Do you know Cesar C. Climaco?

“Reserba uno de ese para comigo (Reserve one of these for me),” he jokingly said upon seeing the coffins displayed in a funeral home after inspecting the scene of a fire just across the street. For his constituents, there was nothing unusual with his demeanour on that fateful morning as he would always love to crack jokes, playing pranks on people, and guffaw like a clown even on the face of many adversities.

Yet, for all his supposed uncanny ways, he was a spellbinder and an insightful sage who minces no words when corruption in government was in the saddle. In a time where even lowly men in uniform strutted like generals and generals like congressmen, he would relentlessly pounce on them and denounce each abuse openly.

But of all his many endowments, the most admirable and effective was his sense of humour. This gift was all too clearly manifested in his black-on-orange felt paper sign in front of his office desk that reads: “I’m not a dirty old man; I’m a sexy senior citizen.” Thus equipped, this once celebrated clown of the anti-Marcos Opposition would humour anyone -- even the strongman in Malacańang to no exception− on the blatant realities of life under a tyrannical regime.

Murder in broad daylight

At 10:30 a.m. on November 14, 1984, however, that lasting cruel joke as the song goes, was on him. Moments after leaving the funeral home, he boarded his Honda blue motorcycle and slowly waded through the traffic. Unknowingly, lurking behind him was a man in denim pants and blue checked shirt, tasked to stealthily walked up to him, and fire at him in close range. Bang! As quick as the fatal bullet, the lone gunman fled, almost leisurely amongst the milling crowd, leaving the 68-year-old victim not even a hint of life.

As any assassination movie, we suspect, if not assume that his enemies must have thought they had the last laugh, a one big laugh. But I beg to laugh it off too.

Who is Cesar C. Climaco?

Cesar Cortes Climaco is a modern-day hero; I mention this fact not only with pride as a fellow Chavacano but, more importantly, to highlight the dearth of information we know about him. I was barely 4 when Climaco was mayor of Zamboanga City, a position he loved dearly until his death. But my naivety was never a hindrance to appreciate the endearing stories about him, recounted not by politicos of today, but of simple folks –of true Zamboangueños− who were there when it happened. Thus, it is always with great pride that I talk about a valiant man from the South against a history largely muddled by the North.

Starting as a lowly janitor in the Court of Appeals while taking up law at the University of the Philippines, he was to rise by dint of his extraordinary abilities to hold local elective and national appointive positions. He began his political career as city councilor of Zamboanga in 1953 and in the same year, he was designated mayor of the city. From then on, Climaco became the first elected city mayor (1956-1961) for two consecutive terms. His bravery and integrity in public service, however, did not escape the watchful eye of President Diosdado Macapagal. Suddenly, Climaco was fished out of local politics and was made to handle delicate positions in the national government. In no time he was appointed by President Macapagal as commissioner of the Bureau of Customs, Economic Coordinator and head of Presidential Assistance on Community Development Office, among others.

Pillar of the anti-Marcos opposition

But it was his role, as one Filipino statesman put it, as “pillar” of the anti-Marcos opposition that Cesar C. Climaco shone the brightest.

When President Marcos imposed martial law, some opposition figures went scampering and running like rats for fear of incarceration and sought refuge in the US. And though he was initially one of the many who did actually, he grew restive as the sharp nails of the martial law rule continue to pierce his beloved country and countrymen. It was time to come home.

In 1980, Cesar Climaco founded the Concerned Citizens Aggrupation (CCA), a regional political party that was supposed to be a rallying point for those who were opposed to the Marcos regime. Responding to the popular clamor, Climaco once again ran for mayor and won the race handily. Later in 1984, with the opposition in Manila seemingly fragmented over the recurring issue on whether to join or boycott the Batasan elections, Climaco chose the former. Pitted against two formidable candidates closely identified with the Marcos regime, his opponents were no match for Climaco’s charisma. As a sign of protest, however, he refused to serve as member of the farcical Batasan Pambansa until after he served his full term as mayor of Zamboanga much to Mr. Marcos’s chagrin.

