Fresh out of college, numerous campus journalists found themselves facing a formidable challenge when Ferdinand Marcos Sr. imposed martial law in 1972, plunging the country into a totalitarian dictatorship that lasted for 14 long years. Stories depicting that dark period continue to be recounted in various mediums such as movies, documentaries, theater, poetry, songs, visual arts, and books. The written word, I dare say, possesses a timeless quality, so let us applaud those courageous souls who write despite the pain that accompanies remembrance.
Amidst the praise for “Serve” (Ateneo de Manila University Press), a collection of stories penned by 19 “fearless college editors from 1969 to 1972, [exploring] how martial law profoundly altered the trajectory of their youth,” it is evident that these narratives offer a unique perspective on their lives during those defining years and the subsequent ones, which provide a clear-eyed understanding of the past. It undoubtedly required great bravery to revisit those memories through writing. As the eyes grow blurry, the heart races, and the blank screen/page evokes myriad images.
Edited by Jo-Ann Q. Maglipon (a dear friend of over four decades!) who belonged to the same generation of campus writers whose lives could have intersected at some crossroads, who treaded the less-traveled paths or faced the perilous forks in the road, and who shared a passion to liberate their homeland from tyranny. Alas, not all of them survived to tell their tales. This book “pays tribute to the memories of friends and comrades who have gone ahead, having given their lives in service to our people. We also dedicate this book to all young Filipinos who dream of a just, free, and prosperous Philippines. We were once like you. We still are.”
“Serve” can serve as a bridge between generations. The authors include Thelma Sioson, Senen D. Glorioso, Elso U. Cabangon, Alexander Aquino, Judy M. Taguiwalo, Manuel M. Dayrit, Derly Magcalen, Eduardo T. Gonzalez, Rey Vea, Jaime A. Florcruz, Chito Sta. Romana, Sonny Coloma, Bob Corrales, Jones T. Campos, Sol Juvida, Mercy M. Corrales, Angie Tocong, Butch Dalisay, and Diwa C. Guinigundo. Some of these names may be familiar to many. Due to space limitations, I cannot include the titles of their stories, which speak for themselves, but here are three examples: Sioson’s “A colegiala speaks: Fighting a most seductive dictatorship with another beguiling ideology,” Dayrit’s “Serving where I must: Stories of a physician who came of age during martial law,” and Sta. Romana’s “Accidental exile becomes steadfast ambassador.” Dalisay’s prologue bookends the stories, while Maglipon and Guinigundo provide an elegantly written epilogue.
However, I am filled with longing to have Maglipon’s speech at the book’s launch on September 9 included within its pages. In her speech, she eloquently listed the reasons for writing this book, which can be found on www.thediarist.ph (“We are here, we remember everything, and we write.”) “So, why this book?” she questioned. “To combat fantasy, amnesia, and self-flagellation. To put an end to the gaslighting of past activists and the resurrection of a dictator’s family. To reject the false and deceitful calls for harmony and unity. To demand apology, atonement, and redress. And yes, to remind those in power—we are here, we remember everything, and we write.” It is worth noting that Maglipon herself was a political detainee.
Allow me to share a few excerpts from these poignant narratives. Taguiwalo recounts, “In 1984, during the waning years of the dictatorship, I was once again imprisoned, this time in Camp Crame. I was granted the use of a manual typewriter. At that time, I was four months pregnant and gave birth to my daughter within the confines of the camp. It was there that I wrote the poem ‘Waling Waling,’ dedicated to Coronacion Chiva, a revolutionary leader of the Hukbalahap Mapagpalaya ng Bayan in Iloilo during the 1950s.” Sta. Romana reveals, “We became wanted individuals. We were facing charges of inciting rebellion or outright sedition due to our role in leading anti-Marcos rallies and demonstrations. Suddenly, returning to the Philippines became an impossibility. One year later, martial law was declared on September 21, 1972. All hopes of returning home vanished. That is how I ended up spending the majority of my adult life in China.” Campos shares, “Merely months later, I discovered that the stranger I had welcomed into my home had betrayed me. Not just me, but many others. This led to my arrest and the arrest of my comrades. And for one dark moment, I must admit, I regretted doing the right thing for another human being on that stormy day.” Sioson, in a letter to her sons, writes, “I do not intend to diminish the daily challenges you face—traffic, slow food deliveries, dead spots. However, I must not withhold from you the knowledge that during our time, our primary concern was who among our colleagues or friends had vanished into the night, never to be seen again.”
Now, it’s time for you to share your martial law story. As for mine, it can be found in “Better Dead than Read: The Years of Writing Dangerously,” published in the Sunday Inquirer Magazine. Remember. Write. Let your voice be heard.
Denial of responsibility! Vigour Times is an automatic aggregator of Global media. In each content, the hyperlink to the primary source is specified. All trademarks belong to their rightful owners, and all materials to their authors. For any complaint, please reach us at – [email protected]. We will take necessary action within 24 hours.
