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RESONANCE: THE SOUTHERN TAGALOG 10*

By Bonifacio P. Ilagan
She showed me a scar on her left leg. It was our first meeting in a long time, and that
she had been shot was an unwelcome detail in her long story. What else might my
sister have gone through? I asked how it happened.
Well, a kasama was cleaning his rifle. It just went off, she remarked with a
nonchalance that showed how she had been steeled in the peoples struggle against the
Marcos dictatorship.
I did not anticipate meeting my sister at all. She was deep in the underground
movement against the Marcos military regime, and I was a political detainee who had
just been granted provisional liberty. One day, however -- I am unsure now whether it
was in late 1976 or early 1977, she sent me a message: She would like to see me. And
so, there we were, sharing stories in a peasants house in an interior village in
Calauan, Laguna.
In July of 1977, I got another letter from her. She wanted to see me again, this time,
somewhere in Katipunan, Quezon City. She waved by the roadside. As she spoke of
a problem that I sensed to be rather serious, she carried her signature countenance -pleasant, reassuring.
We need help, Kuya. We are missing a couple of our members.
What do you mean missing?
We suspect that they have been taken in by the military. Our posts are under
surveillance. We are being trailed.
We need to transfer to another house, added my sisters companion.
I knew precisely what kind of help they badly needed. OK, Ill have one house
ready for you, I assured them. We agreed on the details of our next meeting.
My sister did not come, even as I waited long enough. That got me worried. Shortly
afterwards, Estrell Consolacion, a former member of Panday-Sining, who had
contacts with the underground, confirmed my worst fears. My sister was now among
the missing.
In September 1977, about two months after that fateful meeting, my play, the daring
anti-dictatorship liturgy Pagsambang Bayan (Peoples Worship), was performed by
the UP Repertory at the University of the Philippines, directed by Behn Cervantes. It
was only the fifth year of the Marcos martial law regime. Nevertheless, in the playbill,
----------------------This piece was written in 2006.

I dedicated it to my sister Lina and her seven companions who disappeared without a
trace. (I did not know at that time that there were 10 of them in the group.) They were
all activists belonging to the anti-martial law network of the peoples movement in
Southern Tagalog (ST). Some of them, like my sister, worked underground, while
others performed functions aboveground. Due to the circumstances surrounding their
disappearance, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that their abductors were
government military intelligence operatives.
--It was July 31, 1977. Atty. Bienvenido Faustino was belatedly celebrating his 48th
birthday with the family. In the middle of the merriment, Gerry, the elder of his two
children, arrived to greet him. But he would not stay long.
Cmon, Kuya, Joey, Gerrys younger brother, needled him, stay, so we can have a
drink!
Gerry ruffled his brothers hair. Joey was just 13.
Atty. Faustino wanted Gerry to stay, too, but knew that the son had to leave. Gerry
was in his junior year at the UP College of Agriculture in Los Baos, Laguna. The
campus was a long trip from Novaliches, Quezon City. Gerry was always home on
weekends until he became involved in the movement.
Be careful, Gerry, the father said.
Atty. Faustino knew what the movement was about. It was all about fighting a
government that throve on repression to impose its will on the people, and its willing
instrument was the whole military apparatus that, ironically, was sworn to serve the
citizenry. The movement was about fighting a system that exploited and oppressed
the masses, the masa who were getting poorer by the day while an elite class
wallowed in wealth and abundance. How could he have the heart to prevent his son
from being involved in such a movement?
Just be very careful, my son.
In fact, Gerry wanted to be a soldier, and had wished to enter the Philippine Military
Academy. But he acquired a social consciousness early enough to make him change
his mind. He took up agriculture because he thought that it was the better choice to
help the people. In the UP College of Agriculture, however, and in the context of the
despotic martial rule, there was an even better option: to take part in the mass
movement for freedom and democracy.
Gerry did not proceed to the campus. He was first attending an important conference
of the movement. He passed by the house of Marie Jopson in San Francisco del
Monte. If I am not back after five days, start looking for me, he told Marie, a
student leader in UP Los Baos who was also involved in the activist network. Marie
was the elder sister of his girlfriend, fellow activist Bobbi Jopson, to whom Gerry had
also given the same ominous advisory. Bobbi was not home. She was in Los Baos.
Gerry, Marie and Bobbi were members of the University of the Philippines Student

