by Mary Aileen D. Bacalso
A year ago, I was asked to write an article for a book to be published for the 50th anniversary of the declaration of martial law in the Philippines. I was hesitant at first. My hesitation stemmed from the fact that I do not have first-hand experience of being victimized by martial law.
As the Philippines is entering the 5th decade of the declaration of the iron fist of repression, a book like this is relevant and timely. It has become more relevant after the May 9 national elections when the son of the former dictator, who imposed martial law half a century ago, is sadly, now the new president of the Republic of the Philippines. I believe that sharing my recollection of a past that should never be forgotten and whose hard lessons Filipinos need to learn is a moral responsibility for those who witnessed the horrors of the dark night of martial law.
Recalling the not-so-happy memories of a distant past, a past that continues to haunt the Filipino people with each passing day, while excruciatingly painful, is likewise liberating.
Bitter Childhood Memories
I was nine years old when, by Proclamation No. 1081, the late dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos declared martial law on September 21, 1972. It was the death of freedom and democracy. My father, Mariano Leon Fortich Diez, then Provincial Development Officer of the Presidential Assistant on Community Development (PACD), (which later changed its name to Department of Local Government and Community Development by virtue of Presidential Decree Number 1), was extremely worried about its implications to the country. From him, I heard about the incarceration of the late former Senator Benigno Aquino; the late former Senator Jose W. Diokno; the late former Senator Jovito Salonga; the late We Forum publisher Jose Burgos and many others who languished in jail. My father also shared with me about the curtailment of press freedom, the suspension of the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus, and the dissolution of Congress. We spoke about these things discreetly because as a government officer, he was careful not to say things against the government in public. At nine, I was not fully mature to understand the situation. Neither was I too young not to feel its consequences. The atmosphere of fear was real.
Among other sad news, the following were bits and pieces of information that I gathered in my elementary and high school years:
- The extravagance of the First Lady, Imelda Marcos, seen among others in her projects intended to “beautify” the country, was shameful and scandalous.
- From my home province, there was a massacre in Hinunangan, Southern Leyte. Eight children aged 3-18 were killed by the 357thPhilippine Constabulary. Despite the town’s proximity to Sogod, Southern Leyte, the news never reached my townmates.
- There was secret news about Imee Marcos’ ire against a student activist, Archimedes Trajano. Her anger was caused by the latter’s questioning in an open forum of her leadership in the Kabataang Makabayan just because she was the president’s daughter. This led to Trajano being forcibly thrown out of the forum, blindfolded, beaten, and killed. He was later found after a few days with signs of torture in his lifeless body.
- The huge rallies of student activists in Manila, now known as the First Quarter Storm.
As an elementary and high school student who was taught traditional lessons in Social Studies and Philippine History, I learned nothing about the ills of society. The bits and pieces of information I gathered outside of the classroom were fragmented, bereft of in-depth analysis that could have aided a student’s profound understanding of society.
Fertile Ground for a Lifetime of Human Rights Advocacy
It was then when I studied in an exclusive Catholic school for girls, in St. Theresa’s College (STC) in Cebu City that my awareness of the situation gradually deepened. The school’s social orientation facilitated our exposure to the plight of the different social sectors: the urban poor who were deprived of their right to decent living; the farmers in the hinterlands of Cebu who did not own the land they till; the workers who were victimized by unfair labor practices; the political prisoners who were deprived of their freedom to correct the ills of society…
My affiliation with the Student Catholic Action of the Philippines (SCAP) and the College Editors’ Guild of the Philippines (CEGP) further sharpened my understanding of the signs of the times. The thesis I did, entitled, “A VTR Documentary on the Proposed Philippine Tourism Authority Golf Course Row and Sports Complex” helped me understand better the situation of the poor farmers in the hinterlands of Cebu who, in the name of “development” were violated of their economic, social and cultural rights as well as civil and political rights. Reading the We Forum and attending symposia organized by progressive organizations gave me a better understanding of the country’s situation.
It was in STC when I met Fr. Rudy Romano again – my retreat master in high school, who used to say Mass at the school chapel and in a nearby Redemptorist Church, and whose homilies were anchored on the situation of the poor and the value of solidarity. With him, we frequented rallies and long marches to express our demands related to the different local and national issues.
