|
A mammoth trading company with a delicate touch Big as we ore, C. Itoh oflers the kind of swift, sensitive, personalized service that mokes all the difference in the world of international trade today. 107 years of experience in promoting import and export, establishing joint investment ventures and triangular trade hove made us experts at smoothing out even the most complicated trading problems And we are big. After all, we deal in more than 20,000
items, maintain 80 overseas offices in 50 countries of the world and
employ a staff of over 7,500 trading experts which means that if you have
a trading problem to solve, our mammoth with a delicate touch is just the
trading company for you.
1 THE The Nationalist Sell - Out IF ONLY because the past could teach us, with the birth of this magazine perhaps it will do well to recall La Solidaridad, the newspaper which was the rallying point of the Propaganda Movement against Spain. This is not to say that Solidarity can ever approximate the stature and the dedication to the Filipino cause of Marcelo H. del Pilar and his colleagues. But in a country with a leadership grown flabby with corruption it is the fond hope of Solidarity to be, even in a feeble fashion, a vehicle of protest against those well-entrenched individuals and institutions - foreign as well as Filipino - who continue to strangle this nation. In Madrid in 1889, the intellectuals of the Filipino colony founded La Solidaridad. The contributors - Mariano Ponce Enrile, Gradano Lopez Jaena, Jose Ma. Panganiban, Gregorio Aguilera, Eduardo de Lete, Domi lador Gomez, Antonio Luna, Jose Hernandez Crame, and of course, Jose Rizal and his friend, Ferdinand Blumentritt, are now enshrined in history. Let us not miss what they have done: they made Filipinos conscious of their nationhood; they gave vision to Filipino aspirations which led to the Revolution of 1896. They were participants - not dilettantes - in the Filipino cause. It is our misfortune that many of those who are capable of creative thought are alienated from their society, unlike the Del Pilars and the Lopez jaenas who never severed their roots from Filipinas. It is easy enough to define the causes for the alienation of the intellectual, to conclude even that nationalism has already been sold down the river by the nationalists themselves who, through repetitive slogans, have made nationalism respectable just as corruption has been made acceptable in the highest enclaves of our society. Today, no sacrifice is asked of patriots; they are rewarded with high government positions, with fellowships. Better still, they are hired as spokesmen 2 of the neo - ilustrados - the ideological heirs of the ilustrados of 1896 who craved equality with the Spanish hierarchs, not freedom from them, who later on sold their honor to whoever would Hatter their status - be they the Americans who subverted the Revolution against Spain, or the Japanese who came in 1941. As such, they have altogether forgotten the wellsprings of nationalism itself. The leaders of the Propaganda Movement fought a class war against the Spanish and mestizo elite. Herein, therefore, lies the failure of Filipino nationalism: its contemporary manifestation has not been imbued with class consciousness. Without affirming the class struggle, it has been easily undermined and subverted by its enemies. THE MOST VICIOUS and cynical exploiter of nationalism is the political system itself. Every politico now swears by it, and yet nationalism as an ideology, as an instrument of the working class and as a political program, does not exist. In fact, none of our parties - with perhaps the illegal Communist Party as the only exception - has any real class ideology or program which will give form and meaning to the aspirations of the working class. This does not mean that the common man does not participate in the political system; but when national policies are formulated and the decisions are made, his interests are forgotten for he has no voice in the higher councils. Almost two decades of independence have borne out this fact; both parties are instruments of the vested few. There was a time, of course, when both parties had an ideology, when both worked for independence from the United States; that was the ideology. But with this independence achieved, the props have been removed. During the last two decades both parties have worked not for the working class but those who were at the helm. In the absence of an ideology, political leaders have swung from one party to another with impunity. There is no stigma attached to this political infidelity; how then could one explain the election of Ferdinand Marcos last November, and earlier, the election of Ramon Magsaysay - both of whom junked the Liberals for the Nacionalistas ? As long as politics remain the prerogative of the rich and corrupt, we will always have cynical leaders. Since there is no class distinction between the leaders , whoever wins is actually of no importance. The winner will always pander the interests of his group, to the dictates of the wealthy - Filipino and foreigner - who contributed to his campaign. We have seen this sys -tem operate with increasing ferocity and, as long as it persists, it will continue to make the rich richer. And the poor be damned - they have a voice only on election day and after that, silence. Without class ideology and the dedication which such an ideology generates, it is not only easy for politicians to go from one party to another; it is also easy for them to be corrupt. They are not beholden to the people who, in the first place, they do not represent. During their tenure, there are no institutions to which they are answerable because the electorate is not an effective critic. Thus, year after year, corrupt officials are sent back to high offices. Yet, there is universal agreement that corruption must be wiped away not only because it is wasteful but because it is the people who suffer ultimately when the public services break down. But the real argument against corruption is not its wastefulness but what it does to government. Corruption discredits even the few honest people in government; it further imparts to government the foulness of in -justice. And if a government is corrupt and therefore unjust, it is easy for people to be disloyal to that government and to support any movement no matter how treacherous this alternative may be. Those who have lost faith in democratic institutions will not hesitate to clutch at straws. They will welcome anything, even communism, if it means change. At no other time has this been most evidently illustrated than in the last elections. Macapagal was defeated although he claimed kinship with the masses for his government was not only bumbling and inefficient; it was corrupt. Unemployment and the cost of living had soared. Worst Continued on page 112 3 A Formula for Southeast Asian Stability
I. Three Elements Not in Phase THE SEPARATION of Singapore from Ma -laysia reminds us all of the difficulty in the search for stability in Southeast Asia. Yet in 1961 and 1963, two important, though falter-ing, steps were taken towards regional stabil-ity - ASA and MAPHILINDO. If we look into the reasons why both failed, we may uncover ways that can lead to regional security and stability. The Philippines has a special interest in that goal, both because troubles in the Southeast Asian region can impede progress towards a better life at home, and because Filipino leaders already have led the way in the few starts dm have been made. After all, it was President Garcia's 1959 meeting with the Tengku in Manila that "kicked off" ASA and give the idea public significance. After Garcia, had it not been for the very active support and interest of Vice - President Pelaez during his time at the Foreign Ministry, ASA would not have enjoyed the early prosperity and hopes for success that characterized its first two years. And MAPHILINDO, of course, was almost single-handedly the work of President Macapagal. While the idea of a pan-malay confederation had been current for years, it was President Macapagal's personal initiative, backed by S-P. Lopez and assisted by faculty members of the University of the Philippines, that gave birth to the Manila Declaration. But we all recognize that neither of those two efforts at regional cooperation in South-east Asia has resulted in a durable entity. True, both ASA and MAPHILINDO went further than other, earlier, attempts at Asian "regionalism," especially in the sense that both were truly Asian efforts and ASA in particular promised certain practical economic advantages. But like all the other efforts to-wards regionalism since Aung San of Burma, President Quirino (and others), gave voice to the concept after World War II, ASA and MAPHILINDO lacked one or more of the essential elements that might convert regionalism into reality. A brief look at those "essential elements" may be helpful. In the earliest postwar efforts towards regional cooperation, it seems fair to say that the Asian peoples themselves were not ready for the idea, nor did the notion of cooperation seem closely connected with their internal domestic needs. Those were times when independence, and the first few steps that must follow the removal of colonialism's yoke, had the greatest priority among leaders in Southeast Asia. And the big powers, the U.S. in particular, had ttieir interests focusscd elsewhere, or, as in the case of Japan, were themselves emerging from the destruction of war. Thus, two elements - Asian interest in regionalism, and great power support for the idea - were out of phase with one another. Later, when the big powers did turn their attention to the potential benefits that might lie in regional cooperation (as Britain did at Colombo in 1954, and the U.S. at the Simla Conference in 1955), the nations of South-east Asia were no longer so interested in vague notions of cooperation. They were in the midst of meeting the pragmatic requirements of independence, when the first flush of freedom gives way to recognizing the hard facts of making freedom meaningful. To most it meant "full steam ahead" with national economic development. In turn, this meant that priority attention bad to be given to the capital and technical assistance that only the big powers could provide. Thus in 1955 at Simla, few in Asia were ready to listen to American talk of multilateral planning and offers of "regional" assistance, if those offers implied any reduction in what each of the recipient Asian states might expect by acting alone. 4 Indeed, there are officials in Washington today, involved in President Johnson's recent offer of $1 billion for Asian regional development, who were also involved in American plans for regional assistance in 1955. They must wonder what has changed in a decade that may permit the idea or regionalism to work now when the same good idea could not get off the ground a decade earlier. The answer is a simple one: much has changed, in that the three "essential elements" for regional cooperation might now, for the first time, be in phase with one another. Those elements are the three groups of nations whose interest and support will be essential for the success of any effort towards regionalism: (1) the "efficient" nations in Southeast Asia, such as Malaysia, Thailand and the Philippines, whose participation can provide a regional effort with pragmatic meaning and a tangible basis of accomplishment, (2) the "uncommitted," though important, nations in Asia whose support is essential for stability in the region, though initially they can add little in material terms, and (3) the "world powers," such as the U.S. and Japan, whose material support is essential if a regional effort at cooperation is to approach take-off stage. Let us examine two of those elements in detail: in particular, the interest of the Asian nations in regionalism. Among many Asian leaders, the interest in regionalism as a practical matter, rather than merely a pleasant-sounding but relatively meaningless concept of brotherhood, has been gaining renewed acceptance since 1960-61. Part of that interest is reflected in ECAFE, which, in its numerous stidies and commit-tees, has regularly recommended greater economic cooperation in Asia. But ECAFE is a body, sadly, that has little reputation for being able to do things. Probably a more important manifestation of the interest in practical regionalism within Asia was the formation of ASA, for ASA's short but interesting history was character-big, grandiose notions (like a regional airline) in favor of smaller but more practical efforts. It was one of the express stipulations of Thai -land before entering ASA, for example, that the new group should be a "practical organization." And it should not be forgotten that one of the last measures accomplished by ASA before it went into suspended animation was the series of steps - taken by each of the three governments - to appropriate $1 million each to a joint "ASA Fund." This Fund was designed to support joint ventures, largely in research, that would aid the national goals of each member. Also, at the time that ASA went into limbo, planning was well underway to see what, if any, benefits might lie in an ASA Trade Treaty. Many of the officials involved already suspected that a tariff reduction among Thailand, Malaysia and the Philippines would not by itself be a major contribution to their mutual trade. Nevertheless, their studies helped develop the point that certain cooperative measures - in the field of joint marketing and industrial planning, for example - could assist domestic economic goals. This is not to say that ASA would have accom plished all the things that its most fervent supporters hoped for; but only that ASA was beginning to come to grips with the pragmatic tasks of regional cooperation precisely when the Association's activities came to an end. II. ASA and MAPHILINDO As we all know, ASA foundered on the shoals of the Philippines' claim to Sabah. The events which followed that claim, particularly Manila's sometime support for Djakarta, led directly to the establishment of MAPHILINDO. This does not mean, of course, that MAPHILINDO was in any important way a successor to ASA. The two institutions differ in far more significant ways than the simple fact that Indonesia was not in ASA and Thailand is not a member of MAPHILINDO. Instead, ASA and MAPHILINDO represent deeply different conceptions of regionalism. ASA was formed partly because both the Tengku and President Garcia shared a deep aversion to the appeals of communism, and concluded that regional economic cooperation could accelerate the economic progress they felt essential to counter those appeals. MAPHILINDO, in contrast, developed out of the simply cynical and tactical motives of Presidents Macapagal and Sukarno (as well as Dr. Subandrio). This is not to say that Indonesia was not also invited to join ASA. Indeed, it was clear from the beginning that an important element - the support of the uncommitted Southeast Asian states - was missing from the new 5 group, The Tengku in particular hoped to enlist the support of Indonesia for the ASA idea as early as October of 1959, when he wrote to the leaders of all Southeast Asian states with the exception of North Vietnam. And Thailand, hoping through 1960 and almost to the last minute that Burma might join, helped delay ASA's establishment for a few months. For Thai leaders, prudent as ever, were at one point inclined to have no ASA at all rather than a group composed only of Southeast Asia's " pro- Western " states. Malaya and the Philippines, on the Other hand, were more concerned about getting something - almost anything, sonic might say - started, and their leaders seemed less worried about the absence of the neutrals. We should not, however, discount the Tengku's early efforts to attract President Sukarno to the ASA idea. He wrote to the Indonesian leader in the same year he visited President Garcia, but he was curtly rebuffed. Some feel that this is because the Tengku did not approach Sukarno before visiting Manila, but at any rate, Sukarno replied on 31 December 1959 that: In my view, a new association which embraces countries in Southeast Asia will only raise doubts and may in fact encourage unhealthy speculation among other countries, and this will become a stumbling block to our desire to cooperate. On account of this, I am wore inclined to the idea that cooperation among South -east Asian countries should be based on bilateral agreements and treaties . . . If it is desired to have cooperation among a wider region, I can foresee possibilities within the Afro-Asian context, in accordance with the achievements of the Asian-African conference which was held in Bandung in 1955. So on account of Indonesia's aloofness, and the unconcern of Burma and Cambodia as well, ASA was established with its decidedly pro-Western image, and that has been a heavy cross to bear. Within the Philippines, moreover, some have suggested that ASA carried an added burden, in that the Association -perhaps because it was identified with an idea of President Garcia's - never seemed to have the deepest sympathies of President Macapagal. ASA received his verbal support, to be sure, but it is equally clear that he was quite willing to sacrifice ASA, and the friendship of Kuala Lumpur, for the claim to North Borneo. For by early summer of 1962, President Macapagal had determined to prosecute the claim as a matter of public policy, whereas before it had been the preserve of Nicasio Osmeña, acting for the heirs of the Sultan of Sulu. It was this decision, leading ultimately to Macapagal's alignment with Indonesia in opposition to the formation of Malaysia, which also set in train the events that culminated in MAPHILINDO. But let us be very clear that it was not President Macapagal's initial conviction to align himself with Indonesia. Instead, we can show that MAPHILINDO was a hurried, patch-work job, with the seams let out to include Indonesia by enlarging upon Macapagal's 1962 proposal for a "Malayan Confederation." That proposal was designed to delay the establishment of the Malaysia Federation, or at least prevent the inclusion of North Borneo within it. Later, when it was clear that this tactic would not work, the original concept was broadened to include Indonesia. Since these are strong allegations, they have to be supported. Perhaps the best evidence is found in the remarkable studies that President Macapagal commissioned General Romulo to have performed at the University of the Philippines. Their purpose was to study the implications of the Macapagal proposal, which in 1962 suggested a confederation among Malaya, the Philippines, Singapore, Sarawak, Brunei and North Borneo, and to make recommendations as to the structure of such a "Confederation."1 According to one of the authors of this Presidentially - sponsored study, the President hoped by this proposal to counter foreign criticism that the North Borneo claim was disrupting plans for the Malaysia Federation. Indeed, the study went on to say that as soon as the Malaysia proposal was first outlined, The Philippines, quick to realize the implications of such a federation, gave ______________ 1 In the words of one of the participants in the University Study, "At the behest of Undersecretary Lopez, President . . . Romulo . . . . . asked Dean Cesar A. Maiul to form a faculty committee to cooperate in the "preparatory studies which President Macapagal has instructed the Department of Foreign Affairs to undertake concerning the establishment of a Malayan Confederation" (Alejandro M. Fernandez. "The Greater Malayan Confederation Proposal: Cultural, Economic and Political Consideration," in "Proposed Outlines of a Greater Malayan Confederation," p. 47 [unpublished typescript, submitted to the Department of Foreign Affairs by a Special University Committee on 9 September 1962]). 6
official notice of its claim to sovereignty over North Borneo . . . What are the implications of the proposed Federation of Malaysia? As far as the Philippines is concerned, its formation would mean the transfer of sovereignty over North Borneo from the United Kingdom to the new federation . . . this would complicate our North Borneo claim by the coming in of a new party or, at the worst, would mean the forfeiture of that claim. This clearly leaves two courses of action, which are not mutually exclusive, that the Philippines can pursue. One course of action is already being pursued; i.e. President Macapagal's Confederation proposal. This course of action would be fruitful provided it succeeds in superseding, or preventing the formation of, the Federation of Malaysia, as the President apparently intended. The idea is twofold: (1) to prevent the British from unilaterally transferring sovereignty over North Borneo to a federation which excludes the Philippines; and (2) to keep open the avenue to a negotiated settlement of the status of North Borneo.1 These comments show clearly that Macapa-gal's famous 1962 "confederation" proposal was seen, by his own advisors, as a mere tactic designed to help press the North Borneo claim. Then in December 1962, the Azahari revolt erupted in Brunei, and it was altogether clear that Indonesia openly supported this and other anti - Malaysia steps. This event provided an incentive and a basis for Philippine - Indonesian cooperation, designed to frustrate Malaysia. Accordingly, President Macapagal soon after began to speak of a "greater" confederation, which would include Indonesia, and on 18 March 1963, S. P. Lopez asked General Romulo for additional faculty studies - this time to report and make recommendations as to the feasibility of including Indonesia in the confederation concept. The result of this request was that the original study was simply enlarged. Along with a new Committee Report two appendices were added to take account, for example, of the economic aspects of the confederation that would be changed if Indonesia were included. It should be noted in passing that the revised report was generally favorable to the in- elusion of Indonesia, though in its first version one author warned that "the prospect of enticing Indonesia to join the proposed con- federation is very dim. . . [and that] Indonesia is still nursing a grudge against the Philip-Committee Report warned that "Indonesia, on account of its population and economic potential, will overshadow the rest. However . . . the natural tendency would be for Malaya and the Philippines to gravitate closer toward each other . . . ." That seemed a wistful hope, since the Philippines was about to recommend to Malaya that she bend down with an Indonesia committed to " crushing " her. The reasons drawn fully from this special University study should now be recalled. This is to show, first, that MAPHILINDO was largely an expedient after - thought to President Macapagal's first confederation proposal - which was itself designed merely to further the North Borneo claim. Second, to justify calling attention to the University study, we should be able to show that it had significant influence on Philippine policy. Both purposes can be convincingly met, first by comparing the University study with the " Macapagal Plan," and second, by examining the purposes of that plan, as seen by its authors. The University Committee concluded its Report with three alternative "plans" for Confederation, and recommended the third: "Plan C can be put into effect immediately. ...this plan is the type of confederation best suited to the Malay peoples at this time." Comparing " Plan C " with the official " Ma-capagal Plan" (presented to Malaya and Indonesia in June and July) the origin of Philippine policy is clear: Plan C, with cer-tain alterations, became the Macapagal Plan, which in turn laid the foundations for MA-PHILINDO. This is seen in the following two illustrations 2 (1) " The proposed confederation shall aim to - ______________ 1 Ibid ., p. 94 (emphasis added) 2 The first pair of these excerpts is taken from the introductory paragraphs in both documents , and the second is from the sections in both documents dealing with the organizational framework for the proposed " Confederation. " 7 (a) Restore and strengthen the historic unity and common heritage among the Malay peoples, and draw them to closer political, economic and cultural relations." (2) " 5, The proposed confederation shall aim to restore and strengthen the historic unity and common heritage of the Malay peoples and drew them into closer political, economic and cultural relations." The second illustration deals with the organizational framework for MAPHILINDO recommended by Manila and initially proposed in the University study. Column (1) shows the University test for Plan C, under the heading "General Organs." Column (2) shows the text of the Macapagal Plan under the heading "Political Organs.": (1) " A Council of Heads of State shall be constituted and shall meet once or twice a year. This body shall determine the broad principles of cooperation and harmonization of policies." (2) "A Supreme Council composed of the Heads of Government shall be constituted and shall meet once or twice a year. This body shall determine the broad principles of cooperation and coordination of policies." Turning now to the purpose of "Plan C," as seen by its authors, no more telling comment could be offered on the meaning, and true origins of MAPHILINDO, than the words the University Committee chose to conclude its Report. The Report stressed "the urgency for taking definite steps towards the launching of Plan C": The establishment of the Federation of Malaysia will render the Philippine claim over North Borneo more difficult to pursue. Therefore, if the greater Malayan Confederation proposal fails, other alternatives for pursuing the Philippine claim are immediately indicated.1 III. The Combined Approach Just as it is clear that MAPHILINDO was a Philippine inspiration, it is equally clear that MAPHILINDO had no practical results. President Macapagal sponsored it because it provided a hope for keeping alive the North Borneo claim ; Indonesia joined because it helped "confrontation," while at the same time recognizing that it was "good domestic politics for Macapagal,"2 and the Tengku acquiesced in it in order to buy time. With those beginnings, it is not surprising that nothing practical resulted from MAPHILINDO. Yet MAPHILINDO did bring one im-portant accomplishment, and for that we ought to be grateful to President Macapagal. MAPHILINDO showed that President Sukarno was willing, even briefly, to channel the Malaysia dispute through a regional format and to join a clearly regional organization. For Indonesia, this decision represented an important break from her past preference for the global level of diplomacy, particularly the Afro-Asian framework. The lesson of Indo-nesian membership in MAPHILINDO points, therefore, to the second for the three "essential elements" for meaningful regionalism in the area. That second element, as was noted, is the necessary participation of the uncommitted though important nations in Southeast Asia. Indonesia's participation in MAPHILINDO could signal the coming into phase of that second element, for Indonesia is without question the most important of those states. For many purposes she may be the most important state in the region under any circumstances - both by virtue of her population and likely resources, and also because the direction of her policies has been so de-stabilizing. What must be considered, therefore, is the thesis that stability in the region would be enhanced if Indonesia became regularly associated with almost any sort of regional organization. Even without early material benefits from such an association (and Indonesia, with her economic and administrative weaknesses, could mean some initial net loss to the other states), the political gains could be great Conversely, any effort towards regionalism that does not include Indonesia is at the very minimum unreal, and will be seen as such. ______________ 1 From p. 23 of the Committee Report, in Ibid ., 8 May 1943 (emphasis added) 2 Based on interviews in Djakarta, including one with Dr. Subandrio of 4 July 1963. 