BOOK
EIGHT
HOUSE
BUILT ON A ROCK
Chapter
I
DAYBREAK depicted a
picture of another gloomy day. At five o’clock in the morning when ordinarily
you could already see a touch of brilliance in the sky, the hour that Wednesday
had the surroundings wrapped in a mist of gray. The foliage, consisting of
hardwood and fruit trees which together with bamboo groves made up the
landscape around the house, was virtually just silhouettes, unlike in summer
when even at dawn the house already struck up some nice picture framed by green
scallops etched in blue sky and accented by fire trees whose orange blossoms
served to crown the steeply-inclined house roof.
Ka
Mao was up and about that early, doing his regular chore of sprucing up the surroundings,
cutting grass that had begun to thicken in the lawn with the onset of the rainy
season.
That had been his routine daily on schooldays, since by
eight o’clock he should start attending to Gia, cooking her breakfast, then
ironing her school uniform. Gia would get up from bed at this time, but she
took too much time toying with her stuffed toys in bed. Only about past nine
o’clock would she take breakfast and then start her toilet routine which,
including her bath, would be done with a few minutes past ten. Good thing Assumption
was just a walk away, and she would make it to the school still with plenty of
time to spare before the bell.
A gust of breeze swept by, causing Ka Mao to cringe
slightly. He tightened the faded denim jacket he wore around his body. He was
shivering but was controlling it. He looked up to the sky to see if it was
going to rain, spreading his palm to check any raindrops.
No sign of rain, Ka Mao thought.
He
checked his foot for a while. It had grown some swelling. Pressing a finger on
the swollen top, he betrayed pain. He fixed the bandage around the wound, then as
he was about to resume his work, he paused at sight of the house getting
illumined by the increasing sunlight.
The
otherwise austere triangular roof made of galvanized iron sheets toping the
main section of the house was made prominent by its very flatness in green and
its steep inclination which approximated those of Swiss houses. That roofing
style served similar functions: for the Swiss, to prevent the gathering of snow
on rooftops; Ka Mao’s design, to prevent the gathering of leaves which created
rust on the galvanized iron sheet. At the same time, the roof design gave space
for an attic.
Where
the roof inclination ended, it touched the tops of the triangular canopies of the three-division promontory on the second
floor. From inside, the promontory served as a view room where one could watch
the surroundings through the grilled French windows; both grills and windows were
painted white. This room, having the
amenities for reading hours and coffee time, served those functions for the
main bedroom which belonged to Ogie.
To
the right of the promontory rose from the level of the attic a single-section
turret. This section, which served as Gia’s powder room, broke the otherwise
bare look of that extremity of the house on the front elevation. A single
window done in the style of that of Ogie’s reading room served to accent this
section, which Gia loved to call her Castle Room.
Opposite the powder room is the attic bathroom,
featuring a bathtub improvised in concrete and done with enamel finish. The
shower valve hung on the rafters of the pyramid-shaped roof, with water from it
dropping at the center of the tub. In-between the powder room and the bathroom
was a lanai-like section roofed with
trellis covered with fiber glass. .
Below the turret was a structure which
adjoined the promontory, with its roof being a continuous flow of the main roof
inclination. This section, a continuity
of the main house on the ground floor, was the guest room. Ka Mao expected to
occupy this room when he got too old to climb to the attic which he now shared
with Gia, because she insisted in sleeping with him. To the left of the
promontory was the music room adjoining the living room and with high-rise
rounded walls done French-window-style, roofed with concrete which at the same
time served as open balcony for the attic living room above it.
Below the
promontory were the two large posts holding it up, decorated with pre-cast Gothic
design and, together with the concrete railings done with similar pre-cast
decorations and filling the spaces between the posts and the structures on
either side, serving as frame for the wooden main door with elegant
antique-style carvings. In-between the posts at the center and leading to the
porch by the main door were the four-step stairs from the lawn.
Further
to the left, beyond the rounded music room was a square room with wide windows
done in bronze-colored aluminum and glass. This used to be Ka Mao’s library but
was now Maoie’s bedroom. The top of the this section was a roof of galvanized
iron sheets which, however, was covered from view by the gutter wall all around
it.
Ka
Mao envisioned on this spot a deck with wooden railing and trellis on which clang
flowering vines, like yellow bells, cadena de amor and sampaguita. Similarly,
Ka Mao saw the rising of a rounded structure whose roof in the shape of a cone
went even higher than the steep overall roof of the house. But an exquisite
pain, like caused by minute blades slicing through his flesh, cut off this
thought abruptly: crow bars tearing at roof sheets, sledge hammers pounding on
concrete walls, wooden poles shattering glass walks and doors… Ka Mao shook his
head, eyes betraying his seizure by a sudden fury. He did not want to remember.
He
smiled to himself consolingly. For all which he thought was his material
failure, he was able to build such a house after all. This was legacy enough to
leave to his family, particularly Gia.
Ka
Mao had made use of by far the best knowledge he had gone to in his studies of
civil engineering in building the house. He had learned somewhere in those
studies that the best way to build a house was to put it under one roof. In his
case, however, he found it too tall an order to put under a single roof the
L-shaped floor plan that even had a T
on top of the L leg, which made the
whole design look more of a swastika than an L.
The plan, spread over a land area of some 300
square meters, would have required an enormous single roof which in turn would
require enormous expenses. For lack of funds, he was constrained to do
construction one section at a time, accordingly as money came in -- but
with such section already livable as a home everytime. This way, what finally
came up was a sprawling house comprised of two storeys, and sitting on sloping
ground, made room for basements laid out, as determined by the topography, in
the shape of, too, a swastika.
As to the roofing problem, Ka Mao necessarily solved it
one at a time as well. What came about as a consequence was an interplay of
designs reminiscent of steeply-inclined Alpine roofs, Arabian turrets, Japanese
trellises, Mayan pyramids, Venetian balconies, and French canopies.
Of himself, Ka Mao was a very austere man. When he first
settled on the Antipolo property, he put up a simple hut made of bamboo and
nipa. That was in the mid-sixties, when he began frequenting the place during
weekends. Even then, he was already feeling the itch to let things out of his mind by writing them, and
the rural atmosphere in the property augured well for this hankering. He loved
to scribble ideas on his notepad while he sat on a boulder with his feet
getting caressed by the gentle current of the creek.
When he got involved in the strike movement, the Antipolo
property served another purpose. While being venue for underground meetings and
martial arts training from time to time, it became a steady source of materials
needed in strikes, like bamboo poles and wooden clubs for combating strike
breakers with.
And when, obviously because of his continuous questioning
of the Sisonite conduct of the revolution, he was isolated by comrades upon the
declaration of martial law, his own recourse for countryside retreat was the
Antipolo property; it was dangerous to stay put in the city where you would
never know when your turn was for getting arrested.
This was when his occupation of the property began on a
more permanent basis, subsisting most of the time on rootcrops like cassava and
camote and fruits like banana. When the hankering for rice meal became
unbearable, he would sneak into the city and get a good fill of it in Manay
Consoling’s house.
For a long time in the early years of martial law, the
hut remained as it was when Ka Mao built
it. If there were any changes at all, they were mainly repairs or replacements
of bamboo components eaten up by termites.
But perfectly in accord with a popular Mao Tse Tung
dictum, martial law was a bad thing which he, albeit unwittingly, turned into a
good thing. The increasing desire to write and the curtailment of press freedom
became as stimulants for him to pursue creative writing. In this field of
endeavor, he got all the freedom to write unfettered by state repression of the
press.
He had tried writing a screenplay once in the past,
“Tag-Araw” for direction by Jun Gallardo, but it was an assignment given to him
more as a concession to his influence as Entertainment Editor of Makabayan
publications at the time. This time, if he was to make a real go at film
scriptwriting, he must really sharpen his skill at the craft.
For the purpose, Ka Mao stayed at the M. Hizon apartment
of Manay Consoling, doing household chores in exchange for his board and
lodging. In the Philippine vernacular, it is termed “alilang kanin”, literally
translating to “servant paid with rice.” That’s a lot lower in rung than that
of an average household servant who is paid, in addition to food and shelter,
regular salary. But Ka Mao would not put himself in the category of “alilang
kanin”. It was with pure goodwill that Manay Consoling took him into her fold,
giving him food and shelter, and he saw no way of putting a price on that act.
After
his chores were done the first half of the day, he would walk the distance from
that place to the Thomas Jefferson Library on the corner of Pureza Street and
Ramon Magsaysay Boulevard in Sta. Mesa and there browse all afternoon on every
material he could lay his hands on in learning screenwriting. In the evenings
he worked on manuscripts of screenplays based on what he thought were good
story concepts. He did the manuscripts long-hand on yellow pad, for he had no
typewriter yet at the time.
Ka
Mao had not delved any on the market consideration of filmmaking, so his works
in this learning period were expressions of what he believed were good
concepts, like a child contending with the impossibility of his conception,
hence, the title “Genesis To The Minus Infinity”; or an untitled screenplay
which he had intended to be his contribution to the development of film art,
creating what he conceived to be visual music, a concept whereby without sound
he depicted the musical structure through sheer editing technique intrinsic in
the cinema. About this last concept, he was strictly adhering to the school
that held cinema was pure visual medium and that sound movies,
institutionalized by Hollywood, constituted a bastardization of film art.
Ka Mao paused in his work, smiling to himself. He remembered that when he
finally got the opportunity to go hands-on in film scriptwriting, he did it a
hundred percent the Hollywood way.
Chapter
II
THE
SUN glared in his eyes as Ka Mao looked up to see what time of the day it must
be; he still had not gotten used to wearing a watch. The sun was at about sixty
degrees upward from the horizon.
“Must be ten o:clock,” he murmured to himself.
Then he turned toward the gate of the subdivision which
he would be entering. The gate security guard hailed him.
“Where to?” asked the guard.
“Celso Ad Castillo,” Ka Mao answered
“It’s
far from here,” said the guard. “You should take a taxi going there.”
“It’s okay. Walking is good for our health.”
“Not for your shoes,” said the guard, pointing to the
ones Ka Mao was wearing.
Indeed, the walk to Celso’s residence would be grueling
enough for Ka Mao’s Swatch. It was evident he was doing his gait in such a way
that he didn’t drag his feet but were
lifting them so as not to ruin the soles of his shoes.
The daily grind in
the two months of Ka Mao’s journeys to the Jefferson Library did not see Ka
Mao’s indefatigable Swatch shoes figuring in. It would have been ravaged by
now, with no prospect of being replaced by a new pair immediately. Suffering
the ravagement in those trips was a pair of cheap rubber sandals. Ka Mao’s
Swatch had remained under the landing of the apartment stairway where Ka Mao
had given it a special shelter, to be taken out only on special occasions.
The
trip he made that morning was one such special occasion. Ka Mao had decided he
had learned enough film scriptwriting to present his work to Celso.
But
Celso lived in Moonwalk Subdivision, a middle class housing site in ParaƱaque
City, where you needed a taxi to get to your destination. Manay Consoling had
given Ka Mao just enough for jeepney fare and no more, and Celso’s house was a
good many blocks away from the gate. His Swatch bore the grunt of the journey
just the same, though it might be special.
Ka Mao felt very bullish about his meeting with Celso. He
had developed enough camaraderie with the director, having covered his film
shootings frequently in the past and given him and his films more than enough
mileage in the publications he edited. Asking Celso to give him a break in film
scriptwriting should not be a problem.
“Oh, Mao,” greeted Celso as he stepped out into the porch
where a maid had asked Ka Mao to wait after letting him into the compound. He
joined Ka Mao at the white-painted, wrought iron porch set, nearly squeezing
himself between the arms of the iron chair.
Clad in sleep slacks and sando, Celso was evidently fresh
from bed, but he nonetheless struck up the flamboyance characteristic of his
comportment. About the guy was a way of giving himself an air of superiority
over the rest. And as he stroked his protruding belly while he sat, Ka Mao
thought if Celso was not doing a Buddha in the Hindu God’s own heyday.
Celso did look like Buddha in many a physical respect. He
was robust-framed, with bulging tummy, excess flesh here and there on the arms
and torso, and with his five-foot-five height tended to contract into a
veritable ball as he slouched between the arms of the iron chair. Above all,
when he grinned, which made his eyes even more chinky, and his mouth like the
slit of a coconut shell coin bank, he was almost everything Buddha come alive.
Celso had all the reason to be vain. After making
“Nympha”, which boldly, courageously and with exquisite guts cast a nameless
housemaid in the lead role of a nymphomaniac, he gave signal that he was the
film director to beat after the era of Gerry de Leon and Lamberto V. Avellana.
Franklin Cabaluna had put it quite succinctly: “Celso Ad Castillo is the
Lamberto V. Avellana of today.” The reference, of course, was to flair and
conceit.
For
a time, the showbiz media had been dubbing him the Philippine version of Enfant
Terrible, a distinction attributed to Roman Polanski. But though he loved the comparison, Celso
preferred to have his own showbiz moniker, The Kid, to embody all that was
young, and new and ingenious about him as the personification of the new breed
of Philippine film directors.
“How are you, Cels?”
Celso was a man of few words. His flamboyance in most
instances was play-act and in instances where he needed to verbalize his
braggadocio, the words almost always came out as theatrics.
Celso nodded, smiling “I’m okay” while stroking his
protruding belly with his palms.
“Coffee, Mao.”
Ka Mao made himself coffee, rather fumbling with the
spoon.
Celso eyed him with his characteristic probing stare. He
had had a period of enough familiarization with Ka Mao’s mannerism to see what
could be wrong with him now. There were tremors in his hands as Ka Mao scooped
powdered coffee from the tin server, creating a thin, tingling sound as the
spoon struck the lid of the porcelain cup.
“You’re trembling,” Celso quipped.
Sure, Ka Mao had jitters about how to start the topic
with Celso. But he realized his hands trembling was actually a particularity
about him: he should take rice for breakfast otherwise his nerves got shaky
towards noon. Having had to start early in his travel to Celso, he had no time
taking a heavy rice breakfast. He knew his tremors now, as it had always been,
were an alarm that it was time he took his lunch. He would be very embarrassed
to say this to Celso.
“What you get when you have the habit of washing your hands
after much typing,” came Ka Mao’s alibi. “I’d say writer’s syndrome.”
“I’ve had that syndrome once,” Celso said, actually
alluding to the time he was struggling to make a name in the creative field by
writing novels for comics publications.
“Oh, yes?” asked Ka Mao.
“Empty stomach,” said Celso, flashing his enigmatic
smile.
Ka Mao felt squeamish, embarrassed after all that Celso
knew he was hungry.
Celso spoke to the maid.
“Set the table for lunch.”
“I want to get busy writing again,” Ka Mao quipped,
side-stepping the idea of hunger.
“You’re not editing any magazines now?” Celso asked,
lighting a fresh stick of Marlboro with the one he was smoking before crushing
the butt into the ashtray.
“No point fighting press repression with empty words,” Ka
Mao said, betraying inner bitterness.
“You want to get busy writing,” said Celso.
“That’s
why I see you.”
Celso waited for Ka Mao to say his next word.
“If I write scripts…,” Ka Mao paused, sizing up Celso’s
reaction.
Celso took a puff at his cigarette.
“I may not necessarily be subject to press repression,”
Ka Mao finished his words.
“We have the board of censors,” Celso warned impliedly
“Gimo De Vega is a man of letters.”
“We’re
both alumni of the MLQ,” Celso informed, in a way echoing the air of many a
renowned writer priding in their alma mater, the Manuel L. Quezon University.
“So
I heard. And he’s got high respects for your works,” said Ka Mao, remembering a
piece he had read in the past in which Gimo praised Celso for his “Asedillo,” a
true-to-life film on the fabled rebel
hero of Laguna. Ka Mao had been enthralled by one particular high moment of the
movie wherein Fernando Poe, Jr., as Asedillo, rides into town alone on
horseback and rouses up the folks with his award-winning incantation: “Mga mamamayan
ng San Antonio, kayo ang ilog, ako ang isda. Kung wala kayo, saan ako lalangoy?
Papaano ako mabubuhay? (People of San
Antonio. You are the river, I am the fish. Without you, where will I swim? How
can I live?)”
Ka
Mao recalled the lines to Celso, then said with a shade of boasting, “That’s
Mao Tse Tung.”
With
his characteristic ambiguous grin and a touch of mischief in his stare making
his eyes even more chinky, Celso stood, turned inside the house with a quip.
“A
minute Mao.”
Ka
Mao trailed Celso’s steps toward the house with a remark, “Many writers in the
forefront of the anti-dictatorship movement are not just Gimo’s contemporaries.
They are also brothers in craft. With Gimo as Chairman of the Board of Censors,
I expect minimal restraint in getting progressive ideas across to an audience.”
The maid stepped out and told Ka Mao, “Please get inside,
Sir.”
From inside came Celso’s voice. “Come, Mao.”
Ka Mao rose and got himself led by the maid to the dining
table inside the house. Celso was taking the seat at the head of the table; Ka
Mao took the seat at the side next to Celso, who handed him a tiny red book.
Ka Mao gaped in amazement.
“Red Book by Mao Tse Tung!”
For the purpose for which he came to Celso that day, the
revelation was particularly elating for Ka Mao. It assured him that, if only in
matters of proletarian revolutionary politics, Celso was in the same wavelength
as he was. So Celso was sympathetic to the revolution. Ka Mao felt early on
that he wouldn’t have much problem inserting revolutionary ideas in the scripts
he would be doing for the director if ever.
Though he knew he had been abandoned by comrades, Ka Mao
had not even for once forsaken the cause
of the working class.
Celso began having the meal, gesturing to Ka Mao to do
the same.
He said, “You were saying…”
“If I wrote movie scripts, I need not worry so much about
having my ideas reach the masses,” declared Ka Mao. He took his first bite of
pork adobo.
CHAPTER
III
LONG lean days normally
precede the heyday of one’s career in filmmaking. Particularly for a
screenwriter whose work value is contingent not upon the merit of his job but
on the star value of the cast of a film project, it entails untold hardship even
just to do a take-off.
At
the start of Ka Mao’s screenwriting career, tt was not uncommon to find quite a
number of screenwriters, many of them already boasting of credentials in the
craft, hanging around on the corner of T. Pinpin and Escolta streets in Binondo
where film production companies had their offices. Each of these guys,
invariably clipping in their arms folders of either finished scripts, sequence treatments or story synopses of film
project proposals, would be there as early
as eight o’clock in the morning to vend their works, their faces pale from
having missed breakfast and getting paler as the minutes would drag on toward
noon and no prospect of lunch ever coming. Hence what rejoicing would the hopefuls break
into once any of them rushed out of a building, brandishing a check in his hand
as he announced it to be the down payment for a script he had just sold. The
lucky guy would rush to the barber shop nearby where a financier was ever
around to encash the check for a rediscounted amount, say less three percent if
the check was dated on the day or ten percent if post-dated for a week; the
longer the post-dating, the bigger the percentage of rediscount. And then the
guy, who himself had felt the pinch of missing meals for eons in the past,
would hail his colleagues to a blowout at the small coffee shop on a side
street where one would have his first taste of food for the day topped by a
possible slot as co-writer of the guy in the film assignment he had just
gotten.
If at all, what the difficulty suffered generally by
screenwriters in the Philippines brought to fore was a pure, sincere concern
one had for the other fellow.
Early on in his attempt to make a breakthrough in
screenwriting, Ka Mao found himself associating with Robustiano Lu. Morota and
Jerry O. Tirazona, former colleagues in the movie press and who were staying
together in an apartment in Sta. Cruz, Manila. The two continued to be engaged
in movie journalism, while Tirazona was gaining the prestige of being a real
quick draw in screenwriting: one finished script overnight. Ka Mao had then not
yet gotten over his underground existence and was testing the waters, so to
speak, of resuming legal status. He needed to do this testing in a place apart
from the residence of his family or any of his relatives, and Morota and Jerry
were only too glad to accommodate him in their apartment – for which, as in his
eventual stay in Manay Consoling’s apartment on M. Hizon, he had given nothing
in return but eternal debt of gratitude.
Quite
in contrast to the experience of many a screen writer, starting a filmmaking career for Ka Mao had
been most auspicious. It was instantly a heyday. This was mainly because he was
riding on the crest of Celso’s popularity which had made The Kid the most
sought-after director in Philippine cinema in the Seventies. So as loaded as
Celso was with film directorial assignments, Ka Mao was with film script jobs.
After only a short while, Celso would admit to Ka Mao that he had completely
become dependent on Ka Mao’s script. One
of his films which became a grand FAMAS Award winner was under the credit of
two other screenwriters, but Celso had required him to be on the set of the
shooting of the film, making him do the lines which eventually turned out to be
the award-winning moments of the film.
So
Ka Mao was spared the agony of having to peddle his works. Ka Mao had all
script assignments for the taking.
His first collaboration with Celso was “Ang Madugong
Daigdig Ni Salvacion,” a sex-spiced drama set in the rustic island of Tulay
Buhangin (Sand Bridge) in Quezon Province. Its cast – Pilar Pilapil, Ricky
Belmonte, Johnee Gamboa, Vic Diaz, Robert Talabis and a newcomer sex nymphette,
Leila Hermosa – were not exactly the kind that would impress one as super duper
in terms of star value. But the chemistry of Celso as the New Messiah of
Philippine movies with media-hyped superb performers, a grandiose seascape for
a setting, and a pretentious theme that purported to be an allegory of the
political tyranny obtaining at the time, succeeded in creating an image of a big
film production.
Even
before “Ang Madugong Daigdig Ni Salvacion” was half-way through shooting, two
offers came Celso’s way, one for a Vilma Santos-Christopher de Leon starrer,
and the other for any idea Celso would come up with. To the first offer, Ka Mao
showed Celso a script of a film adaptation of his first-ever published fiction,
“Forests Of The Heart”, which as filmed
Celso titled “Tag-Ulan Sa Tag-Araw”, and to the second offer, Celso responded
with a concept of a young woman forced into striptease act in order to sustain
medication for her ailing father. Celso had a title for the concept, “Burlesk
Queen”, and a germ of the story which Ka Mao would develop through his
screenplay accordingly as the shooting progressed. For the young striptease dancer,
Celso had in mind the then up-and-coming starlet, Lorna Tolentino, who had all
the needed attributes: youth, charm and allure, and a fresh undefiled body. On
top of all these, she had the acting prowess and terpsichorean skill.
The
choice of Lorna was perfect, so it looked. And she was willing to do the
part, something rather controversial for
her age of sixteen. But her mother insisted on a fee which the producer, Romy
Ching of Ian Films, Inc., was not inclined to give. So the part went to Vilma
Santos finally.
But
definitely, not that Vilma Santos was a poor second choice. As it turned out,
she was the best choice for the role, which in the subsequent 1977 Metro Manila
Film Festival won for her the Best Actress Award – along with the Best Actor
Award for Rolly Quizon, Best Supporting Actor Award for Joonee Gamboa, and Best
Supporting Actress Award for Rosemarie Gil. All in all. “Burlesk Queen” won all
but one of twelve awards in that festival, including the Best Picture Award,
the Best Director Award for Celso and the Best Screenplay for Ka Mao.
In
accepting the award – a huge bronze medallion which award presentor Eddie
Garcia took fancy in taking time hanging on a ribbon around Ka Mao’s neck – Ka Mao declared: “I did want to say
something with ‘Burlesk Queen’. And it
is that art rises or falls accordingly as those in control of political power
allows it to rise or fall.” He ended his acceptance speech by enjoining his
listeners to “transform art from being an instrument for personal gain to being
an instrument for social good.”
Uttered
at a time when the martial law rule was about only just beginning its upsurge,
the short speech elicited good reaction. A group, evidently activism-friendly,
clapped their hands hard, stomped their feet on the floor, while letting out a
challenging hoot.
If,
indeed, there’s a feeling of being made, this is it, Ka Mao told himself as he
tarried onstage acknowledging the mild audience cheers.
Reactions
to Ka Mao’s speech continued days after the occasion.
Franklin
Cabaluna congratulated him but did not fail to mention negative comments from
some quarters that the speech was rehearsed, memorized. Ka Mao had had enough
doses of grain of salt in the past to be affected. Franklin also told of a
criticism by a film cineaste from Europe that “Burlesk Queen” was in the most
part “nitty gritty”, whatever that meant.
Most
serious was the remark from Pete Lacaba, who had just been released from months
of incarceration at Camp Crame.
“Take
care,” said Pete when they met a period after the event.
Curt
as it was, Pete’s caution spoke of all that must be felt by someone who had had
a good dash of state fascism.
Strangely
enough, Ka Mao felt elated by the warning. It meant he was being minded, it
meant he mattered. He knew too well that the saddest thing for a writer – for
any artist at that – is to realize that no one is paying attention to him.
Now
it seemed everybody was cuddling up to him.
One
producer, a lady, implored him: “Your ‘The Relationship’, do let it be mine.” A
gay line producer, speaking for his boss, reminded him with virtual plea,
“Remember, your “Kabaret”, you offered it to us first. The two were speaking of
film projects Ka Mao had early on vended to them but elicited hardly no
attention. A fellow scriptwriter, desperate for some monetary commission by
which to spend in the horse racetracks, rummaged through his folders of film
manuscripts and singled out “Pag-ibig… Magkano Ka?”, exclaiming: “Yes! This is
it. The title alone is a sure money-maker. I’ll bring this to Leroy, he is
intending to start a film company.” The guy named Tommy was referring to Leroy
Salvador of the famed show business Salvador clan. Shortly after, Leroy
established Showbiz, Inc., with that Ka
Mao’s screenplay as its initial venture.
Still
a bachelor at the time, Ka Mao was staying on a monthly basis at Regency Hotel
on Avenida Rizal owned by Mother Lily Monteverde of Regal Films. Such stay, a
very costly one by any standard, was precisely the leverage Ka Mao got for
assurance of film assignments from the outfit: the company had better given him
jobs or he wouldn’t be able to pay his hotel bills.
Ka
Mao was really not that kind of writer who cranked out scripts overnight. One
time, he observed the late Jerry Tirazona pounding the typewriter all night long
and by dawn wrote 30 to the screenplay he was to deliver to a producer first
hour in the morning. How Ka Mao chuckled at the feat. He cringed to himself, “I
just can’t do it that way.”
Ka
Mao took time writing a film script. The gestation alone consumed eternities,
so it would seem to him. How was he then able to cope with the swamp of offers
that came his way after hitting it big with Celso?
For
one thing, he had had eternities, too, of doing nothing but read and write
after dropping out of college, during spare times and at nights in that period
of doing household chores in Manay Consoling’s apartment. Anything that came to
his mind and he found worth enough turning into a story, he wrote. And when he
began systematically transforming those stories into the cinematic form by way
of concretizing the self-learning he acquired from his trips to the Thomas
Jefferson Library, he was actually creating a deep pool of screenplays that
would come in handy now that producers were queuing up to him.
But
for the most part, he was in the late thirties, much grown from the twelve
year-old-elementary-graduate who ventured into Manila to search for the
proverbial pot of gold but was immediately confronted with the stench and
squalor of the city and at the same time with sights and sounds of ceaseless
glitter and merrymaking. This irony that to Ka Mao best described Manila
provided a rich source of substance for many a tale which by some irresistible
urge Ka Mao just found himself committing to writing on whatever surface he
could lay his hands on: a vacant page of old used notebooks, on smoothened
crumpled pads and bond paper, on yellow pads whenever he could afford to buy
one.
One
good thing about that kind of writing, Ka Mao was doing it not for a price and
so produced true mirrors of life. When turned into films, that writing had a
built-in universal appeal, i.e., commercial success.
Prior
to the judging for awards in the 1977 Metro Manila Film Festival, Ricky Lee,
who hadn’t quite started on his binge of promoting himself as the country’s top
screenwriter, barged into Ka Mao’s hotel suite, asking to see a copy of the
script of “Burlesk Queen”. What Ka Mao was able to show were scribblings on
yellow pad on a clipboard.
“Burlesk
Queen” was not written on a typewriter. It was written on the set, with a
ballpen on a yellow pad clipped on a board, conforming to the requirements of
the scenes scheduled for shooting. Celso discusses the sequence with Ka Mao,
then proceeds to block the actors, direct the camera movements, including
lighting effects, then without any warning, turns to Ka Mao: “Mao, dialogue.”
The
first time Celso did that to Ka Mao in the shooting of “Salvacion”, Ka Mao was
literally dumbfounded: Celso had not discussed with him about lines to speak in
the scene. So very discreetly, Ka Mao sidled up to Celso and whispered, “Cels,
we have not talked about it.” But the actors had been blocked, camera work
directed, and the rehearsals that had been set up inevitably had to proceed,
and Celso was quick to Ka Mao’s rescue. He took Joonee Gamboa’s placement,
“Masakit ito sa kalooban ko. (“This is against my will.)”, then moved over to
Ricky Belmonte’s position, countering, “Kalooban? Kalooban mo rin ba na anakan
ang ina ko – at ako ang maging anak! (“Your will? Was it also your will to
impregnate my mother with a child – and I to be that child!)” Joonee Gamboa was
playing the role of a priest, who only during the shooting of that particular
scene, was revealed to be Ricky Belmonte’s father in the story.
With
Celso, no script was ever final until it was shot – no, not ever final until
the shot scene had been thoroughly edited and the strips of cut film spliced
together to make a final whole – no, not yet, not ever final until the edited
whole had gone through the gamut of dubbing, music and effects lay-in, sound mixing
and, at long last, the negatives had been copied into positive prints – when it
was no longer practical to introduce any further changes in the creative
process.
It
was very enlightening for Ka Mao to observe that Celso had a firm hand on film
creation every step along the way – from gestation, to writing, to production
and post-production – no, not yet, all the way to devising marketing slants
like catchlines in publicity materials.
Much
much later in the progress of Ka Mao’s film career, he had some little verbal
tussle with Alicia Alonso, mother of now current Star Cinema talent, Maja
Salvador, over the direction in the script of “Walang Panginoon,” one of the
more serious films he did for Seiko Films. She must have had motivated herself
into a heavy crying scene so that she felt shortchanged when in executing the
scene, Ka Mao directed her to do her lines with melancholy, all right, but not
with tears.
Alicia
flashed before Ka Mao’s face the page of the script which directed the actress
to do the scene in stereotype tear-drenched melodrama.
“See?,”
she said complainingly. “The script says I should cry. It’s your script. You
wrote it.”
“No
need to cry,” Ka Mao insisted. And he ordered, “Take.”
What
the actress failed to realize was that Ka Mao was doing a Celso. That Ka Mao
did not find it necessary to explain it to her, was another doing of a Celso.
What
Celso never found time to expound to Ka Mao but which Ka Mao imbibed through
sheer observation of The Kid’s mannerism, style and method, was that a director
has all the prerogative of doing whatever he pleases to do with the film
assigned to him to be done. Ka Mao had come to realize that when a producer
asked him to do a film, implicit in the offer was an assurance from him that
that film would make fair returns on the producer’s investment. Assurance of
such returns were no one else’s obligation but his and so it behooved him and
no one else all sorts of prerogatives in crafting the film, from rewriting the
story, to overhauling the entire script, to getting a firm hand on all aspects
of the film production process, including editing, laying in of music and
effects, introducing in every step along the way any change necessary to ensure
that the film made money when finally shown.
So
by Ka Mao’s criterion, no right-minded actor must dare get the gall to tell a
director what to do. Mainly for this
reason, Ka Mao was averse to directing superstars who in every case actually
themselves direct their scenes in a movie. In time, he would be known as a
star-builder because he preferred to direct complete unknowns like what Celso
did with the house helper Rizza in “Nympha”. In many a time during the shooting
of the film, Celso himself would act out the way Rizza should do a scene and in
just as many a time, the girl, due to sheer inexperience, would fail to do it
the way Celso wanted. In most of those many times, Celso found himself wanting
to blow his top. But he never did. He coached the young hopeful patiently, devotedly,
in fact, until she struck the right acting he wanted. Aside from turning out to be a box-office
hit, “Nympha” earned for the sultry Chabacana housemaid the distinction o being
among the BEST FIVE ACTRESSES in the subsequent FAMAS Awards night.
Quite
many of Ka Mao’s movies were launching pads for newcomers: Stella Strada in
“Kirot”, his script and subsequently in “Angkinin Mo Ako,” his direction, too;
Rey PJ Abellana and Leni Santos in “Iiyak Ka Rin” together with Julie Vega;
Lani Mercado in “Sa Ngalan ng Anak”; Jestoni Alarcon and Rita Avila in “Huwag
Mong Buhayin Ang Bangkay,” third Best Picture in the 1987 Metro Manila Film
Festival; Maita Soriano in “Gatas”; Ruffa Guttierez in, first, “Huwag Kang
Hahalik Sa Diablo” together with similar neophytes Jean Garcia, Cristina Paner
and Isabel Granada, then “Isang Gabi, Tatlong Babae”; Sunshine Cruz in “First
Time Like A Virgin”; Cristina Gonzales in “Bad Girl”; Klaudia Koronel in “Kesong Puti”; Aila Marie in “May Gatas Pa
Sa Labi”; Ramona Rivilla in “Sambahin Ang Puri Ko”; Rosita Rosal in “Hayop Sa
Ganda”; Cesar Montano in “Machete”; Rossana Roces in “Machete II”; Priscilla
Almeda in “Halimuyak ng Babae”; Natasha Ledesma in “Kiliti”; Nini Jacinto in
“Talong”; Brigitte de Joya in “Kangkong”;
oh, the list is long.
All
these films were blockbusters, and this pointed to one incontrovertible fact:
stars don’t make movie hits. What, then? Ka Mao would get crystallized on in
due time.
For
the time being, what mattered to Ka Mao was to get across to people that in the
matter of film direction , his authority must be absolute. Not even the producer
was to meddle in his job. The film flops at the box-office, the director gets
the flak, that’s why in ensuring that his films made money, Ka Mao had resolved
that he alone must be responsible.
By
the time “Burlesk Queen” was underway, Ka Mao had grown accustomed to Celso’s
style and provided the lines, though written on the set, perfectly as demanded
by Celso. As mentioned already, “Burlesk Queen” won all but one of twelve
awards in the 1977 Metro Manila Film Festival, including the Best Screenplay
for Ka Mao.
When
Ricky Lee went barging into Ka Mao’s hotel suite, asking for a copy of the
script of “Burlesk Queen”, what he did
not realize was that Ka Mao was not writing that script according to norms
Ricky Lee must have garnered from the academe but according to principles Ka
Mao himself had firmed up in his self-study of the craft, i.e., that nobody
writes things he hasn’t himself lived. Consequently, any writing in violation
of this principle is unrealistic and achieves only pretentiousness.
Ka
Mao had no difficulty writing “Burlesk Queen” on the set. He only needed to
think back on that long period of stay with Mamay Oliva in that P. Gomez,
Quiapo apartment to be able to turn out a realistic and poignant piece of
reminiscences: when he scrimped on his measly daily school allowance so that
with the savings he could steal a weekend view of the burlesque show at Inday
Theater just a block away on Aroceros Street. Those reminiscences combined with
social insights Ka Mao gained in his subsequent struggles in the city to be
molded, in Celso’s impeccable grasp of film art, into a great film masterpiece.
Celso
did not produce “Burlesk Queen”; Romy Ching of Ian Films did. But when the Best
Picture Award was received by Celso for the company during that awards night,
he was receiving it for himself forever. Up until he died three years ago, he
held on to the Best Picture trophy –
never letting it go.
“Kabaret,”
produced by Showbiz, Inc. and directed by Leroy Salvador, was a similar case.
It only took Ka Mao to recall his gallivanting days, or nights, in the cabarets
– actually cheap flesh spots – on Fifth Avenue in Caloocan to come up with a
meaningful movie on the theme of prostitution. In a most subtle way, Ka Mao
actually intended the project to be an allegory of the virtual prostitution the
martial law regime had immersed Philippine society. For obvious reasons, Ka Mao
could only do so much in delivering the message, and that the message was not
grasped at all on a mass scale, Ka Mao thought it was a failure attributable to
the limitations of figure of speech.
You
want to agitate the masses into action, do it straightforward. People don’t go
rebelling on the strength of poetry and metaphors. The late Felixberto Olalia,
on the eve of the declaration of martial law when he was heading the May Day
Revolutionary Committee, pointed out that the Russian Revolution broke out not
on any intellectualized, pretentious advocacy as the struggle against
imperialism or the establishment of a national democracy but on the simple,
sincere, literal call for “Bread! Bread!”
That
call galvanized the Russian masses into the first bloodless People Power revolt
in history to overthrow the centuries-old dynasty of the Romanovs, paving the
way for the establishment of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
Such
an uprising in the Philippine setting would be a nice material for a movie Ka
Mao would much like to do.
Ka
Mao hardly realized that the circumstances for such a movie were already in the
making.
CHAPTER IV
CELSO AD CASTILLO AND
ASSOCIATES was suddenly the talk of the town in the film industry. With a grand
blessing of its offices on the top floor of a building in the corner of Avenida
Rizal and Carriedo Street in Sta. Cruz, Manila, the film company which Celso
established in the aftermath of the “Burlesk Queen” windfall served serious
notice that The Kid was living true to claims that he was the Messiah
long-awaited to revive a film industry widely chastised for its affliction with
base commercialism and mediocrity. And Celso had had enough prestige to command
support from the entertainment media in hyping this theme effectively.
All of a sudden, Celso was already the producer to reckon
with in Philippine cinema. At first glance, this was a plus factor. But coming
down to brass tasks, he had nothing so far to back up this claim.
He
had a title, all right: “Daluyong At Habagat”. Good enough to evoke something
grand and tumultuous, an epic turbulence. The cast was, as in “Salvacion”, a
defiance of the current formula of casting
superstars in lead roles. Actually this defiance was functional in Celso’s
case, i.e., to highlight the one single star of the project, the Director. Its
concession to the star-value system was apparently the topbilling of the cast
by known performers Vic Vargas and Pinky de Leon, plus the inclusion of what
then was being hyped as the newest sex kitten, Alma Moreno, who was introduced
in “Tag-Ulan sa Tag-araw”. To play pivotal roles were, again, Ricky Belmonte
and Joonee Gamboa together with Lito Anzures, Best Supporting Actor awardee for
his brilliant performance in the Miss Universe Gloria Diaz-starrer “Ang
Pinakamagandang Hayop Sa Balat ng Lupa”, which triggered Celso’s soar to fame.
He
already had, too, even a catchline already boasting of what a great movie the
first venture of Celso Ad Castillo and Associates would be: A NEW BREED OF
PERFORMERS IN A GIANT OF A MOTION PICTURE!.
Only
question was, what is the story about. That one single lack, Ka Mao evidently
had to fill in.
Celso
had in mind the great Hollywood movie “The Godfather” when he sat down with Ka
Mao to discuss the concept: a poor guy who through gangsterism rises to be the
kingpin of the underworld. The story was set in the days immediately following
the liberation of the Philippines by American forces from Japanese occupation
in 1945.
As
in all cases, Ka Mao just nodded to Celso’s ideas. He had grown used to Celso
agreeing to his own ideas which he would eventually contribute when he finally
got the screenplay written. It would even appear that Celso put out ideas as deliberate
baits for Ka Mao to modify or improve on, knowing that Ka Mao would not agree
to anything wrong by his own standard.
By
his own standard, a copycat of “The
Godfather” was a no-no for Ka Mao. He was too self-respecting to be caught
copying somebody else’s thoughts. Concept-wise, Celso’s idea was good;
ganglordism is a universal phenomenon and a film may not be accused of
plagiarizing “The Godfather” by tackling the same theme.
Ka
Mao identified the problem: how to do a “The Godfather”-like movie without
being an imitation of it. He did not have to wring his brain so much.
Just
go by your own writing principle, he told himself.
Ka
Mao saw the opportunity of depicting in a movie what until then was dearest to
his heart: the great proletarian revolution.
A
poor boy rising to the top of gangland, Ka Mao took that hook, line and sinker.
But the whys and the wherefores were entirely his handiwork, which gladly sat
well with Celso. Reporting to the shooting set in famous ruins of San Juan,
Celso proudly boasted to staff, crew and cast: “You people realize what we’re
making? We’re doing a great proletarian movie.” And he flashed to everyone the
poster he was carrying to be integrated with the production design: a large
portrait of Karl Marx.
How
proletarian was “Daluyong At Habagat”?
The
finished product speaks for itself. At the start, vignettes of poor folks’ life
in the slums of Intramuros, the Walled City center of Spanish Colonial
Philippines. In the aftermath of America’s ravagement of Manila in the guise of
liberation, Intramuros had been transformed into a despicable, albeit grand,
showcase of post-war squalor. Flesh trade in dingy alleys. Cheap entertainment
in rowdy honky-tonks. Workers slaving in factories. Old and young scavenging in
a scrap yard. A sixtyish man sawing an unexploded bombshell to cut it into
pieces of scrap. The shell explodes, shattering the man into smithereens. Thus
starts the shift of the otherwise straight-living son of the bomb blast victim
into the path of crime to rise in social status. This development is paralleled
by workers threading the path of revolutionary social upheaval to achieve
liberation from poverty. The son rises to the zenith of gangland supremacy, but
being individual, his rise is met with opposition as is characteristic of
gangland rivalry. He ends up getting massacred with his men in an explosive
ambush, while in the streets of Manila erupts a thousands-strong uprising of
workers defiantly rending the air with a stirring mass rendition of the
“Internationale.” As the militant workers leader puts in, “We cannot hope to
rise above poverty without first destroying the rotten system of society.”
University
of the Philippines professor and respected critic, Petronilo Bn. Daroy, in an
article in the Daily Express, had this to say of the movie: “Daluyong at
Habagat” is today what “El Filibusterismo” was during the Spanish colonial
regime.”
Celso
could not have had a better timing for his initial work as a producer.
Martial
Law was into its sixth year at the time and did not appear to be anywhere
ending in the foreseeable future. Though the armed struggle of the so-called
National Democratic Front seemed to be attaining sizeable headway in the
countryside, in the main arena which were the cities, the Marcos dictatorship
had things well under control, so to speak.
The
exchange rate stood at P7.36 to 1$, which, compared to the current rate of more
or less P50 to a dollar, indicated a
healthy society on the economic front.
On
the political front, Ninoy Aquino, though remaining in prison, dared lead the
opposition to Martial Law in contending for the seats in the Interim Batasan
Pambansa. The entire opposition ticket was trashed into oblivion with a dismal
score of O. Besting them was the Kilusang Bagong Lipunan (KBL) ticket headed by
First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos.
To
Ka Mao, what became a barometer for whether or not the revolution would succeed
was the establishment of the SM City North. If, as the Communist Party of the
Philippines predicted, the revolution would succeed in establishing socialism
in the country, was it not stupid of the SM entrepreneurs to start building a
capitalistic empire in what could shortly become a hub of socialism and communism? But SM had been well on track over the
current decade. From a small shoe store beside the old Ideal Theater on Avenida
Rizal, it grew into a full-blown department store, built on the very spot in
Araneta Center which had become the Waterloo of the strike by KAMAO against the
Makabayan Publishing Corporation. In that respect, then, the KAMAO defeat was a
foreboding of a truly gargantuan disaster of the working class struggle in the
Philippines in inverse proportion to the upswing of SM malls the country over.