Probably however, the most indelible mark left by Climaco- that that irked his fiercest enemies was when he set up in front of the city hall a scoreboard which noted all the kidnappings, holdups, and murders that had taken place during his last stint as mayor. The scoreboard was eventually smeared with red paint by unidentified persons in early October of 1983, but the glaring figures spoke for themselves: 899 residents killed, 95 kidnapped, 817 robbed. Undoubtedly, flaunting these unsolved crimes and human rights violation was Climaco’s strife against the god in Malacanang.

“No, Marcos did not lift martial rule. He only tilted it.”

But Cesar Climaco could not be bullied nor cowed by anyone, not even by a home-grown despot. After all, he was not dubbed as “the Arsenio Lacson of the South” for nothing. While reservations for this moniker is being entertained in my end for the reason that the man deserves to be placed in our popular history as simply the “Cesar Climaco of Zamboanga,” incomparable to no one, this humble recognition is being welcomed whole heartedly. After all, he should not only be remembered for his promise to have his gray hair cut vis a vis the repeal of Marcos’ infamous decree. He, more importantly, must also be accorded the honor to be included in the galaxy of heroes that led to the reclamation of our democracy. In fact when martial law was lifted many years later, Climaco remained apprehensive, brushed the discharge of his promise and instead tossed a repartee: “No, Marcos did not lift martial rule. He only tilted it.”

Indeed, the 45.-caliber bullet that crashed his nape did not ultimately crash his spirit. He knew they were out to get him sooner or later. In fact, he left traces that could untangle the shrouded mystery and myth of his death; he was spot on when he said that those he fought because of abuses, including the military, could one day strike back. And yes, they did. But who’s really laughing now? In less than two years after his ignominious death, the militarized regime of Mr. Marcos collapsed; dictatorship too went inside the casket paving the way for the resurrection of democracy in the country.

Photo credit: LA Zamboanga Times courtesy of Mr. John Shinn III

Lest we forget

Forty-two years ago, Ferdinand Marcos issued Proclamation No. 1081 declaring martial law and proceeded to rule the country without accountability− not even to the Constitution that he had sworn to serve. Today, we remember September 21 not as a “National Thanksgiving Day” but a sad episode in our nation’s history.

Martial law stumbled in our midst like a thief in the night. It’s like suddenly waking up the next day with a strange gut feel that something seemed not right. Nevertheless, you squandered around, hoping to confirm your suspicious thoughts. And there, you discover the systematic looting; your precious human rights, stolen, robbed!

The day the nation stood still

Contrary to popular belief, it was on the night of September 22, 1972 when Proclamation 1081 had gone full steam. It appears that September 21─the official date of commemoration─ refers to the actual signing of the proclamation and it was only on September 23, 1972 when martial law was made known to the public. Later though, Marcos revealed that he really signed the martial law edict on September 17, 1972.

So our story begins on September 23, a Saturday morning when a certain eerie of silence jolted the nation from deep slumber. Everybody woke up without newspapers on their doorsteps. On TV, except in one station where the national anthem was repeatedly played, broadcasting had been stopped. Nothing on TV but ‘snow’ and static on radio. The streets of Metro Manila were said to be virtually uninhabited and abandoned like a lifeless city.

Hours passed, still no newspapers. People grew restive as fear and panic began to set in. Something terrible was certainly in the offing, baffled Filipinos must have thought. By nightfall, news started to circulate that FM would address the nation and everybody was told to stay put. At exactly 7:15 p.m. that day, the cat was finally out of the bag as the President appeared on national television saying that he had just declared Martial Law.

That day was said to be the beginning of one of the darkest eras in Philippine history.