8 Thus the hypothesis here is that an Indonesian involvement with a continuing regional entity would be helpful to the region's potential for stability. It is at least conceivable, chat is, that an organizational affiliation, such as ASA provided for Malaya and the Philippines when they were most at odds over North Borneo, might similarly provide Indonesia's leaders with a rationale for smoothing the rough edges of her regionally de-stabilizing foreign policies. In the Philippine-Malaysia dispute the communications pattern that ASA gen-crated provided some common denominator for Manila and Kuala Lumpur. ASA's role in that dispute was both as an organizational entity - a value - that each nation hoped to preserve, and as a link that contributed to their communications. Thailand, as ASA's third member, performed this communications function, largely in the person of Foreign Minister Thanat Khoman. Indeed, in mid-1963, when the North Borneo dispute was intense, Vice-President Pelaez asked a visitor, then departing for Bangkok, to be remember-ed to Thanat ; "We think of him as the ASA Ambassador, you know." Of course to suggest that the "rough edges" of Indonesia's policies might be smoothed by participation in some regional format implies a realistic potential for ameliorating the conflict with Malaysia. Based on an analysts of Indonesia's policies, and her behavior soon after the Malaysia crisis first developed, that potential seems to exist. Sukarno has appeared consistently anxious to invoke some potentially friendly and prestigious "outside" agency as a justification for modifying confrontation - but only under conditions that Indonesia could accept without the appearance of obvious humiliation. Thus Sukarno has both called for and accepted a series of "outside" mediators: ranging from Thailand (Thanat as a mediator and Thai "inspection units" in Bor-neo), to Robert Kennedy, to MAPHILINDO, and finally, to President Macapagal's suggestion of an "Afro-Asian Commission."1 This does not deny that Indonesia has had certain objective policy goals in Southeast Asia, deriving both from her internal politics and from her leaders' perception of Indonesia as the area's leading state. In essence, those leaders believe that Indonesia should exercise a major influence regarding, the territories that entered Malaysia, and at the minimum, that Indonesia's voice must be taken seriously within the region as a whole. Recognizing this Indonesian view, there are several ways that other nations might attempt to deal with it. One, of course, was attempted in 1958 - 59 when Britain, the U.S., (and even some Filipino leaders) encouraged the dissolution of Indonesia, at least as presently constituted. Another way may be to condemn Indonesia as a "trouble maker," and hope to build countervailing strength around her. But for a variety of reasons, among them the many weaknesses of Malaysia, such hopes would appear doomed to failure. Another approach is to internalize the role of Indonesia within the system of Southeast Asia's international relations. This approach would frankly recognize that Indonesian aspirations, backed by great resources, represent regionally de-stabilizing forces, and would endeavor to channel and accommodate those forces. If this approach took the form of a regional or sub-regional association, combining the dramatic nature of MAPHILINDO with the practical virtues of ASA, there could be major advantages. The benefits would lie in improved stability for the region as a whole, as well as improvements in Indonesia's internal well-being. What we are proposing, therefore, is a concretized MA-PHILINDO, and while Indonesia would expect to dominate such a vehicle, it would nevertheless combine two unprecedented advantages. First, insofar as a new MAPHILINDO-cum- ASA provided Indonesia with the framework for a grand foreign policy role in Asia, it would help satisfy the need, represented by President Sukarno, for a major Indonesian voice in regional and world affairs. Second, to the extent that such a body developed in-to an association for practical and concrete projects in technological and economic co-operation for development, it could contribute significantly to development and stability within Indonesia. That would itself add to the stability of the region. _____________ 1 Space prohibits a further expansion on this fundamental point, I have dealt with it more fully in a forthcoming book, "Dimensions of Conflict in Southeast Asis, published recently by Prentice-Hall. Readers may also wish to consult my article, "The potential for Indonesian Expansionism," Pacific Affairs, Winter 1963-64. 9 Let us call this proposed new group "ASA-NEFOS" - to designate the "Association of Southeast Asian New Emerging Forces." ASANEFOS would include Indonesia, the ASA members, and hopefully could attract Cambodia and perhaps even Burma. But the main feature of the group is that it combines the membership of both ASA and MAPHI-LINDO, and could thereby integrate Indonesia with practical efforts at cooperation. Moreover, ASANEFOS would provide a ration-ale, for the first time, within which President Sukarno could give his support to the development plans of the "administrators" and "economists" in Djakarta. Up to now, such a rationale has been missing. A central malaise of Indonesian politics has been that the practical and moderate men, whose overriding concern is with economic development, have lacked a grand ideological de-sign and symbol with which to attract internal support for their efforts. Clearly, their goal of development for its own sake has not been enough. As a result, the dichotomy between "nation-building," the task to which Sukarno has addressed his great talents, and "economy-build ing," the job on which men of the stripe of Dr. Hatta and the late Djuanda hoped to concentrate on, has not been bridged. The nation-builders have so far tended to dominate; under their leadership Indonesia's economy has suffered greatly, and she has embarked on foreign policies frustrating both to herself and her neighbors. A new multi-national framework, however, along the lines of the ASANEFOS suggested here, could bridge that dichotomy. This is its major attraction as a method for contributing to stability -both in the region and in Indonesia. For if such a new group carefully provided for Indonesian nuances ( as in its name and stated goals), it could satisfy certain of the foreign policy aspirations of many leading Indonesians. Simultaneously, it could provide a new incentive and rationale for domestic efforts towards economic development. 1 In order that a regional effort along these new lines be established, and thus attract the support of Indonesia, two quite different perspectives on "regionalism" will have to be combined. Both perspectives already exist simultaneously in each of the ASA and MA-PHILINDO countries. There are on the one hand many leaders, pragmatic about the requirements of economic and political develop -ments, who see regionalism in instrumental -economic terms as a means to help achieve developmental goals, On the other hand there is a strident and sometimes flamboyant Asian nationalism, which sees regionalism as a format for asserting Asia's identity, and recapturing an "Asian unity" that ostensibly was upset by colonialism. A new effort at co - operation, if it were to succeed, would have to combine the appeals and energies of both. It would have to include, more than ASA did. the appearance of Asia's new nationalism, but it would also have to be far more meaningful and concrete than MAPHILINDO. By combining the two approaches in ways that Indonesia's leaders could both accept and justify at home (calling it ASANEFOS might help), the concept of regionalism in Southeast Asia might, for the first time, take on truly important meaning. The effort would have to be predicated on the full participation of Indonesia, for without Indonesia, the most important of the "uncommitted" states of the region, any step towards cooperation will be no more than transitional. With Indonesia, on the other hand, a new regional format would represent a potential giant step towards stability - both in Southeast Asia and in Indonesia itself. IV. Making It Work The formation of a group like the proposed ASANEFOS would represent two of the three "essential elements" for regionalism. It would mean that the interest in regionalism of the colorful but less prosperous states had begun to converge with the interest of the "efficient" small states. The third essential element, the interest and support of the great powers, is also becoming apparent. This was signalled in two ways. First, by President Johnson when he spoke in April of a $1 billion contribution towards cooperative developmental efforts in Southeast Asia, and second, by the Japanese and American promises to subscribe $ 200 mil -lion each to the Asian Development Bank. As these three elements come into place for the _____________ 1 This would be especially so if practical aspects of the new group were modeled after ASA, and one would except that if Thailand participated, the ASA model would exercise a major influence. ASA once in " shake-down" phase was completed, showed a marked change from an early attachment to regional cooperation almost as an end in itself, to a more practical instrument within which to press ahead with the development of each participating state, but in ways that required national cooperation. 10 first time in history, they can provide a practical basis for making regionalism work in Southeast Asia. However, whether the dream will become reality or not will depend very heavily on the actions of Southeast Asian states. Great power support for regionalism depends upon the creation of stability in Southeast Asia, but stability requires that two major political sores - "confrontation" and the North Borneo claim - be resolved. That goal can itself be furthered by creating a body like ASANE-FOS, whose first mission might be the convening, not of an "Afro-Asian Commission," but an all-Asian mission to help resolve confrontation. If it were composed of Cambodia, Japan, and either Burma or Thailand, and made recommendations for the withdrawal of Indonesian forces from Malaysian Borneo, its chances of gaining the support of both the Tengku and President Sukarno would be good - provided the Tengku is patient on the pace of withdrawal. The Philippines, for its part, would have to revise its North Borneo claim, accepting instead a plan for special investment concessions there. A plan of this sore is not far from what Mr. Pelaez hoped might develop under ASA. These goals are difficult, but not impossible. If they can be achieved, the climate for great power support for regional cooperation will have been greatly enhanced, and that support is essential if capital investment is to flow to the region. And in the final analysis, capital investment is fundamental, both to permit each of the states to prosecute their separate national plans, and to give substance to the cooperative concept. But even with all the elements falling into place, no one can predict that practical regionalism will result. For of the three essential elements, only two - the ASA countries and the great powers - combine practical assets with a relatively stable and predictable foreign policy outlook. The support of the Asian neutrals, on the other hand, and Indonesia in particular, is much less certain. Many things will have to be done to persuade a larger number of Indonesia's leaders that they too should support the idea and regard it as one means for helping to achieve developmental goals. That is the priority issue at this time. It is in that context that the next major task for Philippine statesmanship, and for a constructive Philippine role in Southeast Asia, becomes clear: to work towards the "in -ternalization" of Indonesia within a stable system of international politics in Southeast Asia. ARAGONESA
11
The Filipino Image
E. P. Patanñe WHAT is the Filipino image? This is a literary question often expressed in the general inquiry, "When will the great Filipino novel be written?" The question also lends itself to philosophical discourse which could be enmeshed by definitions. But very often, we take this question as asking for a definition of the "Filipino national character," which would then require a listing of Filipino traits, virtues, qualities, failings, weaknesses and foibles. The question, however, could also lead to an investigation of the "basic personality structure," which would define the "typical Filipino," and from this one can infer the "national character." We shall cite, from three sources, perceptive views of the Filipino. First, from Rizal in his novel, Noli me Tangere, a glimpse of Us: "The reforms which emanate from the higher places are annulled in the lower circles, thanks to the vices of all, thanks, for instance, to the eager desire to get rich in a snort time, and to the ignorance of the people who consent to everything." The second excerpt is from "The Philippines: A World of Difference," an article which appeared written by one Robert L. Sam-mons, which appeared in Town & Country, a prestigious American magazine. The article is generally complimentary, and the Board of Travel and Tourist Industry had it reprinted for circulation. ". . . the islands have managed to preserve their own gay, charming, totally individual character despite a history shadowed by colonial rule. Colonizers and invaders have gone, and Filipinos continue to slip easily from one culture to another, for these effervescent, hospitable people are also highly adaptable." Another view stirs controversy: "Their remarkable facility for assimilation has enabled them to absorb into their life and 'Philippinize' the more desirable aspects of their ruling masters." Finally, Fr. Jaime Bulatao, S.J., a Filipino psychologist, considers "implications for the Filipino personality," in a study of the "personal preferences of Filipino students" utilizing a psychological testing technique called the Edwards Personal Preference Schedule: "When contrasted with the American, the Filipino is less autonomous, more dependent. He prefers a stable way of life where things are "structured" and do not demand a continued risk-taking. He will thus be more traditional, oriented to authoritarian ways of thinking rather than to innovation and entrepreneurship. He finds it easier to submit than to assert his own individuality. He likes to take care of others and be taken cared of. In brief, he values small group belong-ingness. The hold of his primary group on him are very strong. He is social-minded rather than individualistic, but his social-minded ness is limited to a small group. He says kami rather than ako, thus avoiding the charge of selfishness and yahang but nevertheless one might say that he is selfish to the extent that his personal ako is buried and tied up in the bigger self, his primary group, and it is this small group's good that he seeks." In these three views we have presented actually two images: (1) the Filipino image from a foreigner's view and (2) the Filipino image from two Filipinos, both social scientists. 12 Having presented these images, one is not compelled to choose which image he likes best or which image he thinks is more correct. Two of these "images" are impressionistic, the latter is highly objective. The "final image" would still consist of a fine delineation combining all three, for the "image" of any people can best be gleaned from what others see or say about the group and what the members of the group think, say and see about themselves. But the full dimensions of this final image still need study. In short, one cannot judge Filipino national character by simply taking the Bayanihan folk dancers as a sample. One cannot make a generalization about Filipinos by saying they live in fine homes, merely because the Filipinos in Forbes Park do, nor can one simply present Sapang Palay, the rural resettlement scheme, as the Philippines. We are, however, rather inclined to take the last view as the more general outline of ourselves. The Philippines is Poor A squatter family of, say, four may live on no more than P60 a month. The per capita income was around P273 in 1962. Let us say, it is now P360. If we divide this amount by the number of months, we find that each one of the 30 or so million Filipinos live on 30 pesos a month. The national average income per family in the Philippines in 1962 was P1,803. If the average size of the Filipino family is six, each individual member of this family, would live on an income of no more than P300 a year. And this is even less than living on P30 a month! And let us not forget that about 60 per cent of the population live in the rural areas. The 40 per cent living in the big towns and cities do not all represent high income groups. More than 50 per cent of the population of Greater Manila , according to an Index consumer survey, earn P200 and less. About one-fifth of Metropolitan Manila's population fall under the "P100 and less" income group. These economic indices show that the majority of the Filipinos , are still living in a subsistence economy. If the social implications of this economic fact are sad, the political implications are tragic. For when the people are poor, there is generally a low literacy, and where literacy is low, apathy prevails. And because the individual learns to accept his particular position in the social structure as a matter of design, individual merit is not emphasized. What is emphasized is personal connection. Thus the typical Filipino values are dependence and aggression. Tomas Roberto Fillol is an Argentine writer who wrote a book titled, Social Factors in Economic Development. In the chapter on the Argentine national character, he mentions the need structure of his people, which is relevant to the Filipinos. Fillol says that the Argentine has a high need aggression and a high need dependency. Need aggression is a characteristic of the individual's personality which makes such an individual feel satisfaction in being aggressive in thought or action, in attacking others and overcoming real or imaginary opposition forcefully. This particular need, Fillol says, is partly reinforced by the Argentine's compelling drive to prove to himself that he is some-body, which Fillol regards as some kind of a defense mechanism to cover up a passive and apathetic soul. Need dependency, on the other hand, makes one feel satisfaction from having ideas and attitudes approved by another person or persons, from having someone else to depend on, rather than analyzing a problem and making rational choices. This need, Fillol adds, is satisfied in finding a person who will make all the decisions, and who will assume absolute and undisputed command of those around him. Fillol explains: "In such a case, the anxiety of having to make rational choices and solving problems by himself is relieved by the fact that there is no uncertainty in the individual's environment, there are actually no problems to be faced - one's choices and wishes, however, irrational, are realized simply by ordering them to be fulfilled by persons around oneself." Fillol uses one word to describe this type of personality: Peron. Filipino social scients have expressed the same views, of course, in rather different terms. Even our newspaper columnists have taken up these points. So, what is the Filipino image? Our answer is: how do the poor live? But someone may say, "But we are not all poor." True, but what should the Filipino 13 image represent? The 1 per cent or the 99 per cent? Here's the minority image: the Filipino family living in suburbia, in a ranch-style house, with a car, four children, a four-room house, a kitchen with a gas or electric stove, a refrigerator, perhaps, an air-conditioned bed-room. The head of the family earns more than P1 ,000 a month, wears imported shirts, the wife wears Capri pants, the children wear sneakers in and out of the bouse. They have a hi-fi or stereo set. Father drinks martini and so does Mother. The children drink milk. They have a couple of maids. Father has traveled abroad. Parents chuckle over the humor in Time magazine's movie reviews. They enjoy European movies. They go to small parties or attend cocktails. The family is Western-oriented. The other Filipino family has the same number of children. Father works on the farm. Mother works in and around the house, feeding the chicken and the pigs or tending a small garden. The children help in the chores. The house is probably large but constructed of nip* and bamboo with some wooden parts. The carabao corral takes the place of the carport. You can move Family No. 2 to the city and shed the rural surroundings but you'd still be dealing with the same rural-oriented or tradition-bound family. The Underdeveloped Image We like to think that the Philippines is a rich country full of natural resources, beautiful sunsets and lovely mountains. But we have a historic and chronic shortage of rice, the basic staple, while we lavish wealth on fiestas. We are, indeed, a poor country trying to blur our true image - for foreign consumption. We have a sense of tradition, not history. What is the difference? The difference is in time; history shows development, stages, process. Tradition only shows a tableau - no beginning, no end. The Philippines is an underdeveloped country-meaning, it is poor. Now, what image are we talking about? I live in the barrio and spend my leisure squatting by the roadside contemplating my bare feet. Or I live in the city and dance the Tahitian twist, dressed in my dark suit, but I sleep on a mat in my basketball shorts. I love reading komiks. What do I want to be when I grow up? I don't know. Note the fellow who stands on the sidewalk in Manila. We ask the Asian: "Where can we go to listen to Filipino music?" He does not know. We would like to go to a good restaurant. He tells us to visit a Chinese restaurant. Then, we are told finally, that to appreciate Philippine culture, we should visit the rice terraces of Banaue, eat lechon, attend a fiesta, drink "tuba" and dance the "tinikling." As a writer has said about the "content" of our participation in the New York World's Fair, what we have succeeded in projecting was the image of a peasant culture - euphe-mistically we may say, the folk order. This observation merely re-states the fact that the Philippines is basically an agricultural country. The picture here suggested is not merely fields of rice, corn or camote. What one can also draw from this picture is a people using or applying an old and often antiquated technology. The structure of this social setting - a larger part of the population being poor and a very small rich minority simply suggests a colonial background, a feudal structure. Philippine feudalism is not quite the same kind of feudalism associated with Europe of the 16th or 17th century. And here is a voice from such a world. From Pedro Martinez, a study of the Mexican peasantry by Oscar Lewis, anthropologist, University of Illinois, this familiar outcry; At one time, I believed in a lot of things . . . now I believe in nothing. I wanted to see my village improve but with the passage of time I am convinced that it can't be done and no matter how saintly a public official may be, when he takes office, he will accomplish nothing. Now I realize that in my village no one understands. We are blindfolded : All of us! Partly because of lack of culture, partly because of lack of unity and partly because of poverty. Perhaps there are some who have a bit of wisdom, but so what? What is the good of my having ideas if I am a poor man? 1 cannot do a thing. 14 This same voice is echoed again and again in Rizal's novels. The unfortunates - thus Rizal described his people. The description has changed but little. In a country where wealth is in the hands of a few, where the people are poor and passive, the type of leadership that emerges is a combination pre-Spanish chieftain and feudal lord. The emerging "new Filipino"- whom some social scientists feel would provide a new direction for us - is swallowed up by the social order. He loses his voice and finally reinforces the old folk-feudal social organization be it in politics, in business or in industry. Because Filipino society values authority, given its high need dependency, the individual strives for a position of power. For the numberless poor, the striving is directed towards identification with figures of authority. The few who hold and wield power use power for their own ends. The politicians fall under this category. The growing professional class, having won for itself a degree of economic security, is either non-committal or involved in political factionalism. Leadership is still a matter of holding on to power and enlarging the power base. The mass of the people is simply manipulated along traditional " givens " In short, the promise of a new leadership will remain a promise - until the mass of the people has achieved greater literacy, a higher standard of living - until industrialization has finally supplanted agriculture. But who's to push industrialization? Perhaps, there are among us today a few who could see their way through and, perhaps, like Rizal, Mabini and the great figures of the 19th century reform movement, sacrifice comfort for crusade. The hope of this country today lies in its universities. Changing the Image The Filipino image will undergo a change in a generation or two. The process is long and tedious, but the change is inevitable, for society is ever dynamic, ever stirring from within. The process can be slow. There are stone-age cultures in many parts of the world only emerging into the 20th century. What can best describe Philippine culture today is the term "folk." The Filipinos are still living in a folk order. How else can it be when the bulk of the population is still rooted to the village, when 60 per cent of the people are peasants? The change will come when the urbanization process, and the signs are all over the islands, finally breaks down the folk culture. Aren't the teenagers in the barrios now sporting jeans and torero pants? This is a symptom of the coming change and, as always, change appears on the superficial level: new tastes, new sounds, new products, new looks. Urbanization simply means, again in the view of Redfield, the triumph of the techno-logical order over the folk order, the transition from an agricultural to an industrial economy. The Filipino image will change when the traditions we have been taught to cherish have been weakened, when new values have been imposed on old ones, and the old ties that bind the society together have been broken and new social relationships have been substituted for the old "personal" bonds. The change comes when the acculturated Filipino, the Filipino who now straddles the folk and the technological orders, comes into contact with his tradition - bound cousins. It is the case of the superior culture always as-serting itself. Haven't we been criticized for "aping" Western things? The aping is accepting "foreign" ideas. The inferior culture always tends to take in aspects of the superior culture. The New Filipino is certain to shed much of what he has held dear over the centuries. But we predict that externally, the New Filipino shall have accepted the Western view of life - a view that is objective and less emotional, pragmatic rather than impressionistic, scientific rather than fatalistic. 