Today, as SM malls dominate the Philippine retail industry, consequently
transforming Henry Sy into the country’s richest man, the national democratic
revolution and its instrumentalities Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP)
and New People’s Army (NPA) had been reduced to where it was before the KAMAO
strike began.
So
it was great wonder that SM did not commit any stupidity of building a
capitalistic empire in the midst of what appeared to be widespread socialistic
uprising.
What
proved to be stupid was the reverse: building a socialistic armed revolution in
the midst of a burgeoning capitalism. As, they say, you cannot argue against
success – which translates to, you cannot argue against the success of Henry Sy
– so you cannot argue against failure – which translates to, you cannot argue
against the failure of the national democratic revolution. These two givens
just speak for themselves.
So
did the failure of the KAMAO strike speak for itself: it was stupid to believe
that one local strike, no matter how courageous and militant, could bring about
the liberation of the proletariat. In many a moment when Ka Mao indulged in
self-searching, he would find himself fancying that had he not been stupid to
launch that inutile strike, he would have remained in the good graces of the
Aranetas and would have had some nice placement in the bureaucracy of the
Aranetas’ own empire, which had become formidable, too, in its own right.
And
yet, and yet…When the opportunity to promote proletarian revolutionary politics
in his movies came, he grabbed it like he was gobbling it for the first time. The
heck if Pete had warned him, “Take care.” It was as if he was willing to go
through it all over again: the skirmishes with police and security guards, the
rendezvous with bullets, pill box bombs, Molotov cocktails and grenades, the daring-do
of getting his body threateningly run over by tires of strike-breaking trucks.
Ah,
the deathless romance of the First Quarter Storm.
No,
there was no stupidity in the whole exhilarating exercise. That vested
capitalistic interests might be pulling the strings behind the revolutionary
movement was beside the point. What mattered was that Ka Mao and one whole
generation of idealistic youth were getting baptized into the fire and fury of
proletarian revolution and everyone did his part sincerely and well.
In
the final analysis, albeit without Ka Mao realizing it, when he took “Daluyong
at Habagat” as an opportunity for renewing his espousal of the proletarian
struggle, he was not taking it as an argument against the failure of the
national democratic revolution. He was taking it as an agreement with destiny,
success or failure regardless.
It
was a matter of course that elements from the national democratic movement
began gravitating around him in that period. He was not only slanting his
screenplays toward the workers struggle; he was actually engaging again in
revolutionary organizing, this time in the industry he now belonged in, the movies.
Together
with Pete, he took the initiative of forming the Screenwriters Guild of the
Philippines. Ricky Lee, increasingly identifying himself as a screenwriter, was
contributing his own share in the endeavor. During one consultation with Ka
Mao, he suggested that Pete, though a renowned journalist, had not yet done
much screenwriting to be head of the group.
With
all due respect though, Pete would turn out a number of screenplays that would
be rated as among the truly significant condemnations of the martial law
regime, to wit, “Jaguar”, “Kapit Sa Patalim”, and “Ora Pronobis.” All films
were directed by Lino Brocka, who endeavored to generate international
attention for these, Pete’s works..
Though
Pete was the interim president of the screenwriters guild, the SGP, in the
elections held at the Caloocan residence of Marina Feleo Gonzales, Tony Mortel,
then editor of People’s Journal, was elected president. It was a wide consensus
among guild members that Tony was in the best position to gain benefits for the
screenwriting profession.
At any rate, Ka Mao’s organizing effort was
again catching the Party’s attention. This became evident to him when during a
chance meeting with writer and stage director Behn Cervantes in the house of
actress Rita Gomez, he was asked by Behn
how the union was progressing. Behn was referring to the screenwriters guild.
Behn’s interest betrayed he was in on Ka Mao;s initiative as a Party element;
an information Ka Mao had gotten revealed Behn was a responsible element of the
Party cultural bureau, so Behn asked the question as somebody asserting
superiority over him.
It
was farthest from Ka Mao’s mind, however, of doing union work in the ranks of
artists. As Bayani had cautioned him a number of times, artists are the hardest
sector to organize. This is because, artists are so individualistic that not
one artist will admit he is inferior to the other. Ka Mao observed one time a
fellow director shouting to everyone on the set before taking a scene, “Nobody
makes suggestions.”
Ka
Mao’s idea of a screenwriters union is one honed on the principles of the
working class: fearless, dedicated, selfless. Sure, the objective was for an
upping of economic benefits of screenwriters, but the method was political.
For
that reason, during one meeting, Ka Mao did the rigors of political economy to
determine the minimum fee for a screenplay, in much the same way he would
compute the minimum wage for a factory worker.
He hadn’t quite gotten over Marxist doctrine on capitalistic
exploitation of the proletariat which summed up into the theory of surplus
value. Pete cut him short.
“Let’s
be brief about this. How much?”
Ka
Mao appeared stupefied for a moment. How could he ever be brief about the
matter? By Marxist reckoning, what a capitalist can be entitled to in the value
created in the commodity are portions of that value corresponding to the amount
of raw materials and machine used for producing the commodity. Such value does
not vary in any phase of the production process and so contributes nothing to
the value created once the raw materials are turned into commodity. The source
of the created value – the surplus value – cannot but be the labor power
infused by the workers in the commodity. Determining surplus value along this
reckoning in the case of filmmaking requires a more complicated process, since
the categories of labor involved in doing a movie are as varied as the elements
comprising the finished product: story, script, music, editing, production
design, sound engineering, special effects, dubbing, direction, acting of the
performers, and, finally, labor of the production and post-production crew.
Ka
Mao just found himself silently asking: How can I be brief about such
multi-faceted complication?
When
somebody suggested, “Let’s peg it at fifteen thousand,” it got carried. And
since then, the minimum screenplay fee, at the time running at seven thousand
pesos, was upped to and standardized at P15,000.
Ka
Mao felt it was too low. But he kept his feeling to himself. Realizing early
on how difficult, as Bayani had often
advised him, it was to get film artists agree on anything, he decided to
himself that a screenwriter’s fee is a matter of individual artist outlook; he
had his own outlook which he thought he’d get done through his own private
means.
The
best way, he resolved to himself, is to direct his movies. That way he could
package the fee for the screenplay with that for direction. Because directors
enjoy a high degree of prerogative in determining who and how much to pay for
those to involve in filming a movie, chances were good that if he could direct
his own movies, he could command a price for his screenplays that he could
consider right: ten times over.
The
package price he got for one of the last films Ka Mao had directed, “Bakit
Kailangan ng Ibon and Pakpak?”, was P550,000.00, P400,000.00 for direction –
P150,000.00 for screenplay. As Ka Mao had reckoned early on, ten times over.
Meantime,
he had to make do with the P15,000.00 that had been agreed in the meeting. Of
course the consensus reached did not bar anyone from charging more than fifteen
thousand pesos for a script; the intention was to set a ceiling below which no
guild member could go. But screenwriting being a highly-competitive field –
worse even, its importance in the industry is much subsumed to that of the
obtaining star system in which the commercial value of movies was ascribed more
to the stars than anything else – you price your work too high, you price
yourself out of competition.
In
Ka Mao’s particular case, a new imperative served to determine his actions
during the period. He realized he wasn’t getting any younger and he felt he
could no longer contain himself to seeking momentary pleasures with bar girls
and cabaret dancers whenever the urge for sex seized him. He wanted more
permanent happiness, not much really like having a partner with whom to have
personal pleasures but rather more like having own kids to raise and look after
and work a good life for.
CHAPTER
V
SWEET was how Ka Mao
began to call the girl colleague Felix Dalay brought before him for audition
one afternoon. She was Betchay, a
seventeen-year-old third-high-schooler who fancied herself becoming a movie star and quite excitedly
agreed when Felix, who had met her in a shooting set, offered to introduce her
to Ka Mao.
Much, much later in the story, during a session of the
Marriage Encounter movement under the auspices of the Cactholic Light in the
Spirit Seminar, when Ka Mao was asked what attracted him most to the girl, he
said, “Her hips.”
That was how it was that afternoon Felix brought Betchay
to the hotel suite which until then Ka Mao continued to occupy. It was
physical, all right. What her hips evoked were imageries of shapely statues of goddesses, of girls
romping around in bikinis on beaches, or of belly dancers doing erotic
performances.
One other thing which the Priest Moderator in the
Marriage Encounter session did not ask about but which sealed Ka Mao’s decision
to take Betchay for a wife was her status in life. He visited her at last in
her home and just found himself melting in pity.
There
in the yard of a typical hoveler’s shack in
rubbish-ridden surroundings on the edge of an unattended, abandoned fish
pond, the girl, rather slim for her age, was munching a sugar cane stem like it
was to sate the hunger evident in her face; the cane was freshly cut from a
bunch grown in the yard.
“Why
are you here?” she asked, almost with a snub, a pout in her mouth but a glint
of ache in her eyes. Maybe it
embarrassed her to be found by Ka Mao in that condition and she had to play act
something for a defense mechanism.
Enthused by the presence of Ka Mao were Betchay’s
youngest siblings, two adolescent girls and a nine-year-old boy. They giggle to
one another, their gestures teasingly insinuating sweet, nice relationship between Ka Mao and
Betchay.
“Won’t you be gone,” growled Betchay at the kids.
“Your siblings?” asked Ka Mao.
“I’m Maricar,” said the elder of the two girls.
“I’m Eva,” said the younger one.
“Bobong,” said the boy, cutting in.
“So you’re four kids in the family?” asked Ka Mao.
“No, we’re seven,” informed Maricar.
“Where are the others?” asked Ka Mao.
“Kuya Victor and Kuya Jonathan, roaming around,” said
Bobong.
“Ate Bebe is in school,” said Maricar.
“How about you three, why are you not in school?” queried
Ka Mao.
Betchay quickly butted in, not wanting to hear what the
kids were to answer, “Won’t you just be gone. Go, go…”
Bobong was quick at replying. He said, “We’ve got no
allowance.”
“Ate Betchay, too. She has no allowance so she is absent
today,” continued Bobong.
Ka Mao faced Betchay, “Where are your parernts? Why
didn’t they give you your allowances?”
“Papa is a jeepney driver but hasn’t had trips the past
days. He had no money to give us when he left to work today,” said Maricar.
“How about your mother?” asked Ka Mao.
“Mama is a dressmaker,” said Betchay, firmly gritting her
jaws. “She attends to our needs. She had to leave early and did not expect that
Papa wouldn’t be able to give our allowance. This does not happen everyday.”
Ka Mao took a split-second to decide on something. He
fished three hundred-peso bills from his pocket and give one each to the two
girls and the boy.
“There’s time to catch up with your classes. Go,” said Ka
Mao.
Betchay could only stare at Ka Mao, who took care not to
look at her lest he got her embarrassed.
Ka Mao gladly trailed Betchay’s sisters and brother with
his eyes as they hurried inside the shack to get dressed for school. Then he was
distracted by Betchay’s continuing to stare at him almost defiantly.
“Anything wrong I did?” Ka Mao asked.
Betchay managed a pain-laden, self-consoling smile. She
said, “This is my life. So what’s it to you.”
“Look. Let me take you to school so you may catch up with
your classes. Then afterward, I can treat you to a movie,” Ka Mao was pretty
prudent with the way he said the words.
That Betchay welcomed Ka Mao’s offer after all was
betrayed by her words as she turned into the house, “I’ll only be a minute.”
That date in Odeon Theater was the beginning. The many
afternoons afterward were the interludes, when she would proceed to Ka Mao’s
hotel suite after school, there to do her homework and then enjoy ubiquitous
chopsuey rice dinner with him before going home. And that evening she could no
longer refuse his urgings and opened herself up to him completely was the
beautiful finale.
With voice aching as she clung to his shoulders, she said,
almost pleading, “Don’t forsake me.”
Betchay actually had Ka Mao all to herself.
Ka
Mao had never lain any girl in love for a fling. The greatest myth about him
ever told was that because for a period he had been known as a bold director,
he had had a heyday bedding bold stars. None of it. He had flatly rejected
quite a few offers from sex stars to sleep with him. From as far back as his
youth, his outlook on sexual union outside of prostitution is that it is an act
meant for a lasting relationship. Sure
he had had many a lay with other girls before, but all those were for a price
and in Ka Mao’s view, he only got his money’s worth for doing it. No need to
feel any guilt about it nor qualms of any kind.
In
the case of Lala, Ka Mao did not abandon her; she did him.
What
Ka Mao never told Betchay – for it was a matter of a deep ideological resolve –
was that – no matter, too, the deep naivette inherent in his resolve – in order
to be consistent with his proletarian revolutionary conviction, he must have
for a wife somebody from the despised, wretched sector of society called
squatters. Ka Mao utterly failed to consider that it is not to be a squatter to
qualify as proletarian but rather for anyone, regardless of station in life, to
embrace proletarian class standpoint, viewpoint and method.
Ka
Mao was doing it perfectly right when on at least two occasions, he attempted
to strike up amorous relationship with girl comrades in the KASAMA Party Group.
With Ka Openg, from the Propaganda Bureau, the attempt was frustrated when Ka
Erning, another member of the Educational Department, became more aggressive in
winning her, ultimately marrying her in Party ceremonies conducted by no less
than Banero, head of the NTUB.
With
Ka Didith, from the cultural group Panday Sining, who was a constant visitor in
the KASAMA headquarters, the attempt, punctuated by what Ka Mao thought was a
wrong he did but which he wanted to set right by marrying her, was aborted by
her sudden deployment to the Visayas, there to do her party task. She had been
unheard of by Ka Mao eversince.
With Betchay, the paramount revolutionary
criteria for choosing a mate was completely lost to Ka Mao. Here was a girl, no
less proletarian than any of the workers whose liberation from oppression and
exploitation he had vowed to work for. Didn’t she deserve just as much devotion
from him as he had for any of those in the working class?
Ka
Mao had resolved to stand by his responsibility to Betchay that very same night she gave all of her to
him.
When
one evening Ka Mao arrived home in the hotel suite and found a forty-year-old
woman waiting, he immediately surmised what was up.
Betchay
was attending to the woman. She spoke with a mixture of jitters and put-on
lightheartedness.
“My
mama,” Betchay introduced the woman.
“Oh,
how do you do?” said Ka Mao, not quite knowing how to make himself sound,
whether evasive, apologetic, or apprehensive. He was expecting some harsh response,
as all telenovelas go.
But
none of it when the woman spoke. With no trace of animosity whatsoever, she
spoke quite calmly, even meekly.
“So
how is this to be now?” she said, clearly trying not to sound offensive.
Ka Mao understood what the woman meant.
“I will marry her,” he said, eyeing Betchay.
Betchay had never been showy of her inner feelings. But
there was a coy smile on her lips, a girlish glint in her eyes.
CHAPTER
VI
ALTHOUGH Ka Mao’s
Antipolo lot had a very wide frontage on Sumulong Highway, he chose the spot at
the back beside the creek on which to build his house. The spot was shaded by a
large century-old mango tree on a side, a grove of bamboo trees on the opposite
side, on a lower level of the slope, and an enormous acacia tree with a wide
spread of large branches on the other side of the creek. In this position,
hardly was there any hour of the day when the house wouldn’t be shaded from the
sun, except in the early morning, when sun rays would shoot through bushes from
the eastern horizon.
It pained Ka Mao somehow that he had to destroy a large
patch of yellow ginger in flattening the area on which to build the house. He
always took care that he did not hurt any vegetation in doing any endeavor. But
the area had to be flattened on which to lay out the cement floor, and so the
ginger must go.
It was a simple square house that Ka Mao put up: average-size
square post each on the four corners, two layers of hollow blocks wall joining
them on the ground, with wooden beams on the tops on which were fastened the
wooden trusses; wooden purlins held the
trusses in place and on which were nailed the bamboo slats for tying the nipa
roofing on. The walls were consisted of webbed bamboo barks which similarly
wall the frames of the window covers; the windows had bamboo slats for grills.
The main door, also made of bamboo slats , was facing the area shaded by a huge
low-lying branch of the century old mango tree. A porch was set up on the side
facing the highway, serving as a side-entrance to the house, through the
kitchen. Adjoining the kitchen is a beddings storage room. All sidings of the
porch, kitchen and beddings storage room, like those of the house proper, were
done in webbed bamboo barks.
Bert Putol, so-called because of his deformed left hand
which had all four fingers joined together and their tips joined up with the
thumb, was, for all his infirmity, a skilled mason-carpenter but whom Ka Mao
paid a pittance for erecting the house.
“Someday I’ll have a house just like this,” said Bert
Putol by way of admiring his finished work.
“Ah…,” Ka Mao wanted to wax poetry. “House where no sun
can burn with heat nor water stop from flowing like hope that springs eternal.”
“That’s true,” said Bert Putol. “Springs in this area
never dry up even in the hottest of summer,”
According to Bert Putol, the creek joined up with bigger
streams of water downhill to form the legendary falls called Hinulugang Taktak.
Ka Mao observed
that the creek ran through the adjacent 11-hectare lot called Valdez Farm at
the time, being owned by Ambassador Carlos Valdez.
“Ambassador Valdez must be an environmentalist,” Ka Mao
commented. “Water flowing from his property carries no garbage at all as it outs
into mine. That’s why I wanted our house built here. Water is so clean we can use
it for all our water needs.”
“Except for drinking, of course,” said Bert Putol.
“Still no problem,” quickly retorted Ka Mao. “Plenty of
springs.”
Ka Mao walked over to one gush of water on the creekside,
scoops some with his hand and drank it.
“This has always been my drinking water here,” he said.
“Only problem is, we’ve built on sloping ground. What if the soil erodes?”
“Never,” said Bert Putol. “Soil erosion happens when the
underside of the ground gives for lack of strong foundation. Earth in this area
is held fast by solid rock foundation. It will never give.”
Bert Putol had occupied as overseer the lot adjacent to
Ka Mao’s property. He should know whereof he spoke.
He explained, pointing to the flowing water at the bottom
of the slope, “That water we call creek is actually a collection of seepages
from different spring sources all around this area. The water streams down the open crevices of one solid
rock foundation. The foundation of your house is a portion of this one solid
rock which is the size of one whole mountain.”
Ka Mao gaped in disbelief.
“Your house is built on a rock,” declared Bert Putol.
Betchay, all along just listening to the conversation of
the two while busy sprucing up the newly-finished house and starting to put
their belongings in place, was pleased
to hear the words. It meant a lot
of things to her. A home to last, at long last, she said to herself. No more
going back to the squalor that had been her world during the long first
seventeen years of her life. No matter how modest, the house was good enough a
start, to improve on and keep strong each time.
Bert Putol grabbed
his paraphernalia. “Be going.”
“Thank you, friend.”
“Don’t mention.”
Ka Mao turned toward the house just as Betchay felt a
stirring in her belly. She caressed it with her hand, eyeing him as he
approached..
“Anything wrong?” asked Ka Mao.
She smiled by way of assuring him that nothing was wrong,
while she spoke, “For many times that you did me nice things, I never bothered
to say thank you. I think maybe I had better say it now.”
“Say what?”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for what?”
“For giving me a home to last.”
Ka Mao stares wonderingly.
“No house built on a rock can crash,” Betchay said, like
uttering an oath.
Betchay was visibly pregnant and Ka Mao worried that
something might be ailing her.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” insisted Ka Mao
“Never
been more okay in my life,” Betchay said as she exerted effort to settle the
bed in a corner.
Ka
Mao quickly stopped Betchay.
“That’s too heavy for you. Tell you what, you had better
rested. I can do this chore.”
Betchay instead minded fixing the linen on the bed as
soon as Ka Mao was done with it and he shifted to the kitchen where he moved
the refrigerator to put it in place.
Along with the bed, the refrigerator was the first item
Ka Mao purchased as a way of starting to establish home furnishings. He bought
it when first he and Betchay settled with his folks in Mamay Oliva’s Cavite
Street apartment, then took it along when Betchay wished they would instead join
her folks in Malabon. After having a house built for Bethay’s folks on the edge
of the abandoned fish pond and staying with them for a time, Ka Mao made his
mind up to establish permanent settlement in the Antipolo property. Still, the
bed and the refrigerator stuck with him and Betchay.
A thought crossed Ka Mao’s mind and he smiled while he
continued his business with the ref..
“What’s funny?” asked Betchay.
“Can’t figure why we had to carry this heavy thing all
the way from Malabon when we can’t make use of it here,” Ka Mao said, not quite
sure whether he had done right with the refrigerator placement.
“It’s not been a year since you bought it. It’s in good condition,”
said Betchay.
“I mean,” said Ka Mao, “Friend Bert just told me that the
electricity running on the highway lines is high voltage. No way to have a line
tapped to our house.”
“Oh, dear…,” said Betchay. “Can’t even watch TV. But,
wait a minute. Valdez Farm has got electric lights.”
“They’ve got their own transformer.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s what you need to reduce the high voltage of the
main Meralco line to 220 volts allowable for home consumption.”
“So we put up our own transformer then, like Valdez
Farm.”
“We need hundred fifty thousand pesos .”
Ka Mao spoke as coolly as he could.
Betchay gaped as in horror.
Ka Mao returned Betchay’s horrified gaze with a look that
indicated he was grappling with an agony in his mind: at P15,000 per screenplay,
he would have to write 10 scripts to raise the P150,000 needed to put up his
own electric transformer – and that was granting he and Betchay and their baby
who was shortly to come wouldn’t require any nourishment in the meantime. At
his average of two months writing per screenplay, he would require one year and
eight months to finish the ten screenplays. But that’s a reckoning by sheer
averaging. Actually the most number of scripts he had so far accomplished in a
year was four, which meant, granting he had all four scripts for the asking in
a year, he needed more or less two years to raise a hundred fifty grand and get
a supply of electricity in the newly-built house.
At Betchay’s helpless stare, Ka Mao said assuringly,
“We’ll make do.”
In the evenings thereafter, contending with the chirping
of crickets and the croaking of frogs in the creekside surroundings were the
furious cliticlacks of typewriter keys coming from inside the house.
It was Ka Mao, all right, furiously pounding at his
second-hand Olivetti, while his face variably grew taut or tender, furious or
pitiful, accordingly as the emotion evoked by the particular scene he was
writing. Eyes getting moist with angry tears, his fingers pummeled the
typewriter keys with the fury that had seized him and with which he wrote out
the dialogue of resistance by the leading character in the scene he was doing:
“Hindi ninyo ako naiintindihan. Si Neneng Magtanggol ay hindi simpleng preso sa
bilangguan. Siya ay isang sagisag. Larawan
ng isang lumang lipunan na nagbubuntis ng bago. Ang kanyang
pagpupunyaging makalaya mula sa pagkabilanggo ay salamin lamang ng marubdob na adhikain ng
uring manggagawa na wasakin ang tanikalang gumagapos sa kanila sa walang habas
na pang-aapi’t pagsasamantala ng uring kapitalista. Ano ang makapagluluwal sa
ipinagbubuntis ni Neneng Magtanggol? Puwersa ang komadrona ng bawat lumang
lipunang nagbubuntis ng bago! (You don’t understand me. Neneng Magtanggol is
not a simple prison inmate. She is a symbol. A picture of an old society
pregnant with a new one. Her struggle to liberate herself from imprisonment
mirrors the intense aspiration of the working class to break their chains of
oppression and exploitation by the capitalist class. What can deliver the child
Neneng Magtanggol is pregnant of? Force is the midwife of every old society
pregnant with a new one!”)
The hour was deep into the night. Betchay was fast asleep
in bed. Ka Mao pounded the typewriter so hard at the end of the line which he
loudly vocalized that it awakened Betchay. The pounding caused the typewriter
cover to get unlatched and nearly flip over. Ka Mao moved in time to catch the
typewriter cover and put it back in place. He did it rather gingerly, for
actually fastened with electrical tape to the top of the cover was a kerosene
lamp improvised from an average-size powdered coffee glass container, the
cotton wick inserted into a rolled strip of thin tin sheet punched into the
middle of the plastic cover of the coffee container.
That was the lamp that since the couple moved into the
Antipolo property Ka Mao had been using to light his writing. Of course, in the
day, light was no problem. He would just move the collapsible writing table
under the century-old mango tree and there pound the typewriter till not enough
sunlight could filter any longer through the bamboo grove on the west side.
Still, it was cause enough for big problem, since Ka Mao’s writing voracity was
in the evenings when he would pound his typewriter endlessly until the last
crowing of the cocks at daybreak.
Initially, Robbie Tan of Seiko Films had the kindness to
buy him what appeared to be a much better light source, a petromax. It was a
kerosene-powered gadget that operated exactly along the principle of kerosene
burners popularly used for cooking in the fifties all the way to the sixties.
Ka Mao immediately welcomed the brilliance, but early on he realized its
overriding impracticableness as far as writing was concerned: it needed pumping
of air into the fuel chamber every fifteen minutes to maintain its brilliance.
At first, Ka Mao bore with his annoyance over having to pause from writing
every once so often to do the pumping of air, but in due time he got fed up.
“Manufacturers of petromax don’t realize one idiosyncracy
of writers,” Ka Mao found himself reviling. “You don’t disturb their flow of
thought. Once you do, you throw them back into the agony of endless gestations.
Don’t they know how hard it is to recover a writer’s muse once lost? That’s
what petromax did to him, throw him into agonies, endlessly piling on top of
one another, of having to recoup lost inspirations due to unwanted pauses in
thought flow.”
So Ka Mao devised his own method: improvise that lamp
fashioned from used powdered coffee glass container. It worked wonders. The light
stayed constant all night long, his muse stuck to his mind, and his thought
flow remained undisturbed but by the first crowing of cocks at dawn – which after all was signal for him to stop and
rest.
“Who are you fighting?” Betchay asked as she attempted to
rise.
“No problem. I’m just acting out a line. You sleep.”
Ka Mao minded Betchay no more. He fastened the kerosene
lamp back in place on the typewriter cover, then resumed his writing.
Betchay made herself snug under a blanket but stayed awake
for a moment. It pleased her, the way Ka Mao wrote. She had grown so accustomed
to his method and style that she was aware how he would never stop rewriting
his lines until he was himself vocalizing to himself loudly how a line was to
be delivered in the scene: madly, for evocation of anger and violence;
tearfully, for sorrow and pain; tenderly, for love and pity; gleefully for joy
and excitement, and so on and so forth.
A…, Betchay sighed to herself, what intricate webbing of
emotions Ka Mao was capable of.
CHAPTER
VII
NIĆOS INOCENTES,
or “Innocent Infant Boys” as translated from Spanish, is a Catholic feast day
so-called because it commemorates the day King Herod of Judea ordered infant
boys up to two years old killed. As the Biblical account has it, certain wise men came to King Herod asking
for the whereabouts of the new-born Infant Jesus who had been prophesied to be
King of Israel, King Herod became so insecure of his throne that then and there
he ordered all boys up to two years old killed to make sure the infant Jesus
was finished off. According to the story, an angel warned Joseph and Mary of
the danger and instructed them to hie off to Egypt with their new-born child and
there stay until it was safe to return.
Over time, the significance of the event had been so
diluted as to connote escape from one’s obligations or responsibilities
committed on the Feast Day of NiƱos Inocentes, traditionally set on December 28
yearly. So on this day, people go borrowing money at will and then afterward
invoke, in order not to pay the debt, the spirit of escape from obligations as
connoted by the celebration of the feast day of NiƱos Inocentes. The lender, by
virtue of the tradition, just finds himself condoning the debt. What he gains
is the lesson that you don’t lend money on the feast day of NiƱos Inocentes or
you will never get paid. On the whole, it has been generally observed among Catholics
that contracts of obligations on the day of Ninos Innocentes are null and void
– of course, all in the spirit of fun.
On
December 28, 1979, Ka Mao and Betchay were wed. Along the spirit of NiƱos
Innocentes, their marriage contract must be null and void. It had been Ka Mao’s
wont to point this out to Betchay each time he felt like kidding her on his
obligation to her. Betchay, however, always had a ready retort: NiƱos
Innocentes is a tradition of the Catholic church; theirs was a civil marriage,
legal in every aspect, just he try breaking it.
When
asked by Mayor Nemesio Yabut of Makati, who officiated the very simple wedding
rites in his municipal office, why Ka Mao and Betchay were getting wed only
then when they had been living together for more than a year, Ka Mao answered,
“We had a child only now.”
True
to Ka Mao’s resolve, having a wife was not so much for want of a partner in
life as for having kids to raise and build a good life for. Marrying her would
have come earlier had not their first child, which was a girl, had not been
lost to a miscarriage. That sad event happened in a resort in Laguna where
Celso had them billeted during the shooting in Majayjay of “Pagputi ng Uwak,
Pag-itim ng Tagak.” The film was among Celso’s great works and eventually
became a grand FAMAS Award Winner. It was not Ka Mao’s assignment though, but
Celso insisted that Ka Mao be present on the set as script consultant or some
such, translate that to, writer of critical lines. As The Kid would admit,
“You’ve made me too dependent on your scripts.”
Ir
rook another season of seed planting, with much advice from Manay Consoling for
Betchay not to stand after coitus but to continue lying, her legs propped up.
This was to facilitate the merging of egg and sperm cells.
On
July 9, 1979, a healthy baby boy, for whom Ka Mao coined the nickname Maoie,
was delivered by Betchay caesarian section for being a breech. In subsequent
baptismal rites at the Antipolo Cathedral, the boy was named Mauro Gia Samonte
II, with a formidable array of sponsors representing, by Ka Mao’s deliberate
design, the main spectrum of social classes, Pete Lacaba, Diego Cagahastian,
Bayani Abadilla for the proletarian side, Franklin Cabaluna, Tony Mortel, Bella
Salvador, wife of Leroy Salvador, and Gloria Sevilla, wife of Amado Cortes,
for, at least a semblance of, the bourgeoisie. Each of the sponsors, in any
case, stood in the baptismal rites not really consciously representing a social
class but as individuals drawn together on the basis of the more universal and
humane consideration of friendship with Ka Mao. On the occasion, Ka Mao made
sure that Dr. Angel Juliano, the obgynecologist who delivered Maoie, was a
special guest.
To
Ka Mao’s mind, Maoie’s coming completed the trinity a family ought to be: a
father, a mother and a child. So Ka Mao decided it was high time he made that
family sacred by marrying Betchay at long last. This decision was not without
substantial prodding from Manay Consoling, who saw Betchay could be a good
partner in life for Ka Mao.
Now,
the question was, why do it on December
28 and run the risk of instantly getting annulled by the tradition of NiƱos Inocentes?
The
choice of the date was very deliberate and quite practical. December 28
happened to be the birthday of Leroy Salvador, who was to be their wedding
sponsor; one lady sponsor would fail to come. That day, then, being his
birthday, Leroy would surely be having some celebration in his house and Ka Mao
thought he and Betchay could just share in the celebration with Maoie in tow, and
make of the celebration as though it were their own wedding reception. And that
was what happened. Ka Mao and Betchay got wed not only on the day the killing
of innocent infant boys was being
erroneously observed but also with a wedding reception that was not their own.
Let alone the fact that Ka Mao just didn’t have the money to spend even for a simple
get-together with friends and relatives in a cheap restaurant, proletarian
simple living had become his way of life so much so that he wouldn’t be caught
indulging in luxury or ostentation of any sort. What appeared for a time as
avarice in his interlude of residence in a hotel was really a pragmatic
approach to his calling. It made him quite accessible to producers who needed
only to walk a block or two to reach him. In the case of Regal Films, which
owned the hotel, Ka Mao enjoyed assurance of film assignments if only so he
could pay his bills. He could still have opted for continued stay in the hotel
and enjoyed the same assurance when he settled down with Betchay but that this
time around, he not only needed to continue getting assignments but raise a
family, too, in proper surroundings. The Antipolo house perfectly filled in the
latter need.
When Ka Mao came home with Betchay and Maoie that
evening, he seemed to glow with inner contentment.
Living in the house from then on would be living entirely under the blessing of
the holy matrimony, he oathed to himself.
“Now I feel complete,” Ka Mao told Betchay as he lit the
kerosene lamp fastened on the the cover of the typewriter on the collapsible
table by the bed.
Betchay
lost no time taking off the dress she wore in the wedding rites and rather
peskily dumped it into the laundry basket by the foot of the bed. She changed into
house clothes and quickly attended to Maoie, who was squirming from his wet
diapers.
“What do you mean complete?” she asked.
“What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,”
he intoned.
“That’s true for church weddings,” she retorted, removing
Maoie’s diapers. She proceeded to give the boy a quick sponge bath, wipe him
dry, powder him around the groins and torso, then dress him with fresh cotton
linen for diapers, which she fastened in place with stainless pins, and then
garb him in fresh sleep attire.
Ka Mao went tongue-tied for a long while, just observing
what Betchay was doing.
Done with clothing the boy, Betchay settled him in his crib.
She then mixed the boy’s formula in a bottle and fed it to him as he snuggled
in his pillow. She prepared the bed for sleeping.
“You don’t mean God is not present in civil marriages, do
you?” he told her.
“Maybe yes, maybe no. How will we know?” she asked as she
lay in bed, throwing a blanket over her body.
Ka Mao realized Betchay was having a bad temper and he
thought he knew why. He spoke consolingly.
“Of course, I understand that most every girl wants to
walk down the aisles and be given away as a bride to her groom.”
Betchay covered herself with the blanket all over.
Continuing to observe Betchay’s mannerism, Ka Mao sat on
the bed as he removed his shoes. Betchay inched herself away from touch of his butt.
He went on to undress, throwing into the laundry basket the pieces of garment
he took off. His pants stayed as he patted her thigh; she was lying on her
side, facing the wall, away from him. She tapped his hand away, while inching
closer still to the wall.
“It’s our wedding day,” he said, caressing the blanket
over her thighs.
“I was so humbled,” she said, her voice indicated she was
weeping.
“What?” he asked, rather surprised.
She thrust her hand from under the blanket, showing the
ring on her finger.
“It’s okay with me that this is practically just
imitation gold. It’s what we can afford, what else can we do?”
Ka Mao was amused by the remark.
“So that’s what you’re fretting about,” he remarked.
“No,” she growled.
“Don’t you worry, when I get my next script assignment,
I’ll replace this with a 24-karat gold ring,” he said, taking her hand and
kissing the ring finger.
She yanked at her hand and brought it back under the
blanket.
“I said, No!”
“What’s with you anyway?”
“The clothes you insisted I wear.”
“It was not I who insisted. It was Godmother Belle. She
wanted you to wear a dress, not the denim jeans and T-shirt you had on.”
Betchay now threw the blanket off her face. She was in
tears and she spoke with voice quivering achefully.
“So
what if I wore faded jeans and T-shirt? It’s me,” she said then leaped off the
bed.
She
snatched from the laundry basket the dress she had worn in the wedding rites,
and flashed it before Ka Mao’s face.
“But an old hand-me-down for my wedding dress… I’ve been
so poor all my life, at least I expect something nicer on my wedding day. But
no…”
She madly threw the
dress aside,
“Oh,
how so even poorer everything made me feel. That reception. Ah, you were so
busy rubbing elbows with guests that you never noticed I didn’t eat a bit of
any of the servings in your reception. Your reception!”
She
shifted to the kitchen where she grabbed a a tin pot, scrounged with her hand
left-over rice in it which she ate voraciously.
“Why
did we have to pretend? If left-over food is all we can afford for our wedding
reception meal, so be it. It’s all we have. What’s disgusting is for us to
feast on something that is not ours.”
She
swallowed the last lump of rice she had chewed, scooped water from the earthen
jar set up in one corner, and drank.
All
the while Ka Mao just stood watching Betchay’s tantrums. He wanted to explain
but wouldn’t. What Betchay was mad about because it humbled her immensely was
to Ka Mao precisely the act of pure goodwill she should partake of in all
humility and pure satisfaction. To reject that goodwill could only be an act of
arrogance, of self-righteousness, which ultimately could amount to pretending what you are not. Ka
Mao saw the matter just the way it was: he and Betchay were the ones in the
position of receivers and the Salvador couple, of givers. Were they to receive
or reject the goodwill being given?
It
would be down long, long time when Ka Mao would feel crystallized on the
question. During the recent visit to the country of Pope Francis, he bequeathed
to his multitudes of followers a number of gems of thought. One such gem were
the words spoken to a youthful inventor of electrical gadgets who, albeit
braggingly, recited a litany of assistance given to poor folks of the country
and elsewhere in the world. After commending the youthful scientist for his
enumerated acts of giving, Pope Francis said, “The only thing you lack now is
how to learn to receive.” So though Jesus might have unequivocally declared
that it is better to give than to receive, what Pope Francis implied was that
between giving and receiving, the harder to do is receiving. For while it is
easier, therefore better, an act of self-renunciation to part with, indeed give,
something which you have, it is far more self-destructive to receive what in
your arrogance and conceit you don’t want to accept.
Perforce
triggered by Betchay’s tantrums now, a recollection flashed in Ka Mao’s
mind: that first visit with Betchay in her shack by the abandoned fish
pond in Malabon. That air of arrogance she exuded was what singularly struck Ka
Mao then about her. How she seemed to pride even in her desolateness!
Now
Ka Mao thought, Betchay was never humbled in the wedding event. She was made
consistently proud and arrogant. But did he have the heart to tell this to her
now? He lightly shook his head. He just eyed her as she walked back to the bed,
passing him and then throwing herself there again under the blanket. But just
as soon, her hand with the wedding ring thrust toward Ka Mao and firmly grasped
his hand with the wedding ring, too. She uncovered her face, now grown mellow
with what warm feelings. At Ka Mao’s inquiring glance, she spoke.
“It’s
our honeymoon.”
With
that, Betchay stretched herself to blow out the light of the improvised
kerosene lamp on top of the typewriter on the writing table close by.
And
the house was thrown into pitch darkness.
CHAPTER VIII
INTO THE 80s, the nation was throbbing with
rumblings on the political front. The Mindanao secessionist movement
spearheaded by the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) was gaining sizeable
headway, mainly due to its backing by the Organization of Petroleum Exporting
Countries (OPEC). Marcos was bragging in the media about how effectively he was
handling the Mindanao situation by talking direct to what he termed “Party in
interest.” That period saw First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos visiting Libya
and using her charm on Libya strongman Moammar Kadhaffy in his desert
headquarters. Out of that visit emerged the Tripoli Agreement which detailed
the terms for ending the MNLF rebellion.
Meantime, the socdems had begun the Light A Fire Movement.
a terrorist bombing spree conceived to be nationwide in scope but in practice
concentrated in the National Capital Region or Metro Manila and suburbs. It was
big wonder though that what would be apprehended as suspects in the explosions
that took place in the region were Muslims. A confessed participant in the
movement would clarify it much later: indeed they were Muslims, because the
movement had entered into an arrangement with the MNLF whereby in order to
confuse the enemy, meaning Marcos forces, MNLF elements would do the bombings
in Metro Manila and the Light A Fire Movement in Mindanao. In a way, this
clarification was confirmed by Ninoy Aquino when in his so-called memorable
speech in Los Angeles, California in 1981, he admitted having traveled with his
physician to Saudi Arabia to talk with Muslim elements on intensifying the
struggle against the Marcos dictatorship.
Ninoy, convicted of what he called trumped-up charges,
had gone on a hunger strike in his prison cell the year before as one more
means to draw popular support for his obsession to topple Marcos. But as Ninoy,
again in his California speech, admitted, “the Filipino people would not
listen.” The hunger strike merited though the intercession, read that coercion,
by the United States which pressured Marcos to let Ninoy go to America, there
to have his heart operation.
Thus
did Ninoy get himself free from martial law incarceration.
Thereafter
he went on a binge of lambasting Marcos every chance he got in America – in
speaking engagements and in television interviews. He went as far as offering to
be a part of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Paralleling
this Ninoy binge in America was what would amount to a worsening of Marcos-US
relationship. From the time Marcos sat as President in 1965, he had been
imposing rentals on US military installations all over the country,
particularly Clark Airbase in Pampanga, naval bases in Subic Bay in Zambales
and in Poro Point in La Union, Camp John Hay in Baguio, etc. Early on those
rentals amounted to millions of dollars annually, all of which, according to
stories, went direct to Marcos’ pocket, just like the huge overprice on the
Bataan Nuclear Power Plant.
The
rentals imposed on US military sites were not a one-time application but
ongoing through the years, worse, subject to renegotiations every five years.
The next expected renegotiation of those rentals was in 1985 or thereabouts.
Another
upping of those rentals was taken as a matter of course. The question really
was, could US swallow some more?
What
appeared to be on the periphery of the issue was the increasing ties Marcos was
building up with communist powers Russia and China. Actually those ties could
serve as arm twisters for Marcos in the next rentals negotiation. Certainly as
to whether or not Russia and China would serve that purpose could only be up
for speculation, given the dearth of information anyone might have on the
matter. Nevertheless real developments are determined by laws made manifest in
unmistakable phenomena. These phenomena, once subjected to incisive analysis,
betray developments with amazing accuracy.
On
the revolutionary front, the CPP-NPA was said to have ballooned into 25,000
regulars, all in company formations, on top of a 500,000-strong militia force and
an undetermined number of armed propaganda units.
By
that figure, the Communist rebellion had greatly surpassed the ratio of 10:1
for the revolutionary forces viz the enemy, the condition for a successful
guerilla warfare. Government forces at that time were placed at 150,000.
In
fact, the national situationer released by the Party for the period placed the
Communist rebellion at heading fast toward the strategic counter offensive
(SCO) in the balance of forces with the enemy. The SCO was said to be the
advanced sub-stage of the strategic stalemate from where to advance to the
strategic offensive.
These were, then. the givens in the political situation
obtaining in that period when, after a meeting of the SGP, Pete discreetly
requested, in behalf of a revolutionary study group, the use of Ka Mao’s house.
Before that, Pete had visited the place a couple of times to discuss with him the
mechanics of screenwriting. This time around, Pete made it implicit that the
requested use of the house was for a far more serious and delicate purpose. If
in many instances it needed only for somebody to identify himself as part of
the progressive movement to get into Ka Mao’s good graces, all the easier would
Ka Mao accommodate a revolutionary request coming from Pete.
The group Pete brought to the house a few days after was
introduced by him as IL, which, as the group’s leader Joey, actually a lady,
explained was the “most powerful Party organ next only to the NPA.”
IL,
Joey explained, stood for “international liaison”, whatever that meant. Ka Mao,
by practice, never inquired into the meaning of things in the revolutionary
movement not volunteered for him to know. Head of the group’s Educational
Department, of which Pete was a member, was Nimfa. Heading the Organizational
Department was Sandra, with Donna, a school teacher, and Vince, a photo
journalist, as members. No Finance Department element was introduced and Ka Mao
did not bother to ask. At any rate, there were two other girls in the group,
Jett and Tess, whose tasks in the group Ka Mao was not informed about.
With the group was a lean, short, fair-skinned fellow,
who walked on steel crutches. A polio victim, Ka Bryan, as he was called,
immediately reminded Ka Mao of Apolinario Mabini, who had been titled in
history as the Sublime Paralytic, being the famed brains of the Philippine
revolution against Spain and, eventually, against America. When told that the
guy was from the HO (for “higher organ”, meaning an agency directly under the
Central Committee, if not the CC itself), Ka Mao chuckled to himself, “Wow,
paralytics can be great revolutionaries indeed!”