Catholic Action. The church organization provided them with a cover for the risky
affairs of the movement.
Gerry fetched Jessica Sales in another part of the city. They proceeded somewhere in
Makati going to the underground conference.
Five days passed, and no Gerry reappeared. In Los Baos, meanwhile, a boarding
house adjacent to the campus where Gerry lived had already been ransacked by
unidentified men.
Modesto Bong Sison started out in the movement in 1971 as a member of the Khi
Rho in Davao, in Mindanao. Khi Rho was very much unlike the radical organizations
which Marcos branded as communist fronts in Proclamation 1081, the decree
imposing martial rule all over the Philippines. Some said that Khi Rho was in fact a
reformist organization, and proof was that it was closely allied with a big church-led
peasant organization that eschewed the Left.
Over the years, Bong, who graduated from the Ateneo de Davao and was a teacher in
Davao Oriental, had a change of political orientation. He became a Leftist, a radical,
which meant that he understood that a social movement that aimed at transforming
society had to strike at the roots of the problems of the people. Radical originated
from the Latin radix, meaning, roots.
In 1976, Bong and his family transferred to Luzon, in the province of Cavite. Bong
was rarely home. An underground cadre who was working fulltime in the movement
was not supposed to be routinely home. In the mountain villages of Quezon, he had
almost died of pneumonia. He survived, but was reduced to skin and bones.
His wife Eileen was aghast upon seeing him. You need to rest, Bong. You cant do
much from a sick bed.
I know, Bong replied.
Perhaps it was an answer that he didnt mean and only uttered to avoid a long
discussion. Bong left again, even as Eileen reminded him about their sons first
birthday. He did not promise to be back, but in his heart of hearts, Bong wanted to
make it a family reunion on his sons first birthday. Another child, a daughter who
was four years old, was also missing him a lot.
The birthday passed, and Bong did not make it home. Eileen fought the bitterness
because she was the activist before Bong became one himself. She was the one who
initiated him into the movement, even before they became husband and wife.
In Manila, meanwhile, Bong materialized in his sisters clinic in Vito Cruz. It was
July 26, 1977.
Well! the doctora said, pleasantly surprised. Among the Sison siblings, they were
closest to one another.

Every time Bong appeared in her clinic, which was not often, she gave him pocket
money. It was a modest way to help him in his crusade. That afternoon, she was a bit
surprised when it was Bong who invited her for snacks. The nearby Dayrits
restaurant served generous sandwiches, so Bong ordered just one hamburger which
they shared. He was his usual jovial self, though there was not much to talk about.
Bong told stories only on a need to know basis. His sister understood. It was
enough that they shared precious moments together, and enjoyed the hamburger
sandwich.
What was that? intrigued, the doctora asked when Bong had left. Some sort of a
farewell?
Almost two weeks since leaving Cavite, there was not a word from Bong. Eileen
sensed that something could be wrong. She decided to visit UP Los Baos, where she
knew one person whom Bong had previously introduced to her. It was Jessica Sales.
Should you receive information that something has happened to me, get in touch
with Jessica.
Jessica Sales was an instructor who was also taking up a masters degree in rural
sociology. In the sociology department, however, Jessica was also being sorely
missed. She had been absent for almost two weeks already.
---One late night in July 1977, Cristina Tina Catalla came home. Like my sister Lina,
she was an underground cadre in ST, and a student at UP Los Baos.
Good Lord, where have you been? asked Tinas Ate Yoly.
Tina, brows knitted, asked back, Why?
Your feet. Looks like you have been marching barefoot. Do they hurt?
Tina smiled. She did not realize that her feet, all bruised, were showing. Of course
they hurt.
How long are you staying this time, Tina?
Just for tonight.
Yoly wanted to argue, but she knew it was going to be futile. Tina was always in a
hurry. In fact, early the following morning, she was gone. In her office in Manila,
Yoly had a surprise guest.
I am a friend of Tina, he said.
Yoly felt cold at hearing her sisters name. She waited for the guest to speak some
more.