Benefit of the doubt

While many people view martial law today as a metaphor for everything that is corrupt, oppressive and detestable, President Marcos saw things very differently when he issued the proclamation. And for a while, many ordinary Filipinos then, tired of traditional politics and economic instability, also gave Marcos the benefit of the doubt. Obviously, they did not mind exchanging their civil and political freedoms for the material necessities of daily existence like stable a job, regular food on the table, and probably, a secured future for their children. In fact even in the academe, a great number of intelligentsias did think of Marcos’ theory of revolution as offering the possibilities of correcting the ills of society.

Marcos feared history

Of the qualities that made Ferdinand Marcos who he was, his sense of history appeared to be very prominent in his decision points. He used the lessons of the past to hold on to power longer than any Philippine president to date. But he also viewed history prospectively which explains why he left diaries, speeches and wrote a great deal of books to aid scholars, and probably confound history buffs.

As early as 1966, on the day of his first inauguration as President, the lines appear quite clearly drawn for Marcos. Driven by his obsession with national greatness and passion, Marcos had seemingly nothing but deep-seated contempt for the status quo since he occupied the presidency. But it was only in 1971, through his book entitled, “Today’s Revolution: Democracy” when the handwriting on the wall began to appear more legibly: martial law was imminent.

Marcos began with a straightforward diagnosis on the national condition: “Ours tends to be an oligarchic society…the consequence is an oligarchic order or an oligarchic democracy.” A year later, this time on “Notes on the New Society of the Philippines,” (1972) Marcos finally launched his creative vision, one that has no parallel in Philippine history in terms of boldness and conception, he said: “the fundamental task of drastic political reform is to democratize the entire political system.” Although a product of the old system of politics, Marcos saw the need to turn against it and embarked on a journey that would radicalize the social order controlled by the political elite. Sensing the situation had reached a point of crisis, Marcos seized his moment in history and waged a ‘democratic revolution,’ one that was often bruited by martial law ideologues as peaceful, legal and constitutional.

Revolutionary president or despot?

It is said that Marcos had planned all along to perpetuate himself in power. One obstacle, however, could have prevented him from doing so − the 1935 Constitution. But Marcos knew his constitution forward and backward, and understood its potential thoroughly. Being a brilliant lawyer, Marcos dared to stretch the limits of the fundamental law, studied the cracks in the constitutional structure and experimented them to the bitter end. That he did, and got away with handily.

I have no memories of martial law. I was born exactly the same year when martial law was nominally lifted. And I dare not challenge the facts. They are here to stay. But facts can’t be selective. Neither should we. Martial law years is the martial rule not only with its infamous human rights violation or curtailment of basic freedoms, but it is also about a national vision, a dream which unfortunately was not realized. If at all, every September 21 can be and is also a day to celebrate our gratefulness for the freedoms we enjoy today.

Ferdinand E. Marcos− the "dictator"− is dead but his revolutionary ideology will be remembered long in history by different people in different ways.– Rappler.com

Photo credit: Pres. Ferdinand Emmanuele E. Marcos Facebook Page/Claro Enrique Bonoan Mini-Library

Ninoy Aquino: The unforgotten martyr?

China Airlines Flight 811 was no ordinary flight.

At about 11:15 am on August 21, 1983, China Airlines Boeing 767 bound for Manila, carrying over a hundred passengers, cleared the Taipei runway.

Of the passengers on board, the traveller in seat 14-C on the aisle, second section coach, seemed to enjoy considerable attention from the international press. A few passengers also kept him busy throughout the flight with handshakes and requests for autographs; young Filipino women kissed him, giggling as they wiped away the lipstick smudge on his rosy cheeks. Instantly, he was the dazzling politician again.

The traveller was obviously carrying a sham passport which bore the name of “Marcial Bonifacio,” a name that stood for martial law and his old dungeon, Fort Bonifacio. But the bold initials “BSA” etched on the breast patch of his cream safari suit gave him away all too quickly.

Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr, the erstwhile undisputed leader of the opposition, was finally returning home after 3 years in exile.

As the plane winged to Manila, Ninoy prayed to himself, his fingers sliding along the beads of his rosary. Then he stood up and went to the restroom and donned his bullet proof vest. As the plane touched down, his brother-in-law turned to him and said, “Noy, we’re home.”

Ninoy looked up and gave the mysterious Mona Lisa smile as a response. This is it! I can only imagine Ninoy’s growing sense of anxiety as he sat there waiting for the events to unfold – the final act of the tragedy that he himself had predicted moments earlier.

Meanwhile, thousands had come to the airport eager to welcome Ninoy. The streets heading to the airport were filled with people coming from different parts of Metro Manila. Yellow ribbons were draped over buses and jeeps and even around trees symbolizing the return of a freed prisoner.

At the airport’s VIP Lounge, another crowd was in place. Family and close friends, including Ninoy’s 73-year-old mother Doña Aurora, as well as some of the grand old names in the opposition headed by Ninoy’s childhood buddy, Doy Laurel, converged in one piece.

At about 1:00 pm the welcoming group decided to move out of the lounge as Ninoy’s plane taxied smoothly toward Gate 8. But as the group approached the doors leading to the tube, they were in for a surprise – all doors were locked. They simply could not move out of the room. What was left was a tiny glass opening and so one of them had to peep through and motioned the guards to open the door. The guards, although visibly shaken, simply ignored them. And so they tried to force the door open, but to no avail. When queried why the doors were locked, all the military officers could say was: “We are only following orders!”

Suddenly, one of the glass doors opened. But it was too late. Passengers started to come out in droves, their faces looking scared and grim. In a split of second, news broke out that Ninoy had arrived. He had come home for the last time.

Almost 50 seconds since he stood up from seat 14-C, a single shot coming from the back of his head sent Ninoy Aquino straight to immortality…and to martyrdom.

Exile years

Almost 3 years before his fateful homecoming, Ninoy Aquino spent 7 years and 7 months in solitary confinement at Fort Bonifacio only to be released on May 8, 1980. Ninoy then was stricken with severe chest pains while in detention and had to undergo a delicate form of triple-pass heart surgery. By stroke of humanitarianism (and people may argue…let them), President Ferdinand Marcos allowed his arch political rival to travel to the United States on condition that he would not speak out against the Marcos regime while abroad.

The operation was successful and Ninoy recovered. For the next 3 years, Ninoy Aquino had seemingly no reason to return home. Not only did he live a happy life with his friends and family in Boston, he was also offered and accepted fellowships at the prestigious Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

But Ninoy Aquino became increasingly restive as news from home grew worse. Although one of the conditions of his “temporary release” was to refrain from making any derogatory statements against the Marcos regime, Ninoy finally decided to break the pact: “A pact with the devil is no pact at all.”

From then on, Ninoy Aquino was back to his old self again. He lectured from one forum to another, travelled to many countries of the world, armed with a single message – democracy must be restored in the Philippines and he is willing to pay the price.

It seemed for Ninoy Aquino, no amount of rational options could darken the lure of a lifelong ambition – the highest office. Many of his friends, prominent figures in politics, tried to dissuade him from returning to the Philippines as a death sentence awaited him in Manila. They knew he would be killed in no time.

But Ninoy Aquino understood history very well. He intimated that the Spaniards made a big mistake when they recalled and shot Rizal when they could have simply ended his life via a mere exile. In other words, Ninoy Aquino did not fear death as much as he feared obscurity. He knew the perils of his homecoming, and he was all for it.