From Ka Bryan’s account of himself, Ka Mao gathered a few
things about his person. He happened to be in Paris when the anti-dictatorship
movement intensified in the early seventies and he was recruited into the
movement by a group engaged in generating logistical support on the
international front. Ka Mao could only surmise to himself that the group Ka
Bryan spoke about was the core leadership of the National Democratic Front
(NDF), the political arm of the Communist Party of the Philippines, which had
based its international liaison work in Netherlands.
Ka Bryan was the political officer assigned by the HO to
handle the political education of the group, To Ka Mao, this was a big plus
factor for the Party, entrusting such a huge task to someone who initially
impressed him as no better than that deformed creature who walked on all fours,
whom Celso had taken pains to search in order to be made the objective
correlative of his message for “Burlesk Queen”. Viewers of the film amused
heartily as Rosemarie Gil, the dethroned star burlesque dancer, after painfully
glancing over the faƧade of the burlesque theater now ordered closed by the
court, walked away blurting out like crazy her laughter over the irony of it
all. Beside her was the boy who walked on all fours, now on his legs curved
much like bows so that his gaits looked much like steps in a cha-cha, now on
his arms which made him look like doing the cha-cha up-side down in mid-air,
and then would be back to walking on all fours which made it difficult for one
to determine if he was aping a mule or, indeed, an ape. That must have really
drove home Celso’s message in “Burlesk Queen” which clinched for it the Best
Picutre Award in the 1977 Metro Manila Film Festival.
Ka
Bryan turned out to be Joey’s husband.
It became a great source of inspiration for Ka Mao to observe Ka Bryan doing
his task religiously and Joey attending to his personal needs as the need arose,
including toilet chores and giving him bath at the small pool in the creek
every morning, before start of day-long study sessions.
The
study course took one whole week. At the end of each day’s session, the group
crammed themselves in spaces allotted to them. The girls took the bed which Ka
Mao and Betchay volunteered for them to use; the boys, shared a common mat on
the cement floor padded with flattened cardboard boxes; Ka Bryan, the aluminum
folding chair Ka Mao used for resting;
Ka Mao and Betchay, together with Maoie, what little privacy they could
have from the small room used for keeping beddings in and the clothes closets.
If, contrary to Mao Tse Tung’s dictum, revolution were a
picnic, what took place that week in Ka Mao’s house was just it: a picnic.
During
breaks in the study, the group took much pleasure from savoring the rustic atmosphere,
harvesting rootcrops like cassava and sweet potato along with other food crops
like banana, and then picking the fruits of the mango, santol, lanka and macopa
trees for desserts in meals which they ate with bare hands in common servings
on one whole banana leaf laid out on the bamboo dining table.
All
this, in between absorbing lessons on protracted people’s war.
At the end of the week, everybody was satisfied and
insinuated that they would want to repeat the experience in the house on and on.
It was pleasing to Ka Mao anyway, a tendency built-in in
his character to do anything he could for the revolution. And so, at the
insinuation that the house would be used further for revolutionary purposes
over and over again, Ka Mao already envisioned an enlarged house that could
accommodate in comfort such Party group as the IL that might come his way
anytime.
It did help a lot that in that period, Leroy Salvador had
made some nice score at the tills with “Pag-ibig… Magkano Ka?”, enabling his
outfit to go full blast in producing follow-up films. Ka Mao consequently got
film assignments which gave him the money to embark on expanding his virtually
one-room affair into something a lot bigger.
To the eastside was added a section, about five meters
wide and with the same length as that side of the original house. Since the
roof of this extension area would flow from the original inclination of the
initial roof, the extension area would be left with little headroom. So Ka Mao
had the ground in this area dug in order to make the roof comfortably high.
That made the original house rise five steps from the extension and turned the
expanded structure into some kind of a split-level bungalow.
The
porch facing the highway was maintained but made to step down accordingly to
the extension through an opening which now became the new entrance to the
house, with the extension area now serving as the receiving room. This way, the
original one-room affair became a solo bedroom, with the amenities of a
dressing room, a conversion of the original room for clothes closets and
beddings, a function moved over to the spot originally occupied by the kitchen
which outed to the porch; this spot was now entirely walled, serving only as an
adjunct of the bedroom. The kitchen, at
the same time, was moved to the west end of the extension, with an opening that
outed toward the creek. The mid-section
of the extension opened with a door facing the yard where stood the century-old
mango tree, whose long, low-lying branch flowed down almost to the level of the
wide window of the extension. The original comfort room made adjacent to the house
on the creekside was retained as it was and so now rose, as the original house
did, five steps high from the extension area.
Coming home from the shooting in Baguio of “Ang Dalagang
Pinagtaksilan ng Panahon,” Ka Mao was
greeted by the sight of Betchay needing
only to stretch herself a little to pick a fruit at the tip of the low-hanging
mango tree branch. But he was elated by how the house looked now..
The walls around the extension area were done in concrete
up to the level of the window sill, the rest up to the rafters, in webbed
bamboo barks fastened on wooden frames. The wide windows to either side of the
door at the mid-section were grilled with slim bamboo tips and covered with
steel screen.
Maoie, now two years old, noticed Ka Mao first.
:”Tatay!” the boy rejoiced and rushed to him. He leaped
to his arms and pressed a kiss to his cheeks. Ka Mao kissed him back and then put
him down. He took out of a plastic bag packs of strawberry and gave them to the
boy.
“Strawberry! Yummy!” said the boy.
Betraying great appetite for the green mango she had picked, Betchay indicated
her delight at Ka Mao’s arrival. She
walked to him. Maoie gave to her one of the packs of strawberry while beginning
to eat some from the pack he had opened.
“Tatay brought you a present,” Maoie said.
Betchay
took the strawberry pack, immediately opened it and munched at the red fruit.
“Strawberries…
I like,” Betchay said. “Sweet but a little sour. I feel like eating all sour
things.”
Maoie
rummaged through the other contents of the plastic bag.
“Bring
that inside, Son,” said Ka Mao, and the boy did.
Then
after a silent exchange of gazes with Betchay, Ka Mao dropped to his knees and
gently hugged her around the hips, pressing his face to her bulging tummy.
“How’s the shooting?” Betchay asked, delighted by Ka
Mao’s hug.
“Done,” said Ka Mao, continuing to savor the feel of
Betchay’s belly on his face.
“Any prospect of another assignment.?”
Ka Mao appeared surprised by the question. He rose,
silently asking with a gaze why Betchay asked the question.
“I
consulted with Dr. Juliano yesterday,” she said.
“Oh…”
“He
said I need to be operated on soon. Possibly no later than middle of next
month.”
Ka
Mao stayed silent for a moment, then walked over to the foot of the mango tree
and sat there, staring at the house.
Betchay
just stood there, anticipating his words.
“Why
operate?”
“He
said that’s the way it should go.”
“I
was hoping you can deliver our next baby normal.”
“He
said once a woman starts delivering on cs, that’s it, it’s caesarian section
for the succeeding babies.”
“As
things are, just to get our house finished, I have advanced from Ninong Leroy
my fee for whatever next project he would assign to me. I don’t expect to get
further advance from him.”
Betchay
found no words to say.
That
night Ka Mao pounded his typewriter furiously, wanting to crank out a piece
which he could peddle around immediately. The family’s upkeep wasn’t much
problem for him. At certain times when he needed stop-gap means for the
family’s survival, he would just go over to his folks and plead for assistance.
His mother never failed him in this regard, even for Maoie’s medicine whenever
he got sick and Ka Mao didn’t have money
to spend. But cs operation for Betchay was not stop-gap; it was the life of
their next child at stake.
The
caesarian section done for the delivery of Maoie cost P17,000.00. Though Ka Mao
did not expect it, it came at the heyday start of his screenwriting career, he
had saved a substantial amount, and the simple living he practiced with Betchay
in the Antipolo home would not use it up.
Now,
how could he ever produce P17,000.00 in so short a time?
The
question riveted in his mind with each strike of his fingers on the typewriter
keys deep into the night.
Betchay,
lying in bed and feeling the stirrings inside her belly, could feel the
desperation seizing Ka Mao as he worked. How she wished she could help, “But how?”
she asked herself.
What
can a high school senior do to help her husband earn a living? Even high school
graduates were good only for low-paying menial work, like house helper or store
attendant.
When
Maoie turned two years old, Betchay exerted effort to graduate from the
Antipolo National High School through the accreditation program of the
Department of Edication. By that program, high school juniors who had reached the
age of maturity, especially married individuals, were given examination in
order to accredit them for graduation. Ka Mao needed to pawn their television
set to raise money for Betchay’s travel to Laguna where to take the exams. With much assistance from Mrs. Elfa, Betchay’s adviser
in the ANHS, Betchay passed the exam and thus, though in third year at the
time, was allowed to graduate.
Not
one gifted with the ability of verbiage, Betchay could not say how she truly
felt that afternoon she received her high school diploma, but she had it in her
heart to turn herself into something risen above her poor beginnings. So it
must really be paining her deeply inside to just watch helplessly while Ka Mao
worked so hard all night long under the bare glimmer of the now ubiquitous
improvised kerosene lamp fastened to the typewriter cover.
Ka
Mao was working out a story concept germinated by an incident which happened in
the farm in the intense heat of summer. Betchay was taking time doing her
market chores, Ka Mao was busy washing Maoie’s clothes and diapers in the small
pool in the creek, taking advantage of the hour when the boy Maoie, not yet one
year old, was asleep in bed.
Suddenly
thick smoke swept into the house and awakened the boy who, evidently getting some
degree of suffocation, squirmed around in bed and ultimately fell off. That was
when Ka Mao was astounded by the loud cry of Maoie. He rushed up the slope and
then barged into the house where he gaped in horror at the empty bed, smoke
swirling around. But Maoie’s cry continued to resonate, and tracing its source,
Ka Mao saw the boy crawling out through the side door just beyond which was a
huge fire eating up the patch of cogon that rounded the house.
Ka
Mao snatched the boy off the floor and felt relieved to see no signs of injury
in him. But what instantly gripped him with terror was the fire threateningly
advancing toward the house. He quickly made the boy secure in a crib, which he
placed under the mango tree to insure the boy was safe from the fire just in
case, meantime that he worked to put it out.
He
grabbed a bamboo pole, one of a few resting upright on the mango tree, by which
he began sweeping the fire off, at least divert it away from the house. Made
mostly from bamboo and nipa, the house already much heated up could catch
flames instantly at touch of a spark.
“God,
no!” he yelled continuously, seeing that his effort was getting futile. A
number of times he looked up, as though there, indeed, was somebody up there to
hear his plea.
As
for the immediate surroundings, no neighbor whatsoever was around to help.
Wherever
he stood striking at the flames, the fire would be contained. But beyond his
reach, the fire spread on.
Then
he was horrified to catch in the corner of his eyes a trail of flames heading
toward the bamboo grove at the back of the house. The fire could not reach the
house through the ground because that area was shaded, preventing the growth of
combustible shrubs and grasses. But the danger lay in the bamboo trees, for
whenever swayed by the wind, their tips whip the rooftop of the house. The minute
the dry leaves which were lumped around the foot of the bamboo trees caught
fire, that would set the entire bamboo grove aflame and torch the house.
Ka
Mao decided to attend to the bamboo grove first. And in just a while, he was
done securing that area from the spread of fire.
But
in the meantime, the flames on the opposite area were ominously heading for the
spot where stood the mango tree under which lay the crib wherein Maoie continuously
cried. Seeing this, Ka Mao rushed back to the main body of the fire, sweeping
the bamboo pole through the flames in seemingly wild abandon – no matter that
he got burned here and there on the body, on his hands, arms and legs. With
each swing of the pole, the cracking of his voice outing his desperate cry.
“God!
God! God!”
Nobody
was around to hear Ka Mao, nor to witness what was happening. It was a very
private communion between him and whoever it was whom in all faith and
submission he called “God”. And at the last cracking of his voice, as he felt
himself too exhausted to contend with the conflagration any further, he wobbled
on his legs then dropped to the ground much like melting jelly.
In that moment, Ka Mao found himself resolving:
this is it. In the face of adversity, you can only do so much with your human
strength. Ka Mao wondered afterward if he could have minded it ever had the
flames proceeded to eat up his flesh. He felt he would even not have felt pain
at all. He was ready for anything – except that the shrill sound of a baby’s
cry, Maoie’s, stuck to his consciousness.
Two
years later, that incident would form one of the highlights of Ka Mao’s first
directorial assignment, “Isla Sto. NiƱo” by Seiko Films. Out of that incident,
Ka Mao had woven a photoplay that drew heavily in content from the historic
Balanggiga Massacre in Samar during the American aggression of the Philippines
in the 1900s. According to historical accounts, the entire troops of an
American contingent were annihilated by Balangiga resistance fighters. In
retaliation for the massacre, the US military commander, Jacob Smith, issued
his infamous exhortation to his men: “I don’t want anything alive. I want you
to kill. The more you kill, the better you will please me!” And with that, as
history had recorded it, the American aggressors embarked on a killing spree, butchering
people and animals, destroying crops and plantations, while torching the whole
town of Balangiga to the ground..
As
Ka Mao would put it in his story, Fredo, played by Lito Lapid, and his band of
rebels organize a retreat aimed at saving from the American carnage the babies
of Sto. NiƱo, a fictitious island off
Samar. With their ward of some one hundred babies, the rebels are cornered in
an encampment at the foot of the hills which the American soldiers set on fire,
using flaming arrows.
But in the movie, just as Fredo and his men
are rendered helpless against the flames that are encircling the camp and their
only recourse is to shield the babies with their bodies, divine intervention
takes place: a sudden heavy rain falls from heaven, instantly dousing the fire.
In
Ka Mao’s private battle with the bushfire flames, there was no such artifice.
It was pure human will and sheer grit to overcome the adversity which impelled
him to continue the battle no matter that he had already fallen.
Struggling
to get back on his feet, he grabbed the bamboo pole once more with which to
continue combating the fire. His eyes gaped. No more flame was in sight.
Ka
Mao suddenly realized how ardently he had been calling out to God. Had God
listened to him then? How would he know? There was no medium of any sort of
heavenly intervention as the suddenly falling rain that would be dramatized to
douse the fire in “Isla Sto. NiƱo.” There were only the smoldering embers of
stumps of cogon, of bushes and twigs, embers no longer capable of spreading
flames around.
“Isla
Sto. NiƱo”, which put back on track Lito Lapid’s journey to super stardom and
ultimately to the high echelons of the government bureaucracy, would be a
product of Ka Mao’s artistic vent; the bushfire episode, a real fight.
And
of the two, Ka Mao would eventually realize, the fundamental difference is: films
are made great by men’s artifice, life by man’s mortal strength to triumph over
adversity.
Did
Ka Mao conquer the bushfire flames?
No,
he did not. The flames died the minute Ka Mao was left with no more strength to
put it out.
In any case, that struggle with the bushfire inspired Ka
Mao to embark on writing a photoplay which he initially titled “Green Inferno.”
As early as then, he was contemplating to do a movie that could be released
worldwide. Thus the English title.
That
evening, Ka Mao pounded his typewriter all night long. He hoped to finish writing
the script as fast as possible and transact it with any producer, even with
Leroy again. With his presentation of a new script, it would not be embarrassing
for him to ask his godfather for another advance payment.
But
as Ka Mao had never been steeped in finishing scripts overnight, writing the
bushfire-inspired photoplay went his normal pace. So his desperation that night
after he came home from the Baguio shooting would be replicated so many times
that before he realized it, Betchay’s hour was at hand but the money needed for
her cs delivery was not.
It
was the house that came into play at this crucial period. The IL group came
again in that period for another study session. Ka Mao thought the revolution
must be intensifying such that its cadres had to engage in political work
increasingly. Learning of the couple’s
predicament, the IL group, particularly Nimfa, worked on an obgyne of the
Philippine General Hospital, Dr. Talens, from the medical sector of the NDF.
The benign medic did the job on Betchay on Valentines Day of 1981.
Dr.
Talens himself had chosen the Manila Lying-In Clinic on Taft Avenue in which to
perform the operation. It would not be too costly doing it there. On top of
that, his professional fee would be reduced to the minimum and on a
pay-when-able basis.
“A
boy,” casually announced Dr. Talens to Ka Mao as he walked out of the operation
room after the cs was done..
Rather
premature, the boy was placed in an incubator, with Ka Mao viewing him lovingly
through the glass wall of the nursery.
Two
nurses came to the spot, one excitedly pulling at the other.
“Come,”
said the one pulling. “See how pogi (handsome) this Baby Samonte is.”
Ka
Mao delighted at the compliment. He talked to the nurses, rather raising his
chin,
“I’m
his father,” he declared.
The
nurses stared at Ka Mao, glanced him
over, then stared at him again, nearly gawking, “Huh?”
Ka
Mao understood the reaction. It didn’t really look like the baby could be a
child of a dark-skinned, Malayan-looking guy that Ka Mao was. The baby was
fair-skinned, with facial features that, indeed, were handsome, evidently
occidental.
But
Ka Mao thought this was not time to lecture the nurses on Mendel’s genetics,
which after all, they, being medical people, should know, that is, that
parental traits get manifested by offsprings generations away. In time, the
baby would grow up, manifesting physical characteristics not even either of Ka
Mao’s parents, Tatay Simo and Nanay Puping, but that of Tay Celso, Nanay
Puping’s father, who was tall and handsome, with evident Castillan descent.
For
the time being, Ka Mao reacted to the nurses’ insulting gaze with a wry smile.
The
three were distracted by cheers coming from the street. The nurses knew what
was happening and they hurried to the balcony overlooking the avenue that was brimming
with folks who were cheering, waving their hands at somebody approaching. The
nurses immediately waved their hands, too, at the approaching figure: a frail, old
man garbed in white robe, a white cap on his head, riding in a specially-designed
vehicle with glass walls around so people could see him through from all angles
as he continuously gestured his hand to them in blessing.. The vehicle had been
played up in the media as Pope Mobile, with bullet-proof glass-walled chamber
specially built for the man riding it, Pope Paul II. This was the Pope’s first
visit to the Philippines and that ride in the Pope Mobile was his travel from
his arrival at the Manila International Airport to the Vatican Nunciature,
where he would be homed a few blocks away from the hospital.
Ka
Mao mused to himself, “As the throngs of people who welcome Pope Paul II down
Taft Avenue feel blessed by his passage, so in the same sense must be the birth
of my second son.”
Moreover,
who willed it that because Ka Mao was so
hard-pressed with cash that a Party element must seek a doctor to perform cs on
Betchay for a pittance and for that doctor, out of brotherly kindness, to chose a hospital in
which to perform that operation just as the Pope was en route to the vicinity
there to spread his blessings?
If,
as Ka Mao had learned in his study of Marxist dialectical materialism, social
phenomena happen not independently of, but rather in their interrelationship
to, one another, then there must a
relevance of the Pope’s passing the hospital, showering people with spiritual
blessing at the very moment Betchay’s baby was being born.
Somebody
distracted Ka Mao from his thoughts, a nurse who spoke, “Your wife wants you in
her recovery room.”
When
Ka Mao entered the recovery room, a nurse was interviewing Betchay as she lay
in bed. She had barely recovered from the operation she had undergone for the
delivery of the baby.
“They
want to know what the name of our baby will be,” Betchay said to Ka Mao.
Ka
Mao looked to the nurse inquiringly.
“We
need to enter his name in the birth certificate,” said the nurse then asked as
she prepared to write on the birth certificate form the name Ka Mao would say,
“What will you call your baby, Sir?”
Ka
Mao found himself thinking back on the scene just past before his eyes out on
the street: throngs of believers in a great outpouring of affection and
reverence for Pope Paul II.
Almost
dreamily, Ka Mao answered, ”Paulo.”
CHAPTER IX
A DAY AFTER Paulo was
born, Ninoy delivered his much-touted memorable speech before hundreds of
listeners in Wilshire Ebell Theater, Los Angeles, California. He was walking on
steel crutches and to Ka Mao, he did strike up a semblance of Ka Bryan, the HO
Political Officer for the IL Group. But though all throughout the speech Ninoy
appeared in the pink of health, exuding his characteristic flamboyant air, when,
after being introduced by the emcee, he ambled to the microphone in midstage to
begin his speech, he pathetically limped on those steel crutches and by that
got the audience hooked.
But Ka Mao could not have failed to notice that after
just a couple of steps, Ninoy was doing it exactly as Julie Vega did in doing a
scene in his movie “Iiyak Ka Rin”, one of the many box office hits he directed
for Seiko Films. The scene required the smart teen superstar to walk on
crutches in entering a hospital. But too much an imp for her age, the girl thought
of testing Ka Mao’s direction by virtually just walking, just acting out a
limp, with the crutches just getting carried by her hands, hardly touching the
ground. Of course, she expected a retake. But Ka Mao, keenly sensing the
deliberate misbehavior, got back by allowing the take to stand as the spoiled
brat did it.
Who would suffer from the bad acting? Not him but the
actress, Ka Mao told himself and shouted, “Pack up.”
Ah…, Ka Mao sighed as he watched on video Ninoy doing his
thing at the very start of his speech. Unmatched by Julie Vega in that
particular situation, Ninoy appeared to be perfecting the artifice, the genius
to evoke mass illusion of his heroism through vivid pictures of injuries
sustained in battle. Ka Mao began seeing that genius in Ninoy as he walked down
the stairs of Hilton Hotel that night of August 21, 1971, when the entire
senatorial ticket of the Liberal Party got blasted by two grenades. A cocked
.45 pistol gripped in his hand, he strode down the stairs ready to do battle.
He got no injuries though, since he was miraculously away from the party
political rally on Plaza Miranda, but his party mates lay onstage all terribly
maimed along with wounded and killed bystanders, and with Ninoy’s courageous
stride with the .45 juxtaposed on these grim images, he certainly etched in
people’s mind on a mass scale the figure
of a warrior savior.
In similar grim circumstances, that figure would shine
on: street demonstrations in the increasing Marcos curtailment of civil
liberties, arrest and incarceration of Ninoy and other top opposition leaders
upon the declaration of martial law, his solitary confinement, the hunger strike
embarked on in continued defiance of the Marcos dictatorship, the near-death he
sustained as a consequence which prompted the government to confine him in a
hospital, onward to his veritable furlough in the United States, there to
continue fighting Marcos under atmospheres endemic in the land of the free.
Even his failed attempt to get elected to the Interim
Batasang Pambansa, Ka Mao thought now, could not have been conceived to win.
How could a political genius that Ninoy was
have failed to realize that he could never hope to win in an
election under martial law. The LABAN
ticket he headed was pitted against a slate of the Kilusang Bagong Lipunan (KBL)
with no less than First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos at the helm. No way Ninoy
and company could win. And they did lose with a dismal score of O.
Chances
were that Imelda and her group did win in an honest way. There were no
indications of any irregularities in the conduct of the election. The counting
of votes was open to public view, very transparent, and the final count put KBL
team winning 21 to nothing for Metro Manila.
Could
Ninoy give a damn? Not at all. He ran not to win but to get another trouncing in
the hands of Marcos and thereby get martyred on and on to the point of sanctification,
And what better testimony to this would there be than
Ninoy’s mystery-shrouded homecoming on August 21, 1983. A single bullet, shot
through his skull as he was being led by AVSECOM soldiers down the stairs of
the China Airlines that had taken him to the Manila International Airport, sent
Ninoy dropping to the tarmac.
That picture of Ninoy lying dead face down on the
pavement finally accomplished the sanctification.
And maintaining Ninoy in exactly his same physical
condition in death, i.e., the face made ugly by the bullet wound, and uglier
still by the blood that had been splattered on it, allowed to dry and entirely
unwashed, just like the similar bloodstains on his immaculate clothes, there to
stay all the way to his entombment – what did all this do but make the sanctification
eternal!
From then on, Ninoy would be god. Because of him, Cory
would be president. Because of him, Noynoy would be president. Because of him,
what generations descending from, or claiming rights under, him would take
turns ruling the Philippines after Noynoy?
But
going back to his February 15, 1981 speech, Ninoy related that as he stepped
out of his car to come to a speaking engagement in Ohio State University, he
must have tripped on the gutter, causing what he said as his Achilles heel
tendon to tear up.
Just his luck, one might say. But no matter, it gave him
the excuse to come to the Wilshire Ebell Theater Freedom Rally in crutches. All
the better for imparting to an enthralled audience the image of somebody
getting injured in battle but getting back up on his feet and fighting on and
on.
It was a wonderful speech, deserving of what it had come
to be known: Ninoy’s memorable speech. Interspersing it with his characteristic
humor, he got the hundreds awake through his two-hour long litany of
accusations against Marcos and self-adulations of his virtues.
Ninoy had one single message for Marcos: step down and
return democracy to the Filipino people or throw the country in chaos.
To the cheers of the throng in attendance, Ninoy intoned,
“Though I have vowed never to enter the political arena again, I will dedicate
the last drop of my blood for the dismantlement of your dictatorship.”
And Ninoy did that day he returned to drop dead on the
airport tarmac.
The nation – or, anyway, Metro Manila and select sites in
Luzon, Visayas and Mindano – threw in worrying disturbances: street demos here,
confetti prostest showers there, symposia in campuses, and noise barrages, all
sorts of mass actions condemning Marcos.
The economy was suddenly on the downtrend, with the peso
dropping to 22 to 1 dollar. The increasing turbulence, mainly from the middle
class but with strong participation from the workers, was beginning to drive
investors away.
But as if in contrast, Ka Mao’s private economy
experienced an upswing.
1981 was the year Betchay began conceiving their third
child. Into the next year, Ka Mao again began to worry where to get money for
Betchay’s next cs operation.
On
the way home from a visit with his folks in Manila, Ka Mao was walking across
Araneta Center heading for the terminal
for jeepneys going to Antipolo, Maoie in his arms. Now in getting to the
terminal, they would have to pass Jollibee unavoidably and Maoie would pester
him on and on until he took him into the store for a yumburger and French
fries. In times when he got money, Ka Mao would even delight at Maoie’s
throwing in tantrums before bringing him in the store for a snack. This time,
however, he had no money to spare for that purpose and the Jollibee signage ahead
struck Ka Mao’s eyes like a sudden terror. Ka Mao made a sharp detour into the
Farmers Market. That way they would be skirting Jollibee and cross another street
to get to the jeepney terminal.
But
Maoie had grown used to the surroundings and he knew they were not going the
right way. And he fretted, indicating to Ka Mao where they should go instead –
the Jollibee way. The boy would have gone on squirming in Ka Mao’s arms had he
not been distracted by Ka Mao being greeted by Efren PiƱon and Conrad Poe.
The
two were close buddies. They had stood as sponsors in Paulo’s baptism. When not
making movies, they engaged in dealing tuna which they got from Cotabato. The
fish variety was abundant in the province and heads of the fish were virtually
cast aside as trash in tuna canning factories. These fish heads were prime
items in beer joints where they were grilled for pulutan or dish for munching on while drinking brew.
That afternoon, Efren and Conrad were at the market,
transacting with fish vendors.
“Just right time, Mao,” said Efren. “I got an assignment
from Seiko Films.”
Ka Mao had worked with Efren on “Nang Umapoy ang
Karagatan”, a big project which Efren directed for Showbiz, Inc. A known action
movie director, Efren was offered by Seiko to direct a comics epic, “Boy
Condenado” by Carlo Caparas.
“Are you free?” asked Efren. “You can do the script.”
“Am I free!” exclaimed Ka Mao. “I am.”
“Boy Condenado” was significant to Ka Mao in a number of
“firsts”. It was his first movie for Seiko Films. It was his first time working
with Laarni Enriquez, the charming, amiable and adorable Tondo beauty queen who
shortly after would be Ka Mao’s leading lady in his first directorial job,
“Isla Sto. NiƱo”; six years after, Laarni would be First Lady of the Land in her
own right, being love partner to President Joseph Ejercito Estrada. And it was
the first time Ka Mao had a hand directing a scene in a movie.
Efren, who years after would betray his spiritual depth
in directing video presentations of the
El Shaddai Movement, had the good graces to make Ka Mao direct a highlight of
the movie, with himself confining to handling one of three cameras needed for
the scene. It was a truly big scene involving men and equipment, fire trucks,
police patrol cars, and stunts as crowd panicked in a neighborhood-wide fire.
Ka Mao did his damn best and pulled off the job with, as
the clichƩ goes, flying colors.
What he did not realize was that Robbie Tan, the
executive producer of Seiko, was around all the while, keenly observing. After
“Boy Condenado,” Seiko’s next project would be “Isla Sto. NiƱo”, with who else
as the director but Ka Mao.
CHAPTER
X
THE SUCCESS of “Boy
Condenado” at the box office, Ka Mao credited solely to Robbie Tan whose
marketing expertise Ka Mao would rate superb.
Sure, the movie had a superstar for the leading man, Rudy Fernandez,
playing the title role; a known author of movie hits, Carlo Caparas; and a
reputed action movie director, Efren PiƱon. All these and more would form plus
factors which by conventional reckoning ensured fans would go and see the
movie.
But Robbie, a young graduate of the Asian Institute of Management,
had the daring to defy conventions. For one thing, in the hierarchy of values
he had come up with to determine whether or not a movie would make money, the
cast, meaning star value, fell only on the third rung, with marketing on the
second. At the topmost level was concept.
Concept translates to, what is the movie all about?
So
what was “Boy Condenado” all about? Was it about that good-boy-gone-astray
stereotype as harped on in the comics serialization of the material? Robbie
wouldn’t buy that stuff. The only reason he got the comics story was, it was a
novel by Carlo Caparas, who was getting to have a captive audience.
Before
the shooting of the movie began, Robbie, having much doubt about the project,
even had a meeting with Carlo in which he expressed his preferrence to have
another material from him to shoot, or else he would just return “Boy
Condenado”. This was another way of saying, “return the money already paid for
it.”
Carlo was evidently offended but kept his cool. Trying
hard to be polite, Carlo spoke, “No, Robbie. That’s yours. I can’t take it
anymore.”
So
the filming of Carlo’s novel went ahead.
In
due time, the production phase was completely done. While work proceeded to the
post-production phase, Robbie began minding how to sell the movie. That night, Ka Mao had a brainstorming with him and his
brother Edward. They needed to have a catchline for marketing purposes, in
newspaper ad placements and in other publicity formats as lobby displays,
posters and billboards.
After much exchange of
ideas, Edward nonchalantly spoke the phrase: “The story of a boy from
Malabon.” Ka Mao took it as too commonplace. Edward himself, not pretending to
any literary skill, didn’t attach any deep significance to what he said.
It was Robbie who instantly looked like having hit gold.
At that time, a very hot issue was Ben Tumbling, the
underworld character who had been involved in a number of high crimes. The
legendary criminal was recently gunned down in an encounter with law enforcers,
prompting movie producers to beat one another in getting the film rights for
his story. But the martial law dispensation saw it fit to ban the filming of
the Ben Tumbling story for obvious reasons: nothing against the establishment
was to be allowed.
With Robbie, the government restriction offered no
problem. He did not have to film a Ben Tumbling story. He only needed to
impress upon film audiences – indeed, marketing – that “Boy Condenado” was the
real-life story of Ben Tumbling. But precisely because of the government
restriction, he could not pass on, even for marketing purposes, “Boy Condenado”
as a film on Ben Tumbling. The catchline austerely thought of by Edward would
do the trick.
It was known to all and sundry that Ben Tumbling was to
Malabon as Asiong Salonga was to Tondo or Narding Putik to Cavite. It only
needed to play up Edward’s idea to make people believe that “Boy Condenado,”
“The story of a boy from Malabon” was the story of Ben Tumbling.
And the people believed.
All of a sudden, “Boy Condenado” was the talk of the
town, on sidewalks, in barbershops, in many a tete-a-tete in slums
neighborhoods, and even among students in campuses.
That “Boy Condenado” would score big at the tills became
a foregone conclusion. That would be the good product of that brain storming in
the Malabon office of Seiko Wallet.
The bad thing was for Ka Mao. Because of the sensational
marketing Robbie did, the Board of Censors got so strict about the movie that they
deleted most anything which in their perception had a semblance of Ben
Tumbling’s exploits.
The result was a badly-mutilated photoplay that found Ka
Mao reeling from attacks from all self-righteous critics lambasting him for bad
writing.
From that experience, Ka Mao swore never to do a movie
again unless he would direct it himself. This was the only assurance he could
have that his scripts would stay faithful to his intentions.
Before that, known drama director Armando de Guzman,
recognizing Ka Mao’s talent to write,
advised him: “If you want to get your break in directing movies, write a good
script then offer it to a producer on the condition that you will direct.”
And so it was that as Betchay was infanticipating on
their third child, Ka Mao worked on his initial drafts of the “Green Inferno”.
In a short period, he finished the
script, this time titling it “Isla Sto. NiƱo.”
When he presented the synopsis to Robbie, his eyes
glistened with dollar signs, evoked by imageries of a hundred babies getting
subjected to every ordeal in the forest: fire, raging rapids, the elements. All
this, while avoiding canon shells from American forces rendered intransigent in
their objective to annihilate everyone, rebel or baby.
That was the concept and Robbie nodded, smiling..
The proposal sheet Ka Mao presented already had a
catchline to carry: “God, save the babies!”
“I’ll do it,” Robbie said.
Ka Mao fixed his eyes on Robbie as a take-off for his
next words.
“I must direct,” Ka Mao said, indicating grit and
resolve.
Robbie understood, smiled, then said, “Ok.”
That
was a day after July 17, 1982, when Dr. Juliano came out from the operation
room of the Tiongson Hospital in Taytay, Rizal, done with the cs operation on
Betchay for the delivery of their third child.
“Kengkay,”
Dr. Juliano told Ka Mao, gleaming. The term actually alluded to the female
genitalia.
Ka
Mao gleamed, too. He already had two boys and had wished for a girl. His wish
was granted.
With
the deal clinched on “Isla Sto. NiƱo,” Ka Mao did not have a hard time
requesting Robbie for down payment from which to draw the amount needed for
Keng’s delivery. Dr. Juliano’s given nickname for the girl as a jest stuck:
“Kengkay.” But in formal baptism, she was named Maripaz, the first half of which derived from the first
half of Betchay’s full name “Maribeth” and the second half, “Paz”, after the
full name of Ka Mao’s grandmother, Nay Paz.
CHAPTER
XI
THE BIRTH of Maripaz
appeared to signal the start of a good life for Ka Mao and his family. Food and
other provisions for day-to-day subsistence were getting increasingly plentiful.
Indulgence in little luxuries became affordable. Weekends saw Ka Mao taking
Betchay and the kids to some form of diversion or the other..
As for the house, Ka Mao now wanted a concrete one. But
without much planning, he leveled down the whole original one-room affair and
exactly on the same spot on which it stood,
he immediately embarked on constructing a replacement, already
erecting columns on two sides, three on
each side. Once done with five columns, three on one side and two on the other,
he realized the ultimate budget for the intended house would be too enormous
for his present capacity. He decided to halve the structure, with two columns
on each of two sides. And that’s how the house turned out, only one half of
what had originally been meant.
The
problem was that the completed half was the one consisting of the bedroom, the
kitchen and the bathroom. The non-done half was the one meant for the living
room. Once walled around with concrete, the resulting structure looked more
like a series of solitary confinement cells joined together by a hallway at the
entrance and a narrow corridor that was the gap between the bedroom and the
kitchen. The hallway was that gap between the solid cement wall of the front of
the house that rose all the way to the rafters and the solid wall of the
kitchen.
At
the right end of this hallway was the comfort room and at the left, the landing
of the steps to the sunken extension area on the one hand, and on the other
hand, the stairs to the attic, again made of bamboo. The trusses were fastened
to the top of the walls, both the one above the entrance and the one at the
back. The openings through the trusses
were fitted with iron grills.
Clinging
on to his apparent fetish for all things native, Ka Mao still used nipa for the
roof of the new house and made it high so as to accommodate an attic, a feature
which Ka Mao added in order to compensate for the lack of a living room. The
kitchen wall facing that of the main entrance was made to rise such that its
top served as a railing from where one on the attic might look down on the
hallway to, say, check who was getting inside the house. The floor of the attic consisted of bamboo
slats nailed on the wooden beams with little spaces in between. Ka Mao had this
done deliberately for purposes of ventilation. That might be good for airiness
in the attic atmosphere but on questions of privacy, it was highly inadvisable.
One on the attic got to see the activity on the groundfloor and vice versa. But
this was how the family house was back in his childhood days and Ka Mao just
could not overcome the nostalgia. For that matter, one reason why Ka Mao
prohibited his family from cutting bamboo shoots for viand was because he
wanted the bamboo trees to flourish and provide steady supply of bamboo anytime
he needed it. Had he tolerated Betchay in her own fetish of eating bamboo
shoots, no more bamboo trees in the property would be standing by now.
Such an eyesore was the unused column that now
stood like a Meralco post gone astray. Tearing down the column would readily
cure the sore, but Ka Mao would have none of it. The column had cost much and
he would not want to waste that money. He cranked his skull and soon hit the
idea. Around the column, he put up four wooden posts, four inches by four
inches in diameter and set in a square formation five meters apart from one
another. The top of the posts which were six feet six inches high, he fitted
with two inches by four inches wooden beams joined end to end. Then rafters two
inches by four inches in diameter were fitted from the tip of the concrete column to a
corresponding tip of the wooden posts where the beams were joined up as well as
to corresponding points above the midsections of the beams. These rafters were
then rounded with purlins so that the whole set up had the look of a spider
web. On this setup of rafters and purlins would be fastened nipa roofing to complete
the structure of a pergola. Completed wih bamboo railing that connected the
posts to each other below, with one such section left open to serve as
entrance, the resulting structure was a pretty, quaint architecture that would
serve both as receiving room and dining room for guests. Ka Mao ordered a
rattan six-seater round dining table with matching rattan sala set as
furnishings for the pergola. At the foot of the concrete column were stacked
modest-sized boulders plastered with cement to one another, on top of one side
of which was placed a native earthen jar for holding drinking water to complete
the amenities of native dining. The other top of the boulders was fitted with a
lavatory for washing hands.
Anyway, Ka Mao
intended the attic to be his library. writing room and conference room all
rolled up into one.
Now,
since he wrote all throughout most of the night, it was in the attic that
sleepiness almost always overtook him
and there he would lay out a mat for him to sleep on.. And since the kids
always loved to sleep with him, it was on the attic that they almost always got
themselves overtaken by sleepiness, too, and there would sleep with him. Besides, it
was on the attic that Ka Mao guided the kids in doing their school assignments,
so that almost always after the study sessions, they would be too sleepy to get
down to the bedroom where Betchay could now be snoring all by her lonesome.
In many such a moment, Ka Mao would pause from his
writing and get amused at the kids doing various funny positions in their sleep.
How nice to be just kids, he would muse. To be worry-free and letting daddies
bother about all the cares in the world. Ka Mao felt he had not much to worry
about at the moment anyway. He was not lacking in film assignments, with Seiko
having vaulted to the top third spot among the leading film producers, the
first two being Viva Films and Regal Films.
The only thing Ka Mao could not seem to give to his
children until now was the luxury of electricity. Light was remediable, because
they could have similar amount of it from petroleum lamps; in his case, from
his goodie ole improvised kerosene lamp fastened with electrical tape to the
top of his typewriter when he wrote.
Electricity
meant a lot more of things: radio, television, cassette recorder and player,
educational and entertainment gadgets, and, yes, the refrigerator that remained
unoperated. Above all things at the moment was their need for clean water. The
creek was getting dirtier and dirtier due to wastes dumped in it by settlements
on the higher planes. There was no more way to distinguish the creek water from
the spring water with which it unavoidably got mixed up. If he could have
electricity, he could dig a deep well and then pump water from it, using the
jack pump Leroy Salvador gifted him with sometime ago.
Ka Mao could manage now to raise some hundred fifty
thousand pesos to have his own transformer installed in order to lower the
voltage of the high-tension wire that passed his place. But that’s not the only
item he needed to spend money for. The kids’ schooling was top priority, and
when money was put into that priority, what was left was the budget for the
family’s subsistence.
Checking with Meralco again for a possible remedy, he was
informed that he could buy stocks of the company and use those shares as
back-up for the transformer that would be put in place for his use. Ka Mao lit
up. The amount of shares he needed to buy was very affordable. Before long, he
was applying for a certificate of electrical inspection with the Municipal
Engineer’s office. Through the help of one Alegre, a very amiable and
accommodating fellow, Ka Mao was issued the certificate plus another one, a
certificate of occupancy, a most fundamental requisite for occupying a house.
Alegre came to him that morning announcing as he
brandished the documents in his hand, “Approved without looking.”
At the same time, Ka Mao put up an entrance post with all
engineering specifications for such a facility, complete with electrical plan
for causing the electric wires to pass
underground rather than above, for optimum safety.
So in less than a year after Maripaz was born, the family
got its one remaining single lack: electricity.
The family rejoiced. Ka Mao wanted to shout out something
grand. But he could not. It would take more than two decades thence when – due to unpaid bills the electric connection
so dearly gained was permanently cut up and Ka Mao’s reapplication for the same
was denied on account of an encumbrance by the Epira Law that applicants for
Meralco electric connection must submit a title to the land on which the
connection was to be made and Ka Mao could not show one, but he argued his case
vehemently nonetheless and Meralco, through the kind intercession of Vice President
for Communications Joe Zaldarriaga, acquiesced in the end – Ka Mao, in a text
message to Joe, finally worded his joy: “’Tis no hypherbole. After eons of
darkness, Meralco is the next best thing to life.”
In due time, Robbie would sell to Ka Mao his Toyota Land
Cruiser at a very friendly price. With the vehicle, the family completed the
normal standard for gaining the status of
well-to-do: a house-and-lot and a car, with children going to good
schools. When she came of school age, Maripaz joined Maoie and Paulo at the
Montessori, and when things got even better, all three transferred to
Assumption. At the time, boys were accepted in the school but only up to Grade
4, so early on Ka Mao wondered if he could afford to send Maoie and Paulo to Ateneo.
During a meeting of the Assumption Family Council Ka Mao
voiced out this concern to one parent, who right away remarked, “If you can
afford Assumption, you can afford Ateneo.”
That was how very attentive and meticulous was Ka Mao
about the education of his kids. Poverty had not allowed him to finish his
engineering course and he did not wish to see his children meeting with the
same fate. With his film career progressing all throughout the 80s, it looked
like the education of his children would take on a happy course.
Meantime
Ka Mao’s bank account was getting fatter everyday. Particularly for Betchay,
this was source of much secure feeling. Though it was not in her name, she kept
the bank book and thereby held power over the purse.
