F N P A P , ACE OF THE EW EOPLES RMY OF THE HILIPPINES V T N P A N P OL WO ICE EOPLE ROUND AND O ERMANENT ADDRESS E-BOOK, 1ST EDITION 2012, VOLUME TWO - SAMAR, S MASHWORDS EDITION Text by Frans Welman eISBN 978616222-163-7 Published by www.booksmango.com E-mail: [email protected] Text & cover page Copyright© Frans Welman No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the publisher. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. *** Introduction A year or two later I asked the people of the Filippijnengroep Netherlands to set me up for another visit to the NPA. They asked me if one visit was not enough and so I explained that the exposure among the Kalinga, the Bontoc and other peoples of the Cordillera Jerry and I had made had been magnificent, but failed to give us insight in the other peoples of the Philippines, notably the lowlanders of the archipelago. The NPA had been founded on the soil of Luzon, even on the very soil of the famous Aquino family so I wanted to venture inside areas, areas controlled by the NPA. I wanted to pursue the same objective namely to show ‘the face of the people of the New Peoples Army, to show what motivated them. What made them go to the extremes, extremes like sacrificing their lives for the cause? And, what were prospects of that cause? The Filippijnengroep cooperated with me again and set me up for a contact in Manila which paved the way like they had done for the exposure of Jerry and me before (Volume One), and work things out. So, when in Manila I went to the same office as before and although Julia was now working for another NGO I met the same director, the one who with the ironic smile. He directed me to report to a legal support organization which would provide me with the logistics of the journey. We met in Quezon City, the office located near to the house of Butz Aquino, brother of the famous but slain Ninoy Aquino, brother in law of former president Cory Aquino, successor of Dictator Ferdinand Marcos. But, also it was close to the former office of Jose Diokno, the fighter for legal rights who founded the Free Legal Assistance Group called FLAG, who stood by those who were unable to hire a good lawyer. We met at the same roadside restaurant where we had said our goodbyes before. This reunion with him was quite refreshing as it felt like I had never left, yet I knew things were rather different now, We met late afternoon and drank a few Manila beers, at that time the cheapest, and talked before he gave me a small note, one similar to the notes carried by the ‘informers’ of the NPA. He smiled: “Now Frans, take a flight to Calbayog tomorrow but not later than say three days from now and report to this office. Never fear man, things will be arranged from there,” he said as a matter of fact, but in a tone like he was giving directions to a nearby night spot in town, “report to me again after your return,” he added. We had a Philippino dinner plus another beer, reviewed our former trip again as he warned me for stumbling blocks along the way and to be sure to overcome inevitable pitfalls. “Frans,” he said after explaining more about the arrangement, “you may not believe it but I have wife and children too. So, I have also other duties than providing for your departure. I shall go now and trust you will be able to come back with some good things to share and pictures of course, okay?” So moments later and with a small piece of paper tucked away in the pocket this is where, once more, the beginning of a journey to the Faces. In Quezon Cubao on Edificio de los Santos Avenue, yes in short EDSA and yes where the Peoples Power Revolution ousted Ferdinand Marcos making waves around the world, there was an office of Philippine Airlines (PAL). From the restaurant near the office it was not so far to walk over there and enquire the flight possibilities to Calbayog. “Calbayog you say, tomorrow?” the young lady at the counter of PAL, nicknamed Plane Always Late, asked me. “If possible yes,” I answered. “We have a promo Sir, but only for the bullilit flight. Does that suit you Sir?” she smiled. “What does bullilit mean,” I asked. “Flights with reduced fares but at inconvenient hours,” she smiled some more, “may be not so convenient for you because it leaves 4.30 in the morning,” she softly said, her smile not as vibrant as her first. “I think the only problem would be how to get up a few hours before that flight,” I laughed, “but is it much cheaper, so I could risk it?” “Oh yes Sir, half price,” she stressed now with a radiant smile. “I suppose traffic will not be a big problem that time of day right? So, when I catch a taxi at say three o’clock I should be on time.” “Most certainly Sir, although I think it depends on where you take that taxi?” she asked pondering aloud. “From Makati, near Burgos,” I replied. “Oh, indeed, that should not be a problem, but please make sure you are checking in 45 minutes before departure or your seat will be allocated to a person who is on stand by,” she explained. “There are people willing to take the risk that early in the morning?” I asked in surprise. “Oh Sir, plenty, especially for that price,” she answered, her smile returning radiantly and in full force. “Then please issue me a ticket,” I entrusted her. “Your passport and particulars please,” she asked. Five minutes later with the ticket in hand I took a bus on Edsa towards Makati. Having arrived there close to an hour later I walked to Burgos from there. I was staying with Philippino friends I had known for a very long time. They assured me one of them had to get up very early too and so all could be arranged. They warned me for police and military (Armed Forces of the Philippines, AFP) who in the provinces like to check passengers inside out, especially