poe, a presidential candidate in the Philippines) has a generous embrace.
It brings with it heavy social obligations. Although Gusi and I arranged to meet for coffee at 10.30 one morning, when I rang him at 9.40am to confirm, his tone of voice, although peaceful (in fact, semi-comatose) suggested the fruits of a late night out in Lan Kwai Fong. We therefore rescheduled for 1pm by which time Gusi promised to be wearing a shirt ('something like Hawaiian-style') and black trousers ('something like Armani'), ready to discuss the Gusi award ('something like the Nobel Peace Prize').
'I'm a little bit shy,' said Gusi, a bright-eyed, balding Filipino, when we finally met at the Holiday Inn, Tsim Sha Tsui. 'Even if I was a former model. For Mr Giorgio Armani and Philippine fashion designer, Mr Edgar Aquino.' It transpired that in the past 30 years Gusi has had several careers: he's been a flight attendant on Egypt Air, front-desk clerk at the Hyatt Hotel in Madrid, honorary ambassador to the Marianas Pacific Islands and real-estate businessman in Guam but now, as he said several times with increasing resolve and some agitation, 'I am a peace-maker'.
The Gusi Peace Prize, which honours Gusi's father, Captain Gemeniano Javier Gusi, who fought against the Japanese and was mayor of a town in Marinduque province, has existed for 13 years. Since 2000, cash - and cachet - have been added. When I asked how much, Gusi said, 'Okay, I'll tell you but you can't put it in.' Why not? 'People say I'm boasting. The Filipino people will say I'm boasting in Hong Kong. Maybe 15 million people would read it, this is a recognised newspaper worldwide.' Gusi leaned forward and said in a low tone, 'And ... in the Philippines ... I would say I am a very... I would say a controversial figure.'
Gusi related, with possibly ill-advised honesty, how when The Japan Times did a story on him and the writer sought an opinion from the Philippine embassy in Tokyo, the undiplomatic summation, 'bull**** guy', was uttered. 'Jealousy!' said Gusi, bitterly. 'They would love to be in the newspaper but there is no reason for them to be in the newspaper. There's a saying, I think it is in English: 'The one who destroys the iron is its own rust.''
It seemed the world of peace awards is a seething snake-pit of disharmony. Gusi, who said several times that he'd consumed seven glasses of Dom Perignon the previous night and, according to a magazine article he handed me, is strongly in favour of the death penalty, nodded and added, 'But when you are kind and generous good luck comes back. When the society people in the Philippines read the South China Morning Post, I want to come out like Mohandas Gandhi. I like to come to the poor. I'm tired of socialising. I experience a hard life.'
When? 'In my travelling, when I am young, with the backpack.' We turned to the mechanics of the Gusi prize. There is an impressive board of trustees, some of whom are Gusi relatives. Mrs Gusi, Barry's paediatrician wife and the mother of his three children, is in New York trying to lobby the United Nations to recognise its importance. Meanwhile, her husband is doing vital detective work.