Betchay
was making sure she got to achieve her own agenda. She wanted to finish college
and pursue a profession of her own. As all the kids were now in school, she
found enough time to mind her own studies. Ka Mao was quite heartened by her
desire for college education and supported her enrollment at the Philippine
School of Business Administration for accounting studies. A new vehicle was
added to the family’s modest motor pool, a Ford Laser, and this became
Betchay’s personal car in going to and from school. She had endeavored to study
driving without Ka Mao knowing it, but he was glad to know she could drive, because
it meant she could be his personal driver. Ka Mao himself knew how to drive,
but he got this habit of conceiving
stories while in travel and he rightly deemed it dangerous to be doing
so while driving on his own.
And
so, at the same time that Betchay got the nice feeling of being admired by the
crowd in the PSBA campus as a car-owning student, she also did the good job of
driving Ka Mao through many journeys into creating stories.
Taking
the side route through Binalonan, Pangasinan during a travel from Baguio, they
passed a large plantatation of eggplants and the sight of that vegetable
variety being grown on a large scale stirred Ka Mao’s mind into creating
“Talong”, the movie that launched Nini Jacinto and Leonardo Litton to stardom
and turned out to be a big moneymaker. Ka Mao observed Ricky Lee and his
same-sex company stepping out of a theater, enthusing at the movie,
particularly that scene where Nini, in giving a drunk Leonardo a sponge bath,
gleefully toyed with his genitals.
“Kangkong”, which, for all its earthy
celebration of sex, drew a heartening
commendation from the Catholic Bishop Conference of the Philippines
and made a star out of a poor slums denizen, Brigitte de
Joya , was a product of a similar journey. Betchay was driving down a Morong,
Rizal highway which skirted the Laguna de Bay when Ka Mao noticed that the
shores of the famous lake were teeming with ponds growing the favorite
vegetable for sinigang, an exotic
dish of either fish or meat boiled in tamarind juice with a rich mixture of
spices, serving both as viand and soup in meals.
“Halimuyak ng Babae”, originally titled by Ka
Mao as “Sa Daigdig ng mga Toro”, was inspired by a sprawling cow ranch in Baao,
Camarines Sur which on a travel to
Catanduanes struck Ka Mao as a lovely landscape, with Mayon Volcano majestically
pictured in the background. In all instances before that, Ka Mao had been
traveling the same route but on public transport and always at nights. There
was no way he could see the herd of cattle grazing on the meadow. With Betchay
driving this time, the travel was in broad daylight and then and there got him
gestating the story of a girl given away as prize in a rodeo festival; the
movie made more money for Seiko and turned the otherwise unheralded starlet
Abby Viduya into the sex superstar Priscilla Almeda.
A
journey to Pagsanjan Falls had Ka Mao and Betchay passing Lumban, Quezon, a
town proclaiming as its prime cottage industry the production of cheese from
carabao milk. Ka Mao revisited the town at dawn to witness the production of
such delicacy and there completed his concept of the movie “Kesong Puti,” a
super hit which made Klaudia Koronel a star overnight.
And
travelling through a deserted highway in Mauban, Quezon, Ka Mao witnessed the
large-scale cutting of coconut trees for turning into coco lumber and it got
him so mad he thought of a story to advocate a stop to such despoliation of
nature, and the result was “Bad Girl,” which picked up a struggling starlet
from the doldrums and catapulted her to superstardom, Cristina Gonzales, who in
1991 would beat them all with a whopping score of fifteen movies in a year, all
casting her in the lead role: “Katawan ni Sofia”, “Maiinit na Puso”, “Akin ang
Asawa Mo”, etc., the rest of the fifteen being works of other directors.
Kring-Kring
became the most sought-after star after “Bad Girl”.
In
brief, during trips, Ka Mao must have complete freedom to let all his thoughts
bloom. Gestating stories and driving at the same time could invite disaster.
One
time Ka Mao was driving, Betchay comfortably seated beside him, and was into his usual indulgence in creative
thinking, when a truck laden with pigs suddenly sped out of the gates of a piggery.
Ka Mao realized he was already face to face with the driver of the truck who
exchanged terrified stares with him. Ka Mao was ready to take a terrible smash-up.
But his foot stepped on the brakes nonetheless while his hands spun the wheel
furiously to the right, causing his Mitsubishi van to spin 180 degrees,
avoiding by an inch the truck which in fright, the driver drove on, quickly
shifting to high gear.
Ka
Mao leaned back on his seat, heaving a sigh. It was a long stretch of empty
highway they were on anyway and he had
all the time to just sit there and wait till his nerves leveled up. But Betchay
took no time taking over the wheels, turning the car back to its original
direction, resuming the travel.
They
were on the way to Puerto Azul for Ka Mao to do a double-check of a location
for “May Gatas Pa Sa Labi”, an idea of a man and an adolescent girl washed
ashore on a deserted island from a sea mishap.
Ka Mao had traveled to the place one time during a location hunting and
that area in Cay Labne, Tanza, Cavite had the distinct feature of a forest
adjacent to the sea, with a river flowing down into it. It germinated in Ka
Mao’s mind a Robinson Crusoe type of adventure, and when he offered the idea to
Kara Films which had sought him out for a film project, the good-natured
executive producer, Roger Leonardo, said, “Your call, Direk.”
So
all systems went for the project, The production staff and crew were organized,
and to play the role of the adolescent sea mishap victim opposite top star
Tonton Gutierez was a Vir Mateo talent whom Ka Mao discovered while she was doing
a tryout for a role in a theater play in the Ninoy Aquino Park and Wildlife.
Ka
Mao did not have to think twice when he came face to face with the girl. She
was thirteen, petite and pretty, her big round eyes, glowing doll-like, mirrored
girlish innocence, but her French mestiza allure already exuded some pleasant
sultriness – Aila Marie, the name she would retain in the billing.
Invariably,
that was how Ka Mao judged his stars. The looks came first. Acting, a period of
workshop would solve it. Above all, Aila was new, so very new, completely
malleable so as to be made submissive to his direction.
And
invariably as well, the approach worked.
But
Ka Mao was not so sure about the location. His particular requirement was a
stream flowing from falls in a forest so that without having to cut a shot, you
trail the flow of water with a camera pan and capture the stream outing into a
panorama of the ocean, its blue waters reflecting the color of the sky, with a
clouds-rimmed horizon yonder.
Much
to his dismay, Ka Mao realized Cay Labne, though having inspired the concept,
did not fit into the shooting requirement.
Thus
did that near-crash with the pig
delivery truck go for naught.
Ka
Mao would finally find the perfect site in his native town of Calolbon, now San
Andres, Catanduanes. And “May Gatas Pa
Sa Labi” made so much money when shown that not long after, Kara Films,
hitherto relatively unknown, was being reckoned with.
“It’s
me you’re getting popular with this, Direk,” said Roger of his venture.
In any case, as if by tradition, Aila Mare was
signed up for exclusive contract by
Regal Films.That had been Regal’s way of
keeping bankable talents in the industry completely under its control.
Ka
Mao nearly fell into it, too, that day Mother Lily invited him to her office
where without much ceremony she instructed Ate Luz, the ever loyal and devoted
secretary-cashier of the Regal matriarch, to prepare pronto the advance payment
for making Ka Mao exclusive for the company. In a little while, the lady Man
Friday was done with a thick wad of checks which Mother Lily eagerly signed for
issuing to Ka Mao.
“This
is three hundred thousand, Direk,” said the First Lady of Philippine
movies as she signed the checks. “Just
down payment for ten movies. The balance per movie, you get everytime you
shoot.”
Ka
Mao found it extremely hard to refuse the offer from somebody whose winsome way
of dealing with people, albeit play-act, was simply irresistible. But Betchay
kept elbowing his side, nearly gnashing her teeth as she counseled him, “Don’t
sign.”
Only
when Mother Lily was done signing the checks did Ka Mao get to say, “Sorry,
Mother. No need for this contract. Just you hire me anytime you wish”.
Ka
Mao didn’t know why he listened to Betchay. Mother Lily had been so nice to him
that it indeed made him sincerely sorry to have rejected her. The lady eyed
him, looking deeply hurt inside.
He
remembered the first time he saw that look in her eyes. That noon at Jade Vine
Restaurant in Greenhills Shopping Mart. She had invited him for lunch along
with Ishmael Bernal for discussions on film projects. But the hours wore on and
it was now nearing two and still Mother Lily was nowhere in sight. Ka Mao was
taking it good-naturedly, having grown used to her habits, tantrums and
everything. But Bernal, the super director that he was, was visibly irked,
though he kept his thoughts to himself.
Finally,
at ten minutes to two, Mother Lily arrived, beaming even as she was profuse
with apologies to her guests. They must have waited for nearly three hours, for
to a lunch invitation by someone as important as Mother Lily, you are expected
to arrive as early as eleven o’clock.
The
minute Mother Lily took a seat at the table, Bernal rose abruptly, and without
looking at her nor saying a word to her, he turned away and got lost. That
clearly was the snub he had deliberately designed to get back at the lady for
having made him, a very important person, suffer the agony of a three-hour-waiting.
Mother
Lily was left gaping, appearing like having been hit by a blow. She made no
adverse reaction of any sort, just that look of hurt in her eyes with which she
trailed Bernal’s oh, too proud strides in going away.
Now,
at Ka Mao’s rejection of Mother Lily’s offer, he just found himself wondering
if he was not doing a Bernal. And that made him feel guilty. Mother Lily had
been so good to him to deserve his snub. And so unavoidably, as Mother Lily
casually tore the checks intended for him, Ka Mao just found himself suddenly
reminiscing on some nice times he had had with the lady, like that midnight
trip to Pangasinan to which she had wanted him and Betchay around when she paid
homage to the Virgin of Manaoag.
People
were wont to engage in ill talk on the lady’s frequent tantrums, growling at
employees and throwing things at them, like ash trays and telephone sets, whatever she could grab in
her moments of bad temper. What was hardly talked about was her regular visits
to the Virgin of Manaoag in whose miracles she manifested deep faith. At the
entrance of the Valencia Street office of Regal Films, an interesting amalgam
greeted every visitor before entering: the Virgin of Manaoag richly garlanded
with sampaguita side by side with a Buddha figurine surrounded by burning
incense.
Ka
Mao would have some spiritual union with Mother Lily in the Life in the Spirit
Seminar conducted in the Regal office in 1991. Along with a number of Regal
celebrities, Ka Mao underwent the seminar for a week. From that seminar, Ka Mao got a copy of the Good News Bible,
which had since then become his ready reference for Gospel guidance; the one
Manay Consoling gifted him with stayed kept in the shelves.
Why Ka Mao heeded Betchay’s counsel for him
not to sign the exclusive contract, he couldn’t say. Chances were that Mother
Lily had sincerely wished to keep him for keeps. The fact was that even with
his refusal to sign, Ka Mao continued to enjoy the good graces of Mother Lily.
Into the 90s, Ka Mao was getting to be a
topnotch director in number of films made; in 1991 he scored six for the year
alone. Four of those six were for Regal films.
Ka
Mao would realize that goodwill is not sourced from worldly trappings of legal
contracts but from a sincere covenant with God to do good.
CHAPTER XII
SOCIETY threw in tumult
in the aftermath of the Ninoy Aquino assassination that August 21, 1983. Like
most anybody else, Ka Mao’s impulse was to call it a handiwork of Marcos. But
after a period of putting two and two together, Ka Mao advanced the opinion
that Marcos was no fool to make a hero out of a dead man walking.
In his admitted sojourns to various places outside of the
United States to strike up formal
alliances against Marcos, sticking always to his side was Dr. Solis, the
surgeon who performed triple heart by-pass operation on him in Dallas,
Texas. The doctor had become so dear a
friend to Ninoy that, as he admitted in an interview with the Philippine Daily
Inquirer, he “would take Ninoy’s secret to his grave.”
Ninoy was a terminal case, no doubt about that. That was
why he needed Dr. Solis to travel along with him in those numerous trips to meet
up with allies and supporters. But on that particular journey for homecoming in
1981 when he should need medical attention most, Dr. Solis was prominently
missing. Ninoy appeared a pathetic lonesome as he moved from one plane to
another in the circuitous trip back home,
The question, then, is unavoidably asked: When does a
patient no longer need a doctor? The answer is simple: When there’s no more
hope of cure.
As a finale to a lengthy essay on Ninoy which Ka Mao
posted in his blog KAMAO in 2010, he cited a passage from a video documentary
entitled Beyond Conspiracy: 25 Years
After. The presentation was hosted by Tina Munzon Palma, who, as a
clincher, declared: “In the end, Ninoy won his political chess game with Marcos
by doing the unthinkable: he sacrificed the King.” And Ka Mao, after citing the
consequent rise to power of what the media had hyped to be apolitical, Ninoy’s
widow Cory, made his own fearless pronouncement: “That was a good death, translation of the Greek word euthanasia.”
So much given to metaphors in his writing, Ka Mao was
alluding to the medical practice of physicians finally ordering the detachment
of various life supports from a patient to facilitate his passage from life.
Mercy killing, that’s how it is generally known. But the gory manner by which
Ninoy got killed and depicted in the video presentation prompted Ka Mao to
recall a scene in a cowboy movie in which a horse with broken legs, thus with
no more hope of living further, was shot by its very owner, thereby, with that
single bullet through its skull, making its death easy.
Sure, Ninoy got death good and easy.
But for the nation, that drama on the tarmac ushered in
terribly difficult times. Cory, suddenly grown political, led ceaseless
disturbances all riding on the single cry: “Sobra na! Tama na! Alisin na! (Too
much! Enough! Remove!)” Foreign capital held back on its investments, creating
an abrupt drop of the economy, ultimately leading to mass poverty.
Ka Mao was intrigued by the phenomenon. He would wonder
if people were made to be like that, enjoying pleasure from getting hurt.
Despite getting whacks on the head with police sticks, they would brawl with
state troopers even more. So if the turbulence from the assassination of Ninoy
was creating hard times on their livelihood, suits people fine; they had it
coming. It was their mindless accommodation of the Cory call that made them
poorer in the first place.
People’s protests all over the nation provided the crest
for Cory to ride on in a clear intention to get Ninoy’s oath, declared with
resolve in his memorable speech, done once and for all: “I will dedicate the
last drop of my blood for the dismantlement of your dictatorship.”
How the people loved to repeat after Cory on and on and
on: “Tama na! Sobra na! Alisin na!”
For the armed CPP-NPA rebellion, the disturbances just
augured well for pushing the revolution ahead. This was the time the rebel
leadership assessed its so-called people’s war to have attained the strategic
counter offensive (SCO) sub-stage from which to spring to the strategic
offensive.
For the US, the situation would not be good. American
overriding concern at the time was to get Marcos done with for purposes of
achieving their intentions in the forthcoming renegotiation of the American
bases rentals. If, initially the communist movement helped US interests in its
program of demonizing Marcos as a springboard for his ouster, this time around,
that movement was poised to take over in the event of a rebel overthrow of Marcos.
The Sisonite strategy of a protracted people’s war sat
quite well with the US. That strategy was only aimed at protracting on and on,
with no timeline for victory. Simply because the strategy was designed not to
win, the imperialist enemy would not lose.
But into the 80s, a shift from the conventional strategy
of surrounding the cities from the countryside was becoming evident. Urban
guerilla warfare was intensifying in Metro Manila as witnessed by the
assassination of General Tomas Karingal, Chief of the Police Northern Sector
Command, and Col. James Rowe, JUSMAG Commander.
Meantime, policemen became a most scared lot, not knowing
who among them would fall next from assassination by city guerillas in their
ceaseless conduct of agaw armas, a binge of killing policemen for the simple
reason of snatching their service weapons. That was how, invoking the principle
of self-reliance, urban armed city partisans (ACP) were able to arm themselves.
This shift in revolutionary strategy should be cause for
worry for the US. Its experience in its own backyard had shown that armed city
uprisings were the modern-day effective method of toppling tyrants. Fidel Castro
did it in Cuba and the Sadinistas, in Panama.
Ka Jun, or Rolly Kintanar, as NPA Chief was into
perfecting the blueprint for such a Sadinista-approach uprising in the
Philippines, and though it was not
openly advanced, the transpirations obtaining in Metro Manila spoke for
themselves: a city-based insurrection was in the making.
For that reason, a Marcos overthrow through popular
uprising must be nipped in the bad as far as US intentions were concerned. The
communist rebels could sneak into the fray and before anybody knew it, they
were at the helm of the new dispensation that would come about.
Rather, a democratic election – or, at least, an election
made to appear to the people as one aimed at restoring democracy – was the best
US option.
So alongside militant rebellion-inspired mass protests,
were sudden cries for democratic elections wherein the Marcos presidency was at
stake. In due time, as from some strings having been pulled behind the scenes,
Marcos agreed to the holding of snap presidential elections where he, in tandem
with Senator Arturo Tolentino, would run against the tandem of Salvador Laurel,
for Vice President – and Cory Aquino for President.
Political pundits viewed this as a Marcos error in
judgment. It was not. If Marcos was cocksure he would win in the snap polls, it
was because he rightly saw the balance of forces between him and Cory. As then
Singapore President Lee Kwan Yu would remark on the matter afterward, “There is
no comparison.” The favor was on Marcos’ side.
If at all, the Cory bandwagon was good only in Metro
Manila, Cebu, select areas in the Visayas, but overall surveys showed Marcos
would win. And as the counting of votes at the Philippine International
Convention Center immediately showed, Marcos was far ahead.
But, alas, the team of vote counters, which curiously was
composed of ladies, staged a walkout and before the international media – intriguingly
having been organized perhaps precisely to cover the grandstand act – denounced the counting as a hoax.
That denouncement was the alibi Cory held on to in
claiming the presidency through a self-serving victory count conducted by
National Movement for Free Election (NAMFREL). .
Thus, at the same time that Marcos was being proclaimed
winner in the Batasang Pambansa count, Cory was proclaimed victorious by
NAMFREL. And to Marcos’ intransigence in holding on to his post, Cory countered
with a civil disobedience campaign that already threatened to explode into a
bloody situation.
In
desperation, Marcos sent a trusted lieutenant, Labor Secretary Blas Ople to
Washington to get the final say of US on the hostilities. That was when US
President Ronald Reagan, though a good friend of Marcos, sent him the curt
final message: “Cut and cut clean.”
Shortly
after came the repeat of a clichƩ: and the rest is history.
Into
his retirement years, Ka Mao became so appalled by the Syrian civil war,
particularly the brutalities it was heaping upon innocent children and babies,
that he wrote a piece and got it posted in blog site Get Real Post, which had been introduced to him by Twitter friend
Ilda.
The
article went:
The
Syrian Civil War:
MARCOS IN RETROSPECT
By Mauro Gia
Samonte
Given the turmoil obtaining in Syria at this hour, Marcos could be the kindest president the Philippines has ever had. What the Philippines was during those four days, February 22 to 25, in 1986 was what had Syria become first quarter of 2011. Decades-old regimes had began falling across the Middle East either as a result of sheer civil unrest, as in Egypt where mass protests on the streets forced President Hosni Mubarak to resign, or where demos and rallies proved insufficient to force the perceived dictators to step down, a certain degree of armed action became necessary as in Libya where it needed a civil war to topple Muammar Gaddafi and get him killed. Certainly the gravest of all these downfalls was that of Sadam Hussein which required the costly Iraqi war, both in terms of destructions to infrastructure and human casualties, to bring about.
]
If, then, Assad were at the helm of the Philippine nation in those four days of February 1986, the country could have been reduced to shambles as many parts of Syria have since the civil unrest early 2011 escalated into a civil war. With Assad’s intransigence in clinging to power, there is no visible end to the bloodshed and devastation that are getting worse in Syria every day.
Looking back now, I ask if it was
not to the country’s fortune that Marcos did not have that much intransigence.
The nation saw on television how then Defense Secretary (an oversight;
should have read “AFP Chief of Staff”)
Fabian Ver was urging President Marcos to have tanks moving in and disperse the
thousands that had already massed on EDSA
-- certainly implying firepower. But President Marcos cut him short,
ordering instead to use water hoses or any somesuch method, but never guns.
And thus did the EDSA uprising of
1986 go down in history as a peaceful people power revolt. It would be the
height of political naivette to believe so.
The EDSA rising turned peaceful
because Marcos refused to use guns.
If
Assad were in his place, he would insist that those in EDSA – granting
they did count a couple of millions – constituted a very slim minority of the
Filipino people who at the time were counting 83 million. Assad would have
insisted that the majority of the people were in the middle, “to be precise,
not against him.”
It was just that the event was
perfectly hyped in the media so that what was actually a happening in a very
small section of Metro Manila was projected as a nationwide phenomenon. And
Marcos, instead of defying Reagan’s order (how do you put this in diplomatic
terms?) to “Cut. And cut clean,” did not resist when flown to Hawaii by United
States operatives.
In Assad’s case, when asked for
reaction to a demand by US President Obama for him to step down because he had
lost legitimacy to rule, he said he will not listen to anybody, never mind if
that anybody is President of the greatest nation on earth, outside of Syria.
Assad, by his assertion, would listen only to the Syrian people, and again he
would insist that the majority of Syrians are in the middle, “not against me.”
During the EDSA crisis, Marcos
definitely had the numbers and add to this the “majority” who, by Assad’s
reckoning, must be in the middle and were not anti-Marcos, he enjoyed enough
public support to stay in power. Unlike Assad, however, Marcos, though not really acceding to the Reagan direction, did not choose to
defy the US wish for him to step down and allowed himself to be “kidnapped” for
bringing to exile.
Had Marcos did an Assad, he would
surely have thrown the nation into a conflagration such as what’s happened to
Syria, decimating the population by tens of thousands and bringing the country
to utter ruins. But by not doing an Assad, had not Marcos exemplified the
height of magnanimity and benevolence, care and concern, and love a leader
should reach for the people he leads?
The EDSA rising propelled the plain
housewife Cory to the pinnacle of political power. She got the whole world
enthralled. In speeches before the United Nations and the US Congress, she
gloated in the glory of the “bloodless revolution”.
And Cory called that bloodlessness
her feat!
What hypocrisy!
Almost just as soon as Cory took
over the presidency, she declared: “Now I know why people would kill for this
position.”
The bloodiest event that ever took
place on Mendiola was the Mendiola Massacre on January 22, 1987 – very early on
in the Cory administration. And the bloodiest massacre that ever took place in
Concepcion, Tarlac was the Hacienda Luisita Massacre on November 16, 2004 –
when Cory could have prevented it but did not.
If the EDSA revolt turned out
bloodless, it was because Marcos just refused to make it bloody.
Years ago, I came across a passage
from a speech by Senator Bongbong Marcos about how to treat his father. He implored
his listeners, “Look beyond the man.”
It takes the grim reality of Syria
to view the late President Ferdinand E. Marcos in the correct perspective.
The
short article generated scores of comments, many of them evidently coming from
Cory loyalists. The propaganda slant intrinsic in the anti-Marcos comments
prompted Ka Mao to write a follow-up article, also posted in the same blog
site. Those who made comments went by aliases.
Here
was the article:
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCE
By Mauro Gia Samonte
Apropos
the stream of comments generated by my article SYRIAN WAR: MARCOS IN
RETROSPECT, I’m prompted to think back
on RASHOMON, that movie by Akira Kurosawa which won the Best Picture Award in
the 1950 Berlin Film Festival onward to winning a similar honor in the Cannes
Film Festival.
RASHOMON
tells the story of a murdered samurai viewed from different angles. Each of these
angles claims to be the truth, to be more precise told during the trial by a
number of people claiming to be witnesses to the crime. The testimonies
contradict one another, making for the difficulty of telling which is true and
which is false. This dilemma constituting RASHOMON’S theme is what I believe
stares us in the face in the current discussion.
Which
of the contradictory comments that poured into GRP on account of my article is
true and which is false. Each of the comments is not wanting in historical
proof.
jcc
goes to such great lengths, thank you, citing someone’s account of the EDSA
event (I promise to read up on this to get me less ill-informed) to show that
orders to shoot the EDSA crowd were given out but that the field commanders
refused to carry out those orders.
On
the other hand, Andrew reports on a
conversation he heard between General Arturo Enrile and somebody in a London
Times’ correspondent’s bash in 1995 in which the general, said to be leading
the armored column in EDSA, admitted that they were ordered to stop and being
the army, they obeyed.
Twenty
six years after, therefore, the question continues to hang: Did or did not
Marcos order shooting the EDSA crowd?
jcc,
again, calls it being “ill-informed” to believe the exchange between AFP Chief
Ver and President Marcos was one for real. Johnny Saint agrees, calling it odd
that Ver and Marcos should be talking that way on television. “The whole
event,” Johnny says, “seems contrivcd – a scripted melodrama, and a bad one at
that.”
For
her part, sendonggirl, whom Amir Al Bahrs alludes to as “lockness monster” and
whom Johnny Derp would rather liken to a “mewling quim” (whatever that means),
points out impropriety in comparing a leader to Assad. “Such a low bar
hehehehe,” she comments, hardly realizing that “such a low bar” in fact was
what people in the 70s – at least Ninoy Aquino and his ilk – were
measuring Marcos against already: “Marcos! Hitler! Diktador! Tuta!” So okay with sendonggirl for Ninoy to go low, low to Hitler but never
low enough to Assad? And for a final
challenge, she prescribes, “compare him to lincoln so we can see.”
So
okay, sendonggirl. You asked for it..
Lincoln
did self-study of law. Marcos reviewed for bar while in prison. Even Stevens.
Lincoln
passed the bar. Marcos topped the bar. Marcos up.
Lincoln
lost a number of attempts at winning lower political posts. Marcos never lost
an election. Marcos up.
Lincoln
went turncoat from Whig Party to Republican Party and won US presidency. Marcos
went turncoat from Liberal Party to Nacionalista Party and won Philippine
presidency. Even Stevens.
Lincoln
was captain of volunteers during the Black Hawk War but, as one account says,
saw no combat save for “a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes.” Marcos
actually fought in battle as a combat intelligence officer for the allied
forces in the Philippines during World War 2. Marcos up.
Seven states seceded from the United States
during Lincoln’s term. No portion of the nation seceded from the Republic of the
Philippines during Marcos’ term. Marcos up. (P.S. Such secession is being
contemplated by the current PNoy administration for Mindanao through the
Framework of Agreement. History will assign score to PNoy for this.)
The American Civil War broke out during
Lincoln’s term. No civil war broke out in Marcos’ term. Marcos up.
Lincoln suspended the writ of habeas corpus and
arrested suspected Confederates sympathizers without warrant. Marcos suspended
writ of habeas corpus and arrested suspected communists without warrant. Even Stevens.
Lincoln said, “Hold your friends close and your
enemies closer.” (Sun Tzu said this first.) Marcos said, “There are no permanent enemies. There
are only temporary allies.” Even Stevens enough.
Lincoln said, “A house divided cannot stand.”
Marcos said, “This nation can be great again.” Marcos sounds better, or don’t
you agree?
Lincoln served for a little more than four
years. Marcos served 20 years. Marcos far, far ahead.
So now, sendonggirl, see for yourself how
Lincoln and Marcos compare There is only one area in which Lincoln does one
over Marcos. Lincoln was so hated in America that a popular actor assassinated
him on April 14, 1865. Marcos was only exiled.
Why is that the case, that is, why exile
Marcos? “Because,” says Hayden Toro, “Marcos
was against the bases agreement to be extended. Enrile, Ramos and Honasan were
just front men of the Americans….”
I’m
inclined to believe Hayden. The US military bases agreement was subject to
review every five years. When Marcos came into power, he began imposing rental
on these installations, the first president ever do so. By 1985, when another
review was in the offing, the US must have had enough. Marcos had to go.
In
this regard, Teddy Boy Locsin, reacting on Twitter to this same article,
contributes a very helpful insight. He cites a meeting between Cory and Philip
Habib, special envoy sent by Reagan to intervene in the crisis gripping the
nation as a consequence of the presidential snap election. According to Teddy
Boy, Cory rejected Habib’s proposal for her to share power with Marcos and
declared that if that happened, she would tear the nation. At which, narrates
Teddy Boy, Habib stood and told Cory that she will (apropos the comment of Jack, tense is Teddy Boy’s
original) win. And as the clichƩ goes, the rest is history. With EDSA, Cory
won.
Now,
see how we have meandered through a labyrinth of views which we seem to find a
hard time getting out of. In much the
same way, RASHOMON treats our
consciousness to endless juxtapositions of current and past scenes seemingly
able to achieve only a grand display of incoherence.
In
the opening sequence of RASHOMON, a priest and a man (later to be identified as
the woodcutter who, by his own testimony, discovers the murdered samurai) are
under the ruined gate of Rashomon outside Kyoto, lamenting something which they
say they cannot understand. An intruder rushes to the scene, taking shelter
from the rain that is pouring hard. He is told of the two’s lament.
Says
the priest, “War, earthquake, winds, fire, famine, the plague. Year after year
it’s been nothing but disasters. And bandits descend upon us every night. I’ve
seen so many men getting killed like insects. But evcn I have never heard such
a story as horrible as this. Yes, so horrible. This time I may finally lose my
faith in the human soul.”
What’s
more horrible than war, earthquake, winds, fire, famine, the plague? The
question prompts you to view the movie on. For all the disasters that had
visited the Philippines, the country hasn’t quite had enough?
In
the finale, you get the answer: lies.
Cries
the woodcutter at the intruder who accuses him of having stolen the precious
pearl-inlaid dagger that went missing from the chest of the slain samurai.
“Damn
it! Everyone is selfish and dishonest. Making excuses. The bandit, the woman,
the man and you!”
Thus
the film delivers its powerful message: that nothing is true in the world and
that what truth is to people are consequences of things that work to their
favor.
RASHOMON’S
impact precisely lies in its shattering of the hitherto held western belief of
the universality of truth – which obviously is what comments in the GRP stream
without exception smack of.
We,
all of us, always pretend to nobility in our words. But always we betray a
gleam, if a tiny one, by which our listeners can look beyond our faƧades.
What
is mine in this instance? An ache wrought by the babies and children getting
brutalized in the Syrian civil war. It’s a pain a lot more fundamental than
striking up a brave political braggadocio or priding in grammatical perfection.
It’s
really just a plain, simple cry: “Please stop the Syrian civil war. Save the
babies and children.”
Discussions
in RASHOMON abruptly stop as an infant’s cry rends the air. The discussants
look and discover an abandoned baby, wrapped in an expensive kimono with an
amulet left by the baby’s parents obviously to protect it from harm. The three
proceed to do each respective concern, The greedy intruder snatches the kimono
off the baby then growls at the woodcutter as the latter tries to stop
him.
“You
selfish…” says the woodcutter.
“What’s
wrong with that? Dogs are better off in this world. If you are not selfish, you
can’t survive.”
The
priest cradles the continuously-crying baby in his arms as the intruder hies
off. The woodcutter asks to have the baby.
“I
have six kids of my own. Another one wouldn’t make a difference.”
The
priest hands the baby to the woodcutter, whereupon it stops crying. The rain
has stopped.
Manifesting
a cleansing of spirit inside him, the priest says, “I think I can keep my faith
in man.”
And when, clearly smarting from having been rebuked, the
Cory loyalists again posted their angry reaction, this time diverting from the
original issue raised by Ka Mao on Marcos holding back fire in the EDSA crisis.
Instead they focused on some little lapses in Ka Mao’s copyreading of his
article and made mountains out of certain minor shortcomings. Ka Mao realized
that the Cory loyalists were a coterie of cowards who hid in their aliases in
firing away insults at their adversaries. This smacked of neophyte tactics to
which Ka Mao would not stoop down.
And so in order to finally settle the issue, Ka Mao wrote
an account on Kirk as a way of telling those detractors that Ka Mao knew
whereof he spoke.
This was Ka Mao’s final say:
MEMORIES OF A CIVIL WAR
By Mauro Gia Samonte
Kirk was already in late-twenties when he got into the mainstream of
the so-called national democratic movement initiated by Jose Maria Sison. From
the ranks of mass activists, he was elevated to candidate membership in the
Communist Party of the Philippines and after a few months in that status became
full-fledged party member. The chaos within the party resulting from the sudden
declaration of martial law on September 22, 1972 saw him getting separated from
his party unit, but he went on organizing among workers on a self-style basis
in which he advocated a review of the Sison strategy of protracted people’s war,
which he saw inappropriate to the concrete Philippine condition. Forced to
surface from his underground revolutionary work, he pursued his writing craft
and became successful at screenwriting, subsequently at film direction.
Beginning 1977 when he won a best screenplay award in the Metro Manila Film
Festival, old acquaintances in the revolutionary movement began gravitating
around him, which would shortly siphon him back into the fight, so to speak. He
found himself sitting with a group that called itself IL (for International
Liaison) which the polio-stricken political officer heading it loved to call
“the most powerful commission in the Party central committee, next to the
military commission”. Eventually a former co-member in a party group in the
workers sector led him to then sitting Chairman of the CPP, Rodolfo Salas alias
Kumander Bilog, also the head of the Military Commission. After a while of
performing tasks under the N2 (Intelligence) of the General Command of the New
People’s Army, he was appointed head of the Special Intelligence Unit
subordinate only to the General Command and directly responsible to it. He was
in that position when the EDSA crisis erupted. The following are his
recollections of those circumstances.
***
The days into February 1986 were a period of chaos among responsible
cadres of the Communist Party of the Philippines – to be precise, of the
lower-level cadres. Compartmentalization in the Party made it impossible for a
member of a unit to know what’s going in the other units, much more in the
higher organs. Party directives were disseminated through policy papers and the
Party organ, Ang Bayan. Once these directives were passed down to the mass
level, that’s when matters were discussed on a mass scale. The issue during
that period was: Would the movement participate in the coming snap presidential
election.
Back in December, through much of the initiative of Jaime Cardinal Sin,
the tandem of Corazon Aquino and Salvador P. Laurel was hastily formed to beat
the deadline for filing certificate of candidacy. And the country, mainly in
Metro Manila, was thrown into the frenzy of the political campaigns by both
sides. In many aspects, rallies and demonstrations and teach-ins were
reminiscent of the days immediately preceding the declaration of martial law in
1972. The demonizing of Marcos then had reached its flaming zenith.
But conspicuously absent from the crowd of Cory campaigners were the
natdems (acronym for national democrats), those in the national democratic
movement. Opposed to the natdems were the socdems (for social democrats), now
carrying solo the banner of the Cory cry: “Tama na. Sobra na. Palitan na. Alis
dyan!” Of course, along with the new slogan was the ubiquitous trademark of the
Marcos hate campaign: “Marcos Hitler! Diktador! Tuta!”
Certainly the natdems were side by side with the socdems, but their cry
was different: “Boycott! Boycott! Boycott!”
It had been the position of the Party, as reached in a meeting of the
KTKS (Komiteng Tagapagpagganap ng Komite Sentral), not to participate in the
election, which it deemed another maneuver of the US to further entrench Marcos
in power.
It is impossible to tell for someone outside the KTKS how each member
of the committee voted on the issue. So it was difficult for me to determine
who among them to express my view of the situation. Though the principle of
democratic centralism, by which any member may express his views on any issue,
was preached among party members, still one needed extreme caution in
expressing his ideas lest he be branded anti-party, an offense punishable by
death. But being head of a unit directly responsible to the General Command, I
developed intimacy with GC leading elements, particularly Ka Jun (alias of
Rolando Kintanar, NPA chief of staff). I believed with Ka Jun, I did not stand
to be sanctioned for expressing an honest belief.
The snap election struck me as a grand US show. A US congressional
observer team had been dispatched to the Philippines to monitor the conduct of
the election. This was odd. The election was exclusively the country’s affair
and no other country had business interfering in it. But the US was making sure
it had business to do in the event.
Moreover, a large contingent of international media people had been
mobilized to cover the election, something which to me was overkill. So Marcos
was staking his position ahead of the expiration of his term, was that so big a
deal as to warrant such a huge army of international media men? Either way the
election would go, they could well cover it through the wires. But they chose to
go get the big news, whatever which would come about, first-hand. Again, this
was a US handiwork.
And on top of everything, the US Seventh Fleet was just offshore in
Manila Bay. The fleet had been US’s greatest arm-twisting instrument in the
Asia Pacific. What did it have to do with the Philippine snap presidential
election? There must be a war somehow which the US needed to confront just in
case. Marcos by then had been, in a manner of saying, hobnobbing with Russia
and China, something the US didn’t like. From the time of the American
aggression in the 1900s, the Philippines had always been an exclusive US
enclave, but Marcos, with martial law, had been increasingly veering the
country away from such exclusivity.
So I talked to Ka Jun during a break in his meeting with the General
Staff and mustered enough guts to propose that we strike up an alliance with
Marcos under the current circumstances. I said it was Marcos who the US was
intending to get out of power through the snap election and so it was he who we
should ally with inasmuch as we were anti-US imperialism.
At my proposal, Ka Jun spoke no words. He fixed a stare at me, a
piercing stare that betrayed a deep inner thing in him, like some kind of soul
searching done to accommodate my idea. Ka Charlie, intelligence head of the
General Command, overheard the talk on striking up alliances in the crisis and
butted in, “That’s a good idea.”
“He is proposing alliance with Marcos,” cut in Ka Jun, clarifying the
issue.
“Impossible,” Ka Charlie snapped.
“Marcos is the one the US wants out,” I insisted.
“Marcos is still the US boy in this fight,” Ka Charlie insisted in
turn, his voice stern but his lips lined with a grin that indicated he was more
entertained than anything else by my idea.
I had hoped that if I could convince Ka Jun on my idea, then he could
talk the KTKS into reversing the boycott policy to one of participation – of
course, participation in favor of Marcos. I was thinking of the Bolsheviks in
1917. They were together with the
Mensheviks in toppling the czarist regime of Nicholas II. Instead of forming a
government of their own as a result of the Czar’s downfall, Lenin insisted in
joining up with the Kerensky government that had been installed. Once
entrenched in that government, the Bolsheviks arrested the entire Kerensky
cabinet and with that proclaimed the famous: “All power to the soviets.” Thus
was born the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the fruit of a truly
bloodless revolution.
What would have happened if Ka Jun had listened to my proposal, carried
it to the KTKS, which would then have reversed the boycott policy to one of
participation – participation for Marcos? Surely it would have created furor
and outrage, frustration and disillusionment among the great masses of the
national democratic movement conditioned to yelling “Marcos Hitler! Diktador!
Tuta!” This was admitted – but for one single reason: that they believed Marcos
was the US boy. If we explained that Cory was the new stooge being groomed in
the whole exercise, that in fact the US had organized the international media
coverage of the event, coupled with the Congressional monitoring team and the
awesome firepower of the US Seventh Fleet, wouldn’t the masses of the
revolutionaries have understood that such a reversal was all for advancing the
struggle against US imperialism?
In the 1930s, when the Chinese Communist Party had not quite grown big
yet, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
convinced it to get absorbed within the Kuomintang Party of Chiang
Kai-Sheik, which the Soviet party actually supported with military training,
arms and logistical and technical support in the resistance against Japanese
aggression. The CCP acquiesced and for a time took its command from the
Kuomintang. And as history would eventually prove it, that decision was correct. At an appropriate
time, the CCP broke away from the Kuomintang, took over China’s countryside and
from there engaged the Kuomintang in one of the bloodiest civil wars in
history, culminating in the CCP takeover of the entire China mainland, with the
Kuomintang pushed back to the small province of Formosa, now Taiwan.
What would have happened if Ka Jun had listened to my proposal?
The question really no longer mattered at the time. It was too late in
the day. As we say, don’t change horses in midstream. Sun Tzu puts it in his
own way: Don’t engage an enemy while crossing a river. Everything in the US
machination had been set to full throttle and there was no stopping the events
from reaching their destined finale: the walk out by canvassers when the
Comelec count was showing a Marcos win, the Namfrel showing the discrepancy
between the Comelec count and its own which showed Cory winning, the Batasan
proclamation of Marcos as winner, the Cory civil disobedience campaign, outrage
by US Senator Lugar over what he termed as rampant disenfranchisement of up to
40% of the voters, and the pressure from US senators on Reagan to withdraw
support from Marcos.
When Reagan sent Philip Habib to talk to both Marcos and Cory
ostensibly to find a middle ground in their conflict, it was actually to
ascertain who of the two deserved to be put in place, that is, for US interest.
Cory refused to share power with Marcos, so went the reports. But no intimate
contents of Habib’s meeting with Cory would naturally find print in the press.
Whatever, what was reported was that when Habib stood from the meeting, he told
Cory she will win.
That was Friday, February 21. The following day, February 22, Defense
Minister Juan Ponce Enrile made big waves of his holing up in Camp Aquinaldo
together with AFP Vice Chief of Staff Fidel V. Ramos and RAM leader Col.
Gregorio Honasan, announcing his resignation from the Marcos administration – a
resignation that already the day before was carried in two US newspapers. And finally,
with Cardinal Sin issuing the call for support from the populace for Enrile et
al, the crowd poured into EDSA – protecting the very implementers of martial
law which they had despised for a decade and a half.
All of a sudden the Party and the national democratic movement which it
led found themselves utterly left out in the cold. The boycott policy had left
them floating in limbo. What rode on the Cory takeover were the socdems who,
save for Edgar Jopson and quite a few others, never really got to reconcile
with the revolution.
Now, does it still matter to ask if things would have turned out
differently had Marcos decided to fire at the EDSA crowd?
At the time, I thought Marcos would. He had not been depicted as Hitler
if he wasn’t capable of gassing 6 million Jews. And I’d welcome it if he did.
Marcos firing at the EDSA crowd would have a way of correcting the error of the
boycott policy. It would surely enrage the populace and, as Cory told Habib,
tear the nation in a widespread bloody confrontation.
As the vociferous firebrand Bal Pinguel of Kabataang Makabayan used to
agitate his listeners in the 70s, no nation in history has ever developed
without passing through a bloody revolution, citing the American Civil War, the
Spanish Civil War and the Chinese Civil War, among others.
So even as my comrade Ka Dave and I were squeezing with the crowd some
meters away from the Camp Aquinaldo gate, one being a lookout for the other, we
were cautious about the possibility of a sudden rapid firing of armalites or
bursts from grenade launchers.
A favorite quote from Mao Tse Tung crossed my mind: “A single spark can
start a prairie fire.” This is it, I was urging Marcos to myself, “Strike the
matchstick.”
But that Saturday wore on with no one striking a matchstick save for
cigarette vendors enjoying a heyday, as did others vending sago gulaman, balut,
cheap sandwiches, what have you, selling to the multitudes. It was everything
that, again, Mao Tse Tung wouldn’t want a revolution to be: a picnic.
And so as I watched the news program that Monday evening, I suddenly
found myself melting in the fire of streaming memories: the bravado of strikers
at the Makabayan Publishing Corporation where they barricaded a strike-breaking
truck with their bare bodies; the May Day Massacre in Congress in 1971 that
killed union organizer Liza Balando and maimed countless others; the Caloocan
Massacre that same year which peppered union leader Fred Tibar with bullets so
terribly one slug got embedded in his thumb; the infamous Plaza Miranda bombing
which killed an innocent girl cigarette vendor and two others and seriously
injured the entire LP Senatorial ticket in the 1971 mid-term election – save
for one single lucky guy who just happened not to be there when the blasts took
place, Ninoy Aquino.
