The fall and rise of Corregidor -1

WHAT took Filipino and American engineers four years to build, it took nature only a few seconds to alter. From afar, the huge dome-shaped Pacific War Memorial in Corregidor resembles a vintage World War II parachute, from the parallel lines running down the dome’s side to a hole right at its center.

The shrine funded by America is positioned in such a way that on May 6 of every year, the high noon sun that shines directly through the hole falls right smack in the middle of a round marble altar dedicated to fallen soldiers in the last war. Filipinos, as well as Americans, who still remember their history know this date by heart as the fall of Corregidor to the Japanese.

But since Mt. Pinatubo blew its top in 1991, or exactly 50 years after Americans surrendered Corregidor to the Japanese, the ray of light coming from the noonday sun has tilted a little off the marble surface’s center. One of the island’s senior tour guides traces the unwelcome movement to an earthquake as a result of the volcano’s eruption.

"They studied the cycle of the sun," says Pablito Martinez. "This partly explains why it took them so long to build this memorial."

The pool of water that used to circle the entire monument before cascading down both sides of a concrete walkway leading to an outdoor structure fashioned from a network of steel is now empty. Its concrete basin had just undergone much-needed repairs, says Martinez, when another earthquake from the womb of Mt. Pinatubo ruined it in the blink of an eye, allowing gallons upon gallons of water to seep through its cracks.

The steel sculpture dubbed the "Eternal Flame of Freedom" is now a bit rusty from years of exposure to the elements. Since the platform where the "flame" stands is one of the tadpole-shaped island’s highest points, it also doubles as a viewing deck offering visitors a breathtaking view of Corregidor’s tail, and beyond it, several smaller islands and passing ships entering historic but now polluted Manila Bay.

Once the island’s quiet evening sets in, a steady sparkle of white lights used to diffuse the red ones that glowed underneath the sculpture, making it undulate from afar like one giant blaze. These lights, it seems, are out these days as well.

Surprisingly, none of these creeping signs of disrepair has lessened the island’s worth. If anything, they have given Corregidor yet another layer of history to add to the volumes written and said about it.

Indeed, long after Corregidor has earned its rightful place in history, the island off the southern coast of Bataan continues to evolve and gain new meaning not only among World War II veterans. But more so to succeeding generations that have grown jaded to everyday violence but still remain clueless to the real horrors of war.

The Rock

The island, which Americans then referred to as The Rock, is more than just a mishmash of bombed ruins, circuitous tunnels, decommissioned mortars and lush mountains and jungles frozen in time. Nor is it a mere repository of a bygone era.

If one digs deep enough, Corregidor has also become a mirror of our continuing struggles to build a nation and to draw lessons from a bittersweet past without being consumed by it. Past atrocities inflicted by our American colonizers and Japanese invaders may have been forgiven, but hopefully not forgotten.

A cemetery for Japanese war dead, for instance, has been turned into a zen-like "Garden of Peace" dripping with Shinto and Buddhist symbols. Yes, today’s peace-loving Japanese, whose grandfathers and great grandfathers probably took part in raping and burning Manila to the ground, were said to have pushed for the garden’s inclusion during President Aquino’s time.

A pair of statues in combat uniforms, one tall, the other short, pays tribute to Fil-American friendship. Never mind if the former colonizer has yet to fully honor the Filipino veterans’ invaluable contributions to the war effort with a compensation package at par with their American comrades.

Even the politically savvy Manuel Quezon, then president of the Philippine Commonwealth, was unable to contain his rage after learning America’s decision to put on hold its war efforts in Asia to save Europe from the clutches of Hitler. This became evident when Gen. Douglas MacArthur said the now famous words "I shall return" at Corregidor’s Lorcha Dock before sailing off in a submarine for Darwin, Australia.

"How can they race to the rescue of a distant cousin when a daughter is being raped right before them," Quezon fulminated.

Like a true-blue politico, he later changed tack after being appeased by President Roosevelt. But like the rest of his countrymen, he also suffered directly from the war’s ill effects before going to the US to put up a Philippine government in exile.

Quezon, then coughing like hell from tuberculosis, lived with his family in a huge, damp bomb shelter called Malinta Tunnel as Japanese bombs pounded the island from Bataan. An American sub took the Quezons to Australia several months later en route to the US, where the president soon breathed his last.

Meanwhile, MacArthur entrusted Corregidor’s defenses to a lower ranking general named Jonathan Wainright, who fought the good fight before surrendering the island to the Japanese several months later. The tunnel that cuts through a mountain doubled as a hospital and nerve center for the Americans’ futile attempt to ward off advancing Japanese forces.

Three years later, it also became a virtual cemetery when close to 3,000 Japanese troops blew themselves up in honor of country and emperor in a single blaze of glory, rather than surrender to American liberators.

Scenes such as these are captured in true cinematic fashion at the refurbished Malinta Tunnel, now the venue of "The Malinta Experience," a 30-minute light and sound show written and directed by the late National Artist Lamberto Avellana. The show transports audiences back to World War II Corregidor sans real blood, bombs and bullets through actual war footage and life-like sculptures by Napoleon Abueva.

As if the dramatic narration by Frankie Evangelista, special effects and mood lighting weren’t enough, voice talents who play the role of real World War II personalities could leave you in near tears as you advance from one lateral to the next. The blues, however, soon give way to an uplifting feeling from a simple yet moving finale. Enough said, lest we spoil the surprise.

Through the efforts of the Philippine Tourism Authority, Corregidor Foundation and Sun Cruises, the once remote island (26 miles west of Manila) guarding the mouth of Manila Bay is now a mere 55 minutes away by boat from the Bay Cruises Terminal in the CCP complex.