Up in the mountains, I still remember -3

First arrest

A week after, on the night when the martial rule was made

public, the sergeant with his squad came to where we stayed

and arrested Myrna, Leonor and myself. Jet had a meeting in the

convent that evening so she was not arrested.

I did ask the sergeant if he had a warrant of arrest. He did and he

shoved it to my face. After making an inspection of our

rooms--in the hope that he would find subversive materials or

guns?--he and his men rounded us up, brought us downstairs,

pushed us into an Army vehicle and brought us to the camp.

The Army commander, a PMAyer who played tennis regularly

and a friend of Father Jack, apologized to us when we reached

the camp. He spoke to us briefly and told us that he had no

choice but to make arrests as martial law was declared. However,

we were to go home right away but we were under house arrest.

This meant that we could not leave our house unless we seek

permission from him.

I could no longer go to the mountains. Eventually, the theater

group reconvened. (After my arrest, a few left Mati but

eventually returned when things settled down). Naturally, we

censored ourselves; instead of ''agit-prop''

(agitation-propaganda) plays, we staged morality plays which

we could present inside the church

during Christmas or the Holy Week.

It was hard staying in Mati and not being able to do what one

wanted to. So I left and returned to Davao City. I joined the

Mindanao regional office of the Philippine Business for Social

Progress (PBSP) based in Susana Building, Davao City.

Second arrest

Within a year, I was again arrested because I went up the

mountains near Surralah (this place would ultimately be part of

the T'boli municipality). One of the partners of PBSP was Rex

Mansmann, then incharge of the newly established Sta. Cruz

mission in Lake Sebu. He asked the PBSP's assistance for a

calamansi project and to train their community organizers.

While in the Sta. Cruz mission, Rex informed me about Panamin's

(Presidential Assistant on National Minorities) encroachments

into Lake Sebu. I had heard through the ASI grapevine that a

fellow alumnus was hired by Panamin and was in their camp

near Lake Sebu. I thought I would inquire from him what the

Panamin was doing.

Once I got there, I learned that the fellow alumnus was not

assigned there. He was assigned in another camp. The Panamin

forces, however, were suspicious of me. They asked to inspect

my bag. I showed them my bag. They found my sketch book (at

that time, I kept a pad where I sketched many lumad scenes,

faces and cultural artifacts). They claimed that my drawings

were maps of the camp, which I was going to give to the NPA.

So they arrested me on the spot.

Fortunately, I was able to convince them that I was there on

account of the Passionist Fathers and that they should contact

Bishop Arliss to know who I was. They brought me to the Army

camp in Marbel, where I was able to call Bishop Arliss who

intervened for my release.

That was not my last arrest. One more was to come up, and this

time, the mountains still have something to do with it.

22 months

The Saturday before Palm Sunday of l983, I was arrested for the

third time. My imprisonment would last 22 months.

One of the reasons why the military kept me in prison was

because I ''went to the mountains to give lectures to the

people-and, thus, agitating them to rise against Marcos--and to

help the NPA (New People's Army) find ways of raising

resources.'' The official charge, however, was keeping

subversive materials and guns. (Ultimately, they dropped the

guns and stuck to the subversive materials).

Of course, I got acquitted.

One day, while allowed to have our ''sunning'' inside the

detention center, I sat under a talisay tree. When it is in bloom,

the tree is filled with a million star-shaped little flowers. That

day, I noticed that the flowers had fallen on the ground. I was

surrounded by a million star-shaped little flowers.

Among so many wonderful, as well as sad, memories of the 22

months of being a political prisoner, the memory of that million

star-shaped talisay flowers still stand out. Why? Because as I

gazed at the flowers, my whole being sensed that everything

would come to pass.

Today, as I walk the mountain trails of Roxas in Zmboanga del

Norte, as well as its coastal villages, I encounter many talisay

trees. And I always remember the million star-shaped talisay

flowers in the detention center.

But there are many things that have not yet come to pass. As I

walk the mountain trails, I am still confronted by sad images of

massive poverty: landless peasants with limited tools, emaciated

old people, malnourished children with bloated stomachs,

houses ready to collapse, and roads that are also riverbeds.

But I am now 53. I no longer scream to the heavens why such a

situation persists. I get to scream when I realize my knees are no

longer quite strong to climb a steep slope.

I wonder, however, if 30 years from now, this situation will

remain the same. My own hunch is that it will be so. But here,

the people have joy and hope.

The psalmist had written: salvation comes from the mountains.

Occasionally, I do have a glimpse of that possibility.