In a video I would watch many years after, Cory declares, “As we all
know, Ninoy really wanted to be president. Everything was just planned for
1973.”
But as we all know, too, for the presidency, 1973 never came to Ninoy.
Marcos declared martial law in 1972. Seven years and seven months of military
detention under the martial law regime, three years of sojourn in the United
States for treatment of heart ailment, and come 1983, Ninoy made the greatest
political magic of his life. Against the
advice of Imelda Marcos, Ninoy came home from the United States. A slug fired
by an assassin from a .45 pierced through his skull as he was being led by
Avsecom soldiers down the stairs of the China Airlines that brought him into
the Manila International Airport. He dropped dead on the tarmac.
The whole nation mourned. Millions brought Ninoy to his final resting
place. Above all, Cory got inscrutably ingrained in the consciousness of
multitudes who can’t quite outgrow a yearning for gods and heroes. By 1985, the
iconization of Cory was complete. She was ready to square off with Marcos.
So this was the realization I had upon viewing that news program on
television. Cory was being sworn into office as President of the Republic of
the Philippines.
How then could EDSA have blown up into a civil war when the events that
led up to it had from the very beginning been crafted only to advance one man’s
magnificent obsession with the presidency! With the objective having been
achieved, why push the conflict further?
Of course, Ninoy died not getting to that post. Precisely. He should
know he could no longer get there. Having undergone triple heart bypass
operation, he should be a terminal case. He should have only two choices left,
come home dead or come home a hero. Thus did it happen that what Ninoy failed
to do in more than two decades of political skirmish with Marcos, he did in one
grand act. By getting himself killed, he performed the greatest sleight of hand
that ever took place right under the noses of a sadly gullible nation.
Soon after Cory took over the presidency, among her first acts, aside
from the return of Meralco and ABS-CBN to the Lopezes, was the release from
detention of Jose Maria Sison and Bernabe Buscayno alias Kumander Dante.
Expectedly, Sison began flexing muscles again, so to speak. That is,
continue his movement, this time aiming it against the Cory government. At
which, Cory issued a reprimand for him not to try it on her.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
Could Cory be referring to that day in 1968 when she served coffee to
Ninoy and his guests, a professor from the Universsity of the Philippines and
the leader of a breakaway group from the Hukbalahap, Jose Maria Sison and
Bernabe Buscayno alias Kumander Dante? With the help of Tarlac Governor Apin
Yap, Ninoy had brokered the meeting of the two for a purpose only they knew. At
any rate, subsequent to that meeting came the establishment of the Communist
Party of the Philippines on December 26, 1968, later followed by the founding
of the New People’s Army on March 29, 1969.
Accordingly as the Ninoy-Marcos
rivalry intensified, so did the Sisonite national democratic movement. Before
EDSA, the New People’s Army had grown to a size of 25,000 regulars, all in
company formation. This on top of 500,000 militia spread across the archipelago
plus a large army of armed propaganda units the exact number of which I could
no longer recall. Suffice it to say that by conventional military reckoning of
1:10 (1 rebel to 10 government troops)
as an ideal ratio for engaging the enemy in guerilla warfare, the NPA had come
to a high ground. The Philippine armed forces at the time numbered some
150,000, and this number should require only 15,000 of the
NPA to be at par with the ratio. In fact, the national situationer issued by
the Party during the period already spoke of a so-called strategic counter
offensive (SCO) substage at which actions may be launched for achieving
strategic stalemate. This is the stage where there is a clear division of
territories between the protagonists in the war, each respective armed forces
exercising control over them, and people have taken sides in the conflict – the
stage of civil war. Once the strategic stalemate is reached, it becomes
relatively easy for the rebellion to push on – the strategic offensive – and defeat the enemy.
In 1987, with Cory’s government still a revolutionary one, hence
unstable, I had another casual conversation with Ka Jun in which I suggested
that the strategy of the rebellion should be to prevent the holding of the next
presidential election. The reason I gave was that if the next president would
be elected through a democratic process, it would consolidate the political
power of the Philippine bourgeoisie thereby weakening the armed struggle, if
not rendering it inutile altogether.
“When would be the next presidential election?” Ka Jun asked.
“1992,” I replied.
“We shall have won by then,” Ka Jun said quite confidently.
It exhilarated me no end.
But then came Sison’s Reaffirm
in 1991. (Kumander Bilog had been captured by the government earlier and
leadership of the Party passed on to Benito Tiamzon, a Sison loyalist
implementing the latter’s directives from the Netherlands. Ka Jun’s leadership
of the New People’s Army was being contested by Buscayno.) In sum, Reaffirm subjected the boycott policy to
severe criticism and proposed re-education for all those guilty of the error.
Particular emphasis was placed on what was regarded as military
adventurism of Ka Jun, who was embarking on a strategy opposed to the protracted
struggle program of Sison. Ka Jun’s
program called for a Sandinista type of uprising that had proven
successful in Panama. Groundwork for this strategy had already begun and at the
time of EDSA was set to unfold. As I had been critical of the Sison line from
the very start, seeing it as a shameless copy cat of the Mao Tse Tung strategy
in China in the 1930s, Ka Jun’s line
appealed to me as the more realistic,
pragmatic, feasible strategy.
Now, in Party parlance, re-education simply means demotion for those
guilty of the offense. Or worse yet, expulsion from the Party. Negative
reaction to the Sison paper was widespread. Faced with the prospect of being
meted punishment, many leading Party elements, including several who were
members of the Party Central Committee and who had been critical of the overall
Sison strategy of protracted struggle, chose to form their own factions, each
faction having its own armed group and pursuing its own line of pushing the
revolution.
Reaffirm smashed the Party
into splinters. So did it the NPA, which broke up into guerilla units once
again – as in the beginning.
Though Ninoy did not make it to the presidency, his widow did. It’s all
the same. No need to make use further of the rebellion for which Ninoy had
brokered the first meeting of Sison and Buscayno in 1968. Time to tear that
rebellion apart. How do you do it?
Reaffirm did the trick.
Post Script:
Popoy Lagman, former Secretary General of the CPP Manila-Rizal Regional
Party Committee who organized the much dreaded Alex Boncayao Brigade (ABB) and
wrote a number of books criticizing the Sison line of protracted struggle, was
gunned down by two assassins inside the UP campus on February 7, 2001.
Next to fall was Ka Jun, Rolando Kintanar, shot and killed on January
23,2003 by reportedly 4 assassins while having meal at a restaurant in the
Quezon City Circle. Gregorio Rosal, NPA head in Southern Luzon, owned up to the
killing.
Arturo Tabara, Secretary General of the CPP Visayas Commission was
assassinated in Quezon City in 2004.
Civil war anyone?
CHAPTER
XIII
THE TUMULT in the
aftermath of the Ninoy killing in 1983 was the background of a third renovation
of the house Ka Mao built in that quiet, idyllic nook of Antipolo on Sumulong
Highway.
At
the time, Betchay just found herself conceiving their fourth child. This, much
to her chagrin. She did not wish to have another one. She was only into her
second semester at the PSBA and having another child would surely frustrate her
intention of finishing a college course.
During the period, Ka Mao noticed that Betchay
was curiously exerting herself so much:
clearing bushes-covered patches of ground, hoeing at the earth for
planting sweet potato, cassava and several varieties of vegetable in, and
then fetching pails upon pails of water from the creek for watering those she
planted. She would endlessly hack again at the bushes which she cut into
firewood. Finally, she would invariably end up scrubbing the floor with a
coconut husk while she punched her belly on and on, grit on her face.
Ka
Mao caught Betchay doing it even as it was getting dark and so he confronted
her.
“Stop
it,” he said, holding her still.
Bctchay
threw herself on a seat, wiping the heavy perspiration on her face. She was catching her breath.
“What’s
getting you anyway?” Ka Mao asked.
Betchay
nearly cried, saying, “I don’t want to abort this child.”
“God,
what you’re doing can get you a miscarriage,” Ka Mao countered.
“If
I bleed, I won’t be doing it,” Betchay said.
“Who
will?” he asked.
“Will
God let me bleed if he wished this child to live?” Betchay asked in turn.
Ka
Mao was tongue-tied. Betchay’s logic awed him.
Twenty
nine years after, that child, grown into a man, would take his girlfriend Rhea
down the aisles of the Antipolo Cathedral, insisting in a church wedding by
which to lead his own married life. He would not take after Maoie, who would
content himself with simply living in with his partner, Jen; nor after Paulo,
who would be happy with on-and-off relationships with various girlfriends; nor
less after Keng, who, in his speech during the wedding reception, Ka Mao
referred to as his unica hija but would turn out to be an otro hijo.
Ka
Mao had just gone through a stroke at the time and as he ambled to the
microphone on a cane to respond to the Emcee’s calling him to deliver “words of
wisdom”, he was thinking back on that Valentine occasion in a Calamba night
club when Ka Mao and Betchay, taking a break from shooting just sat at a table,
watching the merrymaking of lovers on the dance floor. A lady approached the
couple and asked, “Are you husband-and-wife?” And they said, “Yes.” And finally
the lady said, “That’s why you’re not enjoying.” That was why though it had
been three years then since Keng was born, Ka Mao and Betchay thought giving it
one more try to act not just husband-and-wife but two people caring and sharing
as lovers do on that night of love. Ka Mao would have loved to recall that nine
months after that Valentine night, came the stork carrying on its beak wrapped
in linen the baby Ogie. But reminiscences would unavoidably touch on that
period when that baby was a most unwanted child. Surely, that would have turned
his speech into a tearjerker – and thus spoil the fun. Even so, Ka Mao’s voice,
prompted by his private recollection of that moment Betchay wanted to get rid
of Ogie, came out almost squeaking from a deep-set pain. The pain, he tried to
suppress by shifting to the poetry uttered by the Bishop of Canterbury in the
wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Dianne. Ka Mao said how nice for a
father to see his son insisting in going through the “stuff of which fairy
tales are made.”
The
birth of Ogie appeared to be Ka Mao’s motivation in expanding the family house
further still. Actually, that was the period when the Party began using the
house as its headquarters and Ka Mao felt it was too small for the purpose and
so had to be enlarged.
Ka
Mao was enjoying that moment, feeding the infant Ogie with porridge, when he
delighted at the arrival of guests among whom was one he immediately recognized
and rushed to excitedly.
“Ka
Choleng,” said Ka Mao, gripping the woman’s hand.
Ka
Choleng was the same Deputy OD head of the KASAMA Party Group from whom Ka Mao
had been separated upon the imposition of martial law. Ka Mao was just so happy
to see her again.
“How
are you?” he asked.
“
I’m fine,” she said.
“Where’s
the unit?”
“They
found their own new groups.”
“How
is Ka Teng?”
“He
is still around. He is okay.”
“He
is her husband,” Sandra informed Ka Mao.
“Oh!”
exclaimed Ka Mao. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Ka
Choleng let out a coy smile.
Ka
Mao then acknowledged with a smile the fortyish, fair-skinned, boyish-looking, clean-shaven, good-looking guy who was with
the two women.
“This
is Ka Erning,” said Ka Choleng,
introducing the man, who shook hands with Ka Mao.
Nothing was spoken of what position the man held
in the movement, but it must be so high as to make him have that authority to
speak when he told Sandra, “From now on, the IL will no longer use this house.”
Sandra
eyed Ka Erning inquiringly.
“This
house,” Ka Erning said, “shall be the house of the KS.”
As
what his wont was, Ka Mao did not ask any questions. But “KS” was a term used
by party elements even at the lowest
level to refer to the Central Committee of the CPP which in the vernacular was
“Komite Sentral”, hence the abbreviation “KS”.
Pride,
all right, was part of the emotion Ka Mao felt instantly at what Ka Erning was
making of the house. In bourgeois reckoning, it was a great honor for Ka Mao to have been entrusted with
housing the highest leadership of the Party and of the revolution. But more
than pride, the trust the Party leadership had in him made Ka Mao feel
exceedingly assured that he, at long last, mattered in the revolution. In the
long period that he had been separated from the Party, Ka Mao bore the silent
agony of having been abandoned, like he had been thrown aside for trash. From
that time on, Ka Mao’s consuming obsession was to be restored to the Party.
With
Ka Erning’s declaration now, Ka Mao felt he had been redeemed. It somehow
became obvious to him that Ka Choleng was there only to attest to what Ka Mao
had been in the Party. And Ka Erning needed somebody who had been in Ka Mao’s
confidence to do their introduction to each other. After that occasion, Ka
Choleng did not show up in the house anymore.
Then a period of vigorous renovation conducted by
Ka Mao on the house followed.
The
attic that still consisted of bamboo and nipa was completely torn down to give
way to a full-blown second floor encompassing that area, walled in concrete,
with TNG for flooring and corrugated galvanized iron sheets for roof; the
beams, trusses and furlins were in wood. The windows were grilled and fitted
with plant boxes done in concrete. With corrugated galvanized iron sheet used
as form for containing the fresh cement mix of the plant boxes, they imparted a
finish approximating gothic design. The stairs to the second floor was in wood,
with the landing on the ground floor in concrete. Just one room was made on the
second floor for use of the entire family together. Maripaz and Ogie shared the
bed with Ka Mao and Betchay, while Maoie and Paulo slept on a mat on the floor.
Outside the room was constructed a bathroom. Another comfort room was
constructed on the ground floor, correspondingly below that on the second
floor. This was situated on the corner to the right of the main entrance. The bedroom and the kitchen on the ground
floor were completely torn down also so as to make of that entire floor a
living room and a dining room combine. An extension limited to the ground floor
level toward the creekside now served as the kitchen.
With
Party VIPs coming on their individual cars during meetings, the place must have
parking accommodations for a number of vehicles at a time and on a spot quie proximate
to the house so that those VIPs needed not to walk long after alighting from
their cars. Moreover the car park must be on a level hidden from view from the
highway. Under this requirement, the pergola, on the sunken frontage of house,
which had been serving as the reception and dining area had to go, the area now
to be used for parking the VIPs’s cars. The driveway from the highway down to
the slope where the house had been built was done five inches thick to make it
durable over time.
There
would be three other times when Ka Erning would visit the house again.
First
of these was when he brought to the place Ka Jun, Ka Charlie and Ka Arman
together with Ka Jess, who kept some distance from the three, indicating he was
not in their league as the three talked to Ka Mao.. Later it would be confided
to Ka Mao that the group Ka Erning brought was the NPA General Command or GC.
Ka Jun was Chief, Ka Charlie, Vice Chief, and Ka Arman, N2 (Intelligence) Head,
Ka Jess, Ka Arman’s deputy. Another member of GC who would be brought to the
house later was Ka Ding, N3 (Personnel) Head.
The
second time was when Ka Erning presided in what struck Ka Mao as an emergency
meeting of the GC called just before the
EDSA revolt. There was frenzy in their talk and behavior, like some urgent
developments were in the offing. In that meeting, who should startle Ka Mao but
Ka Nap, his colleague in the KASAMA with whom he had some heated discussion
regarding Marcos’ real role in the Plaza Miranda bombing.
“Ka
Nap!” Ka Mao exclaimed as he intruded into the meeting as soon as he got home
that day and learned from Betchay that Ka Erning and company were huddled in
the extension area.
Ka
Nap quickly placed his forefinger over his lips as a gesture for Ka Mao not to
tell on him. In the Party, one’s legal status was supposed to be kept secret.
Anyway, everybody amused at Ka Mao’s excitement.
Indeed,
it was quite inspiring for Ka Mao to discover that a colleague of his had risen
to the top echelon of the NPA leadership.
“I
just wanted to say hello,” Ka Mao said, rather apologetically.
Ka
Erning nodded ok, smiling.
“Proceed
with your business,” Ka Mao said and turned away.
The
third and final time was after the EDSA revolt, when he drove his sedan into
the compound and with a forlorn look in his eyes, stepped out of the car and,
as Ka Mao reached him in a rush to welcome him, handed to him the car key. Ka
Erning spoke no word and in his wonderment, Ka Mao could neither say anything.
Having given the key to Ka Mao, Ka Erning then hurried over to board another
car waiting on the highway.
Ka
Arman, who later would come to claim the car, would explain to Ka Mao that Ka
Erning was en route to a meeting of the Central Committee elsewhere.
The
next time Ka Mao would see Ka Erning was in photographs that morning when all
newspapers carried him on the front pages, sleek like a senator in immaculate
barong, his photo captioned: “Kumander Bilog.” Kumander Bilog, as everybody
knew then, was the Chairman of the Communist Party of the Philippines. The news
story was about his capture by the government after more than a decade of
leading the revolution.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SIU (for Special
Intelligence Unit) was some kind of an elite group of intelligence operatives created
by the NPA General Command to perform specific special tasks. When Ka Arman
first told Ka Mao that he was being designated to head the group, he had not
quite gotten into his system any notion of a professional revolutionary apart
from those he had fought together with in the working class movement. And so,
when told further that he was to fill in the group with his own people, Ka Mao
immediately thought of comrades whom he had organized under BRASO. It had
pained him much that he had not been able to bring his self-initiative to any
significant level of struggle due to sheer lack of logistics. Now that he was
being given the discretion to form his own unit using his own men, his BRASO
forces would surely savor the feel of being at last part of the people’s army. That’s
why it disheartened Ka Mao exceedingly when told by Ka Arman that none of the BRASO
forces, not even its Secetariat, would qualify for the SIU. Ka Arman would rather pass the BRASO for
training under the N3. That was consolation enough for Ka Mao.
BRASO was into the mainstream after all, he told himself.
As conceived, the SIU had to be just that, a special
unit. It was to be consisted of people who, like Ka Mao, enjoyed well-placed
social status. Ka Arman recommended a young business entrepreneur from Bulacan,
engaged in a lucrative lending enterprise and in fisheries. He was Ka Jake. For his part, Ka Mao got a long-time colleague in the
journalistic craft who, he would learn later, was a top KKD member during the
First Quarter Storm. He was Ka Dave, who over the years had risen to a highly
respectable placement in the Editorial Staff of a leading newspaper. With their
status in society, all three had easy access to vital facilities, be they
government, non-government or otherwise.
There being three finally composing a team, the SIU was
officially created with the swearing in of Ka Mao, Ka Dave and Ka Jake into the
Party by Ka Arman. In due time, the unit would have a sizeable Support Group
composed of Bayani, a poet and a professor at the Polytechnic University of the
Philippines, who had been Ka Mao’s reliable buddy in the organization and
conduct of the KAMAO strike; Liza, a pretty news reporter with assignment in
Malacanang; and Tala, who ran a shop dealing in antique-style furniture crafted
by her husband, Ray, out of scrap but sturdy mahogany railtrack foundation of
the Philippine National Railway. Other support groups contributing in the tasks
of SIU were two male newspaper editors and one lady foreign correspondent named
Cookie, another lady media person named Ruby, and friends and relatives of Ka
Jake. These support groups were an
excited lot, enthused by the fact that they were doing something for the NPA. They
performed aspects of SIU tasks that could be entrusted to them.
The first business of the day was much too loaded for a
start. Dubbed the Magic 8, it consisted of intelligence work for five punitive
actions against two members of the judiciary, three members of the military,
and big operations for the takeover of the Manila International Airport and the
Batasang Pambansa, and assault upon the Clark Airbase.
Of the eight
targets, priority was placed on the three big operations codenamed San Mig, for
the Batasan, Blue Print for Clark, and Eagle’s Nest for the airport.
Ka Mao coordinated with an Angeles City-based NPA
intelligence officer in tackling Blue Print. The job mainly consisted of
studying the mannerisms of American soldiers in their moments of pleasures in
the airfield club house. They drank beer by the poolside where soldiers had
raucous dips into the water with bikinied girl partners in-between gulps at
their beverages and torrid smooching. In an instance such as this, Ka Mao would
recall the fun American soldiers were indulging in when Japanese bombers made
their historic devastating surprise attack on Pearl Harbor.
The NPA was into a similar making of history.
For
San Mig, Ka Mao had Betchay and all their kids in tow except Ogie, making it
look like a family look-see as they made the rounds of all nooks of the
legislature, with Ka Mao measuring the dimensions of the floor areas and the
stairways of the vast two-winged structure through his footsteps; the
dimensions of the walls, Ka Mao estimated by using his height as standard. Ka
Dave made his own rounds of the legislature, also mobilizing his support groups
in the endeavor.
At
the same time, Ka Dave and Ka Jake partnered in casing Eagles Nest.
All
three worked together in crafting a wooden scale model of San Mig, with
emphasis on passageways to the session hall. For this purpose, Ka Mao saw it fit
to do the pyramid-shaped roof of the main hall building collapsible style so all
one needed to do was to remove the four sections of the pyramid in order to get
a good overview of the session hall.
Of
the three SIU members, only Ka Mao had had a hand at carpentry, which was his
vocational course back in the elementary grades. But they had to make-do with
what little skills they had for the job, for getting it done by somebody else
would cause a leakage of the military action for which the scale model was
being made.
“What
will happen in San Mig is a hundredfold bigger than what Lenin did in taking
over Russia,” Ka Mao remarked as he punched with a chisel a square hole on the
baseboard of the scale model.
Ka
Dave and Ka Jake were doing their own holes with their own chisels. It was
obvious that the holes they were making were for something to fit into.
“Thousands
gathered in Petrograd and elsewhere to bring down Czar Nicholas II,” Ka Dave
said with a scholarly tone.
“I
am not talking about the people power revolt of the Soviets. I think we have to
read back on the actual happenings. What brought down Czar Nicholas II was not
a bloody uprising as many would like to think,” Ka Mao said.
Ka
Jake, a very amiable guy who always spoke with a wide happy grin in his mouth
and a brilliant glint in his eyes, butted in.
“I
am one of those many, Ka Kirk. The massacre on Odessa steps. That was gory and
bloody, wasn’t it?”
“That
was in 1905. The Romanovs held on to their dynasty despite the revolution. Czar
Nicholas II fell out of power in the revolution of 1917.”
“Was
not 1917 the handiwork of Lenin?” asked Dave.
“That
was a job of the Russian bourgeoisie led by Kerensky. Lenin’s job at the time
was to combat the idea of the Mensheviks to form their own government and instead
insist in participating in the Duma – the parliament – established by the
Kerensky government.”
“It
was Lenin who arrested the entire Kerensky cabinet,” insisted Ka Dave.
“Precisely,”
said Ka Mao. “What he did was arrest just a handful of cabinet men and presto
all Russia was in his hand.”
With
his characteristic snicker, Ka Jake said, “That easy!”
“That’s
why I say San Mig is a hundredfold bigger than what Lenin did. We will be
arresting more than two hundred members of the Marcos parliament.”
Done
with the holes on the baseboard, the three proceeded to set the scale model
walls already fashioned with pegs at the bottom to fit into the holes meantime
that similar pegs on the sides of one wall were latched to the adjoining wall
through similar holes on its sides.
The
team could have worked out the scale model a lot easier had they instead used
Styrofoam for material. But one utility of the scale model was transportability
and the capacity to withstand the rigors of mountain travel. Combatants who
will carry out the San Mig assault were necessarily based in the countryside to
where the scale model would have to be brought for their study. Ka Mao thought
that with its wooden material, the scale model could be dismantled, its pieces
to be put in a thin, flat pack for easy carrying; and the repetitive
dismantling, and then putting back again, of the pieces over and over again
accordingly as the number of combatants who needed to look at it at various
times and in various places would not suffer much in terms of wear and tear.
The
film director that he was with a richly creative mind, Ka Mao already
visualized a scenario of the San Mig assault.
“While
the session is in progress, NPA combatants masquerading as San Mig personnel
garbed in polo barong and escorting into the session hall an Imee Marcos
look-alike would quietly disarm parliament security men at the normal entrances
to the session hall. This is necessary in order to avoid violent shootout that
can harm innocent civilians. With the
entrances secure, the main attack force brandishing awesome firepower will barge into the hall through this secret entrance,
actually a collapsible section of the hall wall adjacent to the north end of
the parliament stand. Ordinarily, you don’t notice this side entrance, which is
why Ka Dave’s support group, making their own rounds of San Mig, once observed that there is this corridor that
leads to a blank wall. Surely the sudden
entrance of the main attack force will create panic by the people in the hall,
members of the parliament and the gallery crowd alike. But with the whole
session hall under rebel control, so must be the government rendered helpless
by the rebel hostage-taking of its parliament. Similar hostage-taking of
Americsan servicemen at Clark Field would serve a strong notice to US not to
medle or risk another Vietnam debacle. Strong contingent of rebel forces seize
control of the international airport and vital communications facilities,
including Voice of America in Tarlac. At the same time, riding on the bandwagon of rebel victory,
multitudes spill out into the streets, culminating in a siege of Malacanang
Palace. By this time, political work in the Armed Forces of the Philippine should
have achieved enough progress to initiate a breakaway, at least by a portion of
it, and join in the uprising against the Marcos regime. Back in San Mig, the
grand proclamation, as Lenin did after the arrest of the Kerensky cabinet, is
made: ‘All power to the proletariat!’”
“No,
Joma won’t like it that way,” jested Ka Jake. “He’d say, ‘All power to the
natdems.’”
The jest grew serious worry in Ka Mao. He
suddenly thought of Noli Collantes, nom de guerre Banero, who, as head of the
National Trade Union Bureau of the Communist Party of the Philippines, was a
most powerful figure in the revolution. But his proletarian stand got him into
trouble with Sison, eventually getting himself sanctioned heavily for it. The
last time Ka Mao saw Banero was that night before the Plaza Miranda bombing in
1971, when he drove Ruben Guevarra to a meeting with Sison in a Pasay City UG
house, there to discuss a certain bombing the Party would carry out in a
political rally on the following night. Banero had confided to Ka Mao that the
NTUB was being subsumed to the Regional Party Committee instead of being at par
with it, being the highest Party organ in the workers sector. He said he would
appeal the matter. Ka Mao had not had any communication again with Banero since
then and so had never gotten to know whether or not the appeal he was talking
about was given due course. The next time he heard about Banero was in 1983
when in a rather austere news story he read about the assassination by
unidentified gunmen while on the way to his classes at the University of Santo
Tomas of one Noli Collantes. So Banero had gotten out of the Party and had
resumed his college studies. As far as Ka Mao knew, that fate was where
Banero’s proletarian stand got him into.
So
now, Ka Mao concluded to himself that Ka Jake’s was no joke at all.
That
day was rather humid when Ka Charlie brought a lady to the house for
presentation to her by Ka Mao of the San Mig scale model. And it was too early
in the day for anybody to wish to take a nap. But all throughout the
presentation, the lady paid lukewarm attention and didn’t even bother to stand
and take a look when Ka Mao peeled off the pyramid roofing to show the session
hall features. Toward the end of the presentation, Ka Mao was so slighted to
notice the lady was unabashedly dozing off.
“So
how is it, Julie?” Ka Charlie asked as he tapped the lady on the arm.
The
lady shook awake, “Oh, yes… Well, okay… Let’s see.”
Ka
Mao understood it quite well, the lady’s attitude. She was nicknamed De Lima,
wife of the Party Sovereign rotting in incarceration. It became obvious to Ka
Mao that the San Mig operation being in contravention of Sison’s copy cat
protracted people’s war, any job connected with it would be in the same
category of contravention and hence deserved no scant notice from the
Sovereign’s espouse.
Julie’s
visit to Ka Mao’s house that day to view SIU’s masterpiece of an intelligence
work struck Ka Mao as no more than a hypocritical concession to the principle
of democratic centralism, which the Party avowed to observed. She came there
with a mind set to rejecting it. But this was a matter for Reaffirm to settle come 1991.
For
the time being, it was all-systems-go for Operation San Mig. Ka Arman would
confirm much later - after Reaffirm
succeeded in tearing the Party irreparably, throwing the people’s army into rubbles and the
people’s struggle into eternal protraction – that he and Ka Jun had gotten
assurance from Libyan strongman Moammar Kadhaffy of whatever amount of arms
necessary for the operation, had acquired a fleet of sea vessels for carrying
men and material for the purpose.
But
then suddenly came that one unexpected single hitch: Marcos agreed to US
pressure of holding the presidential snap polls of 1985. A nation otherwise
steeped in a resolute struggle for a bloody, violent overthrow of Marcos was
now faced with an easy alternative: vote Cory into power.
When
one got to look at the matter level-headedly, the boycott policy was the
correct revolutionary line. No genuine anti-imperialist revolutionary would
participate in an election that would be rigged in favor of an imperialist
stooge. Had the boycott call by the revolutionary movement caught on the masses
on the premise that the election would be rigged by the Americans in favor of a
brand new American stooge, then it would have pictured Cory right off as the
new US puppet thereby rationalizing the continuation of the revolution despite
the downfall of Marcos.
What
Ka Mao saw as erroneous in the boycott policy was that it neglected to point
out to the masses that Cory was the new US BOY in the making. The Party insisted
that the snap polls were a grand US show aimed at maintaining Marcos in power.
This was not the case. It was a grand US show, all right. But the intention was
to replace Marcos with a brand new US lapdog.
In
a meeting by SIU, the boycott policy was part of the agenda and Ka Mao
clarified his stand.
“The
US is not stupid to let us cash in on a Cory win against Marcos. Rather my idea
is – and I had made it known to Ka Jun
and Ka Charlie – for us to strike up an alliance with Marcos.”
“Marcos
is the enemy,” said Ka Jake, nearly protesting but wearing his ubiquitous
snicker.
“No,
US is. And they want Marcos out now,” insisted Ka Mao. He was drawing lesson from the Viet Minh
experience toward the end of the Second World War. Ho Chi Minh talked to the Japanese
forces who were on the run. “Hey, fellas,” Ka Mao related how the Viet Minh put
it across to the Japanese troops, “you are not winning anyway. Just give us
your arms and we will fight the Americans for you. And the Japanese did and
that’s how the Viet Minh forces got arms for fighting the Americans with – and
eventually winning in the end.”
The
opportunity in the Philippine situation was ripe for doing a reprise of the
Viet Minh gambit. But who was Ka Mao anyway to figure seriously in formulating
the Party’s strategy and tactics? Surely he realized this. It was just that he
had the naivette to believe principles guided the Party’s actions, and he
thought democratic centralism made it mandatory for Party high commands to
listen to voices from the lowest ranks.
Ka
Jun was serious enough when he stared at Ka Mao after hearing the idea from
him. But Ka Charlie beamed like he heard a joke.
Yet
when Cory came out the victor in the snap polls, Ka Mao would not find any
reason to have the last laugh. Rather a most acute sense of having been
rendered worthless seized him as he watched
Cory fumbling in her presidential salute of newly-designated Armed Forces of
the Philippines Chief-Of-Staff Fidel V. Ramos during her inaugural at Club
Filipino as the new President of the Republic of the Philippines.
Was that all there was to it? he asked himself. Sit back
on the periphery while Cory gloated in
the gloss of her spectacular mediocrity.
The
fact that Marcos fell showed the revolution winning. But the fact that a
representative of the country’s ruling class came into power must prove that
the multitudes of oppressed and exploited lost the fight. And what grimmer
proof of this was there than the Mendiola massacre in January 1987 which Cory
ordered against demonstrating farmers on the approach to Malacanang. Among
those killed in that massacre were farmers from Cory’s very own Hacienda
Luisita.
What gain, then, did the workers, the farmers, and the
millions upon millions of social scums who had pinned their hopes of salvation
from poverty on the success of the revolution?
Not a bit.
If SIU had any consolation at all, it was that despite
the debacle brought about by the boycott policy, the unit remained intact and was
instructed to persevere in its assigned tasks.
CHAPTER
XV
THE PERIOD beginning
from the installation of Cory as Philippine president in 1986 all the way to
the democratically-elected presidency of Fidel V. Ramos in 1992 was a most
fruitful one for the SIU. It saw elements otherwise limited to providing
logistical support such as housing, food and funds for combatants now
performing tasks right in the vortex of the armed struggle. In this kind of
work, though they might not be engaged in exchanging firepower with the enemy,
they put not only their lives on the line of fire but also those of the members
of their families.
A case in point was the successful escape worked out back in 1985 by the unit
for Satur Ocampo, then a member of the Politburo who had been captured by the
government. The job of the SIU was to photograph several angles of the venue,
the social hall on the fourth floor of the National Press Club building. These
photographs were then passed on to the SOC of GC who would take Satur away in
the escape.
The
plan was for Satur to spring out of imprisonment through the National Press
Club election in May of that year. NPC President Tony Nieva had successfully
gotten Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile to grant his request to let Satur
vote in that election.
Now,
by tradition, the election was held in the NPC social hall, the Bulwagang
Plaridel, which was on the topmost floor. In going up to the hall, NPC members
used either the stairway that spiraled
around the elevator shaft or the elevator itself. By practice after voting, the
members took a spiral staircase at the westend of the building in going to the
dining hall on the third floor to dine, drink or have coffee. This staircase
actually went all the way down to the ground, leading to an exit at the back
facing the Pasig River. The military escorts who brought Satur to the occasion
had no reason to suspect anything when after voting, Satur went to that end of
the hall in the pretext of using the comfort room there. Once out of sight of the unsuspecting security escorts, Satur rushed
down the spiral staircase, out through the back exit, and into the waiting
escape vehicle aboard which the SOC operatives spirited him away.
As it was taking rather too long for Satur to get back
from the comfort room, the security escorts finally decided to find out why.
Only then did they know there was that secret passageway leading out from the
fourth floor.
They did not have to check any further to realize Satur
had escaped.
So all’s well that ends well it seemed for Operation
Satur.
Except that not so long after came what in the
revolutionary movement would come to be known as the Project 7 Encounter. The
UG house of the SOC that got Satur out of captivity in the National Press Club
affair had been disclosed to AFP intelligence and was raided by government
soldiers numbering 200. The SOC numbered 3. But the rebels put up with the
state troopers in a terrific battle that ended up with the soldiers sustaining
many casualties and the SOC 3, just 1, its head Villanueva. The other two,
Limjoco and Archie, a new import from Davao, escaped scaling rooftops in the
neighborhood while firing away at the attackers. Among the things they left
behind in their escape were the photographs taken by Ka Dave of the NPC Bulweagang
Plaridel.
Learning of the Project 7 encounter, Ka Dave immediately
panicked. He packed a few clothes and got lost aboard his old yellow
Volkswagen. He left instructions to his wife what to tell Ka Mao where to find
him.
Ka Mao saw Ka Dave in Ka Jake’s house in Bulacan and
there learned of Ka Dave;s predicament.
“The columns in the social hall were done with mirror
finish. So when you take pictures of the place, you naturally photograph
yourself doing it through your reflection on the mirrors all around.”
Ka Dave was sullen faced as he spoke, though he let his
word out with a smile minutely quivering on his lips.
“Are you sure?” asked Ka Jake, minus his snicker,
obviously deferring to Ka Dave’s state of emotions.
“There’s no way to take photos of the NPC social hall
without taking photos of yourself too precisely because of the mirrors. With
those pictures in enemy hands, I know I’m a marked man.”
After thoroughly assessing the situation, the SIU decided
that Ka Dave stay in the house of Ka Jake while they felt out the atmosphere in
Ka Dave’s residence as well as in his office for possible enemy movements
there.
A month or so passed without Ka Dave getting any of his
feared repercussion from the enemy. Then came an assurance from Ka Arman that
in none of the pictures seized by the soldiers in the Project 7 encounter was
Ka Dave visibly identified at all.
“The Project 7 boys are sure the enemy won’t be able to
tell who the guy taking the pictures was. As reflected in the mirror, Ka Dave
was in a long shot from his camera. Besides, the camera and his hands holding
it completely covered his face,” Ka Arman said.
Sure, Ka Dave got back to normal legal life afterward. But
the point here was not that. Rather it was that he was already preparing
himself for the hard life ahead, as was the case of many like him who although
enjoying the good life – a lucrative journalistic career and a movie career,
too, for he was getting to be the house scriptwriter of Joseph Estrada, then
deposed, like Marcos, as Mayor of San Juan but later to emerge in the top five
of the 1987 senatorial polls winners – was willing to give it all up for the
revolution.
Eventually Satur was among a large group that met in Ka
Mao’s house. Ka Mao gathered that it was a meeting of the CPP Politburo. But he
was intrigued to see a chubby fellow among the group who had been left out
alone downstairs, not participating in what struck Ka Mao as a closed-door
conference in the bedroom upstairs.
The guy, tan and whiskered and with a tummy reminiscent
of Celso Ad Castillo, just sat on the stairs, thinking hard. Ka Mao tried to
strike up a conversation with the lonesome revolutionary.
“Hi,” said Ka Mao.
The guy nodded, faintly smiling.
“You’re not joining in their talk?”
The guy shook his head. There was a clear glint of sorrow
in his eyes. At that, Ka Mao could no longer find anything else to say.
The guy then flicked off an armalite bullet from a
magazine and casually handed it to Ka Mao, who stared inquiringly.
“Remembrance from me.”
How nice of the guy to offer him a souvenir, so Ka Mao
felt. Anything given out of pure heart, Ka Mao took with much endearment.
Over time, Ka Arman
would reveal to Ka Mao that that fellow who gave him a bullet for a
souvenir was Jose “Pepe” Luneta, a long-time member of the CPP Central
Committee and Politburo who was purged from the Party for allegedly being responsible for the
infamous Operation Ahos which killed in mass number suspected government agents
in the revolutionary movement.
The meeting Satur and the other Politburo members held in
Ka Mao’s house that night Luneta gifted him with the armalite bullet was the
very session called for meting Luneta with the punishment of expulsion from the
Party.
So, Ka Mao found himself speculating, SIU helped facilitate that Satur’s escape so he
could expel Luneta. That was one outstanding characteristic of Ka Mao. He
easily felt guilty about the ill effect of his act. It was beyond him to say
whether or not Luneta did commit the mass killing of suspected government
infiltrators in the revolution, or if he did, was it justified to mete him
expulsion from the Party? Ka Mao was certainly thinking back on his own virtual
ewxpulsion from the Party whose entire Party Group under the National Trade
Union Bureau left him to fend for himself in the city while they, following HO
advice, withdrew to the countryside upon the declaration of Martial Law. Ka Mao knew then he did not commit any offense
for him to deserve such treatment.
If at all, what Ka Mao could be sure of in the Luneta
episode was a most fearsome evil endemic in the structure of the Party
bureaucracy by which those in power can accomplish the very decimation of its
membership. Five years later, Sison would issue his own infamy, the Reaffrim of 1991, which threw Party
members on mass scales pursuing their own lines of political work, in effect splintering the
Party and the revolution into inutility.
But the SIU was never privy to the developments that were
taking place leading to this veritable party demise. What Ka Dave and Ka Mao
would deduce on one occasion was a hint, if it was a hint at all, of what
developed in the Party right as soon as Cory took over the presidency.
The occasion was the interview the two had with Bernabe
Buscayno, nom de guerre Kumander Dante, soon after his release from prison; the
release of Dante together with Sison was among the first acts of Cory upon
assuming power. It looked odd, to
prioritize the release of top communists, just as it was indeed odd that while
Marcos had made the top public utilities corporation Manila Electric Company
(MERALCO) publicly-owned, Cory’s top priority was to release the power outfit
back to private ownership by the oligarchs Lopezes.
In any case, Dante was a hot item and a number of movie
producers became immediately interested in filming his life story. A common
friend of Ka Mao and Ka Dave, the late film screenwriter and film director
Felix Dalay, sought the intercession of the two in getting the film rights of
the Dante material. In turn, Ka Mao and Ka Dave sought the assistance of Ka
Charlie in getting Dante to sit down with them in an interview for purposes of
writing a screenplay of his life story.
The interview in the pavilion of a friendly farm resort
took off on a very cordial note. Ka Mao and Ka Dave reminisced on a escape plan
the SIU devised to get Dante out of Camp Crame. Dante was liberally allowed to
have daily morning exposure to sunshine, which he did by jogging around the
camp compound. This routine would afford him quite many a chance to seek
shelter in a nook, quickly don a respectable attire consisting of dark slacks,
black shiny leather shoes, topped by a barong tagalog to make him look like one
of the many respectable visitors to the camp. Completing the masquerade was a
grey toupee and similar grey moustache ordered by Ka Mao from his favorite
special effects artist so as to camouflage Dante’s identity. Once this put-on
character was done, all Dante needed to do was walk to a waiting vehicle at the
car park, board it, and ride to freedom.
The cool-mannered, unassuming guerilla leader, who had
been glorified in the media much beyond his modest, austere physical
attributes, was amused by the idea.
“It would have worked,” he said.
Just SIU’s luck that the EDSA revolt would come about to
frustrate the escape plan thereby snatching from the intelligence unit what
would have been a bigger feather in its cap. Certainly Dante was a grander
figure than Satur, for which reason, in fact it seemed, Dante sought a Senate
seat in the 1987 senatorial polls while Satur, a partylist seat at the House of
the Representatives much later in his day.
At one point of the interview, Ka Mao touched on the
question of leadership in the Party and in the Army.
“The rule,” Ka Mao recalled, “is that leadership is
automatically relinquished to those that remain free by those that get captured
by the enemy.”
“No,” Dante said in a calm voice, though his face looked
perturbed. “We still lead.”
Ka Mao discussed the matter with Ka Jun sometime after
the interview.
”Dante said that?” Ka Jun asked as though in disbelief.
“Yes,” I said,
Ka Jun spent a while just staring at Ka Mao, who could
not quite make out that look in his eyes. It was sad, sullen, bewildered and
raging all at once.
“Is it true?” Ka Mao asked.
“From what I understand, we’re supposed to lead the
revolution now?”
“Now,” Ka Mao
found himself uttering a very private worry, “that can spell trouble.”
CHAPTER
XVI
THE CALM before the Sison storm of 1991 was itself rather
protracted like his people’s war.
It was to the credit of party members that they held on
to the Party unity despite the debacle it suffered from the boycott policy. The
natsit (for national situationer) which the Party issued for that period spoke
of undiminished strength of the party organizationally, politically and
ideologically. In brief, it was as though there had not been any change in the
profile of the enemy to effect a substantial tilt in the balance of forces in
its favor in the continuing people’s war.
In fact, it was during that period when the people’s army
began promoting the idea of the strategic counter offensive (SCO) as an advance
sub-stage of the strategic stalemate. What only transpired was that Marcos fell
and Cory sat in his place, but as far as the revolution was concerned nothing
had changed, or at least that was how SIU sensed it.
The Magic 8 was still on track, with the Operations San
Mig, Blue Print and Eagle’s Nest continuing to be the top priorities. Why would
the SIU be instructed to persevere in these truly big war undertakings if the
revolution was experiencing a slump. This was how the SIU assessed the
revolutionary situation.
What Ka Arman took up with him that day in August 1987 enthused
Ka Mao exceedingly. It served to confirm SIU’s view of the war footing and that
moreover the revolution was escalating. According to Ka Arman, the top three
priorities in the Magic 8 had been sufficiently cased and were ready for
implementation.
“What’s holding us back?” asked Ka Mao.
“Money,” said Ka Arman. “Or the lack of it.”
Ka Arman stared at Ka Mao, indicating he had something
really serious to discuss with him. As Ka Arman stayed speechless, Ka Mao
fidgeted slightly.
“Well…”
“Can you help out in this?” Ka Arman said.