those travelers whom they suspect have cash money on them. “Turn in early Frans and so you have a good sleep. We’ll wake you up at two- thirty!” I took the advice and since it had been an exhausting day, not the meeting with the director, but the ride into Manila and the traffic that morning and afternoon, had done me in and I realized that now that a bed had been made up for me. But before turning in we had a drink and talked a little. They asked me to be sure to return before leaving the Philippines so they would know about my experiences too. “I promise that, but if the AFP gets me I have no chance of letting you know,” I joked to their amazement. Though they realized I was teasing they still stressed I should be careful at all times: “You are travelling alone and this is not ‘done’ much in the Philippines. There are all sorts of characters besides the ones you already know: the AFP and the police. So, be careful and see to it that you have local guides to accompany you, okay?” “I promise,” I smiled, “but only if we have one more Manila beer, this time I insist it is on me and me alone, agreed?” “Sure, sure,” the man and the lady of the house agreed, “Ver (one of their sons), go and get us a crate fast,” the lady ordered her son. I gave him the money and five minutes later he returned with a full crate of chilled Manila beer. We drank a bottle each before I went to sleep as they assured me we should finish the crate after my safe return. Chapter One - To Samar A tap on my shoulder made me wake up. I saw Ver, the smiling son of the family, who told me he would the one taking me to the domestic airport. “If you are capable then be ready in 15 minutes,” he said seriously but then smiled “Agreed,” I answered, still groggy but willing to abide. A quick shower, coffee and a bite to eat later we walked to the car which was borrowed from an uncle for the occasion. “Let’s go?” Ver asked as he started the engine of this small Philippino made car. It was just near three o’clock and since he knew the shortest way we were soon out of the normally busy Makati streets and avenues and nearing Edsa. There, on a corner of side street, were a few policemen who flagged us to stop. As Ver stopped before them, three men strong, the color his face changed rapidly and went from showing confidence to being frightened in a matter of moments. One of the policemen stepped up towards him and began to talk in Tagalog, more or less the national language. The other two policemen stood a meter behind the one talking to Ver and looked with stern faces. Traffic was absent and there was no people on the street either, so no nothing else but the voice of the policeman we heard. The man talked to Ver in a tone I did not appreciate. We had not done anything wrong and I presumed Ver was trying to tell him that him just but that policeman was not convinced and did not let go; not yet anyway. When after a few minutes I saw Ver drawing his wallet, I though this had gone much too far already and decided to step in. Knowing that these policemen could speak English and suspecting they talked Tagalog so I would not understand I said: “My friend’s son has done nothing wrong; he committed no traffic violation, so quickly tell me what you want? This young man is driving me to the airport; my flight is in an hour. Now, if you have something to charge us with? I asked, “and if not we shall go now. Oh and I like to know your name and the number of police force you are with? I will report you to your superiors if you hold us up.” I said and nodded to Ver to drive off. “We were just checking Sir, I am sorry for the inconvenience,” the policeman said stumbling over his words. “You wanted to check his wallet man? Who ordered you to do that?” I asked “No, no, I meant to ask for his papers, but I am sure it’s all right, have a good day,” he said and stepped back. Ver put his foot on the throttle and only after we were safely cruising on Edsa he dared to tell what the policeman asked of him. “He said I was travelling with a rich foreigner and demanded 500 peso from me. Man, I was frightened, I don’t even have that much money,” he lamented. Still driving in the dark we reached the Domestic airport with enough time left to say goodbye: “Frans, with you there is always something happening,” he laughed now that he knew we were both safe. “Oh, Ver, there are a lot of things happening and I am only involved in very, very few. It so happens that you were in my happenings a few times now,” I smiled referring to two other occasions we had had together on the island of Leyte. “Man, the way you spoke to hem, their superiors, I thought they were going to arrest us?” he said in relief. “For what then?” I asked. “Oh, you don’t know the Philippines yet,” he smiled, “they’ll think of something, anything they will do because you cannot prove you did not do it,” Ver told me. “It is as simple as that?” I asked further. “Yes for some of them it is,” Ver confirmed, “but please check in now or you are getting in too late Frans!” “Goodbye then Ver, see you all soon!” I said and waved before stepping into the terminal. Other than the usual difficulties airports are famous for like the unique way of being checked here and checking in plus waiting in the oddly organized departure lounge, I had no problems. “In the nick of time,” the check in clerk volunteered saying, “five minutes later and the standby people would have their chance,” he emphasized and pointed a finger to a small crowd in the back, “these are ungodly hours don’t you agree? I hate this shift!” he said and chuckled. “Oh yes, I agree, but still the flight seems to be full that there are people waiting to catch it at this, as you say, ungodly hour?” “Only because of half price Sir,” he