Of the many accounts in the granary of Ninoy’s homecoming, Doy Laurel’s memoirs “Neither Trumpets Nor Drums,” published in 1992, deserves a fair hearing and is quoted below:

MY LAST VISIT TO NINOY:

I looked at my watch. It was 9:40 am. As we were nearing the airport, my last visit to Ninoy in Boston crossed my mind. Cory was cooking in the kitchen. Using the hot weather as alibi, Ninoy suggested that we go outside the house to see his Akita pet dog. Once outside, he confided to me that he had only two more years to live. Since his heart bypass operation, he said his days had been numbered. Instead of dying in bed or being run-over by a Boston taxicab, he told me he would rather die in his own country, meaningfully and with a big splash. And so he was willing to face all risks attending his homecoming.

Martyrdom in hindsight

It would seem that Ninoy’s ambition, or obsession, so to speak, did not reach reality. But no, reality bit us hard that it actually did. We celebrate his martyrdom today. His widow, Cory became the very first woman President. His youngest, Kris continuously awes the public with her mediocrities and notoriety. His second child, Noynoy, is our incumbent president, as if governing a country runs in genes or worst, as if governance (not even good governance) is a right transferrable to heirs.

Undoubtedly, he knew what he wanted and he knows how to get it. He died in vain and so he was never forgotten. This is not to malign the dead especially on the day the nation celebrates the death anniversary of one of its beloved heroes, but seriously, apart from his death what else can we remember about Ninoy Aquino?

From statutes, peso bills, airports, banners, T-shirts to streets, books and all, why has Ninoy acquired "the force of symbols" more than any other Filipino mythical figure like Claro M. Recto or Jose P. Laurel? Again, he knew what he wanted and he knows how to get it: “the big splash.” The big splash! – Rappler.com


Photo credits: History Channel/Celia-Diaz Laurel

Featured Article: “Her Story”: Loving, leaving and living the laurels

Personal experience undoubtedly remains the paramount repository of any narrative. While other writers can still spin off reality from an entirely fictitious recount, the natural sensitivity and sincerity of a narrative can only come from one’s life trove.

If the above statement is the gauge, then "The Colors of My Life: Celia Diaz-Laurel – Painter,” the first of a book trilogy series is indubitably an exemplar. While it is an easy read, its short yet fluid recollection of experiences repaints not only the past relevant to her, but also the past germane to all us. Coiled in her own reminiscence of the 86 years that had gone by, the widow of the late Vice President Salvador H. Laurel incidentally was able to relay significant points of our history too.

Written without a single trace of being an octogenarian, the first book consists mainly of Celia Diaz Laurel’s journey from her native town of Talisay, Negros Occidental until her later years in UP Diliman as a budding Fine Arts student. However, aside from her theatrical and oratorical triumphs which raised her from college anonymity, memorable are her personal anecdotes about her esteemed professors like Fernando Amorsolo and Guillermo Tolentino, both of whom became national artists in their respective fields.

Also noteworthy is her recount of the first Oblation, its association with Rizal and his Mi Ultimo Adios, its journey from the Padre Faura campus to its “new” Diliman campus in Quezon City and its trite censorship in the form of a fig leaf. A personal favorite though is the story about the Maria Makiling sculpture, of the mountain “nymph” which freaked out her mother-in-law – yes, by mother-in-law, we refer to the wife of the Second President of our Republic, Dr. Jose P. Laurel.

The generous revelation of truly private stories like these, details that even history books, do not divulge or cannot divulge for lack of reference, make people like Dr. Jose P. Laurel, human.

Without a doubt, by sharing “her story,” not only through words but also widely through her art works; she too imparts a part of our history. Timed during the post Japanese occupation, the interesting stories of the earliest UP, and the rise of arts and theatre with the likes of Amorsolo and Tolentino leading the hurdle are the humble yet worthy “asides” of this coffeetable book. Ultimately though, it is the magnificent masterpieces of Madame Celia Diaz Laurel, her narratives in paints, which is the heart of this publication.