“How much is needed?” asked Ka Mao.
“Thirty m.”
Ka Mao choked on his voice, “My God. Where will SIU get
thirty million?”
“You will help us produce it,” said Ka Arman.
Ka Arman explained the scenario for raising such an
enormous sum. As had been always the
case in all tasks given to him by the Party, Ka Mao never asked questions as to
the whys and wherefores of the operation which he was being tasked to carry
out. It was enough that the task to do was clear to him for him to do it well.
Ka Mao’s task consisted of two aspects.
First,
provide quarters for an elite team of the NPA Special Operations Command (SOC).
Members of the team carried aliases the meanings of which were the opposite of
their physical attributes, hence Pandak (Ka Dak), meaning dwarf, referred to
the team leader, who was tall; Tangkad (Ka Kad), meaning tall, to the team
member who was short; Speed (Ka Speed), to the team member who was a slowfoot;
and Negro (Ka Negs), to the team member who was oriental white. The team had in its custody a precious cargo intended
for transacting with an European national who would be in town shortly. When
they moved into the house that afternoon, they immediately stashed their cargo
in a store room hastily put up by Ka Mao at one end of the extension area, with
the space at the opposite serving as the team’s quarters.
The
second aspect of Ka Mao’s task was to carry out the transaction with the
European national, incognito of course. In making the transaction, Ka Mao
strictly went by instructions prepared by Ka Arman, conveyed to the European
national through the telephone.
Ka Mao’s specific caution from Ka Jun was to spend no
more than two minutes in making telephone talks otherwise, through sheer
triangulation, he would be betraying his location to any unfriendly element who
just might intercept the call, particularly the police some elements of which
had reportedly been tipped off on the million-dollar transaction. So for, say,
a ten-minute talk on the phone, Ka Mao would be hopping from one point to
another in the whole Metro Manila: from Cubao to Alabang then to Makati,
Monumento and Quiapo in Manila.
What took long to settle in the transaction was the final
amount to be paid in exchange for the cargo Finally,
after a few months, the issue was settled at an amount only Ka Arman knew, that
amount having been conveyed to him direct by the European national, using a classified
ad plaeement for the purpose.
One big difficulty arose on how the final exchange would
be carried out. The European was insisting to do it face to face. This was a
no-no for all of Ka Jun, Ka Arman and Ka Mao. That would compromise Ka Mao’s
work in the SIU, let alone his legal placement. So there was no way the
exchange could take place except by Ka Mao insisting that the European deliver
first.
“How do I know that you won’t run away with my money
after you get it?” asked the European.
“You got my word for it,” Ka Mao declared. “My word is
better than a written contract.”
“Words, like promises, are meant to be broken,” said the
European, laughing.
“For invertebrates, yes,” Ka Mao said, then intoned
“You’re talking to a people’s army!”
“Oh, well…,” said the European. “We know who your
comrades are in Europe anyway.”
Ka
Mao laid down the final arrangement. The European to deliver the amount agreed
upon; Ka Mao, the precious cargo days after.
The
European agreed. Ka Mao thought the guy was using his mind. A crooked dealer
would promise heaven to get what he wanted. By insisting on a one-week timeline
for him to deliver his part of the bargain, Ka Mao impressed upon the European
that he was a straight guy.
Regarding the negotiation for the delivery of the money,
Ka Mao did not have a say at all in terms of policy, mechanics and method.
The few months that the negotiations got stalled had been
particularly dangerous in the sense that part of maintaining the legal
well-placement of the house was a free access to it by anybody who wished to
pay the family a visit. There was not even a sturdy fence around the whole lot
but for minimal amount of barbed wire held by bamboo posts. From time to time,
folks from the surrounding neighborhood would sneak through this light barrier
to gather firewood or fallen fruits, like mango, santol and guava. In any case,
all this added up to the overall innocent look of the area. As for the
movements of people in the house, these were never evident to outsiders, the house
being on a spot away from the highway, and on sloping ground at that. In fact, on New Year Eve 1987, the SOC team
sought release of their boredom by firing their long arms into the air, yelling
“Long live the revolution!” They were not being adventurous though. They just
were sure that no matter how strong, the yell could not get above the din of
celebration at the strike of twelve.
Nonetheless, on at least three occasions, incidents
happened as though to punctuate the otherwise boring episode with some high
degree of suspense.
One incident happened one early evening. Ka Arman and Ka
Dak were the only ones around in the house to guard the cargo; the other SOC team members were off on some
sort of a furlough for one week.
After government troops in full battle gear leaped out of
a six-by-six in the neighboring squatters settlement, a solitary soldier in
similar apparel and gear walked into the compound of the driveway.
Spotting
the soldier, Ka Arman grabbed his M-16 and took position behind a post, while
Ka Dak walked toward the approaching soldier.
Ka
Arman was the most prone to shoot it out, his finger nearly pressing already on
the trigger of his armalite while beads of perspiration trickled down his face.
But
Ka Dak proved to be the more level-headed.
No combatant would go striding into enemy territory like walking under
the moonlight, as indeed the bright moon had risen sufficiently high in the
sky.
But
making sure nevertheless, he cocked his .45, tucked it into his front waist and
walked toward the soldier casually.
“Good
evening,” greeted Ka Dak.
“Is
this where there is a movie shooting?” asked the soldier.
“Oh,
shooting,” said Ka Dak, nearly blurting out.
“We’re
shooting a war movie but I got separated from my group. They said the set is in the squatters area on
Sumulong Highway.”
Ka
Dak secretly sighed with relief.
“This
is no squatters area. The adjacent neighborhood is. There’s where the shooting
is.”
Ka
Dak noticed something about the armalite the soldier was carrying. He rather
cautiously reached out a hand to touch it. The soldier was amused. He handed
the long weapon to Ka Dak, who felt it so light.
“Props,“
said the guy.
Ka
Dak let out a hearty laughter.
“You’re
no soldier,” he said.
“Stuntman
extra.”
Ka
Dak laughed louder.
Where he was ready to shoot, Ka Arman squinted
his eyes, wondering at the sound of laughter.
Another
occasion was on a lazy afternoon. Ka Speed and Ka Kad were as usual engrossed
in a game of chess. Ka Dak is cleaning the parts of his disassembled pistol. Ka
Negs was having a nap in the SOC team’s quarters.
All
of Ka Mao’s kids were at home, that being a weekend. They were having fun
playing hide-and-seek. Maoie, the tag, had his eyes closed while resting his
face on his arm pressed against the wall.
“When
I start counting ten, find your place of hiding,” Maoie intoned, then began counting, “One…
two… three…”
Ogie,
a one year and a half tot, was mimicking Maoie’s antic.
Paulo
and Maripaz made a quick decision to go hiding in the restricted room where the
precious cargo was kept. They gaped upon seeing what was inside the room then
turn to rush back. Ka Negs awakened at this point.
“Hey,”
said Ka Negs, half-shouting. He leaped to his feet and held the kids. “What did
you do inside the room?”
“We’re
playing hide and seek,” replied Maripaz.
“What
did you see?” asked Ka Negs.
Maripaz
was about to tell, but Paulo beat him to it.
“Nothing.
We did not see anything.”
“Are
you sure?” Ka Negs insisted to know.
At
that point, Maoie rushed into the spot, startling everyone.
“Pong
Paulo. Pong Paz,” Maoie blurted out, then hurried to the tag spot.
All
the while, Ogie kept mimicking Maoie’s moves.
Paulo
pulled Maripaz in getting away, completely ignoring Ka Negs.
“Okay,
come. I’ll be tag,” Paulo said.
Ka
Negs eyed the two deeply as they went. Then he turned to the room and saw everything
was in place.
He
thought it over real hard.
He told himself,
“Well, they said they didn’t see anything. That’s it. They didn’t see anything.”
For
days on after that, Ka Negs observed Paulo and Maripaz, in moments of leisure,
when the kids go away to school and when they come home from classes. Each time
Ka Negs made it obvious to the two that he was observing them. He hoped that by
doing this, he could make the two feel guilty and admit they saw the precious
cargo. But in none of these moments did neither Maripaz nor Paulo betray any
signs Ka Negs hoped to see in them.
Finally,
Ka Negs assured himself, “They really didn’t see anything.”
But
just what intelligence Paulo had in this regard would find a repeat long after
the precious cargo episode was over.
At the time,
Benny Tiamzon, with whom Ka Mao had had some verbal tussle over the pursuit of
the proletarian cause, had been named the new Chairman of the Communist Party
of the Philippines, replacing the captured Kumander Bilog. Tiamzon was with the
KTKS in the house, meeting to tackle certain urgent agenda, which, as always,
Ka Mao did not find fit to ask about. The group was having a lunch break
downstairs when they were astounded by the deafening sound of a .45 bullet
bursting.
They
all rushed upstairs and into the room where they had been meeting. They found
nobody in the room. Everything was in place. Ka Jun checked the .45 of Tiamzon
that was in place in its holster under the low center table – apparently
untouched where it had been kept. But Ka Jun smelled the barrel of the gun.
“It’s
just been fired,” he said, eyeing the group.
At
that precise point, what would rather startle the group but the sound of a
young voice coming from just behind them.
“What
was that I heard?”
Paulo,
stepping out of the bathroom adjacent to the meeting room, asked the question.
The
group eyed one another, then indicated their amusement at realizing what had
happened: the boy, not quite seven, fired the .45 obviously through the open
window, then put the pistol back in its holster in place under the center
table, rushed inside the bathroom outside of the meeting room, making himself
scant just in time for the group to miss him when they rushed up to check.
With
a light, chiding shake of his tilted head, Ka Jun eyed Tiamzon smilingly, like
saying, “Rule number one in war. Never separate your gun from yourself.”
After
the meeting, Ka Jun had an advice to tell Ka Mao: “Take care of Paulo. He is a
very intelligent child.”
Back now to the hide-and-seek episode in the
quarters of the SOC team. That night Ka Mao came home from work, Paulo confided
to him.
“Tatay,
we’ve got something in our house.”
“
What?” asked Ka Mao.
“There’s
something in that room.”
Ka
Mao was pretty sure Paulo had discovered what was in that room..
“Paulo,
be a good boy. Don’t go in where you are not allowed to enter.”
“We’re
just playing hide-and-seek.”
“That
room is not for games children play.”
Ka
Mao’s voice, though soft, was stern. Paulo quieted down.
In
all the incidents during the safe-keeping of the precious cargo, Ka Mao and
Betchay were out shooting a movie. Betchay had begun learning the works of an
assistant to a director and so she stuck to him whenever and wherever he
worked. For the present project they were busy in, Betchay had taken the job as
caterer, for Ka Mao was involved only as a scriptwriter. Since it was out of
the question that a house helper be in place in the house to look after the
kids when the couple were at work, the SOC team minded this task, like cooking
their meals and seeing them off on a service vehicle ride to the school. At
nights though, once back home from shooting, Betchay would find time preparing
the things the kids would need for school the following day, like ironing their
clothes and readying what Ka Speed would cook for the kids for breakfast and
for lunch packs to bring to school.
But
that afternoon the SOC team were caught unawares by two Assumption nuns was a
different case. Ka Mao was not out shooting but was delivering an urgent
message prepared by Ka Arman for the European national. . He was taking long
discussing on the phone the matter of the final
amount the European would deliver, the discussion being chopped into durations
of two minutes only and at quite long intervals, because done at various points in Metro Manila far away
from one another
The
nuns just seemed to pop into view through the open door. Ka Speed and Ka Kad
paused in their chess game, not bothering to rise, though they looked surprised
by the nuns’ appearance. It was Ka Dak who was alarmed, for at the time, he was
busy fitting a silencer into the nozzle of his .45. He quickly placed the
weapon and gadgets under the center table he was working at and approached the
nuns.
“Good
afternoon,” greeted Ka Dak.
“We wish to talk to Mr. Samonte,” said
one nun.
“Mr. Samonte is
in Laguna shooting,” said Ka Dak for an alibi; he knew Ka Mao was out doing his
task in the operation.
“How about Mrs. Samonte?” asked the
other nun.
“She is with Mr. Samonte shooting,”
said Ka Dak.
“I’m Mr.
Samonte’s cousin. May I help you? Come in please,” said Ka Dak.
“No,
we have to hurry up. Your nephew Mauro The Second has had an accident in the
school. We have just brought him to a hospital in the town. But he must be
brought to the Orthopedic hospital in Quezon City for proper treatment. ”
It
turned out the boy Maoie, then in grade two in Assumption, was playfully
sliding with other boys down the inclined siding at the entrance of the
multipurpose hall when he got a bad fall to the pavement and broke his arm. Ka
Dak relayed this to Ka Mao through the latter’s beeper.
Ka
Mao read the message on his beeper just as he was finishing his phone talk with
the European.
“Okay,
my friend. We’re not done yet. You wait. I’ll call later,” Ka Mao said. He
pressed the button of the phone, then dialed a number.
“Easy
call, may I help you?” said the operator at the other end of the line.
Ka
Mao dictated to the operator a message for sending to Ka Dak through the
latter’s beeper.
Ka
Dak read the message: “Any of you, please attend to Maoie. I’m not done with my
work yet.”
Ka
Dak then assigned Ka Speed to accompany Maoie to the Philippine Orthopedic
Hospital.
It
was nearly sundown when Ka Mao finished his job with the European that
afternoon. But much as he wanted to go to Maoie at the orthopedic hospital
immediately, he could not because he must first attend a meeting Ka Arman
called in the house in the evening.
With
Ka Jun also in the meeting, Ka Arman now gave Ka Mao the final instructions for
delivery to the European the following day.
“One
point five,” said Ka Mao, “is too little. From our discussion this afternoon I
sensed that I could press the European some more for a higher amount, even up
to five m.”
Ka
Jun was inclined to consider Ka Mao’s idea of negotiating further.
“You
think you can increase that amount?” he asked.
“Let
me call again,” Ka Mao advised.
Ka
Arman cut in.
“No
need for that anymore. It’s settled. His final offer, we call. There is so much
we can do with that amount. Besides, the boys are getting exhausted by all this
waiting.”
And
so at long last, Ka Mao’s last task in the operation was to instruct the
European national on how to deliver the money. Time was of the essence. Another
combat team was all set to pick-up the money. After giving the instructions to
the European, Ka Mao dialed another number on the phone. The fellow waiting at
the other end of the line picked up the phone – Ka Dave.
“Hello,”
said Ka Dave.
“Ka
Dave, Kirk here,” Ka Mao said from his end.
“Yes,
Ka Kirk,” said Ka Dave.
“Go,”
came Ka Mao’s final word and he hanged up.
Ka
Dave enthused to himself exceedingly. That one single word said it all. The
money was on the way for pick up by another combat team. The head of this team
would call him any moment now to get the go signal for their action.
Ka Dave monitored
his wrist watch. The seconds seemed to tick away so slowly. Then as the hour
hand reached ten, the phone rang. He excitedly picked it up. The smile on his
lips indicated it was the call he was awaiting.
“Yes,”
Ka Dave said. “Go.”
And
with that, Ka Dave made his one single word in the whole operation. But it was
the only word that counted now. It was the word that set into motion the
tracking by the pick-up team of the
sedan carrying the money. Ka Mao had gotten the plate number of that car
from the European, then passed it on to Ka Arman, who finally relayed it to the
pick-up team.
As
in a symphony, Ka Mao had done his coda. What transpired next was nothing but
the denouement. As Ka Arman would put it later, picking up the money was as
easy as picking apples.
JUST RIGHT time, Ka Mao sighed to
himself as he hugged Maoie in order to keep him pressed down in bed. The
orthopedic doctor was doing the operation for putting the boy’s broken arm bone
back in place and the boy was terribly squirming from what terrible pain it was
he was suffering. The doctor was twisting Maoie’s arm to and fro, mercilessly it seemed.
“Tatay!
Tatay!”
Oh,
how so painfully the boy cried. Ka Mao wondered if he himself could have borne
the pain if he were in his son’s place.
And yet… And
yet… If finishing his job in the transaction just past had taken all the way to
this point, he would have still gladly given his full attention to the work.
That was more than twenty four hours after Maoie had the fall in school.
Betchay, who was doing an errand for the film production when the accident
happened, gave Maoie company at the hospital when evening came, there to await
the operation scheduled the next day.
What kind of a
father was he, willing and ready to abandon his son even at this his hour of
agony!
That’s
why Ka Mao thanked God, indeed, he found himself thanking God profusely, for
getting the transaction over with, not because it succeeded in getting the
money it had intended to get, but because it made him available to his son just
as when the boy needed him most.
The
fingers of his free hand burrowing into Ka Mao’s shoulder for support, the boy
struggled to speak. It looked to Ka Mao that the boy was beginning to gasp for
breath.
“Tatay…
I can’t take it anymore.”
A
terror crossed Ka Mao’s mind. God, could Maoie have gone through it all if he
were not around to give him support. His eyes moistened as he cast a pleading
stare at the doctor, imploring him with that stare to be quick with it, please.
But as most doctors are, the doctor looked disaffected, wearing a stoic mien in his face as he went about
with his job. One final twist of Maoie’s arm and the boy yelled in pain so
acute it sounded like it were his last. He choked on his crying and appeared to
be catching his breath.
Ka
Mao cast a terrified stare at the doctor.
“He
will be okay,” the doctor assured Ka Mao, continuing to wear that stoic mien in
his face. Like nonchalantly, he then began treating Maoie’s injured arm with
plaster cast.
Only
then did Ka Mao feel like giving vent to all his feelings of grief, joy and
relief all at once. He pressed his face on the pillow beside Maoie’s face,
pretending to comfort him. Actually he did it as a way of hiding his tears.
CHAPTER XVII
RECOVERY was another agony for Maoie.
In
order to keep his injured arm bone in place while in the period of healing, his
arm had to be kept stretched by a rope tied to his wrist, slung on a pulley
above his bed and held down by a weight load that dangled on the other end. For
this reason, while he was supposed to rest in bed, he was in extreme
discomfort. Since his injured arm had to be held up day in and day out, he
maintained the same position in bed twenty four hours a day.
Aside
from feeding the boy with his food, Ka Mao helped him do his toilet chores as
well as gave him his sponge baths.
The
boy’s discomfort was bearable in any case. After a month, Maoie’s arm was
finally freed from the weight load, its plaster cast replaced with a
longer-lasting one and his arm held on a sling around his neck.
By the advent of
summer, Maoie was ready for release. That day Ka Arman came for a visit at the
hospital together with Ka Ding.
“Advice by the
GC, you are not to proceed to the house from the hospital,” Ka Arman told him.
“Why, any
problem?” Ka Mao asked.
“Not exactly,”
said Ka Arman. “It’s standard procedure. After being used for such a hot
operation, we have to ascertain the security of your house. For your own safety
and that of your family, too.”
Ka Ding handed
Ka Mao a large brown envelope bulging with something.
“Here you are,”
Ka Ding said in his characteristic brevity of words.
“What’s this?”
asked Ka Mao as he opened the envelope unsuspectingly.
“You can have a
vacation with the whole family in Baguio,” said Ka Arman..
Ka Mao gaped
when he got a good view of the what the envelope contained: wads of money
bills.
“That’s fifty
thousand,” said Ka Ding.
“More than enough
for a month vacation,” said Ka Arman. “By that time, we shall have ascertained
whether or not your house is safe for you and your family to return to.”
As
an added safety precaution, Ka Mao did not join Betchay and the kids in the
trip to Baguio. He traveled a day later, meeting up with them on an appointed
spot in Burnham Park upon arrival in the city in the morning of the next day.
He made sure to shave his beard and moustache before joining the family. The
kids were amazed at his clean-shaven face topped by a neat haircut. So was
Betchay.
At
her inquiring stare, Ka Mao said, “Ka Arman suggested I needed to put on a new
look,”
“Tatay
pogi (How so good-looking father is),” remarked Ogie.
They
got a good laugh.
SUMMER was a good respite for folks who
had just overcome one of the most perilous involvements one whole family experienced
in the revolution. By its nature, the transaction with the European national was
fit only in the countryside, the so-called red areas where the rebel forces had
things in control. But in the white areas, which were enemy territories and
which Ka Mao’s house was in, conducting the operation there was unimaginable. And yet the family went through it all
successfully.
The kids didn’t realize it, of course, and so
they went about indulging in their little shenanigans all the while that the precious
cargo was being kept in the house. Betchay could sense it but took care not to
ask anything about it. She had been conditioned never to ask questions about Ka
Mao’s activities in the movement. It was Ka Mao alone who bore all the tension
for the family in that long transaction period.
Now, a real
quality time was transpiring for the family, enjoying happy togetherness as
they savored the characteristic delights of the Summer Capial: boat ride in the
Burnham Park lagoon, horseback riding at the Wainright Park, viewing the
canyons at the Mines View Park, strolling among strawberry plants red with
fruits in La Trinidad Valley. They did have moments like these in the past, but
always, only on weekends and when Ka Mao was free from his work. This time, merrymaking
was their daily grind, from break of day till the setting of the sun and well
into the night, when they would dine out in plush eateries, then in their
rented house enjoy sing-along ditties before finally repairing to bed.
Ka Mao had an
added pleasure for himself when toward the end of this vacation, an exposure in an NPA territory
was arranged for him by the local command of the NPA. Lugging his ubiquitous
camera and with a few clothes in a backpack, he was picked up by a guide in the
market area. They took a jeepney which traversed the narrow highway carved out
of a mountainside, at every inch of which one looked down to deep ravines.
Quite a few vehicles had fallen off the cliffs in the past, with none of the
passengers surviving the accidents.
But the greater
danger in that travel was that a military officer kept eyeing Ka Mao’s guide,
who is a leader of an NPA combat squad. The military officer was ascertaining
to himself if Ka Mao’s guide was indeed one of those he and his men had had an
encounter once. Ka Mao’s guide knew he was being marked. He secretly instructed Ka Mao who to contact
when he reached the appointed destination, then as the jeepney slowed down at a
narrow bend, Ka Mao’s guide suddenly leaped out of the jeepney.
The military
officer gave chase, warning the guy to stop or he will shoot. He aimed his
rifle. Ka Mao’s guide drew his pistol,
firing as he rolled over down the slope into the ravine. The military officer
was grazed by a bullet on his side and threw to the ground, firing his
rifle. Ka Mao’s guide avoided the hail
of bullets and disappeared into the woods down the ravine. Through that
terrain, no lone military officer would dare engage an NPA combatant on a
one-on-one basis.
A man in
mid-twenties among the passengers prodded the jeepney driver to go on lest they
be caught in the crossfire. The driver obliged and stepped on the gas.
It was nearly
sundown when the jeepney reached its destination. The place was Sagada, an Ifugao municipality
in Bontoc Province. Ka Mao was tentative as he moved around after getting off
the jeepney.
“The guy gave me
a name to contact but didn’t say where to contact,” Ka Mao uttered to himself.
A young man
walked past him, saying in near-whisper, “Follow me.”
Making a
double-look, Ka Mao recognized the young man. He was the twentyish fellow who
had prodded the jeepney driver to drive on.
Ka Mao gaped in
amazement when told by the man that he was the back-up guide assigned to ensure
Ka Mao’s safe journey to NPA territory deep in the jungles of the Cordillera mountain
range.
“The NPA knows
its business,” Ka Mao told himself with surprised delight.
The young man led
him to a house where he was processed, the term used for verification of
information about Ka Mao earlier passed on to the NPA command in the area. His
hosts also made sure that Ka Mao had
necessary clothing for his stay in the NPA camp. He got two jackets all right,
a woolen sweatshirt, several t-shirts, a pair of jogging pants, and a number of
thick woolen socks.
“It’s too cold
up there,” said the leader of the squad sent to fetch Ka Mao and bring him to
the NPA mountain camp.
“Oh, yes?”
remarked Ka Mao. “How cold? Fifteen… Ten… Five degrees centigrade?”
“You’ll see,”
said the squad leader.
There
was enough amount of sunlight as Ka Mao began the trek to the mountain camp,
and so he got a clear, good view of the terrain.
“Magnificent,”
Ka Mao gasped to himself.
They
snaked up a trail upward that cut through terraces, partitioned in patches
which all teemed with green palay plants. Ka Mao thought it was comparable in
grandeur to the famed Banaue Rice Terraces, considered one of the seven wonders
of the world.
The
legend had it that once upon a time, a great flood gobbled up the lowlands,
destroying crops and killing many inhabitants. The natives took it as the Great
Wrath of God Kabunyan for their wrongdoings. When the flood receded, the
natives labored to build a stairway to heaven by which to climb to the sky and
seek Kabunyan’s blessing.
Past
the terraces, Ka Mao and his entourage now traversed a thick forest of pine
trees many of which would require three men to encompass with their hands
joined together. A few fallen ones just stayed lying on the ground, with nobody
minding them. In Real and Infanta, Quezon, this would be unthinkable. Dos por lapad folks, the term for men
doing illegal lumbering in the forests of Sierra Madre, would be cutting these
fallen giant pines up into two-by-four-inch slabs in a hurry.
Ka
Mao remembered log cabins in western journals and he thought it would be nice
building one for himself in that area, using those fallen pines.
“Can
I build a log cabin here?” he asked.
“Chose
your wild,” said the squad leader.
“Whom
do I ask permission from?” Ka Mao asked.
“Permission
granted,” said the squad leader.
They laughed.
They were
trekking upward a mountain peak which according to the squad leader is the
third highest in the Philippines. Ka Mao knew Mount Apo in Davao was the
highest, he didn’t know what the second highest was. In any case, even with its
lower height, this peak Ka Mao was climbing was almost a literal depiction of
the Tagalog saying: “Abot-kamay ang langit (Heaven is just within reach).” As
he gazed up the top of the slope they were climbing, it did seem that once he
got there, he could touch the sky.
“How much farther
are we going to climb?” Ka Mao asked.
“One food for
your thought,” said the squad leader.
“Oh, yes?” said
Ka Mao.
“When you walk
up a mountain, never look where you are heading to.”
“Why?”
“You’ll get
tired quickly.”
“Is that so?”
“Just watch your
steps. Before you realize it, you’re there.”
Ka Mao really
had to watch his steps. Before long, it was dark and their journey was lit only
by the moonlight filtering through the trees. And into the final stage of their
travel, they must negotiate a narrow footpath carved out of a mountain side.
One misstep and he would be plunging down the deep ravine to his right. For
this reason, Ka Mao kept inclining to his left as he walked so that just in
case he made that misstep, he would be falling to the ground.
Seeing Ka Mao’s
difficulty, the squad leader took his backpack.
“Let me carry it
for you,” said the squad leader.
“You’re loaded
with your own things,” Ka Mao said.
“This is
nothing,” said the squad leader.
Free of his load
but for his camera, Ka Mao had a little easier time minding his steps.
Then suddenly, a
gunshot rang, echoing through the trees.
Ka Mao was
alarmed.
The squad leader
got excited, so were his companions.
When a short
while after they finally reached the camp, the rebels were excited as they came
upon a crowd gathered around by the bonfire in the middle of the encampment,
butchering a deer.
The squad leader
approached the group.
“I thought
correctly when I heard that shot. You slew a deer,” said the squad leader.
“It could have
been a firefight,” said Ka Mao.
“No gunbattle
takes place with just on shot being fired,” said the squad leader.
One of the men
butchering the deer spoke to Ka Mao.
“It’s routine
for us here. We chase a deer through the woods just to get it exhausted. When
night falls, the animal would go out of hiding to drink at the river. That’s
when we shoot it.”
“Why not while
you’re chasing it?” asked Ka Mao.
The squad leader
cuts in.
“You’re not sure
to hit. That would be a lot of wasted bullets otherwise better off used for
killing fascist dogs. While drinking at the river, the deer is a sitting duck.”
Ka
Mao smiled. He said, “I think you guys are teaching me lessons early.”
The
squad leader introduced Ka Mao to his men, who included two amazons from a tribe
distinct for their fair skin,with pretty features on their pinkish faces.
“Comrades,
this is Ka Mao. He was sent by the General Command to spend time with us, you
know.Just like the others who had been sent before him.”
Everybody
shook hands with Ka Mao as they gave him words of welcome. Generally, they
said, “Feel at home.”
His
first experience of feeling at home with the group was the veritable feast they
had over the deer meat soup prepared for supper. Ka Mao could almost vomit at
tasting it. It was tart, fishy, pungent,
or whatever it was, a taste he would not take. The meat was cooked, all right,
but simply boiled in water with no salt or any seasoning whatsoever, neither
with any vegetable additives to improve its tangy taste. But apparently, the
rebels had been so used to such a serving of meat and so took it with gusto. Otherwise
they would be content with simple boiled cabbage for viand.
Ka
Mao forced himself to make like the rest in eating the dish. Actually he took
too much time finishing one slice of the meat so he would not be forced to eat
more. As for the soup, he could not refuse the urging of one guy for him to
drink from the common bowl. He did press the bowl lid into his mouth,
pretending to take it, but kept his teeth pressed, too, to allow only a very
minimal amount of the liquid into his mouth.
But
the feel of the liquid in his mouth brought him nausea which he could not
control anymore. He begged leave from the group, pretending to piss behind
bushes. There he let it all out.
Gasping
for air afterward, a thought crossed his mind. In no instance in the whole transaction
with the European national had he experienced taking what he had just eaten..
And yet, here it was staple food for the comrades. Who suffered the more difficulty?
That
night was terribly cold. He had put on both his jogging pants on, one on top of
the other, donned three layers of t-shirts, topped further by a long-sleeved
polo shirt, then by the thick woolen sweatshirt, over which finally was his
jacket.
Ka
Mao mused to himself. Never in all its operation did the SIU suffer such biting
cold. Who suffered the more difficulty?
Ka
Mao proceeded to join the rebels heating themselves up by
the flames of the bonfire.
“Real
cold out here,” Ka Mao remarked to the squad leader.
“I
told you. Now you see,” said the squad leader.
“I
suppose this is below 5 degrees,” said Ka Mao.
“No.
Below zero,” said the squad leader.
“You
don’t say.”
“See
if it doesn’t rain ice tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“It’s
always the case. If it is this cold tonight, ice will fall in the morning.”
Mid-morning
the following day, a heavy downpour fell. Along with the rather large beads of
raindrops were marble-size, sharp-edged ice peebles which, according to
Newton’s law on free-falling objects, could puncture your head as they did the plastic
roof of the rebels’ tents.
Ka
Mao would learn later that the rebels were getting discouraged by their leaders
from using plastic tents, as they were prone to getting devastated by the frequent
ice rains. Ka Mao amused at the thought of city folks cavorting in the streets
whenever it rained. Here they hurried inside their tents lest they get wounded
by the shrapnels from heaven. Who suffered the more difficulty?
After
only a short while, Ka Mao had such a good taste of rebel life in the mountain that he finally got the full impact of the
view that joining the NPA is the pinnacle of serving the people. The feeling
exhilarates. An exposure guest inevitably ended up not wanting to go back to the
city anymore. Many of those who actually tasted battle with the enemy had opted
to stay in the mountain for good.
Although the NPA
had a standing policy of securing the safety of its guests, meaning keep them
away from the line of fire, in the event of an engagement with the enemy, Ka
Mao would have insisted in joining in the fray, be at the front line even. But
much to his regret, the unit in the camp had no military engagements during his
entire stay. In this respect, he felt no
better than Abraham Lincoln who, though having had war experience against the
Confederates, never tasted combat except, according to one accout, “for
insignificant bouts with mosquitoes.” In his case, Ka Mao had bouts in the
evenings with limatiks, tiny leeches
that would creep up inside his pants and go on to suck blood from his very
genitals. The creature is so small nobody notices it creeping up his leg, nor
when it sucks your groin. Only when the spot being sucked begins to itch would
one impulsively scratch it and discover the blood glutton so bloated with his
blood it could no longer move. It would amuse Ka Mao exceedingly to see a fearless
rebel leaping out of the toilet in utter fright from his aborted bowel movement
while gingerly trying to flick off with his hands the tiny devil stuck to his
buttocks. Ka Mao was almost victimized similarly but that the rascal had the
nerve to attack him frontally as he squatted there. So, seeing the attack,
which he, too, admitted was so eerie
indeed as to terrify you out of your wits, he grabbed a stick and pummeled the
leech into bits.
And thus did Ka
Mao have a battle to rise above in pronto.
The rebel unit
issued Ka Mao an M-16 for hm to use just in case. But aside from learning how
to disassemble its parts and then putting them back in place, the only use he
had of the weapon was that it made him look like a true blue NPA whenever they
did drills in a clearing in the morning. Jogging around the area, he shouted
along with the other rebels after the squad leader chanting the goodie ole
revolutionary slogans: “Down with imperialism!” “Down with feudalism!” “Down
with bureaucrat capitalism!”
Who are we
addressing the chant to anyway, to the trees?
Ka Mao found himself asking quietly. If faith can move mountains, so
revolutionary passion might also.
To make up for
lack of action, Ka Mao engaged the unit in study sessions, using a syllabus he
had devised for the SIU’s use. The syllabus consisted of three main parts. Part
One dealt on Philippine history. Philippine social development was presented
according to the principles of dialectical and historical materialism, with
focus on what, based on his research, actually happened in the Revolution of
1896. Part Two was an exhaustive presentation of the theory of surplus value,
the core of capitalist exploitation of wage labor. The text for this study was
improvised by Ka Mao from his study of Das
Capital by Karl Marx. And Part Three was a simplification of the theories
contained in Lenin’s State and Revolution
for easy understanding of the concepts of socialism and communism.
Ka Mao could
sense that the rebels, all hailing from the masses, were hungering for deeper
insights into the guiding principles of the revolution. And they found the
syllabus quite delectable.
After going
through the syllabus, Ka Mao discussed the current developments in the people’s
struggle. The Party had by then issued the latest natsit (national situationer)
which elaborated on how the revolution stood at the time. The paper prepared by the Party spoke of the people’s
war already at the stage of the strategic counter-offensive (SCO), described as
an advance substage of the strategic stalemate. A distinct feature of the SCO was
widespread insurrection in the urban centers.
It was with this
insurrectionary character of the revolution that Ka Victor expressed
displeasure. The comrade was a high-ranking officer of the Cordillera District
Party Committee who visited the camp for an important discussion with Ka Wakad,
the diminutive Ifugao native who was Provincial Commander of the NPA in Bontoc.
Both listened to Ka Mao’s discussion of the natsit.
“Well if that’s
how the Party sees it in the overall...,” Ka Victor commented. “But as far as
we are concerned, that cannot be done here.”
Ka Mao was
astounded by the comment. Ka Victor’s statement struck Ka Mao as a declaration
of defiance. Were not all party members expected to obey an official Party
policy? It alarmed Ka Mao to realize that one whole district party committee should
express deviation from that policy – or at least, one from the committee did.
Certainly it indicated a serious sectionalism in the Party. How many other district
party committees were of the same opinion as Ka Victor sounded to stand pat on?
Already then Ka
Mao sensed a foreboding of graver things to come.
CHAPTER XVIII
AS LATE AS the advent of the 90s,
nothing indicated to Ka Mao that his fears felt beginning that sojourn in the
Cordillera NPA camp were justified. Meetings in the house by the KTKS, the
Politburo and the NPA General Command were getting frequent, indicating to Ka
Mao the contrary: the Party and the Army were getting even more and more
vigorous. Nothing was changed of directives earlier given nor of plans earlier
approved.
And
that went true, too, for the SIU tasks.
In
fact, the increasing number of uses of the house and of the elements using it
prompted Ka Mao to enlarge it even further. The entire dimensions of the
original extension area were replicated on an upper floor, making for a
complete two-story structure. The whole second floor was now for the exclusive
use of the Party’s and Army’s meetings and quartering, but for the original
room of Maripaz into which now were compressed Ka Mao and his family during
sleep time.
Both
guests and hosts shared the ground floor during fellowship hours.
And
yet, this was not enough. Come 1991, Ka Mao had a discussion with Ka Charlie
about the intensifying revolutionary situation. Cory was not only exposed as an
economic nincompoop, unable to stem the rise of mass poverty, but was also a
political weakling whose only credentials to the presidency was her absolute
tutelage to US interests. She had personally led a scanty crowd of her
loyalists in a rally to pressure the Senate not to abrogate the US-RP Military
Bases Agreement. The Senate refused to be cowed and declared all US military
facilities in the country ended.
According
to Charlie, all of the plans of the people’s army were on track and the time
was ripe for their implementation. But those plans needed to be approved by the
Party congress, which had long been delayed.
“Can
you host the congress?” asked Ka Charlie.
Ka
Mao was speechless for a moment. Did he
hear right?, he asked himself. He thought Ka Charlie was kidding.
“I’m
not kidding,” said Ka Charlie. “The Party congress can be called anytime now.
All we need is a venue.”
Soon
after that discussion, Ka Mao embarked on what in his category could be
considered a grand house expansion. To the north end of the already complete
L-shaped structure was added one whole house in itself, rectangular in shape
such that it completed the overall design less as an L than a Swastika.
“This
is so big,” commented one carpenter. “What do you have need for this?”
“Guest
house,” said Ka Mao curtly.
The
guest house so-called consisted of a ground floor, an attic and a basement to
make for three floors in all. The ground floor level was a one-room affair.
Half of the area, the section adjoining the dining room, was walled in large
glass panes framed with wood. This half had two swing doors done in glass panes
framed with wood that opened into the terrace overlooking the creek and the
bamboo grove close by. The other half had solid walls done in concrete. The end
of this other half had a solid concrete divider to conceal the staircase that
led down to the basement. The basement was walled with concrete all around and
was fitted at the creekside with escape tunnel that secretly led to the scarcely-fenced
section of the Valdez Farm where the enemy was not expected to make any pursuit.
The original living
room was expanded westward to give way for a ground-level dining area with
skylight roofing done in fiber glass. Since people in the house tended to
gravitate in the dining area, what was once a living room became almost just a
foyer from the main entrance at the east side of the structure.
Adjacent to the
dining room was the kitchen with no divider separating it from the dining area
but for a half-octagon-shaped kitchen island. A room was at the back of this
kitchen, with almost the same dimension as it had, intended for storing kitchen
what-nots. The floor of the storage room had an opening for stairs leading to
the basement-level dirty kitchen for wood-fueled cooking. This storage room had a door that led to the
garage. Also to the garage side of the kitchen was an elevated breakfast area
with a view window done in glass and in the shape of an octagon. To the west
side of the kitchen was the glass sliding door of the guest house.
So if one went in through the main entrance,
he would step into the foyer and there be faced with three directions. To the
right, the living room leading to the dining room, the kitchen, the breakfast
area and the guest house. Straight ahead, the stairway to the second floor
where he would find Maripaz’s bedroom, the comfort room adjoining it outside,
the corridor leading to it being walled in solid glass, the door on this wall
leading out to the terrace that had been added above the main entrance, the
other end of the corridor leading to the family hall and the adjoining masters bedroom.
Back at the
foyer, he would find to the left, the whole undivided area of the ground floor,
with exits leading to the library to the left and to the stairway to the south
end basement which was joined up by a tunnel to the north end basement (the
basement of the guest house). This way all occupants of the house, upon alarm,
could go rushing through the labyrinth of tunnels and out into the Valdez Farm.
Through the farm where the caretakers were quite friendly to Ka Mao and very
cooperative, any escaping elements from Ka Mao’s house could rush unnoticed by
the enemy as they made way through the wide orchard there and out into the
barangay road behind it. From there their vehicles would rush them to safety.
From his
discussion with Ka Charlie, Ka Mao gathered that the Party had grown into five
commissions. He estimated that at a minimum of ten delegates per commission,
the Party Congress should have at least 50 delegates. The way he had renovated
the house, he apportioned the sections thus: The Vizayas-Mindanao, the Central
Luzon and the Northern Luzon Commisions, to the Guest House; the Southern
Tagalog-Bicol Commission, to the Library and South End Basement; and the
National Capital Region Commission, to the Second Floor Family Hall and Masters
Bedroom. Ka Mao and his family would be happy lumped together in Maripaz’s
bedroom.
But where would
the session hall be?
The whole
undivided ground floor of the initial
expansion area! Ka Mao exclaimed to himself.
So to Ka
Charlie’s question, “Can you host the congress?” came Ka Mao’s answer, “Yes, I
can.”
Ka
Mao was just passionate about the whole thing. The Party Congress, delayed for
so long, would formalize a number of important and urgent policies,
particularly the SCO. It would give the go signal for the planned takeover of
the legislature and other vital public facilities. It would fill the streets
with militant mass actions. It would bring the people’s army’s firepower from
the countryside to the cities. It would send the flames of revolution exploding
the country over. And then the strategic stalemate. It had been a lesson from
all revolutions that the strategic offensive to follow was virtually just
ceremonial – as it was in China when after Chiang Kai Sheik was driven to
Formosa, the People’s Liberation Army just marched into Shianghai to take
over the seat of Kuomintang political
power.
Would Ninoy allow that to happen to
his widow?
Naah! Naah!
So
was it any wonder that Sison acted in his stead?
Evidently out of
desperation, he issued the Reaffirm Our
Basic Principles. The ostensible motive was to launch a thorough Party-wide
rectification movement aimed at correcting errors done, not the least of which
being the error of the boycott policy. But motives are proven not by assertive
words but by cause-and-effect doctrine. The result of the Sison-instigated
rectification movement told it all. It splintered the Party into fragments,
tore the otherwise formidable people’s army, and threw the revolution back to
the dark ages.
It
was a most sentimental moment Ka Mao had when he talked to Ka Jun about the
matter. Ka Jun was playing the piano at the time. Ka Mao had learned that the
NPA Chief was a gifted pianist and so he bought a Weinstein Piano so he could
hear him play it whenever he visited the house. Ka Mao was a piano enthusiast
himself and loved much to listen to classical piano selections. Ka Jun was into
an inspired rendition of La Vie En Rose
when Ka Mao opened the topic.
“You have the army under your command, Why not combat
Sison’s divisive policy?”
Ka
Jun shook his head.
“I assure you it will be very bloody,” he said.
Ka Jun struck the keys as though he wished to
just play on and on, like providing the counterpoint in the symphony of the crumbling
of the Party and the people’s army.
In Northern Luzon, the Party initiatives had increasingly
been taken over by the Cordillera People’s Liberation Army.
In
Central Luzon, the Magpantay couple were heading their own faction which
boasted of its own armed group able to shoot it out with that of the Tiamzon
couple.
Nilo
de la Cruz and Popoy Lagman banded together in Metro Manila to form a
composite, the Revolutionary People’s Army-Alex Boncayao Brigade (RPA-ABB).
This combined force soon joined up with that of Arturo Tabara in the Visayas,
COME the presidential elections of 1992,
Ka Mao gave it all up. No revolution in history won against a democratic
government. According to his perception, once Fidel V. Ramos was elected
president, that was the signal that thenceforth any political reform could only
take place within the system of a
bourgeois democratic government. At best, then, what the rejectionists
of the Sison Reaffirm manifested with
their defiance were nothing but the last spasms of a dying monster. The irony
in this view was that activists had derisively ascribed this to violent state
fascism. This time, it described the degeneration the Party had gone into.