She has been arrested. But we dont know where she was taken. Please, please start
looking for her.
Yoly froze. What was she to say or do? She didnt know the man who was talking to
her. He could be an impostor who only wanted to fish information about Tina. The
man was gone in an instant. Then Yoly remembered what Tina had told her a couple
of times: If anything happens to me, you would know. Yoly ran out of the lobby
after the messenger, but he was gone.
---Lina. Gerry Faustino. Jessica Sales. Modesto Bong Sison. Cristina Tina Catalla.
Add to the list: Ramon Jasul -- college student, writer. Emmanuel Salvacruz
college student, writer. Salvador Panganiban. Virgilio Silva. Erwin de la Torre. (I
have yet to get a lead on the last three.) They are the Southern Tagalog (ST) 10. On
record, they constitute the single biggest case of involuntary disappearance and
summary execution perpetrated by the Armed Forces of the Philippines in the entire
history of the Marcos martial law in the Philippines.
Bong Sisons corpse was dug up in a common grave in Lucena City, Quezon, while
those of Salvador Panganiban and Virgilio Silva were retrieved in a ravine in
Tagaytay, Cavite. The fate of the rest remains uncertain till now, although I am
convinced that all had also been killed by their abductors, and the women raped.
Why am I saying this?
A year before the ST 10 were arrested, three activists met the same fate as the group
did. They were Adora Faye de Vera, Rolando Federis and Flora Coronacion. Rolando
and Flora were executed. Adora lived to tell the story.
Part of her testimony said: The following days, we were still not allowed to dress.
Rolando had to sleep naked on the cold cement floor without any bedding. Corporal
Alberto Trapal and a civilian called Severino P took turns in burning my fingernails
and toenails with cigarettes, stroking my thighs and pulling the hair of my legs.
On October 13, Corporal Charlie Tolopia and a civilian named Rodolfo took me to
the bartolina where Corporal Trapal and Severino P subjected me to sexual
indignities, touching my private parts while uttering obscenities.
On October 14, I was raped by Captain Eduardo Sebastian as his method of
extracting information. Because I had no information to give, I was abused sexually
from 12:00 oclock noon to past 3 p.m. After this, I was also made to undress by
Captain Jesus Calaunan, and later that evening, by Lieutenant Joseph Malilay. When
Flora was finally allowed to talk with me that evening, she confided that Welen
Escudero and Florante Macatangay had raped her the previous days. After supper, she
was taken to the small room by Private First Class Alex Estores, and when she came
out crying, she confided again to me that she was raped.
The military men named by Adora belonged to the composite intelligence Ground
Team (GT) 205 of the Armed Forces of the Philippines which she identified to be the
same team that worked on -- trailed and abducted -- the ST 10. Adora had first-hand
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information. She was taken along by GT 205 whenever it changed safehouses in


