Countryside Diary
MAY 26,
[1981], TUESDAY—
So we decide to retreat; the helicopters may be landing anytime now. The rain starts to pour, as we talk around the bend from where another barrio comes in full view. In less than 10 minutes, the two helicopters loom over the mountaintop, poised to do a landing on the plateau.
Quickly the NPA squad and other people who are not from that barrio file out. We all ahead for the rice granaries and the calapaos up on the hillsides beyond the barrio’s boundaries. We break up into two teams. Rain pours like hell. The back-up team arrives and reports that true enough, many soldiers have entered the area.
May 17, Wednesday—the sun rises early and its rays reach the top slopes. Pine trees around, blue skies above. The majectic rice terraces lace the deep gorge below. It is an occasion to let our rain-drenched clothes and books dry under the radiant sun.
After a few hours, we get clearance to return to the barrio. We start walking downhill, meeting the other team at the campsite. Together we proceed. But within minutes after reaching destination, the two helicopters suddenly reappear and are about to land. Once again, we take cover, atras-atras. We backtrack first to the granaries but decide later to go up the hill. It is safer there and we can watch the enemy from a more vantage point.
We are again in two groups. The fact that there are visitors, about 26 unarmed people who had come to Kalinga on an exposure and fact-finding mission makes all precautions vitally necessary. Even though they are a bit of a defenseless burden and potential liability in case of an encounter, the armed propaganda unit of the NPA handles the situation well.
May 28, Thursday—Still holding our positions on the hillsides. There are four groups now. Ka Gil’s team occupies two calapaos: one on a high slope, another at a lower junction. Their position guards against enemy intrusion. We all stay inside the buts. Strict rules: no walking around, no bright clothing.
Soon we receive surveillance reports. There are 20-plus soldiers in five barrios near our location. Troopers are from a composite team of PC army and Kalinga Special Development Region (KSDR) security men. We also learn three youths are picked up the military and taken to another barrio.
This morning the granaries are checked by the soldiers. The barrio folk say the military men are noticeably scared about possible encounters with the NPA. They are even afraid to go to the reservoir for they hygiene needs. The water is located at the bottom of the winding barrio path; they fear getting sniper shots from the NPA. Because of this, they refrain from harassing barrio people.
Meanwhile some barrio residents arrive at our campsite and join our group.
May 29—Some of us move towards the bottom of the canyon with each side bordered by steep stone walls. From this point it is easy to elude the enemy, should they persists in advancing on us.
We cook
rice at
On the first day of our retreat from the barrio under the pouring rain, no one had time to eat. But along the path as we march, we meet barrio folk who wait for us. They have huge pots filled with hot camote and coax us to eat (mangan-mangan)…It is incredibly moving. Times are hard on them; it is not yet harvest time. But still they make sure we have something to eat everyday.
We are setting fish traps while in the payaos not only to while away the time but to catch fish also.
Barrio
messengery arrives at
Reports say the NPA fired at a helicopter and killed some PC soldiers. Exact figure unknown. All we know is a lieutenant and a gunner definitely killed but wounded pilot flew damaged chopper back to their camp.
We learn that the three youths previously picked up are now released. But their place, the mayor of Tinglayan is “invited” for questioning.
Our guns are cleaned over and over. We wait for more reports on enemy movements. Helicopter sorties keep us ever on the alert.
May 30, Saturday—Good news today: another-helicopter shot down in Bontoc, somewhere between Tukukan and Canso, about half-hour from Bontoc. Helicopter borrowed by PC from Napocor (National Power Corporation). The chopper crashed; no report on exact number of casualties. Reports gives us picture of enemy movements. We get word that Bontoc is more militarized now.
May 31, Sunday—Awaiting more reports. An occasion today to assess our mass work. Our group also discussed the reasons for current military activity. Many possible reasons: they have had no operation for sometime now. Propagandizing is needed for the coming “elections” (June 16). They want to retaliate against NPA activities in Basao. The Macli-ing memorial attracted many visitors but very few have left…
Not much news today.
June 1, Monday—Today marks a full week of our stay in the calapaos. Time is slow but we use the afternoons for discussion so that everyone, especially the visitors, can synthesize their observations.
In the afternoon, the helicopters reappear, seemingly ready to land near the rice paddies. Rifles are readied. But it seems the enemy smells danger. After three or four loops, they leave. Things go back to normal.
June 2, Tuesday—Happy news: we get clearance to return to the barrio. Apparently, enemy soldiers are told to return to their barracks. Another futile search mission. They spend a week looking for us and have not found at trace, even though we are just nearby.