So
Ka Mao found himself making a private resolve: to pursue the proletarian cause
in the arena of bourgeois politics; he did not have the presumptuousness to try
to influence any overall Party policy in this regard. Besides, as he rightly
perceived it, the Reaffirm had been
precisely designed to get rid of all non-Sisonites in the Party, and he, being
a long-time opponent of the Sison copy-cat people’s war strategy, had to go. In
that event, as he was intransigent in pushing the struggle of the working
class, he had to go the way he did in organizing BRASO, with the difference now
that instead of armed struggle, he would pursue it through elections.
He organized the
Kilusang Bagong Barangay (KBB), a political party advocating what he perceived
as pro-worker elements in the Local Government Code. He particularly saw the
power of eminent domain, as contained in the code, as a most potent provision
which he could invoke to enable the great masses of squatters to own the lands
they had built their houses on. This was a major advocacy he carried when he
ran for Mayor of Antipolo in the local elections of 1995.
.
The political
line caught fire among Antipolo residents of whom sixty percent were
non-land-owning. Volunteers came forward, organizing chapters of KBB and
conducting study sessions among voters which sought to enlighten them on what a
true pro-worker government should be. He even advocated the equalizing of the
salary of the mayor to that of an ordinary factory worker, as did the
communards in the Paris Commune of 1871.
None of his
candidates for councilors had bourgeois
traces, all of them being workers. Two were heads of big labor unions; three,
leaders of widely-known mass organizations; two, community organizers; and a
lady, a vociferous former radio announcer who headed a large group of informal
settlers.
Ka Mao’s
campaign was creating much noise. The Red Shirts, as his campaigners were known
because of the red shirts they wore, were in all nooks of the town, including
far-flung mountain communities.
It heartened Ka
Mao exceedingly when while he was shaking hands with folks along a narrow alley
of a slums neighborhood, a blind woman groped her way out of a shanty, offering
her hand tentatively, saying, “Samonte… Samonte…” Ka Mao shook the woman’s
hand, saying,
“Samonte at your service.” The woman
gripped his hand tight and tenderly, “Ikaw si Samonte (You’re Samonte)!”
The woman had
only been told stories about him and now that she was face to face with the
“savior”, she was shouting “Halleluiah!” It was no hyperbole that at that
moment, Ka Mao did feel having the salvation of all oppressed humanity on his
shoulders.
Adding no mean
weight to his campaign was the presence of showbiz personalities. During his
proclamation rally at the Sumulong Park, onstage were, together with Seiko
Films Producer Robbie Tan, comediennes
Evelyn Vargas and Beverly Salviejo, leading actress Lovely Rivero, and the
stars of the then recent blockbuster, Machete II, Gardo Versoza and Rossana
Roces.
In a surprise
incident, actress Liza Lorena went around the Antipolo market shaking hands wih
folks and distributing leaflets of Ka Mao. That got throngs crowding the entire
marketplace and surroundings.
In a succeeding
rally, the audience went shrieking at the appearance of Jestoni Alarcon, whose
speaking prowess beguiled Ka Mao. It did look like Jestoni was campaigning for
himself. Indeed, he must be. In subsequent local elections, Jestoni would
emerge No. 1 among the winning councilors, the stepping stone for his being
Vice Governor of Rizal the next elections around.
All of the above
features, on top of the popular band The Blinkers of Joegrad La Torre who were
the mainstay attraction of Ka Mao’s political rallies, which were in the format
of musical concerts. The style was so effective it led one disgruntled follower
of Ka Mao’s political opponent to declare: “We will vote for the band.”
During the high
school graduation of Maoie from the Academe School of Antipolo, Ka Mao was
congratulated by former Antipolo Mayor Jose “Peping” Oliveros for his
impressive campaign.
“You think it’s
okay?” asked Ka Mao.
“You had a very
good start. Very impressive,” said Mayor Oliveros.
A very likable
guy who was among the first bigwigs of Antipolo whom Ka Mao had befriended,
Mayor Oliveros made his comment in a most mild and gentlemanly manner.
Otherwise, he would have warned Ka Mao, “Don’t rest on laurels. It’s too
early.”
It was Robbie’s
characteristic candor which laid it down straight to Ka Mao from the very
start: “How do you expect me to support you when you and your men shout “Down
with capitalism!”?
For Ka Mao,
though making true his resolve to pursue the working class struggle through
bourgeois politics, was consistent in condemning capitalist oppression and
exploitation of workers. It was just like putting a round hole into a square
peg or vice versa. The two wouldn’t fit.
In one real
grand rally which Ka Mao timed for the celebration of Labor Day, he borrowed a
ten-wheeler open truck, parked it across MLQ Avenue near the corner of the
Circumferential Road, completely closing it to vehicular traffic. With a number
of organized labor unions in attendance, the whole area all the way to the next
block northward was filled with people.
The incumbent mayor, Daniel Garcia, whom Ka Mao was contending against
in the elections, was early on madly ordering the Police Chief to disperse the
rally. But before they could do anything about it, the Blinkers belted out a
Bon Jovie ditty which instantly got the crowd shaking and wiggling and
cheering. The Police Chief nonetheless implored Ka Mao to remove his people out
of the street because they were creating disorder.
“See that
crowd?” Ka Mao said. “Remove them, we’re in trouble.”
The Police Chief
did look and see how impossible it was to disturb the rally without
antagonizing such so huge a mass of humanity. Shaking his head with chagrin,
the police officer walked away with no more words for Ka Mao. The rally
proceeded peacefully all throughout till midnight without any untoward incident
happening – proving the Police Chief’s tolerance to be the wiser move really.
But for winning
votes for Ka Mao, that must be disastrous. Disgruntled pedestrians, commuters,
car and tricycle drivers, and even simple observing bystanders had a common
reaction: “He’s not even mayor yet, but look…”
What did not
immediately occur to Ka Mao was that that rally was a highpoint not of any
design of his but of somebody else’s agenda.
Popoy Lagman was
making good his defiance of the Sison Reaffirm
and was making sure the NCR, which included Rizal, remained his turf, while
expanding elsewhere through alliances with other rejectionists the country
over. On the legal front, he organized the Sanlakas, a mass organization of his
followers which served as base of the political party he formed, the Partido
Manggagawa.
Now once Ka Mao
was into serious run for the mayorship of Antipolo, as evidenced by his
organization of the KBB which served as his machinery, a Popoy Lagman man
talked to him, suggesting that he run for a lower post.
“I cannot be
vice,” declared Ka Mao.
“It is not even
vice that comrades want you to run for,” said the man, not realizing that he
had gotten Ka Mao experiencing a bad temper. The idea of lowering himself to
vice mayor candidacy was degrading enough for him, all the more did it rile him
to be told to run even lower.
“What do they
want?” Ka Mao asked, just to get the discussion going.
“Actually, just
councilor,” said the Popoy man, making himself sound apologetic, realizing Ka
Mao was getting piqued.
“Look,” Ka Mao
flared up. “We’ve got loads of laws. We haven’t need for more. What we need is
to implement those laws. That’s why I need executive power to implement those
laws correctly.”
Next to meet Ka
Mao was a high-profile business entrepreneur from Pasig who operated a
nightclub-casino combine in Antipolo. He hosted a dinner in the club for Ka Mao
and in that dinner were present the son of the incumbent mayor and a lady
doctor whom Ka Mao was expecting to be his running mate. The lady had been very
tentative about Ka Mao’s offer and asked for time to consider it.
“It’s hard to
run without a machinery,” said the host. “But if you run for councilor, you can
even be number one.”
“Mayor or nothing,” said Ka Mao. “Bet your
bottom peso.”
The host smiled. It was the kind of smile one
sees in the faces of ganglords smarting from having been challenged by an
inferior opponent.
On the other
hand, Ka Mao’s was not an empty boast. His political rallies were continuing to
be hits with the crowd. And his campaign song, composed by the same guy who
donated the sound system and other stage gadgets used in those rallies, was
getting hordes and hordes of folks hooked, particularly children who broke into
the tune wherever his campaign entourage pass. (Many years later, exactly the
melody of that song would be the signature advertising song for a popular
college assurance plan. Ka Mao felt grateful that somehow somebody had paid the
composer the kind of money he had not been able to pay.)
Soon Ka Mao got
inspired even more when one whole group claiming to be the provincial Party
committee came forward, offering their services as Ka Mao’s campaign
secretariat. Ka Mao grabbed the offer and then and there quartered the group in
the house as he did many a party bigwig before them. One among them, Carlo,
acted as the campaign manager. Ka Mao had no discussions whatsoever about
compensation for the group’s services. He took the offer as absolute
volunteerism, done on pure principles, not monetary or any material
consideration. Though the group enjoyed, in addition to quartering, free food
in the house, their daily mobilization expenses were funded from their budget
as Party elements.
Before long,
that Party machinery was calling all the shots in the campaign, relegating the
previous volunteers in Ka Mao campaigns to actions in their specific
localities. Ka Mao’s concern was now limited to scheduling rallies and other
campaign sorties.
Into the next
schoolyear within the campaign period, Ka Mao got a modest apartment in Baguio
City where he moved all the kids for their schooling: Maoie, Paulo and Maripaz
at the University of Baguio and Ogie at the St. Louis University. Ka Mao’s mother-in-law, Mama Sepa, looked
after the kids, with Ka Mao and Betchay visiting them whenever free from the
campaign activities.
One big problem
Ka Mao never got to overcome was the problem of getting a running mate. As the
deadline for filing certificates of candidacy was nearing, he got word that the
lady doctor was withdrawing from her intention of running at all in the coming
elections. All the while, the Party machinery had been impressing upon Ka Mao
that the lady was completely subservient to their wishes and she would be his
running mate. Now that she had finally backed out, Ka Mao was just desperate.
Choosing a running mate is not an overnight job; it is worked over time and
needs quite a long period of building goodwill and personal camaraderie with.
Only then did Ka
Mao realize that choosing a running mate is the most expensive item cent for
cent for an aspirant to mayorship. This is because the vice mayoral candidate
must be such that his vote-getting power can carry the mayoral candidate, not
vice versa. This was particularly true
for Ka Mao, who was a complete neophyte in politics, with the following he was
banking on having been only recently and hastily organized and could shatter
instantly at the advances of seasoned politicians. What would a winnable vice
mayoral candidate carry a novato running mate for if not some big material
consideration – big money to be precise?
That’s one great
shortcoming of Ka Mao. He did not have the money to buy a running mate.
And the lead
time is too little.
Who could Ka Mao
turn to in so short a time – and, too, just for the love of serving the people?
Ka Mao noticed
that none of the secretariat could seem to care less. Carlo, as ever, was into
shooting birds in the orchard with his air rifle.
It was Ka
Mulong, the president of the Yupangco Textile Mills labor union who came up
with an idea: a well-known lawyer and scion of a taal, meaning endemic, Antipolo family, and above all, a recognized
sympathizer of the working class.
Ka Mao himself
at once saw how attractive would be that chemistry: a famous film director,
whose sexy stars promised that if he got elected as mayor, they would stand at
the lobby of the municipal building to kiss every man that entered; and a
brilliant lawyer sworn to carry out the pro-worker, pro-poor agenda of his
mayor.
In his present
dilemma, Ka Mao had the distinct advantage of having a popularity that made him
welcome to any potential running mate. But he had, too, the distinct
disadvantage of impressing upon potential running mates that he was rich and
could afford their price. Ka Mao, by bourgeois political reckoning was poor.
His guts in aspiring for the mayorship of Antipolo really stemmed from a pure
desire to pursue on the legal front what the revolutionary armed struggle could
no longer accomplish. If he succeeded in this endeavor, then that would blaze
the trail for others similarly motivated to pursue in their own turfs, thereby
making the proletarian revolution tread a new path for attaining socialism and
communism the country over.
Believing that
Ka Mulong had the moral ascendancy over the lawyer, he paid the prospect a
visit early evening of that day the filing of certificate of candidacy would
lapse, more specifically at midnight. It was a desperation visit in any case.
Ka Mulong vaguely put the matter to the
lawyer, who entertained them in the living room of the house together with his
wife. Though it might be already late in the day, still it was not too late for
them to hurry to the Comelec office just two blocks away and file the
certificate of candidacy for vice mayor a couple of hours to closing time.
Ka Mao had
expected that after being briefed by Ka Mulong of the purpose of their vistt,
the lawyer would give his reply: yes or no. And pronto, at that, for the hour
was nearing. But the discussions
meandered into various concerns: labor problems, land problems, squatters and
squalor, sanitation, economics, corruption in government, etc. Once he realized
it, the hour was half-past eleven.
Anyway, Ka Mao
credited the lawyer’s wife for her exquisite gift of forbearance, sitting it
out with the group, serving everyone coffee all the while, or otherwise
contributing her piece in the talk.
Finally, one
last glance at the wall clock told Ka Mao it was quarter to 12 midnight.
Swallowing some lump in his throat, Ka Mao stretched his torso, thanked the
lawyer for his insights, the wife for the coffee, and bidding the couple good
night, he rose to go. No more mention
whatsoever was made of the purpose of the visit which Ka Mulong had briefed the
lawyer about. It was obvious that the lawyer was all the while waiting for Ka
Mao to open up on what was supposed to be standard material considerations in
such arrangements as pairing up for the two topmost posts in local elections.
Logic would say the lawyer was expecting that matter from Ka Mao, otherwise did
he bear sitting out there for three hours for nothing but hospitality in entertaining
guests? But since Ka Mao had not opened up on that aspect to the very last
quarter of the most crucial deadline, that look of frustration on the lawyer’s
face was unavoidable. There was no need to talk about it anymore really. The
walk from the house to the Comelec office would consume what little time was left
and so the office would be just closing by the time they got there. The lawyer managed to smile vaguely as he
gave Ka Mao a lame handshake before seeing him out with Ka Mulong through the
door.
Inexperience.
Amateurism. Whatever one might call it, what Ka Mao did could only be stupid.
So that if eventually, Ka Mao lost the elections, he had it coming.
“I’m not blaming
you guys,” Ka Mao told his listeners in a caucus organized by the secretariat
in the aftermath of his defeat. “I’m blaming myself for the stupidity of
listening to you.”
Indeed he
listened when the secretariat came forward, offering their services in his
campaign. He listened when they brought to him one mass leader after another
who all had huge following among Antipolo’s poor thereby assuring him votes
come election time. He listened when they made him believe the crowds in his
rallies, in neighborhood caucuses, in teach-inss and discussion groups, were
his forces determined to give him victory.
He finally
believed he was going to win, what with that massive show of force the
secretariat delivered in that May Day rally on MLQ Avenue, when that entire
stretch was filled with defiant workers, a phenomenon hitherto unknown in the
political history of Antipolo.
Ka Mao himself
gaped unbelievingly at the throngs. With clenched fists raised in the air, they
sang, as in the goodie ole days of the strike movement, the stirring strains of
the “Internationale”.
“Are these my
people?” Ka Mao asked himself. “Am I that strong? Oh, so very strong.”
The Sccretariat
must be doing a splendid job. He had not been spending much really by way of
ensuring such attendance in his rallies. One reason was that he believed the
secretariat and the leaders it had organized did their jobs on the basis of
principle, and on the same motivation throngs filled his rallies.
Another reason,
and this was the overriding one, he really did not have that much money. He
didn’t have posters, leaflets and similar campaign materials. He relied mainly
on word-of-mouth dissemination of his campaign, which was done by his followers
religiously everyday, house-to-house, man-to-man,
As the election
time was approaching nearer, he resorted to soliciting help from personal
friends and sympathizers, an effort that generated minimal result.
It was in that
period that Ka Mao thought of seeing Popoy Lagman. He had had a good amount of
familiarity with the robust-framed, curly-haired, bully-looking urban guerilla
leader to believe he would merit fraternal reception by him.
During one
period, Popoy had used the house for a week-long meet with a group that
included Sonny Rivera, Renato Constantino, his wife Peng and the widow of a
slain NPA head in the Visayas. At another time, he asked Ka Mao to intercede
for him in getting a huddle with Robbie Tan over the labor concern in the
latter’s wallet factory. And through Ka Charlie, he checked on the possibility
of Ka Mao doing a fund-raising job for him as he did in the dollar transaction
episode.
Ka Mao was not
sold much on the idea, simply because it came from Popoy. Ka Mao wasn’t so sure
yet about the validity of his anti-Reaffirm
position as contained in his book
titled Counterthesis. Ka Mao saw the
book as nothing more than a menu for savoring liberal dashes of Lenin quotes.
To Ka Mao, the correctness of an analysis of the Philippine revolutionary
situation was best measured not according to theories proven true in some other
past and alien social setting but by its present, precise and pragmatic
perception of the concrete social
conditions of the country.
Ka Mao was part
of that meeting Popoy presided in in the house wherein he obviously
intended to convince what had remained
of the NPA general command to join his ranks in the confrontation with Sison.
He discussed the salient points of his book. But as far as Ka Arman and Ka Ding
were concerned, they wanted out of any belligerent relationship with Sison;
evidently Ka Charlie was already in on the Popoy line.
In any case, Ka
Mao had all reasons to expect Popoy would not fail him in his purpose for
making that visit to the Sanlakas headquarters that day. He was encountering
financial difficulties in his campaign and would Popoy lend him some fifty
thousand pesos which he urgently needed, to be paid as soon as he got his next
film assignment.
To Ka Mao’s
surprise, Popoy betrayed that he was keeping abreast with the developments in
his political fight. It finally dawned on Ka Mao that the people who had volunteered
to be his machinery and had since then directed the compass of his political
campaign were all Popoy’s men.
“Mao,” Popoy
said bluntly. “After all you’re not going to win, let’s just sell your
candidacy.”
It was sad
enough that Popoy declined his request for loan. The sadder part of that visit
was Popoy’s proposal for him to sell his candidacy.
“The gall,” Ka
Mao cussed to himself as he walked out of the building on Shaw Boulevard in
Pasig which housed the office of Sanlakas. “How dare he to say I won’t win.
Just let him see the crowds at my rallies. And how could he sell a candidacy
that was not his but mine?”
Then a month or
so before election day, Ka Mao’s campaign seemed to lose all vigor. The usual
large crowds in his rallies abruptly thinned and the daily flow of supporters
to Ka Maa’s house completely stopped. The last to visit the house was a small
guy who used to regularly drop by in the house in the morning, have breakfast
and then go on a chore of house-to-house campaigning for Ka Mao.
After finishing
his meager breakfast that last morning, the fellow said, “We cannot go on
eating principle.”
Carlo and the
secretariat did continue staying in the house, appearing to perform their jobs.
But a close look would reveal that they were mainly busy doing Party political
tasks.
Things indicated
the fight had already been lost. Alarmed by the development, Ka Mao sat down
just with Carlo one evening.
He asked, “Why
the sudden slump in our campaign?”
“Your campaign
had only been good for a councilor,” said Carlo in a manner reminiscent of the
blunt advice Ka Mao got from Popoy
Lagman that day he told him he will not win. “The most votes you will get is
2,000 or thereabout.”
Ka Mao gaped
unbelievingly, asking himself: Where are those thousands upon thousands that
had made his rallies the most crowded ever in the political history of
Antipolo?
A week before
the election, Ka Mao got the worst insult in the whole exercise: a letter from
the incumbent mayor inviting him to join in the celebration of his victory.
This was the same guy who practically moved hell just to get that May Day rally
on MLQ Avenue dispersed. In the subsequent election, Ka Mao got measly 2000-plus votes – to the last digit,
as Carlo put it a month before.
Long after the
smoke of battle faded out, so speak, Ka Mao ultimately put two and two
together. That MLQ Avenue May Day Rally was really not his. It was to Popoy as
to a salesman the glossing over of his commodity to make it sellable – the
commodity in this case being his expertise at running someone else’s political
campaign. Marcos had another term for it: talk to the party-in-interest.
Who was the
party-in-interest in Ka Mao’s political fight with the incumbent mayor in the
election of 1995 was a question reducible to: Who told Ka Mao to sell his
candidacy?
Anyway, it had
already turned into an institution whereby a group of smooth operators in the
electoral process push a poor man’s candidacy vigorously just to make their
services sellable to the poor candidate’s rich opponent ultimately.
Two
days before the election, Ka Mao managed to salvage a little newsprint for
printing his sample ballots on. The printing of the sample ballots would be
done on credit by Ka Mao’s printier friend, Malou. So Ka Mao was confident, he
would have that last form of hand-out to voters on election day. The morning
after the election, Ka Mao flared up like crazy upon discovering that the
printed sample ballots had remained stacked in a sack that he found dumped
among bushes by the driveway,
The
evidence clearly pointed to a sabotage – indeed, a sellout of his candidacy.
Again,
who proposed to sell it in the first place?
It was a good
lesson though. And Ka Mao thought it not bad all, considering that he really
did not spend much for that campaign.
His political expenditures, as contained in his report to the Comelec,
amounted to less than half a million pesos.
For learning the
dirty tricks of elections, that was a fairly justified price. He would know
better the next time around.
Indeed, Ka Mao
would run again for the same post come next election, the general elections of
1998. He intended to correct the many mistakes he had committed in his first
attempt thereby placing himself on a really winning position.
First of those
mistakes, or so that was how Ka Mao saw it, was his running without a political
party: KBB was not such a party and therefore was not entitled to any rights
under the law, like the right to have election watchers. So he decided to join,
not just a political party, but a political party in power, the LAKAS-NUCD
(National Union of Christian Democrats) Party.
A newspaper
editor who had Party roots and thus was friendly to Ka Mao introduced him to a
petite fellow whose boasts belied his size or vice versa. This was Rolly Francia,
who belonged to the MalacaƱang press corps. He facilitated Ka Mao’s entry into
LAKAS.
For a start, he
got Ka Mao invited to the affair at the
Rembrandt Hotel held for proclaiming House Speaker Jose de Venecia as LAKAS
standard bearer. His name was announced as among the distinguished guests on
the occasion. Hearing his name, a lady evidently in the close circle of the
Speaker gaped in surprise and seeing Ka Mao as he acknowledged the
introduction, the lady threw her arms in joyful surprise.
“Mao!” exclaimed
the lady as she went over to Ka Mao for a hug.
“Didi!”
exclaimed Ka Mao in turn, giving her the hug.
Didi was the
same indefatigable Secretary General of the KASAMA Party Group when Ka Mao
first got into the CPP in 1971. It was under her watch that Ka Mao underwent
the initial process for membership in
the Party, the Basic Party Course. Once Ka Mao got through that course, he was
appointed staff member of the Education Department (ED), which was headed by Didi’s
husband, Rolly. It was after Didi and Rolly were taken out (“fired out” would
be a harsh bourgeois term) of the group as disciplinary action for an offense,
which had never been disclosed, that a revamp in the leadership of the Party
Group took place. Ka Erning, who was Organization Department head, took over as
Gensec, Ka Choleng, a true blue proletarian leader, took his place as OD head,
while Ka Edwin, a scholarly-looking, bespectacled youthful mestizo, moved up
from being ED staff member to ED head, with Ka Mao now joining Ka Openg as ED
staff members.
Didi first
surprised Ka Mao when he read in the news that she was appointed Immigration
Bureau Chief in the cabinet of President Fidel V. Ramos. She occurred to Ka Mao
as typifying those high-profile revolutionaries ending up top-level bureaucrats
in the bourgeois dispensation. Coming
face to face with her now, Ka Mao wondered if he was not into treading the same
path she had gone into. In any case, it turned out Didi was overall Man Friday
to Speaker De Venecia. That made Ka Mao conclude he was in good hands as far as
getting into the good graces of LAKAS was concerned.
At the advent of
1997, Ka Mao began undoing what he considered his second big mistake in the
election of 1995: his scrimping on election spending. He feted Speaker De Vencia with a
two-thousand strong gathering attended by top leaders and members of mass
organizations in Antipolo at the plush Jamesville Resort in the town. The
resort was owned by Angelito C. Gatlabayan, the guy who was then yet unknown in
Antipolo politics but who much later in the election period would surface as Ka
Mao’s strongest opponent for the post.
That time being
not yet into the period allowed by law for election campaigns, the gathering
was passed on as the launching of a cooperative-building movement to be spread
by Ka Mao all over Antipolo. On the occasion, Speaker De Venecia was guest of
honor. Since the speaker had to come to the affair direct from an engagement in
Davao, he flew in aboard his private helicopter and Betchay fetched him from
the landing site with the family’s newly-acquired Mitsubishi van, which she
drove.
The event had
all the trimmings fit for a presidential aspirant. Two lovely actresses of Ka
Mao, Rosita Rosal and Sabrina M, lent glamour, which appeared to sit quite well
with the speaker, let alone the crowd all susceptible to showbiz attraction.
There, too, was
the media, led by Loren Banag, who would front-page it in his tabloid, Bagong
Tiktik the following day.
To Ka Mao’s
surprise, former Congressman Manny Sanchez suddenly appeared with a few
companions who were aspiring for elective positions in Antipolo’s neighbor town
Angono. Ka Mao just didn’t relish the group’s appearance.
True, it was
with Sanchez that Ka Mao had arranged for De Venecia’s attendance as guest of
honor. But nothing had been said about him and his group being themselves
guests as well. So while good manners dictated on Ka Mao not to be rude on the
group and did not object when they sat with the guests onstage, he did not give
them any part in the program.
What’s more, Ka
Mao sensed that Sanchez seemed to be impressing upon the Speaker that the
affair was his handiwork, so lest the former solon was into some shenanigans,
like asking the speaker for monetary consideration for expenses incurred for
the occasion, Ka Mao saw to it that in
his introductory speech for Speaker De Venecia, he pointed out that “the affair
was a labor of love.” He meant clearly he was not charging the speaker any cent
for it.
For, indeed, Ka
Mao shouldered all by himself the expenses for the event, which amounted to a
quarter of a million pesos.
Ka Mao observed
that the statement did not please both Sanchez and Didi. And Speaker De Venecia
appeared surprised.
Anyway Speaker
De Venecia proceeded to enthrall the audience with his tale of a pitiable
father who had a family to feed but who could not find a job, and so he came to
him one day, looking frail and hungry, and asked for help in finding one, and
he got the father hired as a construction worker in Saudi Arabia. The speaker
told the crowd that he was the originator of the idea of overseas employment
for jobless Filipinos. That got him a good applause. Then going on with his
tale, the Speaker related that after a time, the man came to him again, no
longer looking hungry but healthy and vigorous, saying he was on vacation to
join his family for the holidays, and he came to thank him for having helped
him find a job, and with that thank you the man presented him a basketful of
cashew and mango - for he was from Antipolo.
That was the
catch. And that got the crowd swooning, “Oh!”, while breaking in a resounding
applause.
After the
speech, Sanchez took the initiative of calling the photo op, with him and Ka
Mao raising arms with the Speaker, as everybody else on stage did the same with
them.
“Let this be
your baptism of fire,” Sanchez told Ka Mao.
“Be careful
about this,” admonished the Speaker. “Let’s not make it appear as a Party
proclamation already.”
That pose found
print the following day on a number of tabloids plus a small slot on the Manila
Bulletin, thanks to his kumpare Diego Cagahastian. Ka Mao was quite satisfied.
“Proclamation or
no proclamation, serves the same purpose,” Ka Mao told himself. He felt he was
now the LAKAS boy in Antipolo.
Actually, the
Jamesville Resort affair was a negative one for purposes of getting himself
officially proclaimed as LAKAS mayoralty candidate in the town. The top LAKAS
Man in Antipolo was Vic Sumulong, who was not on good terms with Manny Sanchez,
whom Vic’s uncle, Komong Sumulong, had successfully unseated from Congress for
being an American national. As far as
Sanchez was concerned, inviting Vic to the Jamesville Resort affair was out of
the question. Having been thus snubbed,
Vic must rage from the slight, a reaction that went true, too, toward Ka Mao.
Without him
realizing it, Ka Mao was getting into ill terms with Vic Sumulong. Until that
time, he remained ignorant of the finer points of politics, neglecting, for
instance, that protocol alone should have prompted him to defer first to Vic,
who was the LAKAS chairman for Rizal. So he should have taken pains to invite
him to the affair at Jamesville Resort.
Speaker De
Venecia subtly indicated this fault to Ka Mao one time he dropped by his office
at the Batasang Pambansa.
“You should
support Vic so Vic would support you,” said Speaker De Venecia, indicating his
full sympathy for Ka Mao.
Following De
Venecia’s advice, Ka Mao saw Vic Sumulong one morning in his residence in his
sprawling farm on the outskirts of the Antipolo town proper.
Indicating no
animosity whatsoever toward Ka Mao, the declared aspirant for congressman of
the lone district of Antipolo sat with Ka Mao at the sala and had coffee with
him.
“Actually this
is Sanchez’s fault,” said the soft spoken Vic after Ka Mao had opened the topic
of his LAKAS candidacy. “He is meddling in this matter.”
“I’m sorry,” Ka
Mao said, “but honestly, I didn’t know I had to talk to you. It was Didi
Domingto who advised me to arrange that Jamesville affair with Manny Sanchez.”
“The party has
rules,” Vic explained. “The equity of the incumbent makes the highest incumbent
municipal official from the party as the party chairman. The party municipal
chairman has the prerogative to be official LAKAS candidate for mayor.?
“Who is the
party chairman?” asked Ka Mao.
“Councilor Esting
Gatlabayan.”
“Is he running
for mayor?”
“He is sticking
to councilor?”
“Then there’s no
hindrance for me,” said Ka Mao, betraying a feeling of relief.
Vic took a
little while eyeing Ka Mao studiously. Then he answered.
“Councilor Esting
is the chairman. It’s his say.”
Ka Mao felt
sagging inside. He got the message. Vic just didn’t like him. He was not in his
league. Before that he had one occasion
on which he and Vic got invited together as guests in a political rally
organized by a couple who happened to be Ka Mao’s provincemates. Vic minded
more the star he had brought along, Ramona Rivilla, but hardly him. Then came
that interview he, Danny Tan and Lito Gatlabayan had with a panel of media
reporters on cable television.
Ka Mao sat
between the two, prompting him to comment when asked how he felt contending
against two economic giants on the rise: “I feel like Jesus Christ while he was
nailed on the cross.”
Danny, the
better-witted of the other two candidates, immediately got the aside and gave
Ka Mao a friendly punch on the arm, laughing as he volunteered the line:
“Between two thieves! Naughty you.”
But the truly
relevant question was, do they think cheating will be a factor in the coming
elections. Danny and Lito agreed that generally cheating figured in all
elections. Ka Mao dissented.
“Not in
Antipolo,” he firmly declared. “If cheating had been going on in the town’s
elections, how come the Sumulongs keep losing?”
The implication
was that the Sumulongs were the ones capable of cheating in elections, but
since they have been losing, then cheating had not been taking place in
Antipolo elections. But the graver implication was simply that the Sumulongs
were cheats, period.
Ka Mao was
referring to the losses suffered by Komong Sumulong in his congressional tiff
with Manny Sanchez, Myrna Hallare, a Sumulong, against Daniel Garcia in the
last mayoral elections, and King Sumulong’s failed bid for the Chairmanship of
Barangay de la Paz.
A close aide of
Vic would confide to Ka Mao during a chance meeting much much later that that
pronouncement of Ka Mao really got Vic so mad. It was a matter of course that
when Ka Mao attended the caucus Vic called among LAKAS members after that cable
television interview, he would be getting the flak from Vic.
“To those
pretending to be mayor, what right have you?”
At any rate, Ka
Mao persevered in his bid. Rolly Francia held on to him, or so it seemed, with
his consistent assurance that he, Ka Mao, was near the kitchen and so was sure of
abundant food. Rolly meant MalacaƱang. And Ka Mao believed.
Indeed, the
group he belonged in, the MalacaƱang Press Corps, was on an elbow-rubbing
closeness with President Ramos. So while he was increasisngly getting snubbed
by Vic Sumulong, Ka Mao was increasingly as well getting enamored by the
MalacaƱang press. He felt extremely privileged when the MalacaƱang press corps
invited him to its Christmas party 1997 in which his presence was announced
second to President Ramos and ahead of Congressman Teves and the other guests
in the event. To that party Ka Mao brought pretty, seductive actress Gem
Castillo whom President Ramos found so irresistible that at her introduction to
him and she moved for the customary beso-beso he unabashedly kissed her, his
lips smack on her cheek like a snail’s tusks. A Philippine Star photographer
captured that precise moment of a presidential passion and was a smash hit when
featured prominently in the center of the newspaper’s front page the following
morning. No mention though was made that that moment was courtesy of Ka Mao,
but a picture of him and President Ramos doing the thumbs-up sign saw print,
too, in another leading newspaper, appropriately captioned as taken in the same
event Ka Mao thought that was a good
splurge in his favor after all. Rarely did an ordinary mayoral candidate get
such a lavish attention from the highest official of the land.
True enough,
Antipolo politicians were tending to salaam to Ka Mao as a result of the
publicity on the MalacaƱang affair. Councilors saluted him one Monday he
dropped by the municipal quadrangle to attend the flag ceremony. They knew no
ordinary politicians could get that kind of photo op with President Ramos – or
with any president for that matter.
In fact,
President Ramos had agreed to that thumbs-up photo upon intercession by the
President of the MalacaƱsng Press Corps and Bobby Dacer, a very close friend of
President Ramos. Rolly, typical of a smooth operator, kept to the sidelines
during the entire evening making sure only that Ka Mao fulfilled his promise of
giving Christmas presents to the press people, which Ka Mao did by issuing
five-thousand-peso checks to those concerned.
And when Vic
Sumulong organized an event in which President Ramos would proclaim the
hitherto watershed area of Boso-Boso as finally alienable and disposable, Ka
Mao made sure he made his own show by conducting right across the street from
the proclamation event a medical-dental mission, announcing in a large streamer
the occasion as a project of the FVR-MGS (Friends and Volunteers for Maximum
Government Service – a ride-on for “Fidel V. Ramos-Mauro Gia Samonte”.
At the turn from
the Marcos Highway to Boso-Boso which President Ramos must take in coming to
the Vic Sumulong event, Ka Mao made sure he hung his own welcoming streamer for
the president. And as soon as President
Ramos stepped out of the presidential car, Ka Mao walked up to him first and
led him by the shoulders toward the program site while pointing to him the
ongoing medical-dental mission.
“That’s a
project of the FVR-MGS, Sir.”
“FVR-MGS?” asked
the President.
“Friends
and Volunteers for Reform and Maximum
Government Service.” Ka Mao answered.
President Ramos
was amused.
“Keep it up,” he
told Ka Mao.
Presidential
Security Commander Calimlim, who had
become familiar with Ka Mao at the MalacaƱang Christmas party, found no
alarm in Ka Mao’s hugging the president by the shoulders as they walked but he
saw the inappropriateness, if not the disrespect, of it to the president’s
person, and very discreetly he tapped Ka Mao’s arm that was on the president’s
shoulders and gave Ka Mao an eye signal for him to let go of the president’s
shoulder. Ka Mao understood the signal and let go of the president as Vic - who
had only been keeping a distance from the president, evidently deferring to
protocol – finally led him to the stage.
Ka Mao tarried
on the ground, waiting for anybody to invite him to come up the stage.With no
such invitation coming, Ka Mao stayed with the audience and from there followed the proceedings in the
program. He knew Vic would never do such invitation, but he had hoped the
president would, and once he did, Ka Mao would have leaped at the opportunity.
But as it became very evident that no such invitation would be forthcoming
anymore, Ka Mao finally realized how stupid he must have been in doing all that
posturing.
Ka Mao stayed at
the sidelines when President Ramos walked down the stage after the ceremonies
and proceeded to the presidential car. He wondered if the president would still
think about him at all. Not a bit, he realized, as the presidential entourage
went off.
Into
the official onset of the campaign period for the 1998 elections, the
LAKAS-NUCD was openly carrying the candidacy of Lito Gatlabayan.
During
one caucus called by a subdivision dwellers association, Danny Tan was rather
surprised to see Ka Mao still on in the fight.
“Are
you pushing on?” he asked.
“To
the very end,” Ka Mao declared.
Danny
could not help that trace of derision in his smile, something people
normally regard foolish people with. At
the same time his eyes betrayed amazement at the grit on Ka Mao’s face,
depicting an intense resolve to push the fight on no matter what.
“In
fact,” Ka Mao continued, “for your information, I have taken over the
basketball tournament you had organized but had abandoned in Barangay Sta.
Cruz. Don’t I deserve a thank you for that from you.”
Danny
laughed and tapped Ka Mao on the shoulder, saying, “Thank you.”
KA MAO forged on in his campaign trails,
mainly in the alleys of squatters communities and among hills people who had
formed settlements in disparate slopes of Sierra Madre. As to the town proper
and other urbanized sections, he realized it was futile exercise to bother
about them for the time being. As a store owner pointedly told him, “Don’t
waste your time campaigning here. There’s no vote you can get.” Ka Mao envisioned
a scenario whereby having solidified his hold on the poor folks, he would use
the forces so organized to launch a mammoth rally at a critical period before
the election which would create a bandwagon for the throngs of undecided voters
to finally ride on.
It
inspired Ka Mao no end that groups of his believers would on their own go into
sorties in settlements that could only be reached by foot and would take days
to fully cover. In which case, they would need to bring provisions, like food
and packs of clothing. The mountain folks were a most hospitable lot in any
case and they would gladly share with Ka Mao’s campaigners what little provisions
they had in their abodes.
Every now and then, Ka Mao would find time to
accompany his volunteers in those sorties, and himself experiencing the
difficulties his supporters suffered, he
grew even more and more determined to carry the fight through to the end.
Ka
Mao undertook two major steps in this period.
One,
seeing finally that the LAKAS accommodation of him was all for show, he joined the Aksyon Demokraticko, the political
party of Senator Raul Rocco, who was running for president under the slogan:
“The most qualified candidate.”
Ka Mao sincerely
believed the slogan, but this was not the interesting point in his joining
Aksyon now. Back in 1996, he and senator Roco were squaring off on television
and in print over the senator’s criticism of Ka Mao’s film, “Halimuyak ng
Babae”, which he found to be derogatory to Bicolanas. In the Kris Aquino-hosted
program, “Startalk,” on Channel 7, Ka Mao got back at the senator for his
attack against his movie.
“The
problem with the senator is that he sees one black dot on a white wall and he
calls the whole wall black. That element
about a girl being made the prize in a rodeo game was just a small part of the
story. And that story develops. How the
story develops is what the senator should see in my movie. But no, he calls the
whole movie bad, an insult to Bicolano women. I am a Bicolano myself. Why would
I destroy my own people?”
At
Kris Aquino’s questioning, Senator Rocco admitted he had not seen the movie and
had only been told about it by his men. That got Ka Mao wondering if this noise
Senator Roco was doing now was not part of a grand publicity stunt to start
projecting a hero image for him. As early as then, talks in the grapevine were
rife that he would be running for president come 1998.
The
naughty Kris dangled a bait for Ka Mao after he said, “I thank the senator for
making me in league with senators.”
“Did
you vote for him?” Kris asked. A positive answer from Ka Mao would have the
effect of shattering his credibility in what was turning out to be a brilliant
stand against the senator.
“No,”
came Ka Mao’s curt resort.
Kris
betrayed the feeling of having been personally repulsed. The glint in her eyes
indicated she was quick to find a follow-up bait.
“Will
you vote for him now?” asked Kris.
Still
refusing to bite, Ka Mao asked in turn, “For what? For president?”
Ka
Mao would have added, “I will vote for him if he made me his running mate.”
That was what television talk shows wanted in Ka Mao, his short, witty
repartees. But that last answer he made already got the audience laughing. Ka
Mao did not find it necessary to add some more.
Now
Ka Mao amused to himself as he signed the application papers for membership in
the Aksyon Demokratiko Party. That unworded answer would have been prophetic.
Ka Mao was now running mate of Senator Roco – on the municipal level.
In
any case, Ka Mao lived up to a Marcos dictum: “In politics, there are no
permanent enemies. There are only temporary allies.”
The
second major step Ka Mao undertook was his seeking support from the Iglesia ni
Kristo (INC). This, again, was a reversal of a previous stand Ka Mao had taken.
In the elections of 1995, Ka Mao
steadfastly held on to his resolve never to ask the INC for support of his
candidacy. He just detested the very idea of churches involving in elections in
order to determine their outcome. He believed churches were meant to attend to
the spiritual concerns of people.
By
involving themselves in politics, were not churches responsible, too, for the
corruption the elected officials would eventually feast on in the government?
Ka Mao had asked this question and found himself answering: “Yes.”
But the
imperatives of winning was foremost now in Ka Mao’s mind. And as he saw it in
Rizal, the INC had consistently decided
the question of winnability in election. He was determined to go for it this
time.
Now, during this
period Ka Mao got acquainted with a guy named Cris, a huge fellow who if you
put on him the proper costume would be a perfect image of Santa Claus, albeit
dark skinned. His expertise was to have lands titled, and with the Party
debacle in 1991 crystallizing to Ka Mao the urgent need of having his land
titled at long last, he got the guy’s services. Cris happened to be a member of
INC, an influential one at that. He presented Ka Mao to Ka Art who pronto got
Ka Mao attended to in his desire to get the church’s endorsement of his
candidacy.
Soon Ka Mao was
getting enthused by word going around that he was the INC candidate for mayor
of Antipolo. That Ka Mao had indeed
gotten into the good graces of the church was attested to by various occasions
on which INC members confided to Ka Mao that they had been consulted by their
pastors about Ka Mao’s candidacy.
Somebody who had
the surname Samonte told Ka Mao that she admitted to her pastor thus, “True,
Samonte is a relative. But the church has the say.”
But as what happened in 1995, into the last
two months of the campaign period, Ka Mao’s resources were dwindling. His
former comrades in the KASAMA Party Group did make some effort to raise money
for his campaign with little success.
Ka Mao got
summoned by the businessman whom Ka Art had assigned to attend to Ka Mao’s
concerns. The businessman, evidently a top man in the INC hierarchy, received
Ka Mao in the garden of his house. He laid it down squarely to Ka Mao.
“You are not
doing good in our survey.”
“I realize
that,” said Ka Mao. “Surveys are done in areas where my campaign has been
minimal. I am strong among mountain folks who are not Iglesia.”
“Anyway, we feel
we had better do something,” said the businessman.
“Yes?” said Ka
Mao. “What can we do?”
“We gather that
you’ve got a land.”
“Oh, the land.
Yes, What about it?”
“Are you not
planning to donate part of that?”
“Donate?” asked
Ka Mao. “To whom?”
The businessman
kept silent. He just gave a probing stare to Ka Mao, who could not make it out.
Finally,
slightly sighing, the businessman said as he abruptly showed Ka Mao out through
the gate, “We’ll find out.”
Find out what? Where?
When? How? Nothing was spoken about anything anymore after that.
Ka Mao ultimately
went through the routine of queuing up for the blessing of INC that day at the
church offices in Tatay, Rizal. But he realized even then that it was a futile
exercise. Nothing concrete had materialized about the land the businessman had
expressed interest on.
With the Iglesia
being out of the question now, Ka Mao expected the worst. Aksyon Demokratiko
had not been much help, perhaps as it had not been much help to Senator Roco,
who lost his presidential bid to Joseph Estrada.