15 Tan Malaka's Manila Memoirs* ONE YEAR living as a fugitive gave me quite a normal life. I had even been a journalist for a while (1926-1327). But whenever news became late and the number of comrades increased I would be forced to look for another job with a better income in an effort to support the others. I was just succeeding in getting a new job at a German firm when I had to flee. In Bangkok I got stranded because of many reasons and problems. In such circumstances the possession of a good fake passport is very important. At last a non-Filipino deserved the right to be an American citizen and could possess a genuine American passport together with another Filipino, who did not possess a passport. We left Siam for Manila. We needed each other. To slip through the Customs required tricks and tac-tics. After more than three weeks of sea-voyage, which was mostly spent on deck among hundreds of returning Chinese passengers, we reached Manila at the beginning of August 1927. I was lucky that the Customs did not recognize my identity. Last year I entered Manila as Elias Fuentes and now as Hasan Gozali. I went straight to the University of Manila. By chance a friend of mine, Dr. Mariano Santos was just talking to his elder brother, Dr. Apolinario de los Santos, president of said University. The Filipinos are usually correct, quick and observant. "You deserve our support," said Dr. Apolinario. "This is your hostel in the University. Food and sundries will be provided as long as you wish to stay in the Philippines." The Philippine youth knew what it meant to struggle for independence. The words "tired-ness" and "weakness" are not strong enough to express my physical condition at that very moment. At midday the next morning after a soundless sleep I realized that I had to see a doctor as soon as possible. One night I paid a second visit to the publisher of the newspaper El Debute, Francisco Varona. Many of my articles had been published in this newspaper. On the evening of my first visit Varona accompanied me on my way back to the hotel. But the second visit I refused to be accompanied by his deputy when Varona was not at home. When I descended the house and was already outside I was approached by someone in plain clothes with the question: "Are you Fuentes?" At my answer: "Yes, I am," I was suddenly surrounded and searched, lest I might be armed. Immediately I was ordered to a waiting car nearby and made to sit between two men who must be from the Police or Constabulary. Just then I realized what had happened-Unhesitatingly I said: "You make a mistake. Independence for my country will also benefit yours...." Becoming frustrated and closing his ears with his hands he said: "Please stop talking." After a short drive the car came to a stand-still in front of the Police HQ. The Chief of Intelligence, Nevins, an American, and Colonel Ramos, a Spanish Eurasian, were waiting for us. The person who was in charge of my arrest, Captain Quimbo, a Filipino, introduced me: "This is Mr. Tan Malaka. He is a gentleman. Please treat him as a gentleman." Captain Quimbo left. There were three of us by midnight. I was really fired at with questions from left and right. The first one had not yet finished with his questions and the second would fire his questions already. In every question they were looking for information they wanted. Detective Nevins was famous for his interrogation which is in the _____________ * In the twenties Tan Malaka - the Indonesian communist - visited the Philippines and helped set up the Filipino communist party. This chapter concerning his Manila visit is a translation from his autobiography by Willy Pantouw. Sometime in 1948, after playing an active role in the Indonesian revolution, Tan Malaka disappeared from the Indonesian scene. There were conflicting reports that he was either killed or had succumbed to an illness somewhere in East Java. 16 American style. I took a defensive attitude because at first it was not disclosed what offense I had committed. Secondly, because I did not know whether they were of the opinion that I was staying in Manila continuosly from mid-1925 till August 1927 or that they knew I left the country for more than a year and just returned from the Southern part of Indonesia. Third reason would be that they were suspecting me to be in possession of a passport under the name of Hasan Gozali, which was obtained from the office of the American Governor General. Regarding the second reason for my defensive attitude: if they knew I had left the Philippines it surely would cause a heap of questions. On the contrary if they thought that I was staying in the country all the time I had to produce a full statement about my stay during that period of two years (residences of friends, etc.) and had to face many problems too. The third reason: if they knew that I was in possession of a "good fake passport there would be a heavy penalty for it not only to me but to some prominent persons too, who have been supporting me. In this case we would have to soil moral obligations. With authority and determination they attacked me, searching for a weak point. On the contrary I was adopting a defensive attitude while at the same time groping for a weak point from them, too. In the end I came to know that they thought I had been staving in the Philippines all that time. That was the reason why they were asking whether I was Fuentes before they arrested me. Henceforth 1 had to act like Fuentes, a poor man with-out friends, like a tramp, who often slept in the office of El Debate. This acting of mine was strengthened when they could only find a few coins when they searched my wallet. The interrogation continued till morning. It was not I who or ten slipped from this interrogation. Occasionally they seemed to be delighted because they found a "starting-point" but when they continued interrogating me they realized that they were mistaken and confused. Very often they were disappointed but, had to laugh, too. Of course a detective who loves his job must also be quite cheerful in meeting his opponent. An opponent who is able to give resistance or who can hit back. This "sporty" attitude mustn't only take place in sport-fields. It was clear to me that they had cabled to "Batavia" and of course wanted to have me sent back. But what did attract the de-tectives' attention was the question of how far involved I was in the hostilities in the Vi-sayas. At that time there was an explosion during the strike of the sugar plantation workers. Coincidentally one of the senators, one of the directors of El Debate too, was a in end or mine. During the interrogation re-garding said hostilities the detectives didn't get what they actually wanted. There was a short break in the early morning hours. I was well-treated. They were asking whether I wanted some more of the refreshments. Indeed I was suffering from lack of good food and even though I was in for interrogation at Police HQ I still had a good appetite. The detectives showed sympathy... Interrogation continued. The Eurasian detective, Col. Ramos, questioned me about my article in El Debate. According to him a clipping had been filed and said that if I were to deny it, the clipping would be shown to me "just to refresh your memory." I was not used to deny things which were already revealed. But I just wanted to know the offense in connec-tion with said article. I won that "round" too: the detectives could not give any answers. At last in the midst of questioning and an-swering there was one concrete, resolute and clear question left: "When and under what name did you enter the Philippines?" It Was impossible to deny that I had entered using a different name. I had the impression that this question must be the climax, the height of the interrogation. My answer was; "I entered Manila on the 6th of July 1925 via the port of Manila." This question of course required an investigation at the Customs. I was further requested to give a statement of my experiences. "On the 6th of July 1925 Elias Fuentes entered via the port of Manila." Indeed this was recorded at the Customs. "But how did you enter without a passport?' This is the secret of the black-smith, says an old saying. I wondered who would get the blame or who will be admired by those two detectives. The readers may guess. It seemed that the "magic" whistle was blown as a sign that the game of interrogation had come to an end. My room at the Police HQ was separated from that of the other detainees just by iron 17 bars. The next evening following that of my detention in the iron-room I was approached by Col. Ramos. In a low voice he asked me whether I had a "wife" in Manila. This gave me ideas. At this question I replied: "No." Col. Ramos was of course that smart not to mention the name of the "wife" he had been insinuating. And if I really had a wife it would be odd for me to ask her name. If he had mentioned a name I surely would have known the situation. But the question re-vealed chat my detention was already known to my friends outside; this made me so glad. Later on I came to know that the labour asso-ciation was sending a girl to convey to me the message. It proved that the Filipinos were already that experienced in underground activities. After a while Col. Ramos returned with the question whether or not I wanted a lawyer. He mentioned the name of the lawyer but I did not know him. Yesterday when they asked whether I asked for a lawyer I suggested that Francisco Varona make the choice. Moreover I was much at ease since my detention was already known to my friends, and for this reason did not find it necessary to pick a lawyer myself. Indeed on the morning of my arrest I was brought by Col. Ramos to the front part of the Police HQ to meet a delegation consisting of friends of Dr. Apolinario de los Santos, lead by himself, the president of the University of Manila. "If necessary SO Philippine lawyers will defend you under the leadership of Jose Abad Santos," Dr. Apolinario said. " You were arrested without any warrant. So we demand you to be released 'habeas corpus' ". It seemed to me that Col. Ramos' face turned pale. The expression of "arrest without any warrant" was directed to his office, which had been accused as intruding. I was then ordered by Col. Ramos to get into the car for a drive to the Customs. During the trip Col. Ramos was completely silent. He was aware of the insinuation of Dr. Apolinario. His hospitality turned into anger. I was questioned by the Chief of Customs: "What does bolshevism mean?" My answer: "The emancipation of the working class." A professor in law, a councilor, agreed with all my answers. Shortly he said: "If that is the aim of bolshevism which honourable person would not agree to it. The ghost of bolshevism had been used in confusing people who did not know or did not want to know about it. Do we know here in the Philippines the real principle and aim of bolshevism?" said the professor. Returning from the Customs I was allowed to stay in the hostel of the University of Manila. But everyday I had to report to the Police HQ. Later on I discovered that a bail of 10,000 pesos - had been paid by Juan Fer-nandez. Every detainee deserved the right to it. Juan Fernandez was the proprietor of the newspaper El Debate and El Commercio. Besides, together with his brother they owned a shipping company in the Philippines. He was also related to Dr. Santos. At that time Juan Fernandez was known as a patriot in the Philippines and had shown great interest in Indonesian history and Culture. What had actually happened outside the prison during my three days of detention? The morning right after my arrest the Manila Bulletin, an American newspaper, with capital letters "a la America" published the following: "Tan Malaka, a Javanese bolshevist, has been arrested. He speaks several languages such as: Dutch, English, German, French, Tagalog, Chinese and Malay....." TO make it more sensational and provocative tive the Manila Bulletin published also a halt dozen of the pseudonyms which I had been using. The Philippine newspapers, which did not know anything just printed in a very provocative way news such as: "Tan Malaka, a delegate from Java attending the Pan Malayan Conference, which is to be held in Manila has been arrested . . ., etc." [Imagine the idea [ Imagine the idea of Pan Malayamsation coming from the well known journalist Romulo in 1946]. To begin with, the people of the Philippines had begun their fight against American imperialism. All the newspapers in the cities and islands in Tagalog, Spanish and English were following the patriotic gesture of El Debate. Turbulences creeped into parliament, the universities and the labour-organizations with tremendous speed. The contents of the case got an entirely different pattern; the prosecutor became the defendant. Col. Ramos and others just wanted to turn the case into an ordinary violation of the Cus- 18 toms' ordinance : Tan Malaku entered without a passport. Thus a violation of the immigration law. He had to be deported . . . . a logic of the American imperialists and stooges. The parliament with Manuel Quezon as Speaker considered Tan Malaka only as political enemy of the Dutch and not an enemy of the people and government of the Philippines. According to parliament and Quezon, Tan Malaka was a political-refugee who had the right to remain in the Philip-Manuel Quezon gave some clear examples as to the experiences of Philippine freedom-fighters, of Dr. Sun Yat Sen, De Valera and many others........ most probably he was mentioning Karl Marx too, the father of Scientific Socialism, who was at that time in England from Germany. He stated further that the right of asylum is one of the principles of democracy and humanity, which has been adopted by civilized nations for ages. The Philippine Senate decided to collect 5,000 pesos from her members to support Tan Malaka. The Councilors, headed by Dr. Jose Abad Santos were attacking Col. Ramos and the others who were accused of executing an arrest illegally, without warrant. So beyond my own suspicion, the arrest in Manila was based on accusation for agitations among the Filipino people. One group was siding Ramos - Nevins, symbol of American authority in the Philippines. The other group was advocating those who were fighting for the right of asylum as a guarantee for the sovereignty of the Philippines in the future. The American community with the Manila Bulletin as their trumpet did their best to find facts that could place me in a very unpopular situation. The Philippines Free Press sensationally quoted that Tan Malaka was nobody else but Hasan who was one of the leaders of the Canton Conference for the Union of Traffic-employers Association for the whole of Asia, which was held in Canton previously. My article, "The Dawn," mainly about American imperialism, was presented to many readers with a certain attitude of boasting: The Philippine people were intimidated and agitated by the use of half a dozen pseudonyms. Col. Ramos criticized the Philippine people for their ingratitude towards his outstanding services. "Tan Malaka is honoured greatly," | said Co!. Ramos, "while as an executor and protector of law and order I am blamed by the people." Nevins, very diplomatically insinuated in his statement : " Our cross-examination"-which had been performed very often - never was confronted with persons like Tan Malaka," Col. Sweat, Acting Governor General, had even conveyed the message that I never would be turned over to the enemy, who might torture me. "They may cause you bodily-harm." But when the situation became intense and the society divided in two, Col. Sweat in his statement gave 'the deadly Judas kiss': "Tan Malaka is a great man but he carries out instructions from Moscow." Almost all newspapers and magazines in the Philippines in three languages were following the gesture of the parliament and its Speaker Manuel Quezon. Councilor Jose Abad San-tos was of the intention to bring the case to the Philippine Supreme Court in claiming for the right of asylum as a political-refugee; they would make an appeal to the U. S. Congress, should this effort fail. In reply to the American accusation that Tan Malaka is a Moscow agent, the El Debate produced a proof of Uncle Sam's mistaken democracy. What is the reason that the American detectives justified an American professor from the University of Columbia in New York, a famous economist, but also a well-known communist, holding an American passport and has recently returned from Moscow, in distributing "red-brochures" in the suburbs of Manila, while a political-refugee was being chased? Was it because of the difference in colour? Students of the University of Manila were organizing meetings where revolution had been tabled in defending the right of asylum. Right thereafter the University of the Philippines was following the same gesture in claiming the same right of asylum as an effort in supporting the freedom-fight of "our sister-nation." This gesture was also followed by two more universities and colleges. Manuel Quezon requested me to be prepared in giving a lecture to about 20 prominent citizens regarding the principle and aim of the freedom-movement in Indonesia. "We are 19 ready to give our support," said the late Manuel Quezon. Financial and material support given by unknown persons poured in frequently. The way they were supporting me gave me the impression that the people of the Philippines had a revolutionary background and were fully aware of the difficulties their leaders had in the past. Rich or poor, a rice-stall holder or a barber were of the same understanding. It seemed as if they had in mind the Spanish occupation. I also could not forget the support from the Moslems of Hindustani origin, residents of Manila. One day, the cart wherein 1 was driving was brought to a standstill by the yelling of one of the Hindustani Moslems mentioned above: "Sir, we heard you are a Moslem from Java. We have already collected some money for you." In their pledge the Hindustani Moslems in Hong Kong would give their support to Indonesia. At last the labor organization in Manila under the leadership of Legionario del Trabajo decided to organize a mass meeting to defend the policy of the parliament and Quezon in favor of "the right of asylum" and to collect money for my support. This should not happen. It was a sudden approach like an aid from heaven, it happened occasionally in the past wherever I was in danger. You could call it fate, luck, or whatever you wish. It came beyond expectations but it was most valuable. We have only good things to tell about one who has passed away, which is common. Indeed it is. Governor General Wood, who at that time was on leave in America, passed away. Coincident ally it was a public holiday and the Customs were closed. My councilors were convinced that I should have been put on board a Dutch vessel without further process, which on that day was in the harbour and repatriated to Java had it not been for the death of Governor General Wood and the Customs were then closed. Order of repatriation to Java could have been given by America to Manila is Wood was a very close friend of Foch, ex-Governor General in the Netherlands East Indies. Foch and Wood had been exchanging courtesy-visits. Wood as a military man who never took formalities in consideration, they said. But because of Wood's death and the Customs were closed my repatriation was postponed for one day. And . . . . my friends, the councilors, were acting quickly. At the beginning the councilors had the sympathy of the acting Governor General Gil-more, especially because Gilmore himself was a lawyer. At the beginning he did agree to my right of remaining in the Philippines and a; a lawyer was very anxious to know whether Washington would justify the Philippines to execute the right, before being recognized by modern countries. But when all newspaper magazines in the capital and provinces made thunderous issues in three languages and the parliament and universities adapted an attitude like "waking up a sleeping dog," the acting Governor General, was surprised. And when the day of the mass meeting supposed to be organized by the labors in Manila was approaching, Dr. Jose Abad Santos, as councilor was called by the acting Governor General at around midnight. It then was suggested to Dr. Santos: "it is better for me to leave the Philippines quietly." According to him there was a vessel owned by a Philippine Company leaving for Amoy, China, the following day. There should be no better opportunity because via Hong Kong there would be a danger in getting arrested by the British. Dr. Jose Abad Santos was astonished and would not just accept it. He was reminded of the previous agreement, to defend the "right of asylum." The acting Governor General was pacifying with the promise that Tan Ma-laka would be allowed to come back when the tense atmosphere had already passed. When the nationalist lawyer did not want to give in, the imperialist lawyer then gave an answer which concluded an intimidation. "If Tan Malaka doesn't want to leave in silence there is another case going to be brought up, which doesn't concern only him but also some prominent Filipinos." Councilor Dr. Jose Abad Santos was then forced to agree. He understood that the insinuation was made regarding the passport issue, which could be considered as an offense of the falsification of public documents. At about one a.m. this matter was conveyed to me for consideration. Because it was no longer the defense of the right of asylum any-more and the names of some prominent Filipinos who had been supporting me with sincerity for a good cause, I decided to leave the Philippines, under pressure. 20 End of the story, I lost. But my opponents didn't come out that victorious too. At my arrival in China I received news that Col. Ramos, head of the group that was in charge of my arrest, got his wage reduced. This proved that his services were not appreciated by the Philippine government. The action could just be considered to be the contrary, as a hint: "Your service is no longer needed." Col. Ramos understood this hint, quit and . . . left for Spain. Another person, the main cause of my arrest that evening, was supposed to be .... one of the editors of El Debate. He was asked by Col. Ramos to infiltrate the "daily" when the American intelligence suspected my arrival in the country. At the beginning he was just working as an ordinary assistant. But because of his capabilities Va-rona made him editor. He phoned Col. Ramos that evening of my visit to El Debate. This led to my arrest. After that outstanding job, he was highly honored and thus received a big sum of money as reward. His motor-bike then collided against the pillar of a bridge near the office of El Debate. Ac-cording to the news his motor-bike was destroyed and he was instantly killed. The Philippine people who believe in the omnipotence of truth and purity considered this accident as a fair and just punishment. Early in the morning I was sent off to the Susana by my friends. All the labor organizations separately conveyed their best wishes and gave me a sum of money which had been collected in a hurry. My departure couldn't be made publicly. And the aim of the American Government was not to let the public know about my departure. That was also the reason why the request to leave the Philippines in silence was made at midnight. Despite this, there were many well-wishers. One Chinese journalist gave me a letter of introduction to a professor of the University at Amoy. According to this journalist I would not meet any difficulties in Amoy as Amoy was under the nationalist government. The owner or the Susana , who was also the proprietor of the Philippines Herald, a friend of Juan Fernandez, my sponsor during my stay in Manila after my release, introduced me to the ship's captain when the ship was about to leave: "Give protection to Tan Malaka, if necessary with your life." "Yes sir. . . .," was the short reply. A common expression of the elderly generation which survived the last revolution. Where to? The distance from Manila to Amoy is just about that of Djakarta to Singapore. The chief-engineer offered me his cabin. The cabin was situated at the remote corner in the complex of the officers' cabins of the Susana . The crew consisted of Filipinos. The Pacific Ocean was very calm, and gave me the opportunity to take some rest after those disturbing day.. I didn't meet any of the passengers. Later it turned out to be good. During lunch I had the opportunity to meet the ship's officers. Almost all of them were sympathizing with the independence of the Philippines and Indonesia. The motto in general in the Phil-ippines at the time was:"immediate, absolute and complete independence." Captain Roco was about 60 years old, but sturdy and healthy for his age. He belonged to the elder generation with several experien-ces during his life in merchant marine as well as in the Philippine freedom-movement. There was a harmonic cooperation between him and the entire crew, who all looked sturdy. On the morning of the third day since we left Manila, the vessel reached Amoy. The harbor is very wide and deep, surrounded by-hills that form a shelter against harmful typhoons in the China Sea. What we used to hear in Indonesia about Amoy is that it is two cities with different status and location, namely Kulangsu and Amoy. The first one is located on a beautiful island at the left entrance to Amoy. The latter is located on the island of Amoy at the right side of the entrance to the harbor of Kulangsu, which was an International Settlement and had a city council and police force controlled by the British, Americans, Japanese, French and Dutch. Amoy was ruled by the Chinese "nationalist" government but had a strong Japanese influence because of the Taiwan community there. Kulangsu is one of Asia's most beautiful and cleanest cities, Most of the houses were occupied by Western nationals, Japanese and Overseas Chinese. Amoy at that time (1927) was described by 21 a Christian priest as the most dirty and the darkest place in the world. At the time of my entry to Amoy, four Chinese youths, accused of being communists by the Chiang Kai-Shek regime were dragged out of their bedrooms or schools and shot like animals without trial. This attitude of the Chiang Kai-Shek government towards 10,000 boys and girls in 1927 in the city of Amoy, Canton, Wuhan, Shanghai and others could not be rightly called liberal, democratic and basically human. It was not campa tible with the highly regarded Chinese culture. The slaughter of laborers and teenagers in public places, or the provocations and danders by someone who had a grudge or just wanted to have a good position, were just taken with a smile and left unintervened by the representatives of the civilized countries of Europe and America. The nationalist-communist hostilities were started in 1927. If at that time American imperialist provocation really penetrated the policy of the Chiang Kai-Shek government, I (in the opinion of the Chinese journalist in Manila) would not have met disturbances from the Chinese "nationalist" government. I could accept the idea that easily. As I stated before, the Japanese influence in Amoy was very strong at that time. However, when the vessel was entering the harbor, approaching the port of Amoy which is located between the islands of Kulangsu and Amoy, I had a premonition. I felt "something was going to happen," left the cabin and headed for the bridge of the vessel. The captain saw me. He was sweating anxiously and with a resolute voice he said: "Go to your cabin, don't come out, quick, quick ..." Captain Roco coursed at full speed to the other end of the harbor. At the left side near Kuhngsu I saw the steamer 'Tjisalak' - from the Java, China, Japan Lines (J. C. J. L. J- There were some officers on deck of the vessel, but strangely enough there were no passengers. Among the officers there were some of them who were holding binocu-lars directed to the Susana. I understood their aim. So did Captain Roco. That was the reason that he ordered me to get into the cabin quickly. The Susana coursed far to the other end of the harbor. I immediately went in my cabin and locked the door from inside. What did happen after the Susana came to a stand-still, I didn't see. But I heard a commotion outside my cabin. What had happened? Before I arrived in Amoy the International City Counsel had a meeting and decided to arrest me. The 'Tjisalak' was there for a purpose: to transport me back to Java. When Captain Roco observed that the Dutch vessel and a motor-launch from the City Council of Kulangsu were chasing the Susana he steamed at full speed to a different direction of the harbor. The Susana was able to widen the distance from the motor-launch and anchored near the island of Amoy, a short distance from Kulangsu. After the debarkation of many Chinese passengers the motor-launch was able to reach the Susana. Three police officers, one of them British, came on board. Conversation went partly in this manner : The British police officer: "The Kulangsu city counsel has decided to arrest Tan Malaka. Here is the warrant. Where is Tan Malaka?" Captain Roco: "I don't know." British: "How is it possible?" Captain Roco: "Do I have to know all the passengers? All the passengers disembarked." British: "In that case I have to search the vessel." Captain Roco: "This vessel is sailing under American flag. Do you have a warrant from the American Consul General?" The police officers were beginning to search the second and first class cabins. Captain Roco launched a strong and determined protest. The search in the second and first class cabins was performed without any success. It was then continued to the cabins of the officers, starting with the cabins of the officers, starting with the cabin of the my cabin. The captain's protest became more determined. All officers and sailors came to the support of their captain, while standing near the captain they kept looking at the police officer from Kulangsu. The nearer they came to my cabin the more determined was the protest and the more commotion there was. Every time a cabin-door was opened, the police-officers got disappointed ... and every time the captain said: "Didn't I say that Tan Malaka disembarked already with the other passengers?" 