At the forefront of these demonstrations protesting against the demolition of the urban poor and unfair labor practices, Fr. Rudy earned the ire of the military. On commemorations of International Human Rights Day, in his white cassock, he linked arms with the wretched of the earth. On a number of occasions, he was teargassed, jailed for days, and released. The height of Fr. Rudy’s prophetic ministry was in line with the preferential option for the poor, a concept well-articulated by Latin America’s liberation theology.
The arrest and detention of 22 political activists were one of my recollections when I was in college. Hidden from public eyes ahead of the visit of Pope John Paul ll was their hunger strike. I attended one of the hearings during which, a female detainee, Recah Ruedas fainted, perhaps due to thirst and hunger. Later, I became a friend to two of these detainees, although we did not have the chance to talk about their life in detention.
My four years in college were a combination of academic responsibilities and activism – a foundation that had prepared me for a lifetime of human rights work. My involvement as an associate editor of Star and Catalyst, STC’s official publications was a training ground for further writing responsibilities in the course of my professional life.
During my entire student days – from elementary, high school, and college years, I never knew any president of the Republic of the Philippines other than the late dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos Senior. As a student activist starting at the age of 16, I was no undiscerning spectator. Fortunately, I did not have a first-hand experience of the iron fist of repression.
Leaving the Portals of my Alma Mater, Entering Human Rights Advocacy
A lucrative job could have been a path to choose after my graduation in 1983. But, I opted to work as a publications officer in the now-defunct Visayas Secretariat of Social Action (VISSA), a regional social action arm of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines. The two-year and six months of experience in the institution provided me with opportunities to immerse with the poor, deprived, and oppressed in the different dioceses of the Visayas. It was then that I also integrated myself with the Church hierarchy as well as with social action directors and lay workers who facilitated the delivery of social action programs and services to the “least of His brethren.”
Being part of a team of documenters of the gruesome Escalante massacre was my baptism of fire in my first job. The twenty-minute flight from Cebu City to Bacolod City and a short land trip brought us to Escalante wherein one of the areas we visited, we saw a photo exhibit. I remember a woman in search of a family member. Looking at the photos taken on that ‘Bloody Thursday,’ she found out that her missing son was one of the 30 victims of the massacre. The creation of an official Fact-Finding Team resulted in the imprisonment of only three low-ranking policemen who were subsequently released on parole. The family members of the victims expected the promised indemnification but that never came.
Working in a Church institution exposed me to the reality of the persecution of the progressive segment of the Church. Among many other cases, these included raids of social action centers, the “accidenting” of Fr. Edgar Kangleon, former social action director of the Diocese of Catbalogan, the brutal killing of an Italian priest, Fr. Tulio Favali, the detention and torture of the late Fr. Pete Lucero, the bombing of the convent of Bishop Antonio Fortich, worst of all, the enforced disappearance of Fr. Rudy Romano, CSSR.
With Minet Aguisanda of the then Visayas Ecumenical Movement for Justice and Peace, I traveled to the militarized province of Samar to document the incarceration of Fr. Pedro Lucero. Disguised as relatives of the detained priest, we went inside Camp Lucban, Catbalogan Samar where we discreetly took a photo and got a first-hand testimony of Fr. Lucero’s torture. He vividly shared with us his ordeal. He was mauled, threatened, and tortured by the military. He painfully told us that the perpetrators poured water over his body for 30 minutes. Stripped naked, and abused, he was hit on the head, breast and belly to force him to confess his alleged involvement in the Communist Party of the Philippines.
I am also fortunate to experience fond moments with the late Bishop Antonio Fortich, a staunch critique of the Marcos regime. He was among the most courageous bishops during the Marcos regime. Against the landscape of a worsening armed conflict and rising human rights violations in Western Visayas, the Diocese of Bacolod was blessed to have Bishop Fortich as the good shepherd to the poor and the downtrodden in this sugarcane-rich area. Thus, he earned the ire of the security forces, including the right-wing citizens’ vigilante group, who the prelate blamed for the attempted bombing of his bedroom on 28 April 1987. Known as the “people’s bishop,” Bishop Fortich had a sparrow stuffed and made it into a paperweight to remind him of the continuing struggle. That bird was the sole casualty of the said bombing.