When his
watchers started bringing in the results of the counting and clearly indicated
a sure trend toward defeat, Ka Mao did not bother anymore about how he finally
figured in the race. You lose small, you lose big, you lose just the same, he
told himself.
And so all told,
Ka Mao lost again.
But there was
this big difference. In this Ka Mao’s second losing, he realized that all
along, he had been fighting it the wrong way. He fought it wrongly when he
organized the Makabayan Pulblishing workers union and thereafter launched the
KAMAO strike. He fought it wrongly when he immersed himself completely into the
national democratic revolution and contributed whatever he could for what he thought
was the liberation of the working class – from that active participation in the
workers strike movement, to his self-initiative organizing of BRASO after being
abandoned by the KASAMA Party Group, to his re-integration with the Party and
his performance of tasks as intelligence officer of the NPA. He fought it
wrongly when he made his own adjustment of the struggle by engaging in
bourgeois politics for the continued promotion of the liberation of the
proletariat.
In all those
fights, Ka Mao realized now, he was not fighting for himself. He was fighting for
the advancement of interests of other people.
A question
stared Ka Mao in the face. Would he have succeeded had all those fights he had
made had been fights for his own selfish interests?
He would not
have organized the KAMAO in the first place, not have joined the revolution,
could have just concentrated on building a future on the fruits of a lucrative
film career when the opportunity came, and if he did want to be mayor of
Antipolo, he would have agreed to the proposal to start running as a councilor
first, which had been the common pattern for all successful mayoralty
aspirants.
But Ka Mao would
not engage in any hypothetical argumentation. What did not happen could never
be proven. For him, the fact was that he fought not for himself but for others
and lost.
And that was
food for thought enough in whatever fights he would still embark on from
hereon.
KA JUN played the piano on and on that
afternoon. It was like he was pouring out all his joys as well as all his aches
in it. It looked as though he was playing it for the last time – as indeed it
was the last time he played that piano – and so he must play it on until
eternity.
“Are
we then just to sit back while Sison tears the Party?”
“Let’s
hope we can just talk things over,” Ka Jun said.
Quite intriguingly, Ka Jun was not going the
way of his colleagues in the leadership of the revolution. After another period
of incarceration resultting from his capture in 1996, he was released from
prison, enjoying a clean slate from the government. He proceeded to put up a
security agency by way of pursuing legal livelihood.
By
the time Ka Mao was campaigning for the 1998 elections, Ka Jun was sworn into
the LAKAS Party by House Speaker Jose de
Venecia. Ka Mao welcomed the development. He thought Ka Jun could help in his
candidacy.
But
Ka Charlie took it otherwise. In a talk with Ka Mao, he expressed his disgust
at Ka Ka Jun’s action..
“Tell
him, he is a sonnavabitch,” said Ka Charlie of Ka Jun.
It
deeply saddened Ka Mao. Here were comrades, steeled and virtually welded to
each other in the practical struggle of the proletariat and doubtlessly steeped
in the spirit of serving the people, but now coming at odds with each other all
for differing on a question of tactics.
For all we know, Ka Mao argued to
himself, Ka Jun was accommodating himself into the enemy as dictated by the new
dispensation. Sun Tzu said after all, “Let your plans be as dark as the night and
impenetrable, and once you move strike like sudden thunder.”
Between the NPA and Ka Jun’s security agency,
the only difference was that the former was shouting out loud “Down with
imperialism!” while the latter was keeping quiet about it. But other than this,
both groups were armed, and to Ka Mao this was all that mattered under the concrete
condition of the times. As Ka Mao had opined to Ka Jun back in 1989, the
tactics for the revolution should be for frustrating the bouregeois elections
of 1992, for if it took place that would consolidate the otherwise shaky
bourgeois political power under the Cory government.
But Reaffirm, by shattering the mechanism
already in place for crushing the Cory government, effectively set the stage
for precisely such consolidation of bourgeois political power. Fidel V. Ramos
was elected president in the 1992 elections, and since then the bourgeoisie got
stronger and stronger to continuously lord it over Philippine society.
In inverse
proportion, the revolution plummeted down irretrievably. What particulary horrified Ka Mao was the
fact that revolutionary leaders who were able to maintain armies of their own
fell one after another – not from
government bullets but from bullets of assassination squads sent out by the Reaffirm sovereign. Who fell from
Sison’s bullets? Popoy Lagman already did. Rolando Kintanar (Ka Jun) would soon
follow and Arturo Tabara next. These were. leaders who had arms to effectively
combat the government at the right time. Ka Charlie, though himself staunchly
rejecting the Reaffirm, was spared
his life. He didn’t have the guns. He died of a liver ailment.
So Ka Mao found
himself struck by the terrifying question: “Who, then, in the guise of standing
by the principles of “Marxism, Leninism and Mao Tse Tung Thought”, was Sison
serving?”
Not
the people but their enemies! Ka Mao raged inside.
FOR KA JUN, talking things over with
Sison came about on January 23, 2003. He was having a business lunch with
someone at a Japanese restaurant in the Quezon City Circle when he spotted the
advance of a gunman obviously intending to shoot him in front. He quickly drew
his .45 and could have beaten that assailant to the fire but that another gunman
firing from behind got him first with a slug to his body. He threw at the
bullet impact, releasing his gun to the floor.
Even so he struggled to reach for the gun, but this time around the
gunman in front rushed forward and finished him off.
Diego
Cagahastian, who must have had fraternal relations with the NPA chief, was the
very first to lay a wreath beside the coffin of Ka Jun as it was put in place in
a chapel of the Loyola Memorial Homes on Araneta Avenue in Quezon City; the
wreath from President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo only came in second.
Ka Mao
completely forgot about sending a wreath of his own; he didn’t have the habit.
It was a deep sense of loss that Ka Mao found himself being torn apart with
upon being informed by Ka Ding that Ka Jun had been shot dead.
Ka Jun to Ka Mao
had not been the NPA Chief. Not the revolutionary icon that people would make
of him. Nor any of his heroic attributes which comrades would bask in by way of
sharing in his glory.
To Ka Mao, Ka
Jun was a dear friend. The occasions had not been too many when he needed
support from him, but whenever he needed him most, he was there to lend a hand.
That time, for
instance, when the Weinstein Piano representative came threatening to pull out
the piano due to unpaid bills, he relayed to Ka Jun through Ka Charlie his need
for financial -help, and right away came his instruction to Ka Charlie: Please help.
Another instance was when after Henry Sy killed the movie industry and Ka Mao
was having a hard time earning income, Ka Jun on his own got him appointed as a
TESDA Testing Officer for Overseas Performing Artists; Ka Jun was then
Consultant to TESDA Director General Fr. Ed de la Torre. Still another instance
was when Ka Pete was demanding from Ka Mao payment for a debt and Ka Mao did
not have the money to pay, Ka Jun told Ka Pete: “I guarantee you Ka Mao will
pay.” Ka Pete never bothered Ka Mao about the matter since then – nor did Ka
Mao pay him any money at all. Ka Jun had redeemed Ka Mao from his debt.
Ka Mao
remembered the movie “Schindler’s List”. It was about a German officer during
World War II who was redeeming prisoner Jews with his money until he was left
with no more cash to continue his act of redemption. So he began parting with
his material possessions in order to continue buying the freedom of the Jews.
Ka Mao likened Ka Jun to that German officer
one time he had an urgent need for financial help and Ka Jun just didn’t have
the money to give. “You can have my guns,” Ka Jun offered, It was not important
that Ka Mao had the heart to decline the offer and sought financing elsewhere.
What was important was that Ka Jun was willing to do a Schindler, as in the
song The Impossible Dream: “to be willing to give when there’s no more to
give.”
At the
necrological services for Ka Jun, Ka Mao was asked to speak. But what would he
tell the crowd? The untold anecdotes that proved the rebel to be so human after
all? Like that time the KTKS was meeting in the house and Ka Mao had allowed
Seiko Films to have shooting in the place so it would serve as alibi for the
flow of underground elements into the place. Ka Jun looked out of the window of
the meeting room and gaped upon Cesar Montano and Gabby Conception urinating
against the wall just below. Ka Jun snickered like a tot and told it to the
other KTKS members. Or could Ka Mao have spoken about that moment the sexy bomb
shell Rachelle (Z Boom) Lobangco went up to use the comfort room on the second
floor? Ka Jun sat on the sofa in the family room to gaze much like a smitten
young man as the actress went out of the comfort room. Ka Jun exchanged smiles
with Z Boom, who eyed him teasingly even as she proceeded downstairs. For fear
of compromising the security of the rebel guests, Ka Mao refrained from
introducing the two, though he sensed that Ka Jun would have loved it. He must
be missing his wife, Joy, immensely.
Too many things
about Ka Jun were better left unspoken. But Ka Mao would have told those things
had he opted to talk in the ceremonies. So quite politely, he declined the
invitation of the emcee for him to come forward and speak.
Ka Arman filled
in the slot of the next speaker. Ka Mao did not follow much what Ka Arman was saying
because what he was following was the flow of his own thoughts of Ka Jun. From
the time Kumander Bilog brought him to the house together with elements of the
NPA General Command, the person of Ka Jun had unfolded to Ka Mao in bits and
pieces, like a painted portrait which you don’t complete in just one sitting
but over time and done in exquisite touches so that you don’t miss out on any
detail of the subject’s features.
Ka Jun was
human, much so human that he always gave first place to the other fellow in
every respect. One time he and a few comrades met in the house on short notice
to Ka Mao, Betchay had no time cooking much food for lunch. Ka Jun took just a
little of what had been prepared so there would be enough for the others.
Ka Jun did not have
the air and flamboyance as are characteristics of persons in authority but
rather the calm and magnanimity of a leader ever condescending to his comrades.
While Ka Charlie rather chidingly reacted to Ka Mao’s idea of striking up an
alliance with Marcos in the crisis of 1986, Ka Jun gave it a serious thought.
And when told by Ka Mao of Kumander Dante’s assertion of leadership of the NPA
upon his release by Cory, Ka Jun did not take it with belligerence but with
cool expression of dissent: “From what I know, we are (the current leaders).
For all his
seeming lack of intellectual braggadocio, Ka Jun was a broadminded guy. One
time he took Ka Mao on a trip to Cubao to see what was supposed to be a big
rally. Ka Mao saw the crowd marching as too neglible: “You cannot even count 5O
of the rallyists.” Ka Jun countered: “Be considerate. Count also those on the
sidewalks.” That made Ka Mao feel like the frog caught in a well in a Chinese
parable which said: “The sky is as big as the mouth of the well.” Ka Jun would
have told the frog: “Look beyond the mouth of the well. That’s one whole grand
immeasurable sky.”
As he was that
considerate to comrades, so was Ka Jun to the revolution at large. Though he
might recognize its shortcomings, he had absolute faith that it would overcome.
When in 1989 Ka Mao proposed to him the idea of frustrating the next
presidential election in order to prevent the bourgeoisie from consolidating,
Ka Jun asserted: “We shall have won by then.” And one time he told comrades to
buy land on a 25-years-to-pay basis, for since the revolution would be winning
in a short while, they would then be owning the lots for a pittance.
Ka Jun was a
most gentle guy. One morning, Ka Mao awoke to find his little daughter Maripaz
cuddling up to Ka Jun in sleep in bed. Obviously, the girl had fallen to sleep
while telling stories with him the night before. How it touched Ka Mao to see
Ka Jun hugging Maripaz gingerly, much
like a hen sheltering its chick.
Ka Jun must be
missing his own kids, Ka Mao told himself then. For a period indeed, Ka Jun had
his son Mark stay in Ka Mao’s house so he could steal moments of togetherness
with the boy.
How could
anybody have the heart to slay such a gentle comrade? Ka Mao ached inside him.
Ka Jun was for maintaining the unity of the Party. If he refused to combat the
Sison maneuver in the Reaffirm, it
was for the sole purpose of not tearing the Party.
“We’re not
small,” he told Ka Mao. “We’re big.”
He meant he had
the numbers to contend with those of Sison. But as he realized any such
confrontation would be very bloody, as what happened between the Magpantays and
the Tiamzons in Central Luzon, he chose the wise course of consultation.
Now Ka Mao
thought, just Ka Jun’s luck that Sison chose not to be wise.
One afternoon,
Ka Tex, the diminutive Armed City Partisan (ACP) combatant credited with the
assassination of JUSMAG Commander Col. James Rowe, came to the house to give Ka
Mao a warning: “Please tell RK (Ka Jun) that I won’t ever do the job of killing
him.” The implication was that orders were out to get Ka Jun and that Ka Tex,
being the top Party hit man expected to do the job, felt he might be the target
of any preemptive action from Ka Jun.
In the
necrological services, Ka Arman was ending his talk when Ka Mao began tracing
in his mind the notes of a melody inspired in him by Ka Jun. Here was a man, Ka
Mao told himself when he began composing the song, not wanting in the comforts
of life, hailing as he did from one of the rich clans of Cebu, yet forsaking wealth
and affluence in order to take up the supreme challenge of serving the people:
Reach for the apex of great proletarian
service
Rise up in arms and ever without fear struggle
The rights and liberties of massive oppressed classes
Foreign oppressors crush with force savage and ruthless
There’s nothing whatsoever that is had by the people
If they’ve got neither you nor me
A dedicated, faithful, steeped in struggle, fighting, serving
New People’s Army
Imperialism, bring it down
Feudalism, bring it down
Bureaucrat capitalism and all else that impede socialism
Bring them down!
My life gladly I’d sacrifice
On altar of the people’s war
If victory indeed is prize
Then death to me is Heaven’s wise
Reach for the optimum of proletarian service
Hold on to arms and with resolve swear to defend
The gains the people won in so dear their struggle
No exploiters shall by their greed take ‘way again
The aim of social growth and final class liberation
Pushed on and on until
Reached is the peak of socialism
Communism
Our most cherished dream
Rise up in arms and ever without fear struggle
The rights and liberties of massive oppressed classes
Foreign oppressors crush with force savage and ruthless
There’s nothing whatsoever that is had by the people
If they’ve got neither you nor me
A dedicated, faithful, steeped in struggle, fighting, serving
New People’s Army
Imperialism, bring it down
Feudalism, bring it down
Bureaucrat capitalism and all else that impede socialism
Bring them down!
My life gladly I’d sacrifice
On altar of the people’s war
If victory indeed is prize
Then death to me is Heaven’s wise
Reach for the optimum of proletarian service
Hold on to arms and with resolve swear to defend
The gains the people won in so dear their struggle
No exploiters shall by their greed take ‘way again
The aim of social growth and final class liberation
Pushed on and on until
Reached is the peak of socialism
Communism
Our most cherished dream
CHAPTER XIX
THE YEAR Ka Jun was shot dead was also
the year one Imelda Rivera had made good her obstinate determination to get Ka
Mao and his family out of their property. That was the year she won the
ejectment case which she filed against Ka Mao back in 2001. A very astute woman
with an astounding capacity to weave lies, she caused, through bastardization
of legal processes, the issuance of a title in her name over the property and
then used that title to institute ejectment proceedings against Ka Mao for
forcible entry.
Ka
Mao’s house was somewhere around the middle of the more or less 5,000-square-
meter lot. Obviously, Rivera believed that by ejecting Ka Mao from his position
on the lot, she would be ejecting him from the entirety of the land. So she had
the lot subdivided into three, each of the three perpendicular to Sumulong
Highway. It was from the middle lot that she was ejecting Ka Mao. This way, she
expected to take possessession of the two other lots on which there was no house
of Ka Mao, without having to wait for the ejectment case to be resolved.
But
Ka Mao had papers in his possession proving his occupation of the entire lot,
not just the middle part of it. And he proceeded to successfully repel all
efforts of Rivera to occupy the other two lots early on.
Moreover,
those papers proved Ka Mao had been occupying the property in the concept of an owner since
way before the First Quarter Storm and so Rivera’s forcible entry charge
against him would not prosper. As first judge-on-the-case Rosa Samson-Tatad put
it: “The issue is whether or not the plaintiff had the right to eject defendant
for forcible entry.”
To Ka Mao’s
misfortune, Judge Samson-Tatad was just a temporary judge on the case and when
she was replaced with a permanent one, the judge who took over, Judge Antonio
Olivete, proved to be a most unscrupulous one who upon Rivera’s machination and
in complete violation of due process unilaterally changed the designation of
the case from “For forcible entry” to “For unlawful detainer”. Under this
changed designation, the judge made it appear that Ka Mao was in occupation of
the property by virtue of Rivera’s tolerance, thus giving her the right to
eject Ka Mao and his family. That’s what the law says.
Ka
Mao appealed the decision and it was assigned to the sala of Judge Francisco Querubin,
who eventually upheld Olivete’s decision, ultimately issuing an order for the
demolition of Ka Mao’s house.
Ka
Mao stood pat on his position that there had been no showing at all that
Rivera’s title pertained to his property. And so after a series of judicial
notices for the implementation of the demolition order, he defiantly faced up
to Deputy Sheriff Rolando Leyva.
“No,
you cannot implement that order in my property,” said Ka Mao to the short,
physically unimpressive fellow whose guts to enforce a legal order seemed to
derive more from his coterie of goons and bullies than from a conviction on the
righteousness of his action.
“This
is a court order,” said the sheriff.
“Yes,
and I’m not questioning that,” countered Ka Mao. “What I am questioning is your
wrongful implementation of that order.”
“
The order says demolish your house,” insisted the sheriff.
“The
order says,” declared Ka Mao, reading the words in the court document, “demolish
my house on the property of Imelda Rivera. This is not the property of Imelda
Rivera. This is my property. Moreover, the order puts the location of the
alleged property of Imelda Rivera in Sitio Malanim. My property is in Sitio
Upper Lucban. You implement that order on my property, I’ll hail you to court.”
With
that declaration by Ka Mao, the sheriff withdrew.
The
next thing that happened was, the sheriff got an order from the court for the
relocation survey of the plan described in the title of Rivera. The order just
delighted Ka Mao. That precisely was his strategy: to get the court ordering
such survey. By provision of the Manual of Survey in the Philippines, the
authenticity of the Rivera title had to be ascertained first for the survey to
materialize. And Ka Mao had a wealth of research data proving that title to be
spurious: from its Decree No. 4708, which the Land Registration Authority (LRA)
certified as non-existent in its files; to its Record No. 5989, which the
Official Gazette, as certified by the Microfilm Division of the University of
the Philippines Library, had published on May 4, 1910 as having been given to
an application for land registration of a property with technical descriptions
written in English while the purported mother decree issued as a result of that
application had technical descriptions written in Spanish; Presidential Decree
1529, or the Land Registration Act, provides that the Dccree of Registration
must be a faithful reproduction of the original application for land
registration; the LRA had no record of an Original Certificate of Title (OCT)
No. 518, which was entered in the Rivera title as its mother title; and the
survey plan of the title from which the Rivera title was purported to have
derived had the subdivision plan number PSD 8662, which was certified by the
Bureau of Lands as situated in Caloocan City, not Antipolo City.
These research
data, along with several others, were more than enough to prompt an honest
geodetic engineer to question its veracity and thereby deem himself barred by
law to make a relocation survey of the same.
Without seeking
authority from his superiors, the geodetic engineer of the Antipolo Community
Environment and Natural Resources Office (CENRO), Daniel de los Santos, arrogated
to himself the authority to implement the court survey order. Then after
sending notice to Ka Mao that a relocation survey would be conducted of the
property, he coursed to Ka Mao through a common friend his desire to have some
night out; De los Santos was sort of addicted to sing-along sessions. This
would entail some big expense but Ka Mao wouldn’t mind, It indicated a show of
friendliness from the geodetic engineer, and Ka Mao thought, “All the better
for my case.”
And so that
night at the Classmate, a popular high-class nightclub on Quezon Avenue in
Quezon City, De los Santos had a grand time belting out ditties along with
minus-one accompaniments on the video player, with not one but two
scantily-clad hospitality girls pressing him with their breasts from both
sides. In attendance was their common friend, Adrian, a former CENRO and now a
private practicing geodetic engineer, who with Ka Mao’s kumpare, Diego
Cagahastian, had arranged the affair; the Chief, Surveys Division of the DENR
Region IV-CALABARZON; and Ka Mao’s counsel Atty. Ed Galvez. It turned out, De
los Santos was expecting an offer of a monetary consideration – lagay in the vernacular, meaning grease
money, or stated pointblank, bribe – in exchange for an action from him
favorable to Ka Mao. But as the night was wearing on and no such offer appeared
forthcoming from Ka Mao very shortly, De los Santos took advantage of one
moment Ka Mao stepped out of the sing-along suite and lay his card on the
table, so to speak.
“Mao,” said the
guy, whose tipsiness contributed to his character of being virtually a stand-in
for the Joker in “Batman”, “your rival Rivera is very rich. She is offering me
a million.”
“So there’s
where the rub is,” Ka Mao told himself.
De los Santos
immediately sensed that Ka Mao was not biting into his bait.
“Anyway, my
needs are modest,” De los Santos somewhat toned down. “A Ford Fiera is what I
need so I don’t have to take so many public rides in going from my home in
Balintawak to my office in Antipolo.”
In a voice that
indicated he didn’t mean to engage in shenanigans, Ka Mao said, “Let’s just do
things according to the law.”
The
Joker-look-alike kept mum, his face betraying deep frustration.
And that day De
los Santos and his team came to Ka Mao’s property, he began doing what to him
was according to the law. He made Ka Mao sign on a blank yellow pad sheet,
obviously meant to be the attendance sheet for the activity that immediately
took place.
“Where’s the
title?” asked Ka Mao.
“What title?”
asked De los Santos.
“The title
that’s supposed to be the basis for this relocation survey,” said Ka Mao.
“We’re not
making any survey yet,” said De los Santos. “We’re only getting reference
points.”
Had De los Santos admitted that he was doing
the survey as ordered by the court, Ka Mao would have required him to comply
with the rules as mandated in the Manual of Survey in the Philippines – meaning
ascertain first the veracity of the Rivera title.
But De los
Santos lied that he was not making such survey yet so Ka Mao had no cause for
pressing the matter of ascertaining the veracity of the Rivera title yet. And
so after a quick look-see of the surroundings using their survey instruments,
De los Santos and his team ended their chore in the place, whatever it was.
What astounded
Ka Mao after a time was a notice of a hearing on the Technical Report submitted
by De los Santos to the court. He realized he had been done in. His signature
on the blank yellow pad sheet proved his attendance in what De los Santos
reported to the court as the survey conducted in compliance with its order. He
submitted a Technical Report, allegedly based on that survey, delineating what
was termed as the “metes and bounds” of the property supposed to be covered by
the court demolition order. What De los Santos actually did was a table survey,
which had become a notorious practice of unscrupulous geodetic engineers in
plotting the technical descriptions of a title on the drawing table not on the
site of the property being surveyed. This practice had made it very easy for
landgrabbers to snatch some other people’s lands, for in this manner they were
able to work out the title over the land being grabbed without encountering
physical opposition from settlers on that land.
In any case, Ka
Mao immediately saw wide loopholes in the De los Santos Technical Report. The
purported attendance sheet did not contain any entries other than names of
those who were present on the occasion. It proved those people were there but
did not prove anything as to why or what they were there for.
In another
respect, what De los Santos reported as having been surveyed by him was a subdivision LRA PSD 371576 which he
attested to as having been furnished him by Rivera – not the subdivision plan
ordered by the court to be surveyed, which was PSI 3715.
Moreover, De los
Santos conducted his supposed survey not upon proper authority by the DENR but
upon his own decision, and Ka Mao saw this as a usurpation of DENR authority.
The order was addressed to the DENR, which could have delegated the function to
anybody it pleased, not just De los Santos.
Came the day of
the hearing. Ka Mao and Atty. Galvez arrived early at the court. But they were
told by the Clerk of Court that the counsel for Rivera, one Former Judge Patajo,
had just died and no replacement for him had yet been designated. In that
event, the hearing was expected to be cancelled. The law mandated that. The parties in a case were
required to inform each other in cases of change of counsels. Ka Mao and his
counsel were made to sign the attendance sheet, with instruction from the clerk
of court that they would be informed, as was the practice, about the schedule
of the next hearing.
But in due time,
what Ka Mao received was not a notice of schedule of the next hearing but a
Fourth Notice – described as the final one – on the implementation of the
demolition order. It turned out that after Ka Mao and his counsel left the
court the last time out, believing the hearing scheduled that day would be
reset, Rivera produced an impromptu counsel and in the absence of the defendant
caused a unilateral conduct of the hearing resulting to that final order for
the implementation of the writ of demolition.
The order
specifically instructed the sheriff to strictly abide by the guidance of Geodetic Engineer Daniel
de los Santos in its implementation, particularly the demolition of Ka Mao’s
house. But precisely because the purported relocation survey as contained in
his Technical Report was a complete prevarication, De los Santos bungled his
job once he applied it on the ground.
The coordinates of the area in which to implement the order were such
that they put practically the whole house of Ka Mao outside of that area. For that reason, while De los Santos started
the whole operation of implementing the order on Ka Mao’s property, before long
he was nowhere to be found on the site. Left with no guidance by De Los Santos,
Sheriff Leyva had no other recourse but to suspend the demolition operation
abruptly.
Ka Mao sighed
with relief. He thought the house had been spared from destruction completely.
He had reason to believe so. In a talk with Barangay Captain Gabuna, who till
then was quite friendly to him, Ka Mao got the information that implementation
of demolition orders could only be carried out once, not on a rainy day, and
must be complete by four o’clock in the afternoon.
So Ka Mao found
himself deducing, since the implementation of the court demolition order had
been begun, it could no longer continue beyond the law-mandated timeline for
its implementation.
Up to old age,
that had been Ka Mao’s indulgence: too much optimism to the point of being an
incurable affliction. It stemmed from his character. Because he had pure human
goodwill in his heart, he expected all others had the same. He was not claiming
that he was not capable of doing evil. He knew that was part of his humanism.
But he knew, too, he was much more good
than evil and he believed all others were also. If, therefore, man by his very
humanness is good, how could the world in any of its aspects be bad at all? In
this sense, Ka Mao could be a most formidable antidote to pessimism. Not once
in his life, even in the face of the harshest adversities, had he ever lost
hope. Nothing bad that ever happened to him remained bad. It always found a way
of turning itself into good.
Now, on the
question of the demolition of his house, he tended to believe that those put in
charge to carry it out were also men of goodwill and could take refuge under
the legal technicalities pointed out by the Barangay executive in not resuming
the demolition operation any longer, thereby saving the house from destruction
forever.
“This property
is under the custody of the sheriff,” declared Sheriff Leyva after announcing
the suspension of the demolition operation and then walking out of the compound
together with all the demolition personnel.
But aside from
that declaration, Ka Mao noticed no other action at all by Sheriff Leyva
indicating that he meant what he said. And for the whole of October and well
into the following November, the conditions in the property of Ka Mao were back
to normal
Particularly the
eatery, it went on enjoying its modest success, what with the continued
patronage by the employees of Meralco
Management Learning and Development Center (MMLDC), the Hizon Laboratories, the
Solar Enterprises, and a daily steady flow of walk-in customers.
The eatery must
be so good that even the owners of at least two leading Antipolo restaurants
would drop by and partake of its native dishes, like laing, ginataang biya,
sinigang na kandule, inihaw na manok and liempo, and bulalo.
But into the
last week of November, Ka Mao, while doing marketing, chanced upon Sheriff
Leyva, who told him that he was soon proceeding with the demolition operation.
“We’re only
waiting for Rivera to release the budget for the operation,” Sheriff Leyva
said. “She does not expect me to spend for this, does she?”
“What about De
los Santos?” Ka Mao asked.
“He had been
paid his due. He will do his job. Just you wait,” said Sheriff Leyva and walked
away.
All of a sudden,
Ka Mao was desperate. He really had attributed goodwill to Sheriff Leyva and De
los Santos, completely forgetting that part of the humanism of the two was
greed, which Ka Mao had not much of, if at all, and so he tended not to see it
in others. For that reason, he never anticipated that this time would come
when, with their greed sated, the two would come rampaging again as they did in
that aborted demolition operation in September. This time, as Sheriff Leyva put
it, “Only a TRO can stop us.”
But no, a Temporary
Restraining Order, which Sheriff Leyva referred to, was out of the question for
Ka Mao. It would be good only for three days after which a Permanent Injunction
must be put in place in order to stop the demolition for a relatively permanent
period, during which the merits of the case would be elevated to the Court of
Appeal and then to the Supreme Court for final resolution. Atty. Galvez
realized Ka Mao did not have the money to sustain such a costly fight and so
was suggesting alternative remedies, like having the Rivera title investigated
by the LRA in the hope that in the event the LRA favorably took up Ka Mao’s
cause, he could use its ruling to stop the court from enforcing its demolition
order.
So that night,
Ka Mao formalized the complaint, addressed to the LRA Administrator.
The following
day, the lady secretary in the office Ka Mao entered in the LRA building recognized
his name immediately when he presented the complaint to her. Her face lit up
and she excitedly guided Ka Mao to the suite of her boss..
“You can discuss
this with the Administrator,” she said as she led her through a corridor. “He
is easy to talk to.”
How nice of the Administrator,
Ka Mao told himself.
“Sir, this is Director
Mauro Gia Samonte,” the secretary said, introducing Ka Mao to the LRA Official
as she led him into his suite. “He is a very popular film director.”
The LRA Official
gladly shook Ka Mao’s hand.
“How are you
director?”
“Fine, thank
you,” said Ka Mao.
“He has a
problem, Sir,” the secretary said.
“What problem?”
asked the LRA Official..
“This is his
letter-complaint,” said the secretary as she handed to the official the folder
containing the letter-complaint, already opening it up.
The official took
a glance at the letter and then keeping it in his hand, he took Ka Mao by the
shoulder, leading him to a sofa where they sat.
The secretary
walked away, glancing back at the official, saying, “He is a very popular director,
Sir.”
“Yes, I know,”
said the official, beaming at Ka Mao. “How are your movies doing, Director?”
“Oh, I have not
been doing any movies these past five years. My last movie was in 2000,” said
Ka Mao.
“I see… But of
course, you must have set aside a fortune
You’re a very popular director.”
“I did save some
amount but I squandered it all when I ran for mayor of Antipolo.”
“You ran for
mayor!”
“Yes. Twice. In
1995 and 1998.”
“How much did
you spend?”
“Roughly five
million.”
“Can you win
with five million?”
“I thought I
could. Anyway, that was all I got. And lost it all.”
“Oh, you lost it
all,” said the LRA official, appearing to lose the enthusiasm he showed when
the secretary introduced Ka Mao to him.
“What are we
going to do with this letter…”
“It’s about our
land. It’s our family’s one remaining possession and it is being landgrabbed.
If you could investigate the title of the landgrabber and find it anomalous, then
I could use your finding to stop the court from demolishing our house.”
The LRA official
cast a rather enigmatic stare at Ka Mao, one that conveyed surprise at what he
heard and at the same time resentment for making him hear it.
“Okay, bring
this to the lady who brought you here. She will know what to do.”
The official handed
the folder to Ka Mao then walked into his inner office where he picked up the receiver
of the intercom. Ka Mao walked out of the suite, wondering to himself why the
mood of the LRA official suddenly changed.
The secretary
was speaking on the intercom when Ka Mao walked into her office.
“Sorry, Sir... Really…
I should not have wasted your time. I didn’t know he’s not a blue blood anymore.
He was so popular everybody thought he was rich.”
Ka Mao was
standing before her when the secretary put the phone down.
“I was told by your
boss to bring this back to you,” Ka Mao said as he handed the folder to the
secretary.
Ka Mao noticed
that the secretary, too, had completely changed her mood. She was unsmiling and
somewhat wore a sour face.
“Bring that to
the records section and have it received there,” said the secretary and minded
him no more.
Ka Mao stepped
out of the room and walked down the corridor leading to the records section. He
entertained no question whatsoever as to whether what he was doing had any
value at all. He had faith that it had and went on to have copies of his
letter-complaint marked “Received” by the clerk at the receiving window.
In the evening,
Ka Mao showed the copies to Atty. Galvez, who after perusing the
letter-complaint, stated, “This is okay. They would be too daring if they
pushed on with the demolition despite having been informed about this
complaint.”
Atty. Galvez
firmly believed that the sheriff would not dare demolish. And Ka Mao believed
so, too.
But on November
23, Ka Mao got a Fifth – and final –
Notice of implementation of the writ of demolition, ordering Ka Mao and his
family to vacate the subject property so-called. He relayed this to Atty.
Galvez, who advised him to get certification from the LRA that a case involving
the subject property in the demolition order was being deliberated at the
agency, and then furnish Sheriff Leyva and the court with copies of that
certification.
Atty. Galvez
still clung to the hope that the sheriff would not dare demolish Ka Mao’s house
with full knowledge of the LRA case.
November 24, Ka
Mao was early at the LRA to get the certification needed. But the LRA
investigator, Joel Bigornia, who had been assigned to handle the case was out on an errand the whole morning, arriving
only at his office way after lunch. The amiable investigation officer readily
issued the certification Ka Mao requested, but the trip back to Antipolo took
so long that by the time Ka Mao reached the court, it was already closed.
How so pathetic
Ka Mao appeared that morning of November 25, 2005. He made sure he was at the
office of the Clerk of Court once it opened so he could have copies of the
certification furnished to Sheriff Rolando Leyva and the court. While waiting
for the Clerk of Court to receive the copies of the certification, Ka Mao
happened to look out of the balcony of the building. He saw Sheriff Leyva on
the street below, aboard his motorcycle, which he had stopped as he gestured a
go-signal to somebody up on the balcony. With the signal having been given,
Sheriff Leyva then sped away..
It somewhat
intrigued Ka Mao. Sheriff Leyva seemed to be moving in a frenzy.
“What was the
sheriff seemed so frantic about? What was that signal for?” Ka Mao asked
himself.
Rushing home
aboard a tricycle after finishing his business at the court, Ka Mao saw a big
crowd of men brandishing a variety of construction implements, massing at the
corner of Sumulong Highway and the Circumferential Road, right outside the
Pedro Cojuangco farm popularly referred to as Rancho.
“What were those
men massing for?” he said to himself. “They seem to be bracing for a fight.”
Arriving home
finally, Ka Mao noticed at a distance a group of policemen and men in civilian
attires seeming to be huddling seriously on the highway side.
Ka Mao was
appalled to recognize among these men the guy he most feared at the moment:
Sheriff Rolando Leyva.
As he crossed
the highway, he realized the eatery had been closed. Betchay hurried to meet
him.
“Mao, they’re
going to demolish our house now,” said Betchay, showing signs of nervous
breakdown.
“No
trespassing,” a sympathizer suggested.. “Put up a sign, ‘No trespassing’.”
“Kapit sa
patalim,” so goes a saying in the vernacular which translates to “hang on to a
blade.” Ka Mao appeared much like doing just as a man would grab at even a
blade if only to keep himself from falling off a cliff. He hurried to find a
piece of plywood, a can of white paint and a brush by which he wrote out the
words “No trespassing”, then hung the sign on the gate of the property, facing
the highway.
Then followed
the longest moment of tension Ka Mao felt in all his life. The tension was none
like any of those he felt in the past: in the skirmishes with the policemen and
security guards of the Makabayan Publishing Corporation in the strike of KAMAO;
in the confrontation between government
troopers and workers protesters in the May Day Massacre of 1971; in the
standoff between policemen and activists in the American embassy rally in which
Ka Mao was tasked to explode a grenade, a task he would have accomplished but
for one moment of sanity which prompted him to stand by his sense of
righteousness.
In none of those
moments and in many others still did Ka Mao ever feel fear. He was young, not
yet thirty, single and not needing to worry about compromising any loved one in
his actions, Above all, he had full confidence in his human strength.
But now, against
the sheriff and his forces, Ka Mao had one whole family to be concerned about,
and he felt so weak, void of any of the bravado characteristic of his revolting
days. And he felt fear as he had never felt before. And so he prayed, yes,
indeed, he prayed, “Lord, spare us from this destruction.”
He prayed on and
on as he and his sons Paulo and Ogie, with the help of a few sympathizing
neighbors, frantically moved furniture, furnishings, fixtures, utensils, what
have you, stocking everything in the undivided ground floor which he had
intended for use for the CPP Congress. From the sketch plan which De los Santos
had submitted to the court to show the area of the demolition, Ka Mao surmised
that this spot on the ground floor would not be affected.
Particularly difficult to move was the Ray Contreras
solid mahogany antique-style dining table which took no less than ten men to carry.
As to the glass panes and panels on the walls and windows of the dining room,
the guest house and the breakfast area, Ka Mao just sadly stared at them, there
being no more time to remove them.
Finally, the
forces of Sherrif Leyva marched toward the property: the demolition crew, from
the corner of the Circumferential Road; the contingent of policemen, court
personnel and bullies, from the vicinity of the abandoned Citadel Subdivision
in the north.
“Everybody stay
put in the carinderia (eatery),” ordered Ka Mao. Betchay obliged, sticking
close to Gia, barely three months old, crying as she wriggled her legs in a
crib. Paulo and Ogie stuck with friends on the periphery of the demolition area
in case of any eventuality. (Maripaz was
at work and Maoie in Novaliches where he, his wife and two kids stayed
temporarily with his in-laws.)
All by himself,
Ka Mao, armed with a camera, stood at the interior end of the driveway,
directly opposite the gate where he expected the action to begin. Ka Mao could
think of no other way to combat the demolition but with that camera by which to
record in photographs whatever would take place. He intended to use the
pictures so taken as evidences in whatever legal action he would take
eventually.
In order to
determine the exact area of the house that would be demolished, De los Santos
used his bare eyesight to fix a point on the highway and another on the creek
edge behind the house. And then using a straw with one end tied to that point
on the highway, he fastened a stone to the other end and threw the stone above
the house in order to bring that other end of the straw to the creek edge
beyond for tying to the other point that had been determined on that spot. Thus
was the house split into two, with the one to the north to be demolished and
the one to the south to stay intact; similarly the comfort room of the eatery
which was along the highway was diagonally halved.
As a consequence
of the demolition, Ka Mao filed a complaint in the office of DENR Secretary
Angelo T. Reyes against Geodetic Engineer Daniel de los Santos for his wrongful
deeds in connection with the demolition.
In photo
attachments to the complaint, Ka Mao described the events that unfolded in
chronological sequence, titling the presentation: “THE DEMOLITION OF NOVEMBER
25, 2005.” The first page of three, he titled “QUIET BEFORE THE STORM”.
A photo of the
“No Trespassing” sign he had hung on the gate, he captioned:”A hastily-prepared
crude sign stands as the only defensive weapon against the impending disaster –
at best a travesty of the institution of private property for the powerless.”
A full shot of
Sheriff Leyva and his demolition contingent waiting out just outside the iron
fence of Ka Mao’s property, Ka Mao captioned: “Deputy Sheriff Rolando Leyva and
his demolition contingent could not move without Engineer Daniel de los Santos
first determining the scope of demolition to be done.”
The next four
photos that followed were described thus: “(Below, bottom left) Engr. De los
Santos, using nothing but bare eyesight and a measuring tape, determines a
point on a mark scratched on the iron fence with a stone; note
highly-collapsible nature of iron fence. (Below left and middle photo) CENRO
man identified only as Jess helps out Engr. De los Santos in the measurements;
arrow mark on the fence was done September 30, 2005 during the first demolition
attempt. (Below right) Claimant Imelda Rivera and Deputy Sheriff Leyva
supervise the demolition.”
A final photo on
the page was a full view of exactly the same spot in the second cited photo,
this time showing the iron fence completely fallen and the demolition crew
beginning to move into the driveway of the compound. It was captioned: “
(Bottom right) In a move swifter than camera operation, the demolition crew
tear down the barrier at the driveway.”
The second page
of the photo attachments was titled: “THE ONSLAUGHT” It consisted of a close
shot of the demolition crew advancing, captioned: “The crew rush to carry out
the devastation of my house all over.” The next three photos showed the
destruction from various angles, the front, back and the northside. The view
from the back was particularly gruesome because it was on that spot where every
piece of the ravaged materials was dumped, depicting what was once a pretty
domicile turned into rubble. And the final photo of the page showed Rivera
being guided by a man through the debris. It was captioned: “(Bottom right) The
turn over of possession was received by claimant Rivera 3:45 PM but here,
escorted by a court aide, already asserts possessory control of the property as
early as 2:26 PM.
The third page
of the presentation was a collage done by a sympathizing photographer who
happened to pass by at the time of the demolition. He took shots of the
destruction that took place and laid
them out together with shots of intimate
moments Ka Mao and his family were busy in as the devastation was ongoing,
achieving a composite which prompted Ka Mao to compose a poignant, if pathetic,
caption: “A collage of the pathos that ensued, as documented by a sympathizer.
Having prevailed over so many storms in my life, I seem to be content just
knowing that my three-year-old granddaughter is safe in my arms and my wife
still manages to prepare food at the improvised kitchen. But that infant cry
must sound our unwordable aching for justice.” For at the center of the collage
- surrounded by graphic shots of crushed concrete walls, crumpled corrugated
iron sheets, scattered broken pieces of
wooden beams, twisted iron grills, shattered glass walls, and many other
tell-tale signs of a catastrophe – was a lone picture of Baby Gia wailing in
her crib .
The guy who did
the collage gave it the title: “Family seek justice in unlawful house
demolition & land grabbing incident last November 5, 2005”
At the height of
the demolition operation, Ellen called Ka Mao on the cellphone. She wanted to
know what had happened. She had worked as a medical tehnologist in the state
hospital of Kuwait for over thirty
years, had remained unmarried and had been Ka Mao’s source of material
assistance in times of need. Ka Mao had sent her an urgent message two days
ago, asking for financial help. He was already thinking of finally going the
TRO way just to have a breathing space; he would worry about the bigger amount
that would be entailed by the permanent injunction to come about after three
days. But though Ellen never failed Ka
Mao in all his pleas for help, she just didn’t have the money to send him at
the moment. And so she called, worrying.
“What happened,
Manoy Mauro?” she asked.
“Listen,” said
Ka Mao, and he beamed his cellphone toward the ongoing activity. “Hear that
noise. The iron roof being yanked off, the thuds of sledge hammers on the
concrete walls, and the crash of glass walls, windows and doors. They’re
tearing my house just right now.”
Ka Mao said his
words with a put-on delight so that Ellen must have taken them as a sarcasm and
she broke into tears.
“But, Manoy
Mauro. There’s nothing I can do now. I just don’t have any money to send, If
only you had given me some lead time,” she cried.
“No, Ellen,” Ka
Mao said, seeking to calm her down. “I’m not blaming you. No. I just want to
make things light out of this terrible misery.”
Actually a
thought had crossed his mind at that instance, making him feel like crying,
too, so that he must quickly bid Ellen goodbye and hang up.
At Ellen’s crying, Ka Mao could not help
remembering that as the teams of demolition personnel began wrecking the house,
he had sent a common message to a number of Party comrades through the cellphone:
“Which part of my house have I built for me and my family alone and so me and
my family alone must defend? And which part have I built for the Party and so
the Party must defend it with me and my family?”
Nobody cared to
answer.