22 In that way they created a commotion till they reached the last cabin, the place where I was hiding. Perhaps because of disappointment, or because of the pressure of the officers and sailors, or that they wanted to get hold of me ashore (I didn't know why), the cabin where I was hiding was not opened. The police officers left the vessel! But I was still in danger! After the vessel had come to a complete stand-still Captain Roco ordered two able sailors to look for a certain Chinese by the name of P.E.L. Usually two or three hours were too short to look for this fellow. P.E.L. was a good friend of Captain Roco. By chance at that time P.E.L. was on board a Chinese patrol-boat, which just came in from Foochow and was anchored a few yards away from the Susana. The commander of the patrol-boat was a cousin of P.E.L. For the two Philippine sailors this coincidence was like finding "a fallen durian". P.E.L. was brought to the captain a few minutes immediately after the police officers from Kulangsu had left. Captain Roco, P.E.L. and the officers opened the door of my cabin. I was ordered to get ready to leave. The Chief-engineer gave me a tie. Captain Roco took it away and while throwing it away he said: "There's no time for wearing a tie." Immediately we disembarked into the "sampan" and........ went on board the patrol-boat which was under the command of a certain P., a cousin of P.E.L. In not more than three minutes after I had left the Susana, the American Consul General went on board the vessel to see Captain Roco. American: "Where is Tan Malaka." Captain: "I do not know." American: "A nice and intelligent young man, but he is a bolshevist. Captain: "I don't know, maybe." The consul-general persuaded Captain Roco , to let him have a look in the ship's rooms. Even the room for passengers at the lower deck and the hatches were not left unnoticed. After he had the assurance that he could not find anything, the consul general left the Susana. Just within five minutes after the consul-general had left the boat, the chief of Customs of Amoy, a Britisher, went on board the Susana. Captain Roco who knew the official since he was a deputy chief customs, invited him very hospitably for a drink. Chief of Customs: "I heard that Tan Malaka is a good young man. But he is a bolshevist." Captain: "But you were a bolshevist too." Chief of Customs: "In what way?" Captain: "When you were just a deputy you always criticized your boss for incapability and dishonesty. That is also bolshevism in a small scale. If people revolt against colonialism that is bolshevism in a big scale." IN THE NEXT ISSUE Articles by Leopoldo Y. Yabes, Rafael Bernal, Jose Lansang, S. C. Hsieh, Gad Ranon, Benigno Aquino, Jr., Benjamin Gozon, Salvador Parco and Jean Grosholtz ; fiction by Kay Boyle, and poetry by Carlos Angeles, Alejandrino Hufana and Ramon Echevarria. 23 EDITOR'S NOTE: At no time in this decade have the developments in China been received in the Philippines and, perhaps, the rest of Southeast Asia with more attention - and apprehension - than now. In the last five years, China has become not only stronger but has also become the first Asian power to join the nuclear club. Filipinos who have a stake in the stability of the region are, of course, following closely the course which Chinese foreign policy will take. At the same time, they are faced with the traditional "Chinese Problem" - the half a million Chinese residents in the country who, to this day, have not been assimilated into Philippine society. To understand China better and at the same time, throw some light into the problem of Overseas Chinese, the Institute of Asian Studies of the University of the Philippines and the Congress for Cultural Congress sponsored recently a seminar on "The Impact of China in Southeast Asia with Particular Emphasis on the Philippines." The articles in the following pages were presented in the seminar. China and Southeast Asia Henry G. Schwarz I SHOULD like to confine my remarks to some facets of China's concept of international relations and the range of actions which this part of the world may expect from Communist China. Perhaps, needless to say, my remarks cannot provide more than the barest outline. Somewhat similar to Chinese landscape paintings, many arguments are presented only by way of inference and suggestion. There are some reasons why I think China is reluctant to join international politics as it is practised at present. To start with, the Chinese had been historically inclined to consider China as the center of the universe. This view made good sense because, with few exceptions, foreign powers had indeed been very much China's inferiors in almost all respects. Culturally speaking, only India could approach ancient China in terms of achievement. Buddhism, which deeply affected Chinese culture, originated in India. All other states on the Asian continent were China's cultural inferiors. Those distant islands in the Eastern Sea known collectively as Japan did not develop an elaborate culture until rather late in history and then it was almost wholly based on Chinese culture. Another major reason why Chinese governments during the past 100 years have been reluctant to fully participate in Western- style international relations rests with the principles of the system as well as with the way in which it was introduced into China. The central idea of present international diplomacy is the legal equality of all states and thus contrary to Chinese historical practice. Moreover, soon after the first sustained contacts in 1840, the Western powers deliberately disregarded the existing power relationships between China and her neighbors and imposed their views on international relations upon a weakened empire. The concept of legal equably of states, as expounded by Grotius and others, made sense in that small part of the world called Europe; in fact, it was little more than the formal acknowledgment of an already established practice. After the breakup of the Holy Roman Empire, no single state had been strong enough to enforce its will for any length of time upon the others. In order to avoid utter chaos, the dozens of tiny political units in Europe had agreed to regularize trade relations on the basis of equality. Later, when Napoleonic France did become the predominant power, the idea of equality had already taken root so that it not only survived the grande armaée, but was strengthened and codified by the Congress of Vienna. But Grotius was not Confucius and the Western notion of international relations was 24 decidedly not a reflection of practices in the East. From 1842 when the first treaty (Treaty of Nanking) was imposed on China until today, the system has yielded results which definitely have not persuaded the Chinese of the usefulness or of the moral superiority of the Western practice of international relations. Although the Chinese yielded to Western pressure, in their (hearts and minds they hoped that their concessions would not be permanent. Rather like bamboo yielding to the wind, patriotic Chinese have already waited a hundred years for the time when China would be strong enough to snap back and re-assert her customary role of the "Middle Realm." Long before he assumed supreme control over the country, Mao Tse-tung had given evidence time and again that he, like most members of the Chinese elite in the twentieth century, had retained attitudes toward the world that were as old as China itself. Three elements of ancient China's concept of her role in the world are clearly discern-ible in the current communist leadership in general and Mao Tse-tung's thought in particular. They are the glory of the ethnic Chinese, China's preeminent position in the world, and China's "completeness." As to preeminence, or centrality as expressed in chung kuo or "middle country" one need only recall the now famous remark Mao made to Edgar Snow in an interview in 1936 with regard to "Outer Mongolia." With complete certitude, he predicted that "when the people's revolution has been victorious in China, the Outer Mongolian republic will automatically become a part of the Chinese federation, at its own will." Today this remark sounds amazing, almost fantastic; fifteen years have passed since the establishment of the Chinese Communist state and "Outer Mongolia" seems farther removed from China than ever. Mao's prediction is even more amazing in the light of the power relations prevailing at that time. Mao's group in Yenan was still licking its wounds inflicted during the near-disastrous Long March. Besides, China as a whole was very weak indeed, not even being able to keep her own house in order. My point, then, is that on the subject of China's place in the world, Chinese leaderships, and especially the present one, have at times been oblivious of the world as it is. It has been a recurrent article of faith with them that in the end, China will prevail in at least two ways. First, as the quotation from Mao clearly suggests, irredenta will automatically revert to China. Secondly, China is seen to return triumphant as the great example for the rest of the world. In ancient times, cultural preeminence was a fact; today, political supremacy is a goat. Again we may profitably quote Mao. In another interview with Edgar Snow in 1936, the Communist Chinese flatly stated that
And finally, as Mao Tse-tung ascended to supreme power in 1949, he instinctively decided that the first order of business for the new leadership lay at home. In part the decision was due to his awareness of the special ties binding his communist movement to pop-ular nationalism without which he probably could not have prevailed in the struggle against the legal government . But I am con-vinced that Mao was also influenced by the ancient Chinese notion according to which foreign affairs are of subsidiary importance to domestic affairs. Keep your own house in order and you need not worry about the outside world, said the ancients with conviction. Strengthen yourself internally and the foreign threat will disappear, averred the Confucianist scholars of the nineteenth century, self-consciously. Now in 1949, Mao came along and proclaimed: We will build a new society and a new nation and no one will dare attack us. TURNING to probable Chinese actions vis-a-vis Southeast Asia, I Should like to stress that the continuing elements in Chinese attitudes toward the world, as sketched above, do not represent the entire equation. Although there is no reason to think that Mao Tse-tung has changed his mind on irredenta since his remarks in 1936, I am certain that he does not intend to use physical force to 25 enlarge the territory of China. The key phrase in that quotation, "at its own will," is still "correct" today. True, it is a reflection of traditional attitudes on the subject of China's position in the world. But, at the same time, it is also the expression of a new element equally important in the formation of foreign policy in Communist China. That new element is, of course, the Marxist-Leninist ideology as interpreted and applied by Mao himself. I do not have the time to give a detailed account of that ideolo ogy and its relevance to the problem of Chinese relations with Southeast Asia. In the shortest possible manner, let me state two of its cardinal points. One is that the most im-portant level of analysis of international re-lations is at the class level and not at the state level. The other point is that the chief characteristic of human relations is uninterrupted class struggle. Hence, revolutions are held not only to be inevitable but also to be generated exclusively within societies. Therefore, it is quite unnecessary and fruitless to try and create such upheavals through external force, although, of course, it is considered the sacred duty of a communist to nut-lure insurrections. Secondly, the Chinese lead-ership will, in my opinion, refrain from force -fully annexing Southeast Asia for wholly practical reasons. Yet despite what I believe are strong theo -retical and practical injunctions against it, the conquest of the rich lands south of China by an irresistible juggernaut has nonetheless appeared as an awesome probality to many "outsider?." As recently as last year, a map allegedly published in Peking in 1954, was prominently reprinted in various American newspapers and magazines. Showing China's boundaries in 1800, the map gave the impression that such countries as Burma, Thailand, Vietnam and sections of Malaya had been integral parts of the Chinese empire. Accompanying commentaried not only rein-forced this impression but also concluded that the Peking leadership is determined to incorporate these areas at the next opportune moment. This imputation or intentions is, in my opinion, faulty on several counts. First of all, Southeast Asian areas beyond the present Chinese boundaries were not physically occupied but were merely under the suzerainty of Chinese dynasties. As a matter of historical record, the present Chinese leadership has never laid claim to any territory in South-east Asia except a small strip along the Burmese border, and that issue has recently been settled to the apparent satisfaction of both countries. Secondly, I am convinced that the Peking leaders have no compelling need to physically occupy Southeast Asia. The usual argument made in the West in support of the incorporation thesis, that Peking covets Southing her hungry millions, does not persuade. Southeast Asia does not produce so much food at present that the surplus would make an appreciable impact on the Chinese economy. The only rice-exporting country of any con sequence, Burma, produces a surplus that is quite miniscule compared to China's needs. But even if assuming that rice production could be increased several times over present levels, it does not follow that physical oc-cupation of the area would be the best way to obtain the food. Thirdly, it is most unlikely that China wants to conquer Southeast Asia to provide an outlet for her huge population. A persistent thesis in the West, it appears to have some merit to the casual observer. Rather than transporting the food into China, so the argument goes, one could save on transportation cost by shipping the "masses" down into Southeast Asia instead. Such move would seem to have the added advantage of rendering the area secure for a new and glorious empire. Even when granting that conquering South -east Asia would yield some economic benefits to China, it is doubtful that such move will be contemplated. Physical conquest is beset with some staggering liabilities. First, physical occupation would dump all the problems - and they are vexing and various, indeed - which are currently bedevilling the leaders of Southeast Asian countries into the lap of the Peking elite. Secondly, occupation would trigger a wave of popular uprisings which would pale even the recent great Moslem and Tibetan rebellions inside China into insignificance. Rampant nationalism in Southeast Asia would make the Chinese position there untenable. Thirdly, occupation of Southeast Asia would make China's strategic position impossibly difficult. It would expand China's frontiers to include an enormously long coastline which China's forces simply could not adequately de - 26 fend. Finally, conquest would defeat China's continuing attempts to become the center of the world. How could the Chinese leadership hope to have all but the Euro - American "island" look to it for political leadership and thus pay tribute, modern-style? By attacking Southeast Asia, China would gain a region and lose a world. Concluding therefore, we can expect the Chinese leadership to continue its present policies toward Southeast Asia without major modification. It will continue to seek to regain China's hegemony over the area by fostering indigenous communist governments willing to support Peking rather than Moscow in its bid for world leadership. MANILA
27 A Bold Answer to the Chinese Problem Alfonso Felix, Jr. My THESIS is that we must assimilate the Chinese now living in the Philippines and integrate them into our national community. Let me relate four anecdotes. The first is a conversation with a Chinese friend who is a merchant. After a typhoon in 1950, I invited his attention to the fact that the prices in the retail stores managed by the Chinese had increased considerably. I argued that there was no justification for the rise because they were selling stock previously bought at lower prices. They were merely availing themselves of the typhoon as an excuse. His answer ? Alfonso, how naive you are. Don't you realize that merchants will seize any opportunity to make a profit? My answer: Jose, it is you who are naive. Don't you realize that you are a minority and that if you keep on provoking us we shall crush you? My second anecdote is drawn from a letter written by Bishop Salazar in 1583. He reports that internal revenue officials were engaged in the practice of asking Chinese merchants for "vales." My third anecdote is personal. I had just been tricked into a business deal with a Chinese. He defrauded me, and I was bitterly complaining about it to a Filipino friend. My friend answered: But Alfonso, what do you expect of a Chink? My fourth anecdote: I have heard recently from another friend that when the Chinese speak of us, they do not refer to us as Filipinos, they call us "wa-na," primitive people, barbarians. The point of my first two anecdotes is that for 400 years our officials have exploited the Chinese and for 400 years the Chinese have recouped their losses by exploiting us. The point of my last two anecdotes is that we and the Chinese have held each other in contempt for generations. We expect no ethics from them and they expect us to behave like savages. Is this situation peculiar to us? Is this situation something that arises because we are by nature natural enemies? I do not think so. I believe this situation is the result of two historical factors which have been frequently secured over the centuries. The first factor: whenever a people with an older civilization resides among a people with a younger civilization there is a tendency for the older people to exploit the younger commercially, The best and most notorious example is that of the Jews. The Jews in Spain, in Germany, in Poland, in Russia, have been subjected to massacres and mass deportations. They have always exploited the people of the countries where they have resided and these peoples have forcibly retaliated, but there are other examples aside from the Jews. When the Jews themselves, 2,000 years ago, were a peasant people with Jewish kingdoms spread all over Syria and Palestine, Mesopotamia and Arabia, they were equally exploited by peoples of an older civilization: the Greeks and the Romans. The annals of 300 years that begin with the Maccabees down to the last massacre in Cyprus in the time of Emperor Hadrian record that the Jews reacted towards the Greeks and Romans precisely as the Spaniards and Germans later reacted towards them. The situation is not confined to Chinese and Jews. The same is true of the Greeks and the Arabs in Black Africa, of the Hindus in Fiji and British Guiana, and of the Chinese in South-east Asia. Peoples of an older civilization living amid younger peoples exploit them, and the younger peoples, whenever possible, retaliate by massacre, by discrimination and by mass deportations. The second historical factor is this: whenever a true government of the people arises, a popular government at least in the sense that it embodies popular prejudices, such a government - since it is of the people, partici - 28 pates in their prejudices and shares in the hatred and antagonism that is felt by the masses towards these older peoples - then gives body and edge to the hatred felt against the people of the older civilization. Take England. It was the highly popular Edward I, the true Father of Parliament, who ordered the mass expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290. It was the highly unpopular Cromwell, the man who ruled through military government, courts martial and majors-general, who readmitted the Jews into England. Take Spain. It was the influential government of Ferdinand and Isabella that created the Spanish Inquisition which ordered the mass deportation of the Jews. Contrast this attitude with that taken by the unpopular government of Don Pedro el Cruel whose Secretary of Finance was a Jew. Take Hitler. Whatever faults we now wish to attribute to him, one fact is still undeniable: in Germany, he was popular. There is no need to mention what he did to the Jews. Now, take the Philippines. The most pop-Spanish regime was Simon de Anda. He reduced to almost total annihilation the Chinese population in the Philippines by massacres and mass deportations. It was under the regime of the most popular President we ever had, Ramon Magsaysay, that the law forbidding the Chinese to engage in retail trade was passed. These two conditions now exist in the Phil-ippines. We have an older generation of Chinese settled in our midst. We have a government which shares the prejudices of the masses. The result? Note the treatment meted to the Chinese in the courts, in government offices. See the special taxes levied on the Chinese. See the economic discrimination practiced against the Chinese not merely by law but by custom. There is hardly a Filipino company that will employ a Chinese. If the Chinese are employed it has to be by their fellow countrymen. Hence, under present conditions the Chinese do not know what further act of discrimination to expect from us and naturally we who have made their life almost totally impossible, cannot expect their loyalty. However, under conditions prevailing in this corner of the world, their loyalty seems essential to us. If they were to become fifth columnists, we would truly be in peril. Hence the question: How can we assure ourselves of their loyalty? It is important to examine the possibilities. First, to remove any possible doubt, let us massacre them. Dead men do not betray. It has been tried on six occasions when thousands of Chinese were massacred. Is this not a good solution? No One can doubt the loyalty of a dead man. There is only one thing wrong with this proposal, however: it is not workable and was never workable. Should all full-blooded male Chinese of age be massacred, the problem would be even more complicated because there would be the growing children left behind with their mothers to remind them of the horrible grievance. Do we simply kill all the Chinese regardless of age and sex, all babies just born, and grandmothers about to die? The problem would still be unsolved, for how would the son of a Chinese father and a Filipino mother feel about his father's death? Should he be killed too? If so, should there also be a killing of those who are three-quarters Chinese, half-Chinese, quarter-Chinese? Should there be an extensive and scrupulous search for all those who may have a hidden drop of Chinese blood? Where should one stop? For every person killed, another person is left behind, sometimes even a dozen, who would mourn and seek vengeance. Let us take a second possible means: mass deportation. This solution likewise is not workable. For the last ten years we have been attempting to deport 2,700 overstaying Chinese. For many reasons which are mainly financial in nature we have been unable to do so. It stands to reason that if we cannot deport 2,700 Chinese much less can we deport 600,000 Chinese now. Besides, almost half of them are Filipino citizens and, therefore, not deportable under the Constitution. A third possibility would be: extreme vigilance. Let us watch over them by creating a Gestapo. The trouble is Gestapos do not discriminate. A Filipino organized Ges-tapo watching over the Chinese will wind up watching everybody else. The Spanish Inquisition was created to police only the Jews. It wound up policing every Spaniard. The Russian secret police was organized to spy solely on counter revolutionaries. It ended up by spying on every Russian. A police organization that is created to watch a small group of persons 29 finally winds up tyrannizing everyone, for it is in the nature of police systems to grow and in order to grow they must find even more persons to watch over. We can only create a Gestapo to watch the Chinese if we are ulti-mately prepared to surrender our own liberties to that very Gestapo we are to create. A fourth possible solution to the Chinese question: If we cannot assure ourselves of the loyalty of the Chinese, let us render them harmless by bankrupting them through economic discrimination. This solution is absurd because by acting to bankrupt the Chinese we give them every reason to conspire against us. Besides, economic discrimination by operation of law has never worked in this country. To prove this point are two examples; one old, one new. Let us take the old example first. During the greater portion of the Spanish regime, a Chinese could not reside or practice his trade in Intramuros. However, there was a loophole in this rule. The Chinese were allowed to reside in Intramuros if they did so as servants of Spaniards or as Filipino subjects. Thus, a Justice of the Audiencia would take a Chinese into his house ostensibly as his personal baker. The Chinese would bake twenty times the amount of bread that his ostensible master needed and apparently to prevent waste, the master would have the remaindder sold in Intramuros and would then divide the profits with the man who was said to be his servant but was actually his partner. A modern example may be more apt. Under the Constitution, aliens may not own agricultural land. In the Krivenko case the Supreme Court has gone on further to hold that aliens may not own residential property because under the classification of the Supreme Court residential land is agricultural in nature. now, under Article 1646 of the Civil Code, no one may lease a thing that he may not buy. Hence, it follows that since the Chinese cannot buy residential property they may not even lease it but must resign them - selves to living in the streets and plazas of the towns. For practical purposes, however, this decision has been done away with by the Supreme Court in a later case entitled "Smith, Bell vs. Register of Deeds of Davao" wherein the Supreme Court held that although aliens may not buy residential or agricultural land, nevertheless, they may lease the same for a period not exceeding 99 years. Availing themselves of this decision, a number of foreign persons and companies have leased residential land and/or agricultural land from Filipinos for 99 years for prices that are almost equal to the market value of that land with a provision in the contract to the effect that if the Constitution is changed so as to permit aliens to buy land, or if the interpretation is changed for the same purpose, or if the buyer as his successor in interest becomes a Filipino, then the land may be purchased through the payment of a further nominal sum. In effect both the Krivenko ruling and the Constitution have been circumvented by a Supreme Court decision itself. It is ob -vious that economic discrimination by operation of law has been rendered unworkable. In practice, therefore, we note that the Chinese baker formerly could, by putting on the appearance of the servant, circumvent the law that forbade him to live and trade in Intramuros. Today the grandson of that Chinese baker may, by adopting a few legal technical devices, hold agricultural land for 99 years depite Constitutional and legal provisions to the contrary. Legal discrimination can be circumvented before it causes even more serious damages. Something that is well worth noticing in the Smith-Bell decision is the ratio decidendi thereof. The Supreme Court held that in forbidding a Chinese to lease agricultural lands from Filipinos, grave prejudice is caused not merely to the Chinese but to the Filipino landowners themselves who were, thus, prevented from leasing their lands to perhaps an even higher bidder. That is the essential reason why economic discrimination by law is a failure. It is the general public that is ultimately prejudiced, and therefore the general pub-he cooperates in circumventing economic laws which are of a discriminatory nature. Shall we, on the Other hand, attempt to assure ourselves of Chinese loyalty by closing their schools and by forbidding them to speak their language and study their own culture? Let us assume, merely for the sake of argu ment, that we should forbid the Pampangos of the Philippines to speak their tongue or to teach it in their schools. What would result from such a prohibition? I believe it would merely create a greater attachment on the part of the Pampangos towards their own tongue to which perhaps they may previously have been indifferent. They would become 30 more attached to it; if it becomes impossible for