Lucena City and in the Manila area -- as this intelligence team went in hot pursuit of
the activists who would be called the ST 10.
GT 205 was composed of operatives of the 2nd Military Intelligence Group
(Intelligence Service of the Armed Forces of the Philippines), 2nd Constabulary
Security Unit, and the 231st Company (both of the Philippine Constabulary, the
precursor of todays Philippine National Police). Led by Colonel Alejandro Gallido, it
had about 24 operatives whom Adora named in her testimony, including military,
police, and civilian elements. The officers included two majors, two captains and one
first lieutenant. After the so-called People Power Revolution that toppled the dictator
Marcos in 1986, GT 205s chieftain Col. Gallido would be promoted to general.
---The case of the the ST 10 is a high point in the series of human rights violations
perpetrated by soldiers and agents of the state acting in supreme authority of the
Marcos government. The incidents formed a practice, a tradition no less, which
thrives till the present. The bloody scoreboard since President Gloria Macapagal
Arroyo assumed power in 2001 says that 573 persons belonging to activist
organizations had already been summarily executed. As of now, Southern Tagalog
scores among the highest in terms of the number of victims of political extrajudicial
killings, euphemistically called salvaging in the Marcos martial law years.
Government accountability for these crimes did not cease when Marcos was thrown
out of power in 1986. Government accountability, in the case of the ST 10
and in all the cases of human rights violations in the Philippines, remains to date
because it the government as a continuing institution -- persists to
harbor the criminals, looks the other way around, and in fact, rewards
them with promotions.
What befell Adora Faye de Vera, Rolando Federis, Flora Coronacion and the ST 10
was an utterly beastly crime that has violated all laws of the land as well as all
international conventions and standards for respecting human rights and treating
political dissenters. To date, not one among the thousands of cases of human rights
violations that were documented and filed has ever been solved in the Philippines.
This is not to say, however, that we can simply relegate the cases to the filing cabinet
and let them gather dust.
For some, the 29 years that passed might have eased the pain and the passion to seek
justice. Diyos na ang bahala. God will provide. For some, that could be some kind
of a settlement. But it does not justify that we allow a situation where the victims are
all but forgotten and where they become mere names even to their children and their
own families.
---On December 10, 2002, International Human Rights Day, families and friends of the
ST 10 met with the newly installed president of the Philippines, Gloria Macapagal
Arroyo in the State Dining Room of the Malacaang Palace to petition for a revival of
the case. National Defense Secretary Angelo Reyes and Acting Justice Secretary
Merceditas Gutierrez were in attendance.
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Over breakfast, I read a letter to the President, part of which says: Madame
President, we are among the thousands of Filipino families who are bonded together
by the same pain of salvaging and forced disappearance of our loved ones,
especially during the years of martial law.
Some 25 years and three administrations have passed since the case of the Southern
Tagalog 10 happened. The families of the salvaged and the disappeared have died
one after another, waiting to the last minute for the final word on their kin. The
surviving members of the families continue to hope for justice, or perhaps even for
the bones of the missing.
When we met last July, we celebrated the lives of our martyred beloved and asked
if that could be enough for a closure to our collective grief. Some fell silent and were
once again unable to bear the burden. But there were those who declared that we must
rekindle the quest for justice one more time.
In all humility, may we present to you five items for your consideration: One, that
the state take full responsibility for the case of the Southern Tagalog 10; two, that
your administration declare a policy against the practices of salvaging and forced
disappearance; and three, that an investigation be conducted regarding the case of the
Southern Tagalog 10.
In this connection, military files and information relating to the case of the Southern
Tagalog 10, as well as to all reported cases of salvaging and forced disappearance,
must be declassified.
We pray that your administration assist us in finding the remains of our loved ones,
assuming them to be dead by now.
I could see that the President was all ears. She was looking at me and nodding as I
read the letter. She could very well have been acting. Nothing came out of the
meeting. (My note: In fact, the Gloria Macapagal Arroyo presidency continued one of
the Marcos martial law best practices of political abductions and extrajudicial
killings.)
----Whoever said that Filipinos have a short memory is probably correct. And that is
precisely why we need to perpetuate the memory of our loved ones who made the
supreme sacrifice so that, one day soon, we may begin to live in justice, freedom and
democracy.
But it is not only in their honor that Filipinos need to always remember and never to
forget. It is, more so, for the sake of the generations to come. Those who are unable
to remember the past and learn its lessons -- will never be able to create a future for
their own. Without a remembrance and a learning of the past, they will forever be
enslaved.

Today, the greater tragedy is not that our loved ones went missing some 29 years ago.
The greater tragedy is that those they left behind have forgotten what had befallen
them, and why.
----Ramon Jasul was called Monching in the family. He was much loved. He held so
much promise; he had many dreams for himself and his family. But the reality of a
society gone awry dawned upon him. Way back in 1970, when Monching was still in
school, the Philippines had been described as a social volcano at the throes of a
violent eruption. A resurgent peoples movement for social change was sweeping
over the land, and the generation of Monching including the rest of the ST 10 -- got
caught in it.
Monching, his mother pleaded, could there be other ways for you to get involved
in the movement? The old woman had reason to fear. An elder son, Alfredo, had
already been killed by soldiers. I dont want to lose another son.
We are seven in the family, Nanay. Monching still counted the dead.
Six, the mother corrected him.
Yes, Nanay. There are six of us remaining. When I leave, there is still going to be
five of your children with you. Wont you give just one more of us to the country we
all love? I hope you will let me go, Nanay.
His mother wept as Monching left. And he was never again seen.
It has been 29 years, yet the voice of Monching has retained a peculiar resonance by
which all of us may remember the ST 10 and their tribe.

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