The most unforgettable experience that I had in responding to a case of persecution of a man-of-the-cloth was the enforced disappearance of Fr. Rudy Romano. An ordinary sight during martial law was policemen in shields and truncheons with teargas ready to disperse mass actions. As earlier mentioned, Fr. Rudy was many times arrested, detained for days, and released. Then he continued linking arms with the wretched of the earth.
Yet on that fateful day of 11 July 1985, he was taken by armed men while he was riding his motorcycle and never returned.
In an email interview I had on the eve of Fr. Rudy’s 37th anniversary of his disappearance, with Rev. Fr. Ramon Fruto, then Vicar to the Vice Provincial Superior for Visayas and Mindanao and who later became the Vice Provincial Superior himself, he recalled: “ My fellow Redemptorist priest, Fr. Rudy Romano, was fixing the lock of one of our doors in our Cebu monastery when I last chatted with him on July 11, 1985. It was his hobby to be fixing or re-inventing things. This time he was doing something to the door so that the common key each member of the community had could open it. Before he could finish this task, he got a phone call that he was wanted for some meetings in another part of the city. He left at once. I presumed that the meetings had to do with another of his tasks of “fixing,” this time not some door-lock but some obstacles that hindered the progress of society. Fr. Rudy was not just an amateur mechanic, but by profession, a missionary sent to “bring good news to the poor.”
Looking back to the events that occurred during Fr. Rudy’s enforced disappearance, 37 years ago, I remember my role as a documenter. As part of the VISSA Research and Publications Desk, with my supervisor, Geraldine Mayo, we both went to the site of Fr. Rudy’s disappearance in Labangon where we were able to interview a couple of witnesses who told us that Fr. Rudy was forcibly taken while he was riding his motorcycle by plainclothes men. A few days later, in a news item in a local newspaper, the same people whom we interviewed sadly denied having seen the act of enforced disappearance. Witnesses were silenced, including a brother of a driver who took the witness stand. He was killed because he looked very much like the witness.
On another unforgettable occasion, I, with my VISSA colleagues, was arrested from a picket that we, together with many members from cause-oriented groups, joined at Camp Sergio Osmena to Camp Sotero Cabahug. We were dumped in a six-by-six truck and brought to Camp Sotero Cabahug and detained for seven hours. With the intervention of the late Ricardo Cardinal Vidal, we were released at around 1 AM and we collectively walked in the dark towards the St. Alphonsus Seminary, a place we fondly associated with Fr. Rudy, who made it a sanctuary for tired, weary and hungry activists. The day after, our Executive Secretary, the late Msgr. Jose Borces heaved a sigh of relief in knowing that no one among his team was hurt.
The enforced disappearance of Fr. Rudy and Rolan Levi garnered national and international visibility of the most sustained series of mass actions ever in Cebu City. For more than two months, our whole VISSA team participated in daily rallies where our voices reverberated in all nooks and crannies of the city. We chanted and demanded the release of Fr. Rudy and another activist, Rolan Levi Ybanez who also enforced disappeared on the same day, but in a different place in the city. All these and the many deafening voices at the international level miserably failed to produce the two activists.
Fr. Rudy and Rolan Levi, whose names are engraved in the Bantayog ng mga Bayani or Monument of Heroes, have now joined the hundreds of desaparecidos of the Marcos regime. Fr. Ramon Fruto, in the same email interview, shared: “Down the years, different groups here and abroad clamored for the people responsible for his abduction to surface him, but all the agitation had fallen on deaf ears It has been thirty-seven years since the abduction. We reflect that if, during Pres. Cory Aquino’s administration, the assassination of her husband is still unsolved, what hopes have we of having Fr. Rudy surfaced alive? We, his confreres and friends, have accepted the possibility of his having been liquidated. And so we continue to pray that while he has joined the courageous group of the desaparecidos, his example and the desaparecidos’ witness to freedom, truth, peace and justice be kept alive in our own lives.”
Another story is that of the first priest imprisoned during martial law. A friend of Fr. Edward Gerlock, I had the privilege to read his vivid recollection of what happened.
“I was arrested the first day of martial law but it was house arrest. A few months later, I was brought to Camp Crame. The US embassy offered to help, but only if I agreed to leave voluntarily. The nuncio offered to help [but only toothpaste!]