them to teach Pampango in schools they would teach it in their homes, and would cherish it all the more because it has become a forbidden tongue. The Russian Czarist Government tried to stamp out the use of Polish in Poland. The Austro-Hungarian Government tried to do likewise with the use of Czech and Slovak in its northern provinces. The German Government also tried to obliterate the use of French in Alsace-Lorraine. If these highly efficient governments failed, could we dare accomplish what they could not? Besides, for what purpose shall we in such a manner act? Let me describe my particular example. I am of Spanish descent, I speak Spanish at home and I have every intention of continuing to do so for the rest of my life. Yet, during the last war, I volunteered as a soldier. I am presently a captain in the reserve and I am connected with a group which is concerned with the preservation of national historical monuments. Has the fact that I speak Spanish instead of Ilocano any bearing on my wish to serve? Again, if an American should apply for Filipino citizenship do we tell him to stop speaking English or to stop reading in English? We do not. Why then must we do it to the Chinese and, sadly, to the Chinese alone? A country is like a lake into which flow the waters of many rivers. Shall we consciously cut ourselves off from one such river? If this country had a Hindu scholar who was learned in the Vedas we would not nurse embarrassment that he was here but rather we would boast of it. If we had a Muslim scholar who was a recognized authority on Arabic literature we would also boast of it. Why therefore, do we discriminate unjustly against the Chinese scholar? I do not see any practical way to assure ourselves of the loyalty of the Chinese in the coming crisis, save one: assimilation through complete mutual acceptance. A previous question may arise: is it possible to assimilate the Chinese? It has been possible to assimilate the Tuasons, the Palancas, the Cojuangcos and the Osmeñas, it has likewise been possible to assimilate Rizal who was half-Chinese and who is officially described as "Mestizo de sangley"; why would it not be possible to assimilate other Chinese? The next question, of course, is how. Why have the Chinese coalesced into such a closely knit group? Because we have discriminated against them; because by isolating them we have left them no alternative but to harden into a clique. They find it necessary to be 1 together if they are to survive. If a Chinese were to find employment only with another Chinese, then he must seek the latter's good -will. If a Chinese can secure aid or loans only from his fellow-Chinese, he works for his approval. They will not be bothered to seek our goodwill for they will not have it, anyway. If our laws work against them, they must seek a loophole in these laws by collaborating among themselves. If we have gravely suppressed them so that they have coalesced by reason of our pressure into a tightly closed group, what then is the answer? Take away the pressure, remove discriminatory laws, allow them to live as we live so : that, needing each other less, they will eventually stick to each other less. Let us remember that if we want them to be loyal to us, we must allow them to live as we do, to have the rights we also have. Now, to the objections. The first objection argues that if we were to remove discriminatory laws and put the Chinese on an equal footing with us, some Chinese will take advantage of the situation. This is a possible consequence. Some Tagalogs, Pampangos and Ilocanos right now take advantage of our laws. Do we therefore classify the Tagalogs, Pampangos and Ilocanos as undesirable people? Does this mean that we must discriminate against a whole group because of a few? Take another objection: If an Ilongo wants to build a mill and a Chinese wants to build a mill, should we not prefer the Ilongo to the Chinese and give him all the facilities? This question could be answered with another example. If an Ilongo wants to build a mill and a Batangueño wants to build a mill, against whom should we discriminate? Neither. Let them compete, we would more likely say, and let him who serves the public best, win. Let us not forget that by discriminating against the Chinese, we are really discrim -inating against ourselves as consumers. To repeat the Smith, Bell case, the Supreme Court held that by forbidding Filipinos to lease their lands to aliens, the persons actually discriminated against were the Filipino landowners. If we consider the Chinese as part of us, then the question of whom we ought to prefer will 31 never arise. We shall prefer him who serves the public best. There could still be this other possibility. Is it logical to guarantee that if we cease to discriminate against the Chinese they will, in turn, be loyal to us? After all, what would be the point of ceasing to discriminate against them if we cannot assure ourselves of their loyalty? My answer is that it is not possible to guarantee this. But it is possible to guarantee that if we continue to discriminate against them we shall assure ourselves of their complete disloyalty. Let us consider the final question. Under the present policy, some Chinese do, in fact, become Filipinos. Why not retain the status quo? The answer is this: the process of Filipini-zation as it exists today is a highly expensive process, As a lawyer I know how it works It costs somewhere from five to ten thousand pesos for a Chinese to become a Filipino citizen. It costs far more in donations to be really accepted as one. What would this mean in effect? It means that only the wealthy can be integrated into our society; that we do not wish to integrate the poor Chinese who cannot buy their way in. But we ought to wish to secure the loyalty of all: of the baker, of the carpenter, of the iron worker, of the great majority who cannot af -ford the expense of naturalization as it now is. Integration of the rich only has always been the prime cause of Chinese revolt. In 1603, when the mass of Chinese, driven by oppression, rose in revolt, the rich Chinese went to Intramuros and asked to be admitted. The defenders of Intramuros refused for they were not sure of their loyalty. Next day, the Chinese massacred these wealthy countrymen at the foot of the walls. The dilemma of the rich Chinese has always been whether to integrate with Filipinos and not be really accepted by them or to stay as they are, aliens forever. We must solve the dilemma, not for some, but for all. We have caused them to coalesce by discrimina -tion and by legislative discrimination even more particularly. That discrimination must be removed. And to remove this discrimination, we need an incentive. Let us always remember this. No man about to face a group of bandits will hold down the index of his left hand with the two fingers of his right and fight in such a manner. Rather, he will employ all his members to assure victory. We are in a way facing a great crisis. Should we deprive our -selves of the aid of those who live in our midst because of their Chinese blood, as well as of the strength of those whom we must use to hold them down? Should we not rather seek a complete national union remembering that he who fights on our side must first be given something to fight for? PACE HAMLET
32 4 VOICES I
II
III
IV
33 A Chinese View on Philippine- Chinese Tensions Quentin Yuyitung I FIND IT necessary to limit my remarks to the tensions caused by the existence of a large group of Chinese residents in this country. The problem specifically viewed is caused by a second-generation Chinese, which was born and educated in the Philippines. This generation constitutes the majority of local Chinese residents. It might be presumptuous to stand for them, but I believe that my views do represent at least those of a certain sector or this community. The existence of a large alien community is bound to cause certain irritations between the alien group and its host country. The Philippines is no exception, and with its in - dependence from America in 1946, Philip-pine- Chinese tensions increased. Economic Interests Mainland Chinese have been leaving their homeland for centuries in search for a better life by engaging in trade throughout Southeast Asia. Some settled down in the Philippines even before the Spanish times. Many intermarried with the natives. Since its independence the Philippines has legislated a number of nationalization bills to protect or expand what was felt to be the country's economic interests. A historical page was turned when the Retail Trade Nationalization Act was passed by Congress in 1954. The intense antagonistic feeling of developing countries, including the Philippines, towards alien businessmen who are suspected otherwise than promoting the interests of the citizens, is understandable. Nevertheless, we - the Chinese who were born, raised and educated in the country - feel the discrimination as badly as curtailment of Our means of livelihood, having established ourselves as traders and merchants in the country. Almost too swiftly, and rashly, the fruit of hard work and sacrifice have been taken away by a law disregarding our basic rights as human beings and as residents in a free society. Racial Prejudice It is natural in this imperfect world to form social groups in a foreign land distinct in culture and customs from those of the natives. As a result racial and cultural prejudices against each other create an atmosphere of tension and hostility. Ignorance of each other's problems and the inability or unwillingness to see each other's point of view are bound to create misunderstandings between these two peoples. However, despite the intermarriages through the years, the numerous friendships created and the relationships formed among them, prejudice and segregation have not been completely surmounted. Although it is the least difficult barrier to break between Filipinos and Chinese, there are always those in both groups who would, contrary to Christian and democratic teachings, put undue stress on racial differences. Political Motivation The Chinese issue has at times been utilized politically by some people. Attempts to solve the economic conflicts through the legislation of bills nationalizing various trades and professions were consoling; but such actions have done more harm than good to the parties concerned. Instead of progress, there has been a great depression of human resources. Talented people have been denied opportunities to practice their professions and engage in occupations of their choice. From such restrictions only a few have benefited, while the majority had to bear 34 the economic burden caused by economic disruptions and dislocations. Much capital and manpower, which this country urgently needs in the present task of nation building, have been indifferently allowed to go to waste. The number of Chinese in the Philippines constitutes about one-half of one percent of the total population. Even if all the jobs now held by the Chinese were taken from them, it would not really help in solving the country's unemployment problem. If this eventually comes to pass (since there are those who advocate this motion), some Chinese might feel that they have no choice but to circumvent the law. Some say, for example, that the cost of naturalization has been at certain times measured not by what they can contribute to the country but by how much money they could spend. On the other hand, those who would refuse to circumvent the law would be deprived of their legitimate means of livelihood. What would happen to those jobless Chinese? Since they cannot return to China - and would not want to for one reason or another - would they not constitute another social problem for the Philippine Government? There is an attempt to solve the problem of racial prejudice by closing all Chinese schools because some people believe that these Chinese schools are inculcating racial prejudice. Granted that this is true, the solution would still be too drastic and too hasty. Would the attempt really serve a useful purpose? Might not schools, properly utilized, serve as instruments to erase prejudices and misconceptions among both the majority and minority groups? Reacting to charges of academic exclusive-ness, positive action has been taken by the Chinese community and remedial measures have been undertaken in Chinese schools. Recently, no less than the principal of the Philippine Chinese High School, the oldest Chinese-high school in the Philippines, presented the proposal to integrate Chinese language lessons as supplementary subjects into the Philippine curriculum. Then there are the examples sec by the conversion of St. Xavier School and Immaculate Conception College from Chinese schools into Filipino schools. Closure of Chinese schools itself, without other coordinated measures, would be most unfortunate and harmful to both communities. If Chinese children would be assured of citizenship, then this aspect of the problem should be taken care of adequately before -these children repeat the sad history of their -parents. The attempts from the Chinese community to to ease the political tension by lobbying in Congress or other branches of the Government increased the uncomfortable strain between the two communities. Unless there be a realization that the absorption of the entire group of permanent Chinese residents into Philippine society would decrease tension between these groups, whatever attempts may be made would only prove futile and damaging. Ban Against New Chinese Immigrants The earliest move against new Chinese immigrants was the imposition of entry restrictions. Soon after the American occupation in the islands, the U.S. Chinese Labor Exclusion Law which was extended to the Philippines, instituted a qualitative control over new Chinese immigrants. This accounts for the relatively small size of the local Chinese community as compared to those in other Southeast Asian countries. After the establishment of the Commonwealth in the Philippines, the 1940 Immigration Law was passed providing for a quantitative a year. After the war, which the grants. A quota was set at 500 new Chinese immigrants a year. After the war, with the granting of independence to the Philippines, this annual quota was drastically reduced to 50, but since 1949, this quota has been suspended. For 15 years now, Chinese immigrants have been banned from entering this country legally but the local Chinese residents nevertheless increase in number with expected births estimated at 3,000 babies every year. Thus, despite the complete ban on Chinese immigration, the problem remains. Mass Repatriation and Concentration Time and again in the past, mass repatriation and concentration of local Chinese residents in certain restricted areas have been advanced but have been invariably found impractical due to the following almost insurmountable difficulties (aside from their inhuman effect,): 35 (1) International repercussions. (2) Prohibitive cost in actual implementation. (3) Adverse economic effects on the nation. (4) Problem involving the Filipino relatives of the repatriates by intermarriage and naturalization. Assimilation With the impracticability and failure of all other solutions, the only alternative left is assimilation. I suggest the following steps which, I believe, would lead to the eventual removal (1) Creation of a commission to study ways and means or promoting assimilation of minorities. (2) Enlistment of the services of local Chinese cultural elite - journalists, scholars, and leaders of churches and other religious organizations - by granting citizenship to those who are deserving and qualified. (Note: Most of the local Chinese who have applied for citizenship are businessmen; few, if any, are outside of this classification.) (3) Promotion of integration through an education program which may be undertaken by the government or by civic groups headed by the above-mentioned leaders. As a general principle, any action or policy that might create distrust should be avoided. (4) Legislation patterned after those of Vietnam, Malaya, Indonesia and Thailand for mass naturalization of aliens. Perhaps the principle of JUS SOLI could be adopted. For the past decade, the Chinese Commercial News has championed the cause of assimilation in the Chinese community. It is heartening to note that this idea has gradually gained acceptance in the community as well as in the Filipino public. The Reaction of the Chinese Community Public opinion in the Chinese community during the past ten years has undergone a noticeable change. From reactionary objection in the beginning, it has gradually become indifferent and skeptical. Skeptical, because of the apparent negative attitude of Filipino officialdom and the public towards assimilation. The local Chinese have often asked, "Even if we were willing to be assimilated, would we be welcomed by the Philippine Government and its people?" The present naturalization law with its attendant cost, red tape and mulcting opportunities, coupled with recent adverse decisions on naturalization cases rendered by the judiciary of the Philippines - which shall be elaborated further - justified this skeptical attitude among the Chinese. Philippine Public Opinion and Reactions Philippine public opinion as expressed through the columns of newspapers showed a healthy and improved attitude towards assimilation. The change was from an earlier support of mass repatriation and concentration to one of sympathy. The Executive Branch of the Philippine Government We are happy to note that during the Fifth Biennial Convention of the Federation of the Filipino-Chinese Chamber of Commerce held on September 12, 1964, the President of the Philippines came out openly for assimilation, saying: ". . . Perhaps there would be more solidarity and harmony if aliens would identify themselves with Filipino interests and aspirations. Perhaps the aliens should not retire into their ethnic shell and be assimilated into the Filipino mainstream. The President further said, "Assimilation seems to be a promising solution to the foreign minority problem in a country. If aliens can be assimilated, the anti- alien tension would be relieved and nationalization laws shall be-come unnecessary." In the same speech, President Macapagal rook cognizance of the attendant difficulties and problems related to assimilation by pointing out that "the aliens complain of the high cost, red tape and mulcting involved in applying for Filipino citizenship." But so far, it may be noted, nothing tangible has been done to eradicate the obstacles referred to by the President. 36 The Philippine Legislature Congressman Joaquin R. Roces used to be the lone voice in Congress in favor of assimilation; lately, more and more senators and congressmen are for a liberalization of the naturalization law. Up to now, however, no concrete step or bill has been prepared to implement this objective. The Philippine Judiciary The reaction of the Philippine Judiciary seems to be unfavorable. The cases that reached the Supreme Court were few but they created a general impression in the minds of the Chinese that they are not welcome to become Filipino citizens. For instance, there are judges of the Courts of First Instance who pride themselves in not having approved a single case of naturalization in their salas. Recent decisions of the Supreme Court have also shown a most regrettable trend. In the past year, if the information is accurate, not a single case of naturalization which has reached the Supreme Court was decided in favor of the alien. Naturalization has been denied on the flimsy ground of technicalities such as, the Chinese petitioner "failed to show that the laws of his country permit Filipinos to be naturalized therein as citizens." Another petition was denied on the ground that "no evidence whatsoever had been adduced to prove that the petition and notice of hearing had been posted in a public and conspicuous place in the office of the clerk of the court or in the building where said office is located." Admittedly this is the duty of the court clerk and it is presumed that this official duty had been duly performed. In the interpretation of "lucrative occupation " of petitioners for naturalization, a very unrealistic high standard seemed to have been set. The annual income of one Chinese who lived in Gumaca, Quezon was P4.485.27 for I960; P5,234.04 for 1961 and P8.067.24 for 1962, yet it was considered "still short of the requirement of the law." It was also held "that incomes of P6.300, where applicant had a wife and one child (Tan vs. Re -public L-16013); of P5.980 in 1956, where applicant had a wife and three children (Koa Cui vs. Republic L-I3717); and of P8.687.10 also in 1956, where applicant had to support a wife and five children (Keng Giok vs. Republic L - 13347) were all inadequate to qualify the applicants to become naturalized citizens." Methods of Assimilation Assimilation by compulsory action: We are of the opinion that the compulsory citizenship law of Vietnam is not advisable here, as was pointed out by Lois Mitchison in her book, "The Overseas Chinese," published in London in 1961. She said that anywhere in the world, compulsory citizenship or economic restrictions which ruin non-citizens make for a very poor sort of assimilation. "A compulsory citizen may also be a very embittered citizen unless he has been trained in loyalty to his new country through schools and newspapers." Assimilation by persuasion and free choice of citizenship: We believe this approach is the most appropriate and may obtain the most satisfactory results from both communities. As a positive step towards easing Philippine-Chinese tensions, I would like to propose that the Philippine Congress enact an amendment pattern-ed after those of Malaysia and Indonesia in the present naturalization law providing for the naturalization of all aliens who have resided in this country continuously for a certain number of years by the simple Act of Registration if they so desire within a certain limit of time prescribed, with the only other qualifications being that they be willing to renounce their original citizenship and loyalty to their former mother country and that they had not been convicted of any crime involving moral turpitude This law is feasible under the present Philippine Constitution without necessitating any amendment of its citizenship law. Needless to say, these recommendations are mere words if not put into action. But there is the sincere belief that assimilation is the one and only solution which would relieve the tensions between Filipinos and Chinese. There is a grave need to impress the urgency of the subject upon the people who may be concerned directly or otherwise. It is fervently hoped that Filipinos and Chinese can and should bring light and reason on this question. 37
Jovito R. Salonga WHEN WE TALK about China, from the standpoint of Government policy, we actually operate on two levels: - one, the formalists level, which considers China in terms of our official, diplomatic relations with the Nationalist Government in Taiwan; tad two, the realistic level, which takes into account the fact that mainland China is under the actual domination and control of the Communist government under Mao Tse-tung. I have advocated a more realistic approach towards the entire Chinese problem. Specifically, I have urged that the Philippines begin to grapple squarely with the problem of Chinese immigrants who have not been absorbed into the body politic, and that we begin to take a tighter hold of ourselves, in view of developments that tended to indicate a greater role for Red China in world affairs, particularly its eventual admission into the United Nations. The world situation has changed somewhat - and dramatically, if I may put it - in recent months. Indonesia has gone out of the United Nations, Red China has indicated she is not too keen about being admitted into it anymore now that Indonesia is out and the situation in Vietnam has developed to a point where Soviet Russia and Red China - apparently split by an ideological rift - have united to warn the United States, following air attacks on North Vietnam bases, to get out of Vietnam or face a possible escalation of the war. Let us attempt to view these developments in the context of the Philippine situation. Chroniclers of Philippine history may disagree on many points, but on one point there is a complete agreement: long before the Spaniards came, the people of these islands had been trading with the Chinese. We are told that China's trade with South-east Asia had gone on for two thousand years, but that it was only with the establishment of European rule, creating stable conditions, that the Chinese settled in Southeast Asia in large numbers. Most of those who came here were not really merchants - they were peasants who work-ed hard and saved enough to abandon manual labor for some form of business. They became shopkeepers, traders and money lenders. And all over Southeast Asia, with the possible ex -ception of Burma, the Chinese have been the object of massacres, hostile racial outbursts, discrimination, or at the very least, dislike. Their triple role as general storekeeper, trader and money lender was bound to incur the deep-seated resentment of the inhabitants who were jealous of their success. But there was more than just this. There was the mounting nationalist sentiment that demanded a curb or the economic power of the Chinese. There was the added fact that the Chinese were alien in race, color and culture, and that they were a compact and alien community - which incidentally monopolized many economic activities and cornered the wealth of the country. But just as the local population became increasingly nationalistic, the Chinese too, since World War II, became more determined to preserve their distinctive Chinese characteristics, particularly their language and culture which they consider superior. "The pro-Peking attitude," writes Prof. Lennox Mills,