Loving a Laurel

And of course, “her story” would not be complete without “his story.” Since the first book shares her unforgettable collegiate hay years in the UP College of Fine Arts, a no mention of Doy Laurel is highly improbable. In fact, the mere reference of Doy Laurel and their sweet friendship and courtship through poetry, every now and then in the book, is sure to give the readers a reason to smile. Needless to say, this college loving has accorded her the “better half” of Doy Laurel title –a moniker she has full heartedly accepted and assumed until this very day.



Leaving her laurels

Now at 86, Celia Diaz-Laurel remains to be primarily known as the widow of Doy Laurel –a detail she seems to discount. In fact, according to the colophon of a book she has authored, she is “the constant wife” of the late VP Doy Laurel.

Unknown however to many, Celia Diaz-Laurel, away from the shadows of her husband, is an established writer, painter and thespian. And like the late VP, Celia Diaz-Laurel belongs to a gallant lineage too, being the granddaughter of Domingo Franco, one of the 13 Martyrs of Bagumbayan – the unsung heroes of the Philippine revolution. She also has an impeccable educational pedigree with a Yale University degree to add up to her laurels.

At any rate, she is incomparable with other widows of famous local politicos who attempted or forced attention to be drawn in their favor, she did not try to level, compete with or ride on the popularity of her late husband. This even if she can. She held her guns and she held them tight. Truly a woman of class and candor, Celia Diaz Laurel dared not steal the show from Doy, that, even after his death. If at all loving a Laurel means leaving her own laurels behind, it was a fate she seemed to have proudly conceded to.

Living with the Laurels and their laurels

Following his death, there was a conscious and collective effort to preserve the memories of the former Vice President. Thus, despite the laborious transport of the late Vice President’s whole library and his other effects from their Shaw mansion to their 4-hectate Holiday Hills property in San Pedro, Laguna, the Laurel matriarch dedicatedly heeded to the duty. Now, the Salvador H. Laurel Museum and Gardens houses, preserves and celebrates the beginning and glorious days of the late statesman. Alongside, Celia Diaz Laurel, being the writer that she is, has also immortalized many times over in her books her beloved Doy, livening his aspirations and love for the Philippines.

Arranged in a meticulously laden ensemble, Doy’s personal and political effects in the Laurel Museum are too inviting for a fastidious scrutiny. Strangely though, a visit to the Laurel Museum will not only touch one’s historical penchants. In fact, more than its admirable grandeur, that hilltop haven will forever imprint on me as a wife’s undying love and loyalty for her beloved husband. Without a doubt, the Laurel Museum displays an aura of a well kept “home” with an evident personal touch of the lady of the house. It also exudes a kind of love that is both selfless and timeless. In fact, except for a Fernando Amorsolo oil painting portrait of her and a single framed picture in the library, the museum is entirely dedicated to Doy and his Laurel lineage – a proof of Celia Diaz Laurel’s full embrace of being and living with the Laurels and their laurels.

Indubitably, Madame Celia Diaz Laurel has been, for decades, raconteur to Doy Laurel’s story but the time has come for the light to shine on her.

"The Colors of My Life: Celia Diaz Laurel – Painter," the first of a trilogy of books was launched yesterday, June 18, 2014 at the Executive House, Maramag St. corner Tavera St., Area 14, University of the Philippines Diliman, Quezon City. Graced by no less than UP President Alfredo Pascual and other influential people like Teddy Locsin Jr., Manny Villar, House Speaker Sonny Belmonte, Sen. Joker Arroyo, former Prime Minister Cesar Virata, Sen. Jun Magsaysay, Philippine Star columnist Babes Romualdez, Cecile Guidote-Alvarez, Willie Nepomuceno among others, the event also exhibited some of Madame Celia's impressive works as a painter.

Congratulations to Madame Celia Diaz Laurel and the rest of her family and staff for the successful and well-attended book launch.

Editors Note: The author, Donna Dimaano-Bonoan, teaches at the University of the Philippines Los Banos.

Photo credits belong to Cocoy Laurel and to my perpetual photographer...the author herself, my wife Donna.