Quite a significant number of the First Batch of the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila (PLM) students, your elder Kuya and Ate, joined the protest movements in the street rallies and demonstrations in the early ’70s to denounce the country’s corruption and injustices.
This era is known as the First Quarter’s Storm (FQS) in the 70s when the First Batch, supported by the succeeding two batches, unitedly joined with other students from other universities in shouting “Makibaka Huwag Matakot” while marching in protest actions in Plaza Lawton, Mendiola Bridge and various streets in Metro Manila.
The writer, an old journalist about to fade, I’d like to share this little story, a part of his alma mater’s history, that once upon a time, its sons and daughters had dared to struggle and share their collective voice of protest.
Some of us had got beaten by police truncheons, hauled to prison, and one young woman who was supposed to graduate cum laude—Lily Hilao- had been reportedly raped and killed by her military captors. Although I had not seen Lily actively joining demonstrations, she showed her activism through her writings; she was the editor-in-chief of the school paper, Hasik.
We held protest graduations several times, holding up placards in the middle of the ceremonies. Being” skolars ng bayan’, it was quite a challenge to join this kind of protest without provoking the school to take drastic actions.
However, the school officials refrained from doing anything that might provoke more actions from the students, most probably thinking that it was part of the student’s academic freedom.
For our part, maybe because of so much bombardment of Ethics subjects in our curriculum, we never messed up our school building walls by scribbling with protest graffiti, and no part of the school had ever been vandalized.
We had done our part when the situation called for our active participation in denouncing injustices and corruption.
These days, some people have attempted to rewrite Philippine history by claiming that Martial law in the Philippines has never existed. It was just a figment in some people’s imagination.
Former President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law supposedly to check the growing threat of the “communists” and the “rebellion” in Mindanao. But the truth was President Marcos imposed martial law to prolong his stay in office.
It’s hard to believe that these people even have the guts to claim that Marcos’s years were the “golden years” of the Philippines.
Let me share with you my experience as a former political detainee.
After more than 50 years, I find it difficult to recall all the details of my experience in prison.
I’m sure my military captors didn’t put me behind bars, and I didn’t stay long in my incarceration inside Camp Crame, the headquarters of the dreaded Metrocom unit under Col. Rolando Abadilla.
However, I can only remember that it was a short detention. I cannot even recall how I got home, who accompanied me in going home upon my release.
The only things vivid in my mind are how I experienced seeing my Nanay and Tatay worrying a lot about me and my Mom’s black hair turning white in a few days.
My Mom’s black hair turned grey overnight because of my arrest. When they visited me, I felt like a flickering candle slowly dying.
Deep inside, I was crying and hard-hit with guilt; I knew that I could bear any physical suffering except seeing my Mom suffer too much and worse of all, I could not do anything to ease their pain.
I was ready to face the consequences of my actions, but I could not bear to see my parents suffering so much due to my arrest.
Eventually, they released me upon signing an amnesty proclamation issued by President Marcos. On my release from prison, I had to report to Camp Crame authorities every other day to tell them my whereabouts, and with a warning to leave Metro Manila only after informing them.
This piece of mine will only be complete without mentioning the name of Lt. Col. Jaime Liwanag, who helped me process my release order upon signing my amnesty papers. At the time of my arrest, he was a lieutenant assigned to the Military Police Intelligence Service, the predecessor of Metrocom.
Upon my arrest, Lt.Liwanag immediately recognized me as a PLM student because before he got assigned to Metrocom, he was one of our regular army officers who had been training us as ROTC cadets in the PLM.
Our paths crossed once again when I became a reporter for the Times Journal, and he was Lt. Col. Liwanag, whose assignment was at the Land Transportation Agency in the early 80s.
The experiences of your Kuya and Ate as activists in the 70s have made them strong-willed and more principled men and women–never allowing anyone to break our integrity, come what may.
In short, we kept vigil at night; we did our part, not minding the consequences of our actions on our lives. How could I forget some of these schoolmates—Willie, Danny, Johnny, Rey, Myrna, Edna, Helen, Bernie, James, Orly and many others who stood their ground against all odds?*********