38 was one main reason for his loss of support. Although it is dangerous to generalize because in countries where the government is anti-communist, as in the Philippines and Thailand, it would be very inexpedient for the local Chinese to show any preference for Mao Tse-tung. The guess might be hazarded however that on the whole Chiang Kai-Shek has been written off as a failure. Mao Tse-tung succeeded where Chiang Kai-Shek did not. As the Chinese see it he fought the United States, the strongest of the Western powers, to a standstill and prevented it from conquering North Korea. With his help Ho Chi Minh defeated the French. Mao Tse-tung made China be feared and respected by the West. A government that could accomplish this deserved the sympathy of all Chinese, even though they might not want to come un-der its control. This point of view is not due to conversion to communism; it arises from Chinese nationalism. It explains why wealthy businessmen in Singapore who were not communists gave dinner parties to celebrate the defeat of General MacArthur at the Yalu River , " Chinese in the Philippines It has been estimated that at the turn of the century, there were probably 30,000 to 40,000 Chinese in the Philippines. Today, all we can do is guess, since there are no reliable statistics of the exact number of Chinese in the Philippines. Many Filipinos, alarmed by the growing number of Chinese immigrants to the Philippines, estimate it at 600,000; while the Chinese, who prefer to minimize it, give a figure of under 350,000. The exact number would probably be between the two estimates. Like the other countries in Southeast Asia, the Philippines is understandably concerned about the problem of Chinese influence and control over her economy, and naturally, the Chinese threat to the national security. This concern is reflected in the various legislative measures enacted since the American occupation. The first was the Bookkeeping Act which required Chinese business firms to translate their accounts into English, Spanish, or Ta-galog. The result, as you undoubtedly know, was a dual set of books - an official statement for the BIR, and a private record of actual business. The Philippine Constitution, adopted in 1935, was confined to Filipinos and to busi-ness associations dominated by Filipinos; the exploitation and development of their natural resources and the operation of public utilities. With the independence of the Philippines in 1946, a rising wave of nationalistic sentiment swept the entire country, and a new series of measures was passed designed to put the country's economy in the hands of Filipinos, Our leaders realized that political independence was meaningless unless we had control of our economy. The most important measure passed along this direction was the Retail Trade Nationalization Act of 1954. It provided that no person who was not a citizen of the Philippines, and had no partnership or corporation the capital of which was not wholly owned by citizens of the Philippines, might take part in retail trade after May 15, 1954. Aliens engaged in retail business prior to this date might continue until their death or retirement, but their heirs must close it down within six months. Corporations and partnerships must liquidate within 10 years of the passage of the law. Actually, the Philippine Retail Trade Nationalization Act was less confiscatory than the Sukarno decree of 1959. Sukarno forbade Chinese trade in rural areas and ordered that the businesses be closed and the owners moved to the towns by January 1, 1960. This was protested by Peking, but Sukarno rejected the protest, and a large number of Chinese were compelled to go back to China. They were not allowed to take with them the proceeds from the sale of their property. At any rate, it takes more than legislation - insofar as our own experience is concerned - to break the hold of the Chinese on our retail trade. Filipino common-law wives and dummies have allowed themselves to be utilized to circumvent the law. The Chinese school situation has also tend- ed to aggravate the problem in this country. There are about 150 Chinese elementary and secondary schools here with more than 50,000 enrollers. instead of hastening the assimilation of the local Chinese, these schools, in the considered view of many observers - and this, incidentally, is the situation throughout South-east Asia - "helped to perpetuate the cultural gulf between them and the people of the country . . . The teachers were ingenious in evad - 39 ing regulations, and the inspectors of education were too few and often too overburdened with work to supervise effectively." An acute observer, Prof. Mills, makes the following analysis of the loyalty problem among the local Chinese : "The Chinese community insists that it is loyal to Chiang Kai-Shek and it is impossible to determine how much support there is for the Peking Government. The Huk revolt made the Philippine Government uncompromisingly hostile to communism, and the party was declared illegal in 19S7. If, in addition, a communist were a Chinese, the offense would be aggravated, and he would be immediately deported. The community realizes that it dare not give its Filipino enemies an opportunity to attack it . . . The Government has diplomatic relations with Chiang Kai-Shek but none with Peking. Trade with China is forbidden, although some commodities from there are smuggled in . . . Professor Appleton came to the conclusion that it was impossible to discover how far the community genuinely supported Chiang Kai-Shek. On the whole it had a strong sense of the superiority of Chinese culture and wanted to preserve its separate identity and not be assimilated, although there was some intermarriages. Most Philippine Chinese including those who are naturalized were Chinese first and Filipino second, and their attitude was strengthened by the Government's hostile policy. As a protector Chiang Kai-Shek had been a failure, for he had not been able to prevent the passage of the Retail Trade Act. As businessmen the Chinese did not favor com -munism and some at least were genuinely Ioyal to Chiang Kai-Shek. But if Mao Tse-tung were able to prove himself a more effective protector, it was widely believed that this would be the deter-mining factor with most of the Chinese in deciding their political alignment." It seems clear to me that handling of the local Chinese problem will be influenced largely by world developments, many of which are beyond our control. Specifically these developments include: 1. The outcome of the Sino-Soviet rift. With the disappearance of Mr. Khrushchev, it was thought that an immediate rapproachement could be achieved between his successors, Kosygin and Brezhnev, and the Chinese Communist leaders, un-der Mao Tse-tung. This did not occur. Actually the new leaders in Russia tended to follow the policies pursued by Khrushchev. However, the Vietnam situation provided an opportunity for both countries to unite in making impossi ble demands on the United States. 2. The growing military and technical capabilities of Red China. Here we can only make rough guesses. "It is extremely important, said Mao Tse-tung in his book, On Protracted War, "to keep the enemy in the dark about where and when our forces will attack . . . In order to achieve victory we must as far as possible make the enemy blind and deaf by sealing his eyes and ears, and drive his commanders to distraction by creating confusion in their minds," In the latest issue of Foreign Affairs (January, 1965) Samuel Griffith, pointedly reminds us that: " Even those whose primary pro-Communist Chinese military capabilities have made egregious mistakes. History has qualified the late General of the Army, Douglas MacArthur, Commander-in-Chief, United Nations Command in Korea, as an expert witness to the truth of this statement. At the Wake Island Conference on October 15, 1950, President Truman asked MacArthur what he thought of the Chinese capability to intervene in the Korean war. MacArthur was not perturbed. He viewed this as a remote contingency. He replied : 'Very little. Had they intervened in the first or second months, it would have been decisive. We are no longer fearful of their intervention . . . They have no Air Force. Now that we have bases for our Air Force in Korea, if the Chinese tried to get down to Pyongyang, there would be the greatest slaughter.' 40
Very recently, it was announced that Red China will shortly explode its first hydrogen bomb. How soon this will be is anybody's guess. Ralph E. Lapp, a well-known nuclear physicist, believes that the Chinese potential for the production of atomic bomb, which China has already exploded, should be less than one atomic bomb per month, and that in several years China should have a respectable stock of nuclear weapons. Assuming that it is a long way yet from strategic (ballistic missile) delivery, nonetheless with its obsolescent aircraft, it could, as pointed out by the New York Times military analyst, Hanson Baldwin, deliver Hiroshima-type atomic bombs on almost any target on the continent of Asia, on Japan, Taiwan or the Philippines. While this capability, wrote Baldwin, presents no challenge now to the continental United States, it does "pose an imminent threat" to American allies in Asia, and its existence poses imminent political and psychological problems. 3. American foreign policy towards China and Southeast Asia. Red China is doing all it can to eliminate American influence in this region - and if there is anything that preserves the balance of power in South-east Asia, it is the presence of the 7th fleet. You will recall that in 1949, the Nationalist Government, due to a variety of causes -ranging from graft to mismanagement of the war, the want of enlightened social policies, the widening of the gap between the Government and the people, and the lack of will to fight - was driven from the mainland. In late 1949, the Department of State was preparing to recognize the Communist Government of Mao Tse-tung at the earliest opportunity. However, American consular personnel remaining in China were maltreated by communist officials, and public opinion compelled the U.S. to withdraw its officials and abandon the idea of recognition. The American Government at this point had not yet committed itself to the idea of coming to the aid of Chiang Kai-Shek and his Government. But after the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950. President Truman announced that the 7th fleet would prevent offensive operations across the Taiwan Strait and programs of economic and military and to the Republic of China and a number of Asian countries threatened by communism were inaugurated. Bilateral defense agreements were entered into between the United States and the Philippines, and later with Japan. The ANZUS treaty was negotiated, and the Eisenhower administration, under the leadership of John Foster Dulles, inspired the formation of the SEATO to check communist expansion in Southeast Asia. In 1955, the so-called Formosa Resolution of the American Congress empowered the President of the United States, in addition to the obligation to defend Taiwan itself, to commit, at his discretion, American forces to the defense of the offshore islands (Quemoy and the Matsus), provided he judges a communist attack on them to be part of an attack on Taiwan. This provided a pattern for the Philippine Government under Magsaysay, and a lively debate in Congress ensued on a similar Formosa Resolution, over the vigorous opposition of Claro M. Recto. But Recto was outvoted. Dulles threatened American retaliation against the mainland of China in March 1955 and September 1958, at the time of the Taiwan Strait crisis. The Kennedy administration, on the other hand, showed signs of wanting to adopt a "Two-Chinas" policy, but objections from both Taipei and the American people prevented an implementation of this policy. Ac this point then, communist seizure of Taiwan appears improbable and much too risky. What would be the impact of Chiang Kai-Shek's 41 departure on the people in Taiwan particularly among the younger elements whose memories of 1949 and the significant events preceding that year are getting increasingly vague is, of course, hard to predict. In the United States, there is a perceptible change in emphasis on foreign policy matters for the first time, a change that may affect American policy in Asia. The London Economist points out: "A large number of Americans who would certainly call themselves internationalists have suddenly been seized by doubt about the extent to which their country is able to shape the world in the way it would like, and have therefore decided to limit its attempt to do so. To adapt a phrase of Senator Goldwater's embarrassed hesitation to exercise leadership has entered the American consciousness." Continues the prestigious publication; "How much of this is a result of the change from President Kennedy's cast of mind to President Johnson's, and how much of it is due to all the unpleasant tangles America has got itself into lately in Vietnam, in the Congo and with Gen-are the consequences. These include the sharp drop since November in American pressure for a mixed-manned nuclear fleet in Nato ; a growing desire to end what Walter Lippman calls "globalism and scatterasion" in foreign policy in favor of a concentration on America's primary vital interests ; and, above all, a slight but unmistakable tendency for Americans to turn inward, away from the monstrously intractable problems of the outside world to the more straight-forward task of building a Great Society at home." That is the reason, as against the let - us -see - what - our - allies - want - us - to - do attitude, as against the policy of drift which seems to have been the policy since 1949. I have repeatedly urged a closer, detailed study of development in Asia, particularly the country that looms large in our thinking and acts - China. Nor should our Western allies begrudge us the desire to act in a manner that may not entirely conform to their wishes. After all, we are stuck here in this part of the world - they are not. They can always decide, over our protest and contrary to our desires, to detach themselves from us as Walter Lippmann suggests. But we shall be left with our problems and it will be no comfort to think that once upon a time, they were with us. Meaning and Substance in Our Society But more than study and re-thinking, we need to do more at home, because in the final analysis, it is how we react to events and organize our resources that will determine the future of our country. If we lose heart and allow ourselves to be paralyzed by our fears, our best phrases, our eloquent protestations in favor of the democratic ideal, our Constitution and laws and edicts would be worse than useless. That is why I feel chat while there is time, we had better tackle the local Chinese problem competently. But even more important than dais, I believe that our source of strength in dealing with the Chinese problem - or of any other problem for that matter - is found here at home, in our land, in our wills, and in our minds. It is not enough to say that we are against communism, and to anchor our pol -icies on that statement, assuming we know exactly what we mean. We should know where we are in the stream of world events ; frame our policies with the interests of our own country first and foremost, and the rest of the free world in mind, instead of waiting for cues and hints from any quarter and through hard work, initiative and imagination, build here a society that can provide meaning and substance to the slogans of freedom, through a better and more equitable distribution of wealth and power. We can, if developments deteriorate, face with poise those who choose to be our enemies because we know we have a social order that is just and compassionate, a society that allows men to develop their possibilities to the highest level, and promotes the life of the mind and the spirit. This is something that appeals to me strongly particularly after reading the account of an Indian scholar's visit to Red China. Prof. Chandrasekar in his book. Red China - An Asian View, writes: " As I look back now, I am unable to lay my finger on the exact reason for my disappointment. I stayed in the best hotels, the only hotels where foreigners 42 can stay, had the best of Chinese and European food, and received most hospitable treatment. I traveled extensively and in comfort. Many people put themselves out to supply me with obscure facts and figures . . . And yet I did not make a single friend to whom I would care to write a personal letter; everything was impersonal and mechanical. I have visited many countries in the world and invariably have found people to whom I was attracted by virtue of common interests and ideals and by that inexplicable something which draws people together. I have stayed in their homes can stay, had the best of Chinese and European food, and received most hospitable treatment. I traveled extensively and in comfort. Many people put themselves out to supply me with obscure facts and figures . . . And yet I did not make a single friend to whom I would care to write a personal letter; everything was impersonal and mechanical. I have visited many countries in the world and invariably have found people to whom I was attracted by virtue of common interests and ideals and by that inexplicable something which draws people together. I have stayed in their homes Every man of ideas should not ignore the opportunity for further inquiry, discussion and criticism which SOLIDARITY offers. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Every man of ideas should not ignore the opportunity for further inquiry, discussion and criticism which SOLIDARITY offers. SOLIDARITY Subscription Department Please begin my two-year subscription to SOLIDARITY with the next issue. NAME
______________________________ ADDRESS ____________________________ CITY ________________________________ STATE, PROVINCE OR COUNTY _____________ COUNTRY ___________________________ □ Payment enclosed □ Please bill me later ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
China Today: Journey to a Distant Planet Maximo V. Soliven IN a recent issue of "Foreign Affairs" quar--terly, Samuel B. Griffith quotes an anonymous political writer of the "Philadelphia Monthly Magazine" who once wrote of China, 167 years ago: "Our knowledge of that nation is very little, and that little, too obscure to be trusted." It is the tragedy of the Free World, more than a century and a half later, that this harsh indictment of our ignorance remains as true today as when it was first written. It is a shortcoming even more culpable, because the danger arising from this wall of ignorance has increased rather than diminished over the years. We have "isolated" Red China behind a barrier of cliches, the greatest cliche of which is the term we have coined, like dutiful Cold Warriors, the "Bamboo Curtain." It is a curtain that has two sides, and in the end we may have succeeded only in isolating ourselves. By an irony of history, we have for 15 years been cut off from any direct surveillance and observation of a neighboring country which contains one-fourth the people in the world. What is happening behind this "curtain?" What are the Chinese - the RED Chinese like? What plans do they have for themselves and, inevitably, for us? For a brief moment, the "Bamboo Curtain" parted for us and other Filipino newspapermen, and we entered and have emerged. We "went in" with many questions and have come to surface with many answers which somehow have engendered other perplexities. We are far from "expert" - for who can be expert after a journey of 21 days? We traveled 6,000 miles, including eight cities in our tour, but even this apparently impressive mileage shows up as infinitesimal when viewed against the backdrop of Mainland China's limitless recesses - totalling no less than 3,691,500 square miles. For behind that mythical wall lies a territory so vast it could easily contain all of Europe from the English Channel to the Caspian Sea and still have room to spare. We talked with many Chinese. But what is "many" in relation to a population of 650 mil-lion, a population that increases at the rate of 15 million a year, or roughly half the population of the Philippines? The significance of such numbers is grasped even more dramatically when one considers that the southernmost province of Kwangtung (whose capital city of Canton is nearest to us) has a population of 42 million persons, or 12 million more than the inhabitants of this country. And Kwangtung is only one of the 22 provinces of People's China. Mainland China is a Malthusian nightmare. Demographers estimate that by 1980, there will be one billion Chinese. And given a normal increment of growth, by the end of this cen -tury China's population will amount to two billion. Centuries ago, long before "class struggle" was a gleam in Karl Marx's eye, that noted Chinese military strategist and tactician, Sun Tsu (or Sun Wu) laid down as the first precept of war: "Know thyself. Know thy enemies. And for every hundred battles, you will have a hundred victories." In Communist China, those whom we call our enemies bombarded us with arguments and enveloped us with hospitality. "We are your friends, not your enemies," they unfailingly told us at every stop. "Your enemies are the American imperialists. We are fighting a common struggle for independence from the economic and political chains which bind us." In the end, we found that the tragic barrier was not made of bamboo but of perspective. We were reading from a different set of history books. A trip to Red China is, to a Filipino journalist, like a journey to a distant planet. To him, the "Free World" ends at the Lo Wu bridge, an ugly unpretentious jumble of steel girders, wood planking and concrete, spanning a shallow creek. 44 On the "free" side, some three million Chinese live, work and play under the British flag - an unabashed enclave of capitalism, unrestrained free enterprise and hurly-burly individualism - a brawling holdover from the Jays when "empire"' was not such a nasty word. On the "other" side flutters a Red Flag with its five yellow stars, flying over a monolithic state where 650 million Chinese in-habit a territory so vast that even in the age of the jet it can barely be spanned in a single day. One gazes across that boundary of a few meters into the "mysterious land" and for a few moments of unease ponders the fact that it symbolizes the Asian frontier of the so-called "Communist World" that stretches across the river, mountain and plain from the border town of Sham Chun to the barbed-wire barricades that separate East Germany from the West. And yet, this thought provides the only drama at the Lo Wu-Sham Chun crossing. Here is no stern "confrontation" bristling with guns. Halfway across the bridge, a bored British policeman riffles through a notebook, negligently seated on a folding chair. His ''army'' consists of a handful of Indian and Chinese Hong Kong policemen, impassively supervising the coming and going of a two-way stream of traffic that consists of travelers, chickens, ducks and pigs. A Red Army private stands at the other end, a rifle slung casually over his shoulder. Brown-uniformed Customs men in ill-fitting jackets, badly in need of a pressing, complete the border complement. They stand in small knots waiting for the baggage to be trundled across the boundary line, or sit at small desks interminably scribbling and perusing documents. They peer at the transients with neither malevolence nor interest in their gaze, dofting their brown caps to mop their brows in the noonday heat only to reveal shaggy haircuts and an almost universal absence of pomade. Crossing the line was so painless and uneventful, it was almost an emotional letdown. A bespectacled and smiling Customs inspector asked us to identify our luggage. The only item of controversy was a copy of the "New Yorker" magazine carried by a member of our group. But even that difficulty was resolved without hesitation. "You may bring it in," we were told. "But please keep it with you at all times. Do not leave it in your hotel room. Kindly do not lend it to anyone or leave it behind when you leave China." After assuring the border authorities that this piece of subversive literature would not fall into improper hands, nothing was left but the amenities. "Your luggage has been passed without in-spection, " the Customs man intoned. " You are our guests. Welcome to China." . II. The Paper Tiger At the exact hour - 3 p.m. - and date (Oct. 16) that Red China exploded her first atomic bomb in the northwestern province of Sinkiang, we were in the east of China. This is, of course, embarrassing to a newspaperman - to be somewhere else when something that has shaken the world happens. We were, to be precise, in the ancient city of Hangchow, once the capital of the kingdoms of Wu and Yuch and of the southern Sung dynasty. So large is China that not a tremor disturbed the earth in faraway Hang-chow. At the very moment the People's Republic made its bid to join the "Nuclear Club," we were, in fact, gazing at the serene face of an immense golden Buddha in the temple of Lin Yin, built 1,600 years ago. The Buddha in his time could boast no atom bombs, but surrounding him in his red and gilt-edged sanctuary were the ferocious guardian statues of his 18 Lohan or disciples. One of them was the huge image of Mo-sicelo, standing today where he had stood far more than a millenium and a half. What distinguished this fiercest of Buddha's disciples was that he had four pairs of arms. Two of his hands hung passively at his side, two were clasped in pious prayer, two were brandishing bow and arrow, and the last two were upraised in a threatening position - holding, a nearby monk informed us, the "magic" weapons of thunder and lightning. Like Mosicelo, Red China can be said to raise four pairs of arms to the modern world - the hands now passive, cow prayerful, now threatening. But, as last October's events have shown, China no longer has need of bow and arrow. She holds in her hands the thunder and lightning of the atomic bomb. 45 Neither does New China have need of the Buddha who once gave comfort to generations of Chinese. On the way out of the temple, I asked Chiang Fong, the deputy director of the Chekiang People's Broadcasting Station, who had accompanied us, whether he believed in the Buddha. "I don't believe in the Buddha or in God, but in New China," he earnestly declared. "I do not think that God or gods made the world. I believe that everything in the world was made by man." He quickly added, however, that it was the policy of People's China not to deny anyone the right to believe what he wanted. "My parents believed in God and the Buddha," he continued, "but I am happier than they were. So you see, man makes his own destiny - not God. Man makes his own happiness. "Even in the west, they have a poem called Invictus which says: 'I am the captain of my fate. I am the master of my soul.' " As Karl Marx once said in his all too familiar manifesto, "Religion is the opium of the people." In New China, man makes his own destiny, just as he now has made the bomb. We returned to Shanghai by train that night. Our friend, Shiao Mu, editor of Shanghai's top circulation "Jiefang Ribao" (Liberation Daily), whom we had met earlier, was waiting at the station with a big grin on his face. I found out minutes later what it was all about. He turned to me in the car as we sped towards the Clung Chiang Hotel on Mowming Lu road and said: "I have great news. Premier Khrushchev has just resigned!" Our other companions, Messrs. Wang and Liu of the All China Journalists Association (which counts about 10,000 members), were also visibly jubilant when they heard of the moral victory for Red China. They were uniformly cautious, however, about predicting that, as a result of their foe's ouster, Peking's relations with Moscow could be expected to improve. "Khrushchev's resignation is no surprise to-us," Wang explained later. "What surprised us somewhat is that it came soon. It was bound to happen according to the laws of historical development. " The minute Khrushchev turned down the wrong road and insisted on following it, we predicted that he would be doomed. Khrushchev was a 'revisionist' and a 'phoney communist. ' What has just happened simply proves that revisionism is a paper tiger." We did not hear about the atom bomb until the next morning. At 6 a.m., Mr. Shiao and Lu Yin Ching, also of the Liberation Daily, walked into my sixth floor hotel room with broad grins on their faces. Wang was with them to interpret. "Happy news again," Shiao announced. "China has just exploded an atom bomb in the West." When our group got excited over the possibility of having been scooped, they hastened to assure us that everyone, even Hsin Hua, the official New China News Agency, had been taken by surprise by the explosion. Nobody had known about it until it was all over. "All except U.S. Secretary of State Dean Rusk, I suppose," I remarked, feeling a bit unkind in my disappointment. "Oh," one of them said (I forgot who), "Dean Rusk was a big liar. He said that we would explode our atom bomb on October 1 - our national day. As you can see, we exploded our bomb on October 16 !" Our group immediately asked to be flown to Peking so we could be on hand if there were any public demonstrations or festivities marking the entry of China into the nuclear age. "No need to worry about that," Mr. Wang said. "There will be no demonstrations or celebrations anywhere in China. Making an atomic bomb is no longer an unusual achievement these days." Shiao broke in: "It only proves that the atom is just a paper tiger." Reassured, we decided to follow our original schedule and fly north to Shenyang (Mukden) that morning. This was in Liao Ning province, formerly Japanese Manchuria. In the course of the six-hour flight, we passed over the small hamlet where Rung Fu-tze (Confucius) was born. Confucius has long since been downgraded by the Red regime. He once said that "just as the poorest iron is used to make nails, the poorest men are used to become soldiers." The opposite is now true, where the men of the People's Liberation Army are counted among China's elite, But our guides pointed excitedly down at the tiny village be-low and spoke of Confucius with ill - disguised awe. In Shenyang, which is some 750 kilometers from Peking, we were billeted at a renovated 46 Japanese - built hotel (formerly the Yamato), the Liao Ning Guest House. That evening we were feted by the local editors. At the banquet, following several toasts with that potent kaoliang (sorghum) wine called Maotai, I asked Yin Tsan, president of the Liao Ning journalists association and editor-in-chief of the "Liao Ning Daily" what he thought of China's brand-new bomb. "The atom bomb," he solemnly assured me without blinking, "is only a paper tiger." III. "Death to Flies and Imperialists" Among the many things the "outside world" is told about Red China, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous, is that all the flies have been eliminated in China. Confronted with this assumption on different occasions during our three-week trip, our guides had one uniform answer: "Ha, ha. Why don't you see for yourself?" And then they would trot out one of Chairman Mao Tse-tung's sayings: "One who has not seen has no right to speak." The trouble is, China is so huge that it is impossible to see everything. Secondly, the obstacle that most frustrates the pilgrim is not the much-vaunted "Bamboo Curtain," but the "language barrier." And, thirdly, everyone the journalist talks to - or is allowed to talk to - seems prepared with all the "correct" answers. The answers are so correct, they are often couched in exactly the same words. The Chinese officials and editors in the cities we visited were invariably amused at our term, the "Bamboo Curtain." They said that "if there is a curtain, it is certainly not on our side but on yours. We are inviting you to come and see for yourself what is happening in China. It is your government that is trying to stop you from coming here!" For once we were left without a retort. As a face-saving gesture, we would discuss the flies. The Chinese themselves are modest about their capaign to elimate flies which they seem as determined to eradicate as they do "imperialists." Red China has for the past decade been on an obvious sanitation binge. The Chinese have never been noted in the past for their dedication to cleanliness, but everywhere today the streets and alleyways are clean. Garbage is brought out for collection every night by each family in neat receptacles which are never stolen, and is promptly collected. Every hundred yards is a city garbage can (in the city of Canton, all of them are made of gaily decorated blue and white porcelain, made in nearby Fushan!) where you can throw your cigaret butts and odd pieces of paper. Men and women street-cleaners can be observed at all hours of the days, actually 1 sweeping the streets. They are provided with little hand-carts in which the trash and dirt can be deposited for eventual disposal There are, it appears, no "pensionados" or non-working political proteges in Communist China. This is because the first-stage principle of the Communist Revolution is : " From each accord-ing to his ability, to each according to his work." Translated into the most morbid terms, this means: "If one does not work, one does not eat. " As a result, China is clean. The streets arc well-paved, although bare of cars and to all appearances naked in a land where even buses are few. This cleanliness is carried through to the kitchen. We never had any qualms about food anywhere in China. The first group of Filipino journalists who entered People's China reported upon their return that they had seen three flies - and they weren't even sure about the third one. Our Chinese guides must have let down their guard for our group, because we saw eight flies. One fly was spotted while we were enjoying lunch in the comfortable dining room of the Chang Chun guesthouse (in what used to be Manchukuo). We noticed it only because the white-jacketed waiter made a desperate grab for it and missed, and then cast a shamefaced glance at us. All through the meal, while the arrogant fly buzzed defiantly around close to the ceiling , our poor waiter kept an angry and baleful eye on it. It was, he must have been thinking, a dastardly American imperialist plot to embarrass China. The Chinese