“In the meantime, Nena Diokno, wife of the late senator, Jose Diokno, sent me a note [saying] that if I decided to stay, she would find me a lawyer. In the meantime, I was moved from [national headquarters of the Philippine National Police Camp] Crame to an immigration prison.
“The best day of my whole life was the day we entered the immigration courtroom. I saw the face of Commissioner Edmundo Reyes when he saw our lawyers. Senator Lorenzo Tañada was next to me. Wow! What a look! Tañada told me that every country has very loose immigration laws so that they can get rid of ‘undesirables.’
“Colonel Rolando Abadilla and squad came to the Asian Social Institute and bodily carried me out of the building and out to the airport. I hid my passport under the mistaken notion that you cannot be deported without a passport. Abadilla looked at me and said: ‘If they allowed me, I would get that passport from you!’ I had no doubt he would. The trial dragged on for 13 months. Finally, I was allowed to stay and had to report to immigration monthly.”
Fr. Gerlock, fortunately, survived to tell his history.
The persecution of the progressive segment of the Churches, both Catholic and Protestant alike, led us to establish the Promotion of Church People’s Rights (PCPR) in the Visayas. It became a national organization with different provincial chapters whose mandate was to protect the right of Church people to serve the poor. I moved from VISSA to become the Executive Secretary of the PCPR-Visayas. Working there for three years, I witnessed the height of the anti-Marcos struggle which saw its peak after the brutal assassination of former Senator Benigno Aquino Senior.
My last days in VISSA coincided with the 1986 people power revolution. It was an era that brought new hopes and provided democratic space to human rights defenders.
Thoughts to ponder
The 21 years of Marcos dictatorship officially ended with the victory of the February 1986 EDSA people power revolution. It was a product of years of conscientization, organizing, and mobilization of the various sectors of society who persistently fought to put an end to one of the darkest periods in Philippine contemporary history. Triggered by the assassination of the late Senator Benigno Aquino Senior and pushed by the influential voice of the late Jaime Cardinal Sin, the end of the Marcos era in 1986 garnered victory for the anti-Marcos struggle, albeit partial.
The people power revolution could have been pursued by a unified search for truth and the attainment of justice. Upgrading the school curricula and utilizing all forms of media could have been the key to massive education of both the young and old alike. Filing cases in courts and winning emblematic cases could have broken the chains of impunity. Allotting human and material resources towards memorialization efforts to preserve the historical memory of those who perished during the tyrannical and rapacious years of martial law could have been significant avenues to remember and learn the lessons of a past that should never be forgotten.
Guarding, preserving, and strengthening the unity that the people’s movement achieved prior to 1986 could have been a key to sustain the gains of the anti-Marcos movement. The peace talks between the Government of the Republic of the Philippines and the Communist Party of the Philippines and other peace processes could have been seriously pursued with sincerity to uproot the causes of unpeace.
As dictators and perpetrators of human rights violations in other countries are being sentenced for the crimes they committed, sadly, Ferdinand R. Marcos Jr., the son of the former dictator now holds the highest position in the land. Worse still, Sara Duterte. daughter of the immediate past president Rodrigo Duterte, guilty of thousands of killings in the context of his “war on drugs”, is the country’s vice president.
Amidst the nagging insistence of lies and oblivion for the sake of false reconciliation and unprincipled peace, all survivors of martial law should never obliterate the past. Instead, let us immortalize the memory of those whose lives were offered on the altar of freedom. The exemplary lives of those who perished during the dictatorship should serve as shadows that will not leave us and that will always inspire us to link arms with the young generations so that they may see the unfolding of a better tomorrow.
About the Author:
Mary Aileen Diez-Bacalso is the president of the International Coalition Against Enforced Disappearances (ICAED). She is likewise a lecturer on Human Rights and Philippine Interests at the Asian Center of the University of the Philippines, Diliman. By dint of her work for victims of enforced disappearances nationally, regionally, and globally, on 10 December 2013, she received the Emilio F. Mignone International Human Rights Prize given by the Government of Argentina. She likewise received the Franco-German Ministerial Prize for Human Rights and the Rule of Law on 12 December 2019. This article was published recently in a book edited and published by Atty. Democrito Barcenas titled MARTIAL LAW IN CEBU — Stories of Life and Struggle During the Marcos Dictatorship.