replied, “here you are Sir!” he replied as he gave me the boarding pass and directed me to departure lounge where a second check on body and bag was done. Then into the large hall which had four gates used by different airlines of which most were gearing up to break the monopoly of PAL. And, so with this bullilit flight PAL hoped to regain some of what it was losing. Suddenly a VIP approached and commotion broke out. Like a King the man was not just treated respectfully but, with people bowing, he was received with full honors. In front of him and airline attendants guiding he was not searched but marched through as security personnel bowed as the group went to the VIP lounge. Before the man disappeared from the look on his face he did not expect anything else but subservient behavior as lots of bewildered eyes stared. This was however no doubt standard procedure, I thought. Luckily my flight to Calbayog was announced soon after this interlude and so I was quite happy to leave tis crowded departure terminal. The early morning flight did not pose problems either so after the plane touched down at Calbayog airport I walked straight to the small arrival hall and from there into the rice-fields. Outside I called on a tricycle rider, Juan, who on the way to the city of Calbayog was willing to stop at the fields so I could picture them. The sun was rising now; it appeared on the horizon so I could focus on of lush green fields in dawning light, the terminal rising from the fields as a backdrop. It was stunningly beautiful! Juan waited patiently for me to finish and when he saw I was satisfied he took me to town. Juan knew the location of the office and had no problem finding it. When we arrived we came just in time to meet the people who were having breakfast. We got invited to join them but Juan declined saying he had work to do. I introduced myself before I sat down to make sure it was the right address. They nodded upon hearing my name and Maria the office manager then said: “Yes we received the information and we are happy to have you. This is the program and you should prepare for it: tomorrow morning early we’ll go to the white area just south of Catbalogan for which transport has been arranged. We’ll leave and arrive in the dark and on a spot along the road where we will drop you someone of the NPA will meet you. Now, make sure you have everything you need with you, but not too much so it will not interfere with the walking you have to do. You’ll have to go on foot for a long time. Are you up to that city man?” she asked sporting a teasing smile. “Yes I am a city man. And though I may be a little clumsy I have been walking before,” I answered. “You are Kiko from Amsterdam, a Dutchman right? And, I am Beth,” the other woman teased while others in the office showed interest too, two young men and two ladies who obviously adhered to Beth and Maria as their leaders. “Kiko? My name is Frans, dear Beth,” I reacted. “There is no such name in the Philippines, so from now on you are officially called Francisco, but for us you nickname is Kiko,” she said decisively, not leaving room for dissent or dispute of any kind. “Well then Kiko it shall be,” I replied, a twinkle in the eyes, ”all for a good cause, right! Oh, is it a long walk to the camp?” I asked. “For a city man yes,” she laughed out loud now, “I bet you hardly ever walk?” “You might be in for a nice surprise.” I retorted enigmatically leaving her to guess if that was true. “We are used to long walks,” she continued, “long walks are healthy and keep the mind active. Long walks keep people from being spoiled!” Beth smiled ironically “So Beth, city people are spoiled people?” “Sure,” she said smiling a heavenly smile of understanding. We kept on going for a while with this type of ironical teasing and were assisted by the others who gradually chipped in their remarks as well. It was funny, challenging, witty, but also deadly serious and I realized that this was their, her, way to check me out, possibly my trustworthiness or my sincerity or both. When we were nearing full understanding of each others points of view I said and asked: “Look Beth the reason I am here is known to you right? Though the severity of it can hardly be compared, I also come from and ordinary if not poor background. Born during the Second World War, many people died of famine, my parents managed us through and so after this war we grew up with nothing much at all. In looking back I cannot say I missed what we did not have and still think of it as normal. I have seen dire poverty before, I have seen ordinary people being oppressed, persecuted, tortured, even killed and for what? They were tortured and killed when raising their voice for a just cause and it looks like people here are suffering from the same if not worse. Since national and international press focuses on the officially (government) released facts, their prime concern, the people who stand up for their rights, who want to fight to expose human rights abuses, are not taken into account nearly enough. They are described as rebels, criminals perhaps but certainly are put in a bad light. They have no face, they can hardly voice out about what they believe is right and what is denied to them. Now Beth and co-workers I came here because I want to show their faces, I want them to tell what they are fighting for and against who they fight. I want to show they are real people, not just rebels without a cause! I am glad you can help me in achieving just that. Thank you sincerely!” :”Yes we were briefed about something like that,” Beth smiled, “but surely you agree we should check you out too. You might be working for the other side, under cover of course, and so posing like you do. I am sure governments like