have no cause to be ashamed. I once counted eight flies on my dinner table
alone. 47 were beaten to death with sticks. They must have given dogs short shrift as well. We did not see a single canine in New China. This passion for cleanliness and the elimina-lion of waste was as contagious as it was all-pervading. After we crossed the Chinese border back into Hong Kong, everytime I lighted my pipe in the street I would hold the burnt-out matenstick in my hand and walk for one or two blocks looking for a trash can or garbage receptacle in which to deposit it. Only after almost two day. did I realize I was back in the careless (should we call it "carefree"?) Free World where match sticks could be dropped on the pavement willy-nilly without conscience making cowards of us all. IV. The Kitchen God If free elections were to be held in Red China today, as they were recently held in the United States, one man would almost certainly be elected - and that man is Mao Tse-tung. This is an assertion neither meant to be cynical nor calculated to shock, but the only conclusion that can be drawn from what we have seen and heard in China. I do not intend to say that I have observed the Chinese people to have been particularly overjoyed with Mao's leadership, but it is the ONLY leadership they know. For, after 15 years or conditioning, al-ternately harsh and subtle, it is difficult to tell where coercion ends and persuasion begins. It is altogether credible, for nowhere in the communist world is Stalin revered as in Red China. In the People's Square of Shanghai (once a racetrack run by the British 'colonialists'), a huge portrait of Stalin braves the elements, standing alone. In factory and commune, almost everywhere we went, Stalin's bemoustached countenance graced the walls alongside those other great evangelists of international communism, Marx, En gels, and Lenin, with the portrait of Chairman Mao, of course, dominating all the rest. It gradually dawned on us that the idolatry of Stalin was inextricably linked up with the idolatry of Mao. For Mao himself has little reason to love Stalin. In the early days of struggle, Stalin believed that Chiang Kai-shek would be more useful to the communist movement than Mao, even engaging in a bitter argument with Leon Trorzky on this matter. In the latter stages of the conflict, Stalin was inclined to regard Mao's dependence on a peasant base for his Revolution, rather than on the urban proletariat, as no less than a heretical deviation from the Marxian pattern. But Stalin is safely dead and pragmatism as well as time heals all wounds. When Khrushchev dramatically condemned the "personality cult" of Stalinism upon his own ascension to power, it was inevitable that he would eventually come into open collision with the "personality cult" of Mao. Stalin, moreover, provides Mao with a frame of historical reference to bolster his claim that he is the last of the Old Bolsheviks who originally made the Revolution. Indeed, on this basis, there is no one alive to question his primacy which he does not hesitate to invoke when dealing with the "teenagers" who now rule the Kremlin. When the Chinese communists ascended to power over 15 years ago, they were considered a group of angry, young men. Chou En-lai (now Premier of the People's Republic) was barely past SO. The Red Army's triumphant field commander, Gen. Lin Piao (now defense minister) was just over 40 years old. Mao himself was in his mid-fifties, 15 years younger than Stalin, 11 years junior to Britain's Clement Attlee, and close to 10 years younger than then U.S. President Harry S. Truman. The same was true of Mao's 43 other comrades, a majority of them veterans and survivors of the famed "Long March" to the caves of Yenan, who were elected along with him to the Central Committee in 1945. This generation has now grown old in power. Mao is 71. Chou a gray, although vigorous 67. Towering above all is the figure of Mao himself. Everywhere one goes in Red China today, he is confronted with a portrait, heroic bust or statue of Mao Tsetung. In railway stations, airport terminals, commune or fac-tory offices, exhibition halls and even on the outside facades of buildings from southern Can-ton to northern Chang Chun, the likeness of the Communist Party chairman (who holds no government office) is prominently displayed. In the mammoth Liao Ning Industrial Ex-hibition Hall in Shenyang, for instance, the entrance is blocked by an immense bronze tableau, three times larger than life, that depicts Mao surrounded by admiring workers and peasants. In Peking, we attended a musical extravaganza that would make the impresarios of 48 Broadway or London's Shaftsbury Avenue drool with envy. The spacious theater of the Red capital's "Great Hall of the People" was packed with 10,000 spectators - but what was even more overpowering was the fact that there were 3,000 participants on stage! This mammoth array of performers included a mixed choir of men and women, standing on either side, who thundered out a staggering repertoire of 50 songs, while battalions of other men and women emoted and cavorted on the tenter stage, giving dazzling displays of symbolic choreography. For two-and-a-half hours, stevedores were depicted rioting on Shanghai's Whampoo docks; heroic communist martyrs walked bravely to execution at the hands of the "murderous" Kuomintang; guerrillas battled the invading Japanese; uniformed armies wheeled and marched with scarlet banners flying; the Red Army, courageous even in bitter defeat, scaled the storm-buffeted reaches of the great Snow Mountain and fought its way across the Taru bridge to safety. Finally, to the accompaniment of the triumphant chords from the orchestra, the communists sailed victoriously back across the Yangtze River to drive the hated Kuomintang from the mainland. Once again, the trumpets sounded as a new "aggressor," the imperialist U.S. invaded North Korea and threatened the borders of the Great Motherland. As the hall shook with ap -plause, we were almost carried away, remembering only at the last moment that our boys had fought and died on the "other side." The operatic spectacle, entitled "The East is Red," was soecially prepared to climax the 15th anniversary celebrations of the People's Republic. It proved to be an ill-disguised hymn of praise to Chairman Mao. "Beloved Mao, Sun in our hearts!" The singers chanted. "Your light shines for us in whatever we do. We feel you nearby, wherever you go." No words could be more true. Mao is enshrined in poetry. On Hainan Island, the Li people recite : "When Chairman Mao crossed Wuchih Shan (mountain), the hero dismounted to rest beneath a tree; before he left he sprinkled its roots with a - ladle of water and the tree blossomed all over with beautiful red flowers." In Chinghai, they have set words to music. They sing to the tune of an old folk tune, "Huaerh": "Nothing is higher than the sky or wider '' than the sea, no age is better to live in than this Age of Mao Tse-tung; The Communist Party has opened for us 1 a highway to happiness, and we shall clothe the countryside with cypresses and pines." The refrain is the same in Szechuan province. "Chairman Mao," they recount, "is a blaz- ing sun shedding his light on everyone . . . In spring you make the flowers grow sweet, with yellow grape and green-stalked wheat. .. In winter you melt the ice and snow and keep the peasants' limbs aglow . . . Beloved Chairman Mao, we'll never forget your kindness now ." In Hupeh, they invoke the beloved name: "Mao Tse-tung, Mao Tse-tung, rain for the rice-shoots, cool breeze in the summer; a warming sun that never fails, a following wind that fills the sails. Our days of poverty are done if we only follow Mao Tse-nmg." Writers reminisce with nostalgia on the days of struggle. One Col. Chen Chang-Feng has penned an epic, for example entitled: "On the Long March with Chairman Mao." Mao was himself both poet and peasant and his 13 most prominent verses are com-mitted to memory by schoolboy and worker. "The Wind," Mao wrote in 1929, as the first ragged detachments of his Red Army marched down into the plains from their first haven of Chingkan mountain, "will unfurl like a scroll our scarlet banner!" Each word is pondered, dissected, and learned by rote. The movies, too, sing the praises of Mao. 1 asked to see a picture of the Korean War, which was obligingly dug up and screened for us. It was a saga of 1955 vintage and, of course, we neglected to remind them that we had been on the "wrong" side of the firing line. The movie depicted a company of dauntless Chinese soldiers, surrounded and OUT-NUMBERED in a cave in the Shang Kan Leng mountain range in North Korea by hordes of American "imperialist" troops. At last 49 their water began to give out and had to be rationed out by an army nurse named Wang Lan Eng. In one scene, the commander's faithful young aide, Yang Tek Yu, pleads with Nurse Wang for an extra cup of water for his beloved commander, Chang Pai Hua. "The commander is a hero!" Yang exclaims. "He has been to Peking and he PERSONALLY saw Chairman Maol" Another more recent film, produced by the August First (Army) Studios with an all-Tibetan cast, is entitled, "The Serfs," and is today a big box-office hit all over China. Its hero is a Tibetan "nangzan" or slave, born of a slave father and mother, the former whipped to death by his cruel master and the latter dying of heartbreak and starvation in debtor's prison. In his misery, Chianpa resolved as a child never to utter another word as long as he remains in bond-age. After a silence of 20 years, during which he has earned the scornful name of "mate," he is delivered from his chains by the Red Army. The heartless landlord, an Oriental Rudolph Rassendale, is killed in a running gunbattle and the evil Chief Lama from the temple is unmasked as a hypocrite and a fraud who connived with the "imperialists" and "exploiters." Chianpa, wounded and in the hospital, turns to a portrait on the wall - tears streaming from his eyes - and utters his first words since childhood. "Thank you, Chairman Mao!" The curtain closes to a creaking of dramatic cords - "The End." We visited the school of the "July First" Commune, some 70 kilometers out of Shanghai. The 200 children gathered in the playground fronting their one-story school building to greet their Filipino "uncles." (Every adult male in China is called "uncle"). "Chairman Mao," those cute five- and seven-year-old* chorused as they sang for us. "We are happy you have come to join us in our festival." From the lips of China's rising generation, a guarantee of immortality! We asked the head teacher, Feng Ying Li, who had two children of her Own, why Mao was constantly being glorified in nursery rhymes and children's songs. "We strive to raise the communist mo-rale of our children," she explained. "All the children love Chairman Mao very much. They even dream of Chairman Mao at night." "In the old days, China had only one emperor," Mao himself tells the Chinese people. "Now you are all emperors - China has 650 million emperorss!" And yet, during the two-hour National Day parade in Peking's mammoth Tien An Hen Square (named after the "Gate of Heavenly Peace"), the highlight of the event was a review of a guard of honor dressed in the costumes of China's different nationalities, with a ponderous white statue of Mao borne proudly in their midst. The slogans on the placards exhorted: "Hold high the Red Banner of Mao Tse-tung's thinking and forge ahead." In modern China, it is the Orwellian nightmare in reverse - everyone is watching "Big Brother." This phenomenon is in direct contradiction to standard communist teaching. In his handbook, "How to Be a Good Communist," People's Republic Chairman Liu Shao -chi, no less, lays down the law. One chapter makes clear that "a Party member's per -sonal interests must be unconditionally subor -dinated to the interests of the Party." In the succeeding chapter, Liu assails "wrong ideology" and attacks the cult of "personal position." He reminds Party cadres that "no one's position is higher than an emperor's, and yet what is an emperor compared with a fighter in the cause of communism?" There is, however, in the perspective of the past, more method than madness or even vanity in the Red Chinese drive to glorify Mao. The communists, particularly Mao himself, have always been avid students of history. Throughout China's recorded 4,000 years, there runs one central thread - the almost pathological need of the Chinese to be ruled by an emperor or king. Chinese history is full of bloody rebellions and peasant revolts - but NEVER a move to abolish the throne. When the Chinese overthrow a dynasty that had grown corrupt and degenerate, they always set up another to replace it. It is interesting to note that even the father of Republicanism , Dr. Sun Yat-sen, who led the 1911 "bourgeois" revolution to overthrow the discredited rule of the Manehus, and established the Republic of China, did not quite know what to do with the boy- 50 emperor he had dethroned. He allowed the ex-emperor Airin - Gioro (Henry) Pu Yi and the Imperial Court to continue living within the walls of Peking's "Forbidden City" and "co-exist," even though powerless, with the new republic. The Chinese people, since time immemorial, have been accustomed to give their loyalty to an emperor or king possessing what they called "the mandate of Heaven" to protect the welfare of his subjects. Thus, Mao, who claims to lead a dictatorship of the proletariat with the "mandate of the people" and professing a creed that denies the existence of God, must surround himself in actual life with an aura of divinity. He delivers his speeches and pronouncements to his "subjects" from the portal of Tien An Men where emperors once laid down their edicts. In the Chinese home, his portrait hangs on every wall. He has replaced the Kitchen God which once ruled the hearth. One of the most salient characteristics of the New China is regimentation - partic-ularly mannerism and dress. And no dress is more standard than the blue Sun Yat-sen jacket and blue pants for men or the blue blouses and baggy blue trousers for the women. If China's bustling millions today look like a colony of blue ants, no more apt title could be conferred on Mao than that given him by the Hungarian writer, George Paloc-zi-Horvath: "The Emperor of the Blue Ants." V. The Ability to Make War We toured China in October, weeks before the U.S. Presidential elections. But even then we were assured on several occasions that the triumph of Lyndon Johnson over Arizona's Sen. Barry Goldwater would be greeted with as much indifference as a Goldwater victory. This is because the Red Chinese have been conditioned to took at America's leaders and read her intentions with an equally jaundiced eye, whoever may be at the helm. "Kennedy, Johnson or Goldwater - to us they are the same," they told us. "Their tactics may be different, but their aims are always the same." Just as Americans and many of us on the "outside" looking in tend to think of Red China in cliches - a "vast slave empire" where millions of people are "herded into communes and children are "torn from their mothers' arms" - the communist Chinese view from the other side of the water is larded with equally intense cliches. In the game or word associations, mention the "United States" and the average Chinese instinctively adds; "imperialist." Mention the word, "Kuomintang," and the Chinese snaps: "reactionary" or "gangsters." Invoke the name, Chiang Kai-shek, and they immediately chorus: "National Traitor." Posters and billboards in cities, communes and factories continually drive the message home. At the Shenyang (Mukden) Heavy Machine Tool Factory, which employs 8,- 500 workers in eight main workshops and seven auxiliary workshops, cleverly drawn cartoons and slogans dot the grounds. A com- ic portrait of Lyndon Johnson shows him wearing a bomb-studded belt on which is written the words: "Expansion of War." Hanging from the U.S. President's waist are the "bombs" themselves bearing the legends: "McNamara's Lies," "Lies of Stevenson," etc. One poster portrays a Vietcong soldier with eight American jet fighters pierced like "shis- kebab" on his bayonet and the slogan beside it: "Firmly support the righteous struggle of the Peoples of Vietnam and their fight against the Imperialist enemies of the Motherland." Another billboard declares: "U.S. Imperialists are the Common Enemy of Peoples all over the World." We interviewed China's Premier Chou En-Jai in the Fukien Room of Peking's '"Great Hall of the People" (each of China's 22 prov-inces has a room dedicated to it in the Great Hall). During the one hour and a half meeting, Chou told us that "the relations between China and the Philippines can and should be improved. Wide seas separate our two countries, and there is no conflict of fundamental interests between us." He said that ever since the Bandung Conference (of April 1955) he had been "hoping to see the development of relations between the two countries, and first of all the development of friendly contacts between our two peoples." " We are, of course, not happy about the presence of U.S. military bases in the Phil- 51 ippines," Chou asserted. "The United States government has declared that the U.S. military bases in the Philippines constitute an important link in the crescent-like encirclement of China." "But in our view, this is not entirely the case. We consider that the U.S. military bases in the Philippines are mainly directed against the Philippine people. Under the pretext of protecting the Philippines, the United States is infringing on the state sovereignty of the Philippines, making the burdens of the Filipino people heavier and impairing their. self-respect and independence . . . This is the case with all those places east and south of China where there are U.S. military bases. This is also the case with all those places in the world where there are U.S. military bases, "The United States has a hypothesis, that if the U.S. withdraws its military bases from the Philippines according to the wishes of the Philippine people, the security of the Philip-pines would be menaced and its independence not protected. But who is threatening the Philippines?" On the Red Chinese threat he commented that "this assertion is totally groundless . . . Even before the Bandung Conference, we had proclaimed the Five Principles of Peaceful Co-existence between countries with different social systems. The Five Principles are: Respect for each other's sovereignty, non-interference in each other's internal affairs, equality and mutual benefit, and peaceful co-existence." These are of course, a reiteration of the "Panch Sheel," enunciated by India's late Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru at Bandung. "Co-existence" itself had been a phrase resurrected by Stalin from Lenin's writings. Sitting in the pleasant Fukien Room, with its fine lacquered paintings on the wall and the autumn sunshine streaming in one window, I was reminded of my last meeting with Nehru in New Delhi, in February 1963, a few months after the Sino-Indian clash at Lakdah the preceding August 1962 had shattered Nehru's own dream of "Hindi-Chini Bhai Bhai" (Chinese and Indians are Brothers). Nehru looked tired and dispirited despite his attempt at easy banter, and on parting, he exclaimed entirely out of context "I have learned one thing. Before one can co-exist with a powerful neighbor, one must first be strong! " On China's new bomb, Chou pointed out that China did "not intend to bargain with the nuclear powers." He stressed: "Our purpose is to break the nuclear monopoly and eliminate nuclear weapons." There are people who say, he mused, "that the Chinese bomb is very small and no importance need be attached to it. It is true that compared to the nuclear weapons now in the hands of the United States, our atom bomb is insignificant. But we are after all now in possession of it and it is the fruit of our own efforts, of the Asians . . . from the very day of its birth (our bomb) joined the struggle for peace." We were later to learn that Chou's modesty tended to obscure the fact that the atom bomb which was exploded near Lop Nor in Sinkiang province had made use of Uranium 23 5, a much more difficult and ad-material . China had utilized an " implosion trigger," a technique more advanced than France had attained after six years of effort and expenditure of over $1 -billion. "Our purpose in acquiring atom bombs," the Chinese premier assured us, "is not to threaten others. We are not like the United States which, ever since the dropping of its atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki (those bombs are smaller than the atom bomb we tested), has been continuously using atom bombs to threaten the world and trying to monopolize them to carry out nuclear black-mail." He may have been quite sincere. Red China never needed an atom bomb to terrify the world. The threat of her almost limitless manpower and her ever-burgeoning population have always been enough to overwhelm the imagination. Just out of curiosity, call it morbid if you will, we later tried to calculate what would happen if another country ever decided to engage in a war of annihilation with China and mustered enough firepower and am-munition to shoot 1.5 million PER DAY. In 365 days, or one year, this "enemy" would have accounted for 547 million Chinese - and there would still be 100 million Chinese 52 left. Peking, for all its show of modesty, has never hesitated to exploit the power of intimidation posed by this exercise in military arithmetic . The Red Chinese, to emphasize their peaceful aims, have not held a large military parade since 1959, either on May Day or on October 1, the National Day. Never absent from each parade, however, is a contingent of the "militia" or "Ming Ping" which is the true backbone of Chinese power. Every male and female adult, above 18 and below 30; undergoes spare-time training in the militia. Thus, Chinese schooled in the rudiments, at least of conventional war must by now number in the millions. The Red Army itself is huge by the standard of its neighbors, but small in proportion to China's territory and population. Young men of 18 (about 750,000 a year) undergo a three-year period of military service in the standing armed forces which average at all times between 2.5 million and 3 million men. Japan's Self-Defense Agency, which worries about such matters has estimated that China has 4,025 divisions of nominal strength averaging 5,100 men each. There are possible two or more panzer (armored) divisions capable of fielding World War II Russian tanks, plus a couple of paratroop divisions. Taipei claims that Red China has a naval complement of 1,192 ships displacing a total of 276,000 tons. The Japanese estimate is more restrained. Tokyo says that the Mainland Chinese maintain vessels chiefly designed for coastal patrol work, operating ships no larger than destroyers. Red China, however, the Japanese say, has 25 submarines bringing up her naval strength to 760 vessels, with a total displacement of 170,000 tons. Regarding the air force, estimates range from 2,600 aircraft to 3,000 planes, about 2,000 of which are jets. Approximately 1,600 of these are M1G-15s and 17s, the rest light and medium bombers, trainers, transport aircraft and helicopters. Another 60 to 80 MIG-19s have been reported. Our Chinese guides, however, categorically denied that since the 1960 "split" with Soviet Russia, many of her air force planes had been "grounded" for lack of spare parts. "On the contrary, ' they maintained, "we are manufacturing our own jet fighters now." An unconfirmed report two months ago corroborates this statement, indicating that Red China may in deed have begun the manufacture of fighter planes up to the MIG - 19 model. These are the statistics. But armaments and men are only a partial factor in the ability to wage war. Will Red China's still struggling industrial base be able to support a sustained conflict? Will Peking's leaders be willing to commit themselves to a war that may strain China's resources and set back economic and agricultural progress so precariously attained? The Chinese capacity for "sacrifice" and the subordination of economic targets for military purposes has been amply demonstrated by the fact that during the years in which she develop - ed her atom bomb, hundreds of millions of dollars needed in our sectors as well as thou - sands of scientists must have been siphoned off into the project. Red China's potential moves will continue to pose a dilemma to us for years to come. VI. "Before" and "After" The reporter who goes to Mainland China brings with him a baggage of conceptions and misconceptions, fears, anxieties, notions and prejudices. One day we drove out to the Great Wall, at the point where it crosses the Chiu Yung Guan, that historic pass where invaders from the northlands of Asia used to march on their drive towards Peking. Unlike most places billed by enthusiastic tray- el- agents as "wonders of the world." the wall proved no disappointment. It suddenly burst into view, ribboning over the peaks and bill. tops like a brown and wayward dragon uncoiling itself from east to west for a distance of over 2,000 miles. The Chinese call it the "10,000 - Li Long Wall " and it was begun al- most three centuries before Christ by the "Tiger of China," the great Emperor shib Huang Ti who also had the distinction of having buried 200 scholars alive and burned the books of Confucius. We met an interesting character at the Wall. He was, it turned