'Demarcosification'

By Antonio J. Montalvan II



GRIM reminders of Marcos and martial rule are always helpful nudges to our collective memories. Of late, there were two. There was the destruction of the giant Marcos bust in Benguet that was hailed by many. Then there was the critically acclaimed Chito Rono period movie "Dekada '70." You can add a third, the much belated expos‚ of the Marcos loyalist leaders against Imelda, but which others have viewed with skepticism.

I find it disturbing that today's young who were born and raised in the post-Marcos years are not reminded and taught enough about this dark passage in the life of the nation with the Marcoses, largely due to the short memories of those who lived through it. That is why every iota of effort to remind us is an inch nearer to the ideal which is the final closure of the Marcos chapter in our nation's life.

An effort toward that end was launched late last year in Mindanao. This is the first volume of the book "Turning Rage Into Courage: Mindanao Under Martial Law" published by MindaNews Publications under the editorship of former PDI columnist Carolyn O. Arguillas.

The publishers deem its publication as an act of courage in itself. Not that there was anything to fear. But how can one ever truly document the martial law years in Mindanao? One certainly cannot keep track of all the Marcos victims. To begin with, many have passed away, including those whose voices were summarily silenced. Some are still grieving over the loss of loved ones who disappeared. Mindanao had the most number of human rights violations under martial law. Others are now comfortably ensconced in government positions. So the publishers are truly correct in saying that coming out with the book is an act of courage that for many years "only remained in the realm of the damgo (dream)."

The book gathers together a motley blend of Mindanawons who each had a story, a poem and a song to share: children of departed human rights advocates, writers and poets (Salah Jubair, Jose Torres Jr., Edith Eco, Freddie Navarro Salanga, Eman Lacaba, Emil Corrales, Boy Mordeno, etc.), politicians (Nene Pimentel, Roger Antalan, etc.), NGO workers (Irene Santiago, Gus Miclat, Abas Candao, etc.), religious (Archbishop Orlando Quevedo, Fr. Jun Mercado, Sr. Juliet David, Paring Bert Alejo, Fr. Picx Picardal, etc.), former detainees (Bro. Karl Gaspar, Mac Tiu, etc.), academicians (the Rodils, Don Pagusara, etc.), songwriters (Saro Banares, Lolita Carbon, Joey Ayala), etc., etc.

Some were just babies then. Ding Ilagan was a boy of 4 years when his father, the late Davao human rights lawyer Laurente Ilagan, was detained in Bicutan and charged with rebellion. "Little did I know that my father was sacrificing family life and even putting his very life on the line by taking the cudgels for those who were oppressed."

Nikki Philline dela Rosa relates that her first glimpse of the world included "barbed wires because my father was detained when I was barely seven months old." Liwayway Ester Magaway recalls the time in 1973 when she was 8 years old when her Tatay was sacked from his company in Cotabato for organizing a union there. Vanessa Almeda remembers the time in her childhood when a helicopter hovered above and out alit Imelda Marcos. This was in Surigao City "where the Marcoses were considered gods."

Dindo Balucos was born in 1972 in a small barrio. Later as a gradeschooler, he remembers how they were made to sing over and over the Marcos propaganda song "Bagong Lipunan." But he especially remembers their neighbor Nong Sebio who was summarily shot in his own house in the presence of his wife Nang Teria, by the paramilitary CHDF.

There are fond remembrances of the more well-known who perished in those dark years: of Zamboanga City Mayor Cesar Climaco and Archbishop Quevedo's poem and homily on the brutal slaying of Fr. Tullio Favali.

There is the poignant poem in memory of a desaparecido friend "Waiting (for Fe)" by Daniel Belarmino Ong who grew up in Sultan Kudarat and Maguindanao where he witnessed the horrors of war against the Moro communities in the early 1970s.

No, this book is not just about leftists and for leftists. It is about everyone and it is for everyone, politically uninclined or not. The book's introduction says it well: "Those who survived those years owe it to today's and tomorrow's generation to let them know what it was and how it was like then, to let them appreciate more the value of freedom, of love, of service, of death. No, this is not a book about simply remembering. This is a book about taking a stand, about sacrificing personal dreams, and even lives, for causes larger than one's own."

In a way, there would have been no need for reminders such as this. For around us we see remnants of Marcosian culture: in the continuing despicable practice of torture by the military and police to extract a suspect's confession, in grandstanding and self-serving politicians who wish to extend their terms via Cha-cha, in egocentric local government officials who behave like warlords-like the city mayor of my place who moves around in three heavily tinted pick-up vehicles including a police SWAT mobile all filled up with bodyguards. Perhaps having a Marcos once was not enough.

Imee Marcos was once asked by Howie Severino on TV what her own thoughts were on "closure" -- meaning the resolution of all Marcos cases and the indemnification of all human rights victims. Turning to the late cartoonist Nonoy Marcelo, the congresswoman said: "What's he saying? I do not understand what he is saying by closure."

Of course she does not understand. That she is reportedly eyeing a Senate seat in 2004 means she will probably never understand.

When, oh when, shall we ever have a real, genuine, lasting demarcosification in this country?

* * *

Comments to monta@sni.ph