We regroup into teams and head back to the barrio to continue mass work. There is much work to do…
Ang Magkaibigang Alamid at
Matsing
at ang Masibang si Ahang
NAGLAKAD-LAKAD SA KASAGINGAN ang magkaibigang Ulalagsing (alamid) at Garong (matsing) sa paghahanap ng hinog na saging.
“Aba, nakakadagdag-gutom ang amoy na ‘yan,” sabi ni Garong.
“Hanapin natin,” ang sagot ni Ulalagsing. Idinugtong niya, “Pero kailangang sino man sa atin ang unang makakakita, pareho pa rin hatian natin.”
“Natural. Walang sibaan,” ani Garong.
Pinuntahan ng bawat isa ang naiiisp nilang pinanggagalingan ng mabangong amoy ng hinog na saging.
Pinuntahan ng bawat isa ang naiisip nilang pinanggagalingan ng mabangong amoy ng hinog na saging.
“Yuhoooy!” ang natatakam na hiyaw ni Ulalagsing. “Nandito ang hinahanap natin, kaibigang Garong!”
Walang anuano’y sumulpot si Garong sa kinaroroonan ni Ulalagsing. “Sige,” anito, “paghatian na natin.”
Kaya lang, hindi parepareho ang laki ng mga hinog na saging. Prinublema nila kung paano ang hatiang gagawin na walang sinumang nakakalamang. Sa kalagayang ito, dumating ang masibang si Ahang.
“Ano’ng pinagkakaguluhan n’yo d’yan?” ang tanong nito.
“Naghahatian kasi kami at ayon sa napagkasunduan namin, kailangang walang malalamangan. Pero nahihirapan kami kasi hindi magkakapareho ang laki ng mga saging,” ang sagot ng dalawa.
“Madali lang ‘yan,” ani Ahang at natatakam na iminungkahi niya, “Magbalat kayo ng tig-isang saging at ako namang ang tagakagat ng labis para magpantay lagi ang parte ninyo.”
Nakumbinsi ang magkaibigan sa mungkahing ito. Dahil sa malaki ang binalatang saging ni Garong, ito ang unang kinagatan ni Ahang.
“Ano ba ’yan, ang saging ko naman ngayon ang maliit,” reklamo ni Garong.
“Madali ‘yan. Babawasan natin ngayon ang parte ni Ulalagsing,” ang dinagdalawang isip na tugon ni Ahang, sabay kagat. “Huwag kayong mag-alala,” ang nakangisi pang dugtong nito, “mapapantay din natin ang mga ito. Sige, magbalat lang kayo.”
Sa loob-loob ni Ahang: “He! He! He! Sa inyo ang kasaganaan, ang totoo, e, akin ang kabusugan. Bibilisan ko lang nag pagkagat, sadya namang pumayag kayo!”
Hanggang sa kumonti na lang ang saging na pinaghahatian ng magkaibigan. Sa kalagayang ito, napansin nila ang panlolokong ginagawa ni Ahang. Nagkatitigan sila at naghandang humarap kay Ahang.
Sa loob-loob ni Ahang: “He! He! He! Kawawa naman itong sina Ulalagsing at Garong. Hindi pa rin nila natikman ang kanilang pinagpawisan. Uubusin ko na ‘to…”
Dalawang subo pa lang ni Ahang sa malaking saging, hindi na siya makahinga. Nabulunan siya. Kaya ganoon ay nalulon niya ang tinik na inilagay nina Garong at Ulalagsing sa saging.
Nang nanghihina na siya, pinagtulugan siyang patayin ng magkaibigan.
“Nakaganti rin tayo!” anila. “Ngayon, wala nang makapanglalamang sa atin at pwede na tayong kumain!”
(Salin mula sa Waray.)
RICARDO ROJO
In the Face of Death
KA BUTSOY, TOGETHER with his nine comrades had lain in ambush positions since four o’clock in the morning. It was dawn when their group, a squad of the New People’s Army, first caught a glimpse of the approaching truck.
They had been expecting a military jeep, but instead this was dump truck approaching. It was with Philippine Constabulary troopers.
When the truck was within effective range, Ka Raffy, the triggerman, began firing and the rest of the squad followed. After the initial shock, the enemy troopers were able to fire back, jumping out of the truck as they did. Then it happened.
The truck blew up in a thundering fireball, bits and pieces of the vehicle hurling outward with great force. The truck was a mere stone’s throw away from the guerrillas. Shredded metal, hot burning powder and shock waves tore at them.
The guerrillas had been hitting the enemy truck with volley after volley of automatic rifle fire, and some bullets must have set off the dynamite and blasting caps packed in cartoons inside the vehicle.
As he lay face down, Ka Butsoy strained his ears, trying to hear. He felt extreme pain, his right ear seemed to have been beaten to a pulp. He could not hear nor sense any movement around him.
He heard no command from Ka Willy, the commanding officer. There was no word, no sound from Ka Dong, the second in command, or from Ka Amir, the leader of the other team. Then he made out the faintest moans.
His chest felt so painful and heavy. Clutching it with his hand, he felt blood oozing out of his chest.
Now he felt pain in his eyes. A terrible, screaming pain. It seemed as though both eyes had been stabbed with the sharp blades of the cogon grass. He could not even so much as lift his eyelids. He could only cast his eyes downwards. A dark pall seemed to have descended on him.
Now he was sure he no longer was in the same place where he had taken up his firing position. He actually was on higher ground further up the hill, having been literally lifted by the forces of the dynamite explosion. Ka Tata had been at his right and Ka Ferdie at his left. They were nowhere to be found.
He inched forward. He felt a burning sensation in the air all about him. He groped on the ground in front and ground. There was a small sapling growing from the earth. Then his hand touched the Garand rifle lying nearby. He realized that he was still wearing his ammo vest.
The pain wracking his whole body was almost unbearable. It felt as though he had been tortured and everything he touched was swollen. It felt worse than a whip lashing. He cold feel his strength being sapped away fast.
Suddenly, a staccato of gunfire erupted. The enemy who had recovered had spotted him and were now raining bullets on him. He tried to get up, to half-run, then crawl until he could get beyond their range.
He dove into the cogon grass field and now moved more easily, still gripping the Garand firmly. He had to gain time. He had to assess his situation and get his bearings. He had a long way to go. He could crawl all the way up the hill to get to the house of Nong Kardo, a farmer whose house they used to frequent.
He crawled towards the hills, his hand holding on to the Garand, dragging it with him. To pull himself forward, he clutched at the sharp blades of the cogon.
Sweat trickled down his body, mingling with the dust of the reddish brown earth and his blood. His face was a mask of dried blood and muddy perspiration.
“Noonnnggg…Nonngg…” he called out weakly as he stumbled, limp and nearly unconscious, into the front yard of Nong Kardo’s nipa hut. Now he could hardly breathe or see anything at all. He wanted to sleep. That was all he wanted to do, sleep.
“Tay, Tay!” It’s Butsoy, Butsoy’s here!” cried out the children when they saw Butsoy. There were two of them. Berto, who was ten, and Dodong who was eight. Butsoy knew them both.
“Wa…ter, please give me…water,” Ka Butsoy implored the children.
The two boys raced up the house and came back with a glass of water as well as a change of clothes.
Berto lifted the glass to Ka Butsoy lips. Dodong wiped the blood, grime and sweat off Ka Butsoy’s face and forehead.
“Berto, Dodong, keep this Garand, hide it well. Give ito to any comrade who may pass this way.” It took a lot of effort for him to say it. In tears, the two boys nodded silently.
Ka Butsoy pressed the trigger, wanting to fire a final shot. This was not the end of the struggle!” All strength nearly gone from him, Ka Butsoy instead turned the Garand over to Berto. Berto broke into a fit of sobbing as the accepted the rifle.
The Ka Butsoy closed his eyes. His face looked so peaceful now.
(Adaptasyon ng Kablum! Sa Sebuano ni Ka Nena, Insureksyon, Set. 18, 1981.)
Bloodbrothers
A COMRADE NARRATES how a Sandatahang Yunit Propaganda (SYP) team organized among the B’laan ang Caolos in the North and South Cotabato border:
It was long regarded as a strategic area. Yet it seemed forbidding and challenging at the same time. We had to gather a concrete preliminary social investigation before entering the place.
The area is a cluster of five barrios straddling the hills and valleys in the border. All the populated mainly of B’laans and a sprinkling of Cebuanos and Ilonggos. There is also a settlement of Caolos.
B’laans are a fierce tribe. We had several experiences of ambushes by bow-and-arrowed B’laans, B’laans tipping the PANAMIN guards of our presence in the area, B’laans inviting us to a meal then hacking our comrades to death, and many other incidents.
“B’laans are also wary of the Visayas. Whenever Visayan peasants set up farms nearby, they move uphill and away, into the heart of the forest. This attitude is the product of the long experience under the exploitation of landgrabbers (not without some prodding of the PANAMIN) who were most Visayans and summarily interpreted by the tribe as the nature of the Visayan. They were easily tricked also by usurers and wholesalers-retailers in the lowlands, demanding P1,00 as payment for their P0.50 debt; tricking them by selling their products at rock-bottom prices.
These five barrios have a rugged terrain good for guerrilla warfare. A cover of lush virgin forest characterizes its ridges and gulleys. The lands are very productive and if developed, could be a food bowl of the town. The PANAMIN had long ago started putting up their concessions and their detachments there, in a vain attempt to block our way down south.
Several lowlanders (those who had schooling and the richer ones) whom we had contacted in the area gave us an idea on how to penetrate the forbidding territory. But one said: “I myself wouldn’t want to organize among my own people.” A Visayan trader of rattan gave us more information regarding the place. And we had a B’laan-speaking comrade who happens to know the terrain.
As we entered the barrio, we heard the sound of an agong (a percussion instrument). We were alerted. Nobody seemed to stir in the village. As we called up at the first B’laan house nearby, a young man came out. Our comrade introduced us and asked for water as we were very thirsty after the long uphill trek. He didn’t invite us in. We heard stirrings inside: womenfolk hiding in the recesses of the hut. He neither moved nor spoke. Suddenly, he darted towards a cluster of huts nearby calling for somebody. We all readied more stirrings in the huts yonder. Then a sudden as he had gone, the lad came back, but with several B’laan men in tow. We surmised these were the heads of the clan. They all bore long bolos at their sides.
We greeted them, and introduce ourselves: “We are NPAs. We have come to tell you a story. We have come to help you and ask help in turn. We’ve come to tell you the story of our people, a story that speak of us as brothers in suffering and that we have a struggle to commit ourselves to.”
We all sat down, following the lead of the head man, on the baking B’laan courtyard. Our stomachs gurgled in hunger and thirst. They were still mum. But they sure were listening and were wary of us.
Our comrade began to explain in direct yet soft voice the history of exploitation of the Filipino people which includes the B’laans. He also stressed that the problem of land was the foundation of this exploitation. He said that the government of Marcos and its AFP and the PANAMIN paramilitary forces are helping the landgrabbers make a heyday with B’laan land, manpower, products and women. He had gone on so long but still none spoke.
Finally, one of us seized a bundle of stick lying nearby in the dirt and began talking through the “Stick ED” to make clear the class struggle point, B’laan style: the poor stick, the rich stick being propped-up by the AFP stick and Marcos. The menfolk started to ask tentative questions which later would become discussions. We at least understood each other this way, through sticks. And they didn’t care who that Marcos was.
This lasted for hours and as we rose to bid goodbye, they said, “We will part as real brothers through sadyandi, the B’laan blood compact.”
A safety pin and an ancient brass bowl was produced. By turns, we pricked our thumbs and the drops of B’laan and NPA blood joined in red swirl in the bowl. Queasiness in the stomach notwithstanding, we drank the brother’s blood and passed around.
“From now on,” said the head of the clan, “you are all your brothers. No harm will come unto you in the B’laan land, and in case it does, the blood we drank will be split for you. None of us in the compact will ever do evil deeds for damnation will hound us, or death; for the sadyandi is sacred.”
It was only after this was spoken that all the rest of the people of the village came out. We were then treated to a meal of piping hot boiled yam and native coffee. Discussion spilled out more freely. We got to talk to some Visayan-speaking young men. But the womenfolk were still keeping their distance, hiding their faces in the walls of their huts but listening intently.
We were then able to have a preliminary social investigation of the nearby areas with the help of a B’laan guide.
After this, organizing among the B’laan peasants was much easier. The practice of lusong (exchange of labor power) and bayanihan multiplied. Today there are self-defense corps in the barrio. There are line of communication and supplies for the New People’s Army. The people discuss among themselves through the “stick-ED,” stones and drawing on the earth, the story that we told them, enriching it later with the lessons learned from the Tulo ka Batakang Suliran (Three Basic Problems).
Due to the success of our political work among the B’laan people, a son was sent to the service of the Filipino masses, to the New People’s Army. As a member of the semi-legal team (SLT), he is now organizing among fellow B’laans.
Meanwhile, sadyandis go on as more and more B’laans embrace the national democratic revolution as their lifeblood.