out, one of those elderly types we seemed to find knocking about all over China. He asked us where we came from and when we replied that we were Filipino newspapermen, he wagged a crooked finger at us. "Be sure to report what you SEE in China, gentlemen." he warned us sternly. "Not what you WANT to see." 53 Taken somewhat aback by the vehemence in his tone and the presumption that we would obviously be biased reporters, we wanted to know his name. "Me?" he said. "I'm nobody." And then he walked on, leaving us to wonder at this fellow who was bold enough to give us an unsolicited piece of advice but not to give us his name. In any event, his words set us to thinking seriously shout what we had seen in the past weeks. How much of it was what our Chinese guides wanted us to see? How much of it was what we ourselves, consciously and subconsciously, had wanted to find? We found that many of our previous notions had been swept away, but had been replaced by a mountain of perplexities equally baffling - notebooks crammed with undigested facts, possible mis representations of fact, ears buzzing and mind benumbed with "brief introductions" at every factory and school, interpretations of history, impressions of visits to factory and commune, and a hangover from innumerable toasts to "Philippine-Chinese friendship" and the "breaking down of barriers between our two peoples." We saw that material progress had been made - wide streets, clean cities, tree-studded mountain tops that once were bare, broad irrigation streams, factories turning out lathes, steel presses, machine tools, trucks, tractors, textiles, and steel complexes belching forth molten iron from gigantic blast furnaces and beating, pressing, stamping and rolling these fire-red ingots into railroad rails, seamless tubes, ball-bearings and intricate motor parts. These are facts, not propaganda, to be witnessed by the naked eye and recorded by the camera lens. What lies behind these facts? How were these successes won? These gains made? One should evaluate today's China only against the backdrop of the China Yesterday. The Chinese communists have their own version of history. When they talk about "before" and "after," this is not to parody the soap or muscle-building advertisements but to signify that they set their clocks by the date of their takeover of power - "before" or "after" Liberation in 1949. They point to a huge chemical fertilizer plant on the outskirts of Canton, capable of producing 100,000 tons of fertilizer per year. They have 100 phosphate fertilizer plants all over China today, with a rated annual product of two million tons. We find that the Chinese can now produce three to four million tons of chemical fertilizers yearly - but the gigantic maw of China's agriculture NEEDS about 20 million ton a year. Everywhere one travels, he sees fields heavy with grain stalks, planted to winter wheat, or piled high with the discarded, rust-red stalks of the kaoliang (sorghum) harvest. What does this signify? The lean years of 1959-1961 are over, we are informed. It appears to be so. China has produced 80 million tons of rice, 22 million tons of wheat, on its 267 million acres of farmland. But China has had to import five million tons of grain a year since 1960 from Canada, Australia and other grain-exporting countries. What is important, again when measured against the past, is that during the last 15 years of communist rule, China has not suffered a single famine. Even the near-famine conditions of the three "bad years" that followed the collapse of the Great Leap Forward of 1958 was met by severe rationing and grain importations that afforded the population at least a subsistence diet. The markets we visited in Peking, Shanghai and other cities, appeared well-stocked with eggs, vegetables, eels, fish, some chickens and ducks, etc. But grain continues to be stringently rationed. Textile factories turn out hundreds of thousands of yards of exquisite Tussah or embroidered silk, magnificent brocades, brightly colored and dazzling fabrics. Yet these textiles do not go to the Chinese themselves. They are marked for "export." The Chinese must be content with their rationed cotton and other cheap fabrics. No one "dresses up" anyway. The universal urge seems to be to conform, not to be conspicuous. Actually, Red China finds a ready market in the decadent capitalistic world. The ceramics from Fushan, the "hero" fountain pens that look so much like "Parker" pens, the ivory statuettes and curios cunningly carved into 2,000 different designs in the state-run workshops of Canton and Peking, the delicate frames of scenes are pieced together from feathers, shell or grain, or pain- 54 stakingly cut from cork, which are fashioned in centers from Changsha to Shenyang are gobbled up by tourists from Western "imperialist" nations in Hong Kong and provides the dollars to power New China's climb to industrial might. Our hosts were eager to show us evidence of China's industrial march. In An Shan, which turned out to be the Pittsburgh of China, they gave the Japanese who had earlier developed the city as their political and economic center in Manchukuo scant credit. Yes, the An Shan committee told us, once the Japanese operated such plants as the Showa Steel Works, but when they retreated in 1945, they had deliberately allowed iron to coo! and harden in the furnaces, ruining them completely. "We had to start from scratch!" they maintained. The Chinese were equally reluctant to assign much praise to the Soviet technicians who had helped them resurrect the iron and steel industry. It was even a good thing, we were repeatedly told, that the Soviets suddenly decided to abandon cooperation with China in 1960 and withdraw all their "experts" and blueprints, on top of cancelling deliveries on spare parts and machinery al -ready on order. "We were forced to learn how to make everything ourselves," our guide, Mr. Wang, summed it up. "Khrushchev helped us without realizing it. As Chairman Mao says, we can learn much from 'opposite teachers.' They hemmed us in with an economic blockade and we were forced to develop our own industries and draw on our own resources! Chairman Mao has always said that we learn from two things: our failures as well as our successes." Chairman Mao, it seemed to us, was forever saying something applicable to every situation. "Before Liberation," they told us in Canton, "we used to import even nails. Now we export machinery and entire textile factories to Burma and other countries. We trade with 120 countries throughout the world." "Before Liberation," we were informed in Shenyang, "we could produce only 260 varieties of steel and steel products. After Liberation, we expanded to a point where we can now produce 6,000 varieties of steel products." "Before Liberation," they asserted in An Shan, "the Kuommtang took over from the Japanese and sold off most of the factory equipment left behind instead of rehabilitating the factories. In two years, they did not even produce one ton of steel. Now we have 100,000 workers employed in 48 plants belonging to the Anshan Iron and Steel Company." The company, of course, belonged to the government, which meant it "belonged to the people." The dialogue could have gone on forever. The fact is that China is advancing industrially. On the surface the gains appear impressive, as indeed they are. But she is fighting a race against her own rapidly exploding population. Her greatest asset is also her most fearful liability. Fortunately for China, she is endowed with a similar pattern of natural resources that impelled the United States over the past century into the forefront of the industrialized world. Her oil fields are productive, although still largely unexploited. She turns out about six million tons of oil per annum. Coal reserves are formidable, and coal production (in such northern areas as Fushan) has soared to 200 million tons. Steel production is now up to seven million tons, and it is estimated that 30,000 million kilowatt-hours of power can be generated at present rated capacities. The next half decade will tell, however, whether Communist China will manage to outrun her runaway population and pull ahead in agricultural and technological progress, much less win the race against the Western world. VII. The Communes The "communes," for one, will still have to prove themselves more productive and efficient than a more lenient and less highly -centralized system. When the communes were first launched in 1958, the world was agog at press reports that millions of Chinese were being forced into this inhuman experiment which allegedly splintered families, herded men and women into separate dormitories and tore babies from their moth- 55 ers' arms for "indoctrination" in state-run nursery schools. In 1958, most of China's 100 million peasants were finally "organized" into 26,000 communes. Because of the "horror stones," most of us, it seems to me, missed the real significance of the commune sys-tem. Under the new plan, the peasants were compelled to "voluntarily surrender" their own plots of land to what was described to them as common ownership. This was, in effect, a betrayal of Mao Tse-Tse-tung's original promises to the peasants on the basis of which the Communist Revolution had enlisted mass support. In 1927, when he started organizing the peasants, Mao had eloquently exposed the glaring inequalities and injustices of the old system. He pointed out that the poor peasants, comprising about 65 percent of the population, owned only 10 to 16 percent of the arable land; another 1J percent belonged to the "middle peasantry" and the remaining 70 percent was in the hands of absentee landlords, wealthy peas-ants and money-lenders. The slogan of the communist became, "land to the tiller," and one of the first acts of the People's Government had been to confiscate the landed estates and distribute land titles to the peasantry with great fanfare. The communist explanation for the regression is that nothing has changed - now they maintain, the peasants own ALL the land in common. This sounds wonderful in theory, but Peking soon discovered that it did not work out so well in practice. Too many peasants, it was later claimed, still had too many selfish notions which had not yet been replaced by the new "class consciousness." Production suffered and now the government has been. forced to fall back a little by allowing the peasant one "mu" apiece (there are 15 mu in one hectare) for himself and each member of his family, which he can cultivate as a private plot all his own. We met Director Chuan Ping, an energetic 33-year-old high school graduate, who ran. the "July First Commune" not too far from Shanghai. As we toured the commune, he ticked off the statistics for us. There were more than 2,700 families in his commune a total population of over 12,500. The total acreage, tilled by the 5,500 agricultural workers, who were subdivided into 10 "production brigades" and 77 "production teams" was about 1,200 hectares. "This commune," he proudly disclosed, "produced 6,600 kilos of rice or wheat per hectare last year." In 1957, he added, "we were producing only 4,867 kilos per hectare." VIII. The People The most important achievement of Red China's leaders can be found neither in the production statistics, nor in the fulfillment or failure to fulfill production goals. It lies in the fact that a traditionally individualistic race was organized and regimented to work towards a single goal, the "building" of socialism. We like to condemn communism as godless and materialistic, but whatever we say, the Communist Chinese have succeeded in imposing upon their huge population a strict code of puritanical conformity that would make the reformers of Christendom weep with envy. They have rooted out prostitution (even Shanghai's 30,000 prostitutes}, opium and drug addiction, gambling and other forms of skulduggery. They have closed down the night clubs and cabarets. Theft or robbery, while we do not doubt that some must still exist, is rare. We never had to lock our hotel doors behind us while in Red China, or worry about our baggage on the train. Only when we crossed the border "back to freedom" at Lo Wu did we begin to have apprehensions as to where our luggage went. Red China's trains run on time. Whenever the train happens to fall two or three minutes behind schedule, the engineer and his crew must explain at the next "criticism" meeting why this happened. Neighborhood associations hold political and "criticism" meetings to "iron out" defects among each other. This may not be the happiest form of co-existence, but it gets results. Critics of Communist China can readily argue that all this "morality" springs from completely pragmatic and practical considerations. That people are honest because they are AFRAID to commit crime. That all these "evils" were eradicated because they interfered with efficiency and production. 56 And yet, it is ironic that Red China has succeeded in eliciting from her people the "sacrifices" we would like Co inspire among ours. The young ate taught to sing, "We are the Heirs of Communism," but at the same time told that they must give up luxury and pleasure now in order that future generations may attain the millenium of the Workers' Paradise. We have come away from the People's China with almost as many perplexities and questions as when we entered. But at least we no longer think of Red China in cliches, or surrender ourselves to the fond expectation that her communist leadership will be over-thrown at any moment now, or that she is bound to collapse from starvation or exhaustion. Red China's people are poor, their clothes ragged. It is impossible to read from their faces what they really feel. But the fact re-China as terrible and irrevocable as the French Revolution. It is less idealistic and far less humane than the Revolution that led to the founding of America, but it will leave its imprint upon China as indelibly as the mark that victory at Valley Forge left on the American character. Who knows what the future holds for Red China's long-deprived millions - or what it holds for us, one of China's closest neighbors, despite the barrier of narrow teas? Sun Tzu, in one of his 13 essays on war, wrote that "War is nothing but lies." It is our business to discover which are the "lies" and which the "reality" about Red China and the men who rule Peking, for on this our safety may depend. We disagree with Sun Tzu in this last maxim. We believe that our strongest and most effective weapon is the "truth" But before we can meet the moral and intellectual challenge of Communist China, we must first be willing to face the "truth" about ourselves. PEDAGOGY
BIENVENIDO LUMBERA 57 Afternoon with Kurosawa R. B. Gadi IT IS TWO-THIRTY, the afternoon of my appointment with the celebrated Japanese film director, Akira Kurosawa, who was in Manila to receive the Ramon Magsaysay Memorial Award in Literature and Journalism. It is the first time in eight years that this award -named after the late Philippine President Magsaysay -is given to someone in films. The last paragraph of the citation like most documents of its kind, has tried to compress in a few words the significance of his work: "In electing Akira Kurosawa to receive the 1965 Award for Literature and Journalism, the Board recognizes his perceptive use of the film to probe the moral dilemma of man amidst the tumultuous remaking of his values and environment of the mid-20th century." I am to meet him at three, ten minutes ride from the office to his hotel, but in this city, one can never be sure of the traffic. I sharpen my pencils while waiting for the car, and on the way, I count the light posts. Twenty-five posts and three o clock I knock on a door at the end of a dark L-shaped corridor. There are two men and they rise as I come in. The younger one greets me and introduces the director. The room is thick with sun from two large windows that open to the bay. On a table are two enormous bushes of yellow, pink and red gladioli with congratulation cards. The young man, translates my greeting. They get their coats from a closet beside the door and we walk out of the room for coffee and the interview. Kurosawa, the young man comments, likes the city, finds the room and the service just fine. No, he has not seen the country, may not have time to see it, and the heat occasionally bothers him. His height is arresting, his eyes soft, and his half - smile serious and yet familiar. At 56, his gait is that of 36, and his movements calm but energetic. The half-smile rests on his eyes while he talks, and a seriousness tinges his voice. The coffee shop is quiet and is interrupted only by a uniformed man who screams at the phone. He watches amused, and I say that sometimes the heat brings hysterics. "We all have hysterics," he answers, and slowly drinks his beer. He elaborates on hysterics. "There are so many things which portray violence," he says; "and so many films show this. Somehow, I feel tired of it." He wants his audience to leave the theatre entertained - with as less violence in the film as possible. "Although I do find it difficult to explain exactly what I mean by entertainment," he apologizes. Is it close to being happy? He agrees. "It is easy to be happy. If it is necessary to show violence, in a film, it is good to avoid ugliness." One notes this in several of his pictures: the cinematic devices create some amount of aesthetics in crises and tensions which are very close to outbursts. Here is art, without cloying subjectivity, but a disciplined absorption of all emotions through a unique communication, poignant and profound in both meaning and content. Spontaneity, in this sense, does not lose its essence. This brings to mind the treatment of sex. If he avoids brutality, does he, too, avoid sex? The word amuses him, but his tone is unchanged. "There are already too many films that show sex. I do not want my films to be another vehicle for it." He pauses to light another cigarette. "Besides, I do not think it should be a purpose for entertainment. Children would not be able to understand it; it will only 58 complicate their minds, and they will not be entertained." And adults know too much about it, I go on. "Japan produces so many films on this," he says: "I think it is only Rashomon which has some sex in it." Morality is an old obsession. But the exposition of Kurosawa's morality is unique. It is at once a blending of the ethic and the aesthetic. "Not even my religion interacts with my work. I remember what my mother used to tell me when I was a child. She said, 'Love of God and holiness should be kept within the heart.'" For the artist, must, by definition, be a strongly moral man, and his morality must be based on the code of his place and period, though frequently he may override it. "He may be pagan, oriental, or modern abstractionist," says Robert Coates, "yet he must pass judgment, if only - in case he belongs to the last category - by the kind and degree of order he may bring to his design." This is speaking of his work as an artist. Should Kurosawa's films speak of grace and holiness, it speaks from within his heart with a voice as soft as a child's. Like Ikiru, I remind him, thinking of the old man Watanabe, 25 years "dead" with a cancerous stomach finally making him live to sing:
This life for the moment, as seen in Ikiru - is it an existentialist thought? There is a hint of annoyance in his reply. "Existentialism? It is true that there is much I am not happy about with the way things are in this world - in Japan, particularly, but I do not want to show this unhappiness in my films." Ikiru is happy pathos, and "Japan particularly" in the film is a daily tragedy in a Public Works Office. But the moral greatness of the film cannot be overlooked. It is constantly reflected in the mirrors which tell too much on too many faces, in the children's laughter and the snow song at the swing. But there is no ascending the preacher's pulpit in Kurosawa; and this refusal to preach contributes to the beauty and the boldness of the picture. The dying Watanabe speaks to everyone in different manners, according to how and what one listens to. I hold on to Richard Brown's interpretation (quoted from Do-nald Richie's article on Kurosawa): "Ikiru is a climactic expression of modern existentialist though. It consists of a restrained affirmation within the context of a giant negation. What it says in starkly lucid terms is that life' is meaningless when everything is said and done; at the same time one man's life can acquire meaning when he undertakes to perform some task which to him is meaningful. What everyone else thinks about that man's life is utterly beside the point, even ludicrous. The meaning of his act is what he commits the meaning of his life to be. There is nothing else." Ikiru, or why the living is doomed, leaves no open wounds; even the death of Watanabe and the wake by the petty office-mates, heal all scars. What remains then, is what is taken in toto, not fragments, but a complete and painful realization of the whole of man, that his own slow decomposition becomes purely individual, and Kurosawa, by this time, is very far away from it. Kurosawa sits behind the scenes, always patiently watching the actors on his stage. If is his words mouthed, his emotions prescribed on scripts, his make-up, his costumes, his voice that calls out whether a scene ought to be cut and re-taken again; but the actor is left alone by himself to perform, not any director's life, but the life of man. And here lies the rub, because the viewer, too -for ill or good-despite the limitations or extensions of the cinema, participates. Subtlety is a Kurosawa art. Folklore and certain beliefs of an esoteric society in the Japanese past have been 59 brought out in a number of ways through the medium of the noh and the kabuki plays. Embodied in these theatrical arts - the dancing, the singing and the instrumental music, all of which belong to a genre of its own - is the history of a people who were 12 centuries under China, 200 years in isolation and finally, 15 years after they were crushed by a West-tern bomb, emerged as nation whose living standards are far above the rest of Asia, and apparently competing with the West industrially. The cherry blossom season for modern Japan brings out the lessons of its history. Entertainment, like Japanese industry, seemed without sources in the past, and was largely directed to commercial and economic ends. Towards the latter part of the 19th century, the cinema was introduced in Japan. It was, at first, a wholly Western influence, until the diligence of the Japanese absorbed it to be one of their major forms of entertainment. The Noh plays continue to be shown, but have decreased presentations according to seasonal activities; and the kabukt, although the more popular form, and still considered very much alive in Japan, has been designated to the kabuki-za at the Ginza centers. Television and the motion picture are fast becoming the Japanese media for theatrical arts. This is true not only with Japan. The West continues to be felt in Asia. But Japan struggles for her identity despite foreign influences, even in the field of entertainment. As expressed in the movies, the results of this self reaffirmations appear like slap-stick comedies; but it is consoling to note that, at least, there is a struggle. In the movies, particularly, there are several names which must be remembered to have brought the Japanese film some amount of prestige. Akira Kurosawa did not consciously bear the responsibility of asserting his people's identity when he directed his first film. He merely intended to express him-self. But because his works have been in-ternationally acclaimed, one cannot help but place him with his people, or speak of him in relation to Asia. "It is a minor role I play," he insists humbly. And yet the minor role somehow gets the limelight. Which is true; a line can be drawn, as was done by his highly logical humanist critics, between his cinematographic art and himself as director. His films are a spectacle with a successful method of presentation. devoid of the grotesque. This is not a revival of the Noh, although he affirms that the Noh is "very Japanese," but a revival of the drama, which has been a notable failure in films. His movies have developed their own way of telling a story, as in the theatre, but this is done with non-theatrical objects. The viability of the screen as a medium for drama is accomplished through the dialogue and the-camera (included here are the projections). On this stage, the play is no longer of Japan, or of Asia, but of the world. It is only when one speaks of Kurosawa the director, that we think of Japan's role in Asia and the world. How far has Kurosawa reached? How much farther can he go? Of what value is a man with a message to a world engrossed in splitting more atoms or spending millions for monstrocities of a space-race while 'villagers' scamper about from starvation or from a fear of being plundered by barbarians? The villagers care only for their crops, and would readily kill their defenders because they are strangers and are strong. Still, the weak readily run to the strong in times of their own panic. And where are the samurai who will defend the villagers - is this a legend after all? There are no victors in a war, so the villagers sing; there is only the weeping for the dead. But do we still weep for the dead? Are there not enough stray dogs to amuse us and divert us away from weeping? This is the disease of the cities, the cancer of nations. But the doctors only hide behind the lies that the sickness is just a minor ulcer, we could go on living still and our children could go on being entertained by toy rabbits. The vomiting is nature's way - we have no reason to panic. And the Lady Macbeths -the petty evil elements that push a country to deeper evil-how perfectly expressionless are their masks-we do not know if they smile or weep. Whither, whither. shall we go; where is left, where is right, or is life just another cobweb forest 60 And if there is pain in Macbeth as a hundred arrows pierce him, his eyes stare, his mouth stiffens, and he merely pants like a dog. Not once does he cry for help. Suffering is most tragic if it is no longer human, and Macbcth's dying is like that of a hunted beast. Lady Asaji (Lady Macbeth) is a perfect Noh character. She minces about her limited stage, sly and as evil as a fourth Shakespearean witch. Whither, whither? is all that the film could ask. The soul is trapped by evil-whither, whither-and even with Macbeth's death, the furies would have sung: still his spirit walks, his fame is known, for what once was, is now yet true murderous ambition will pursue . . . Your films do carry messages, I insist. He swallows hard and looks again at the grass outside which is now almost black because the sun has completely set. "Whatever messages these films may have for the viewer have not been done Intentionally. All kinds of people come to see a picture. And for all lands of people, there are also all kinds of meanings. So it is with the pictures I make. If some see a message, it is because they are looking for one." Although cinema is not always reputed as art, this is the value of art: It is capable of being conceived in a variety of manners depending on the viewed, and its value lies between its creativity and its control. "Art in film?" he looks around the room and lets his eves rest on the sugar bowl. "Again, I would not know bow to answer that. Art is something perfect, beautiful and rather difficult to achieve. I believe that art cannot be achieved completely, although I try very hard. I do not agree with critics who say that I have achieved a perfect union between art and film making. Every time I finish a film, I say to myself that my next film should do better. So you see. it is a constant effort to do something better. I don't think I will ever stop and say I finally did it." * * * THERE ARE ELEMENTS which tend to disturb the value of a film regardless of bow well written the scripts are or how well directed the movie is. The value of a film - whether it be intended to entertain or not - depends on the choice and reason for its subject matter. The cinema does not necessarily have to appeal merely to sight and hearing, but to thought and feeling as well. Here lies the most delicate angle for a film to be considered not only a good work, but a work of value. In the case of Kurosawa, the work on a film is not only the role of film director, but also that of script writer, make-up artist, camera man, choreographer, artist or singer. He revises scripts (be they patterned after a play, as in The Throne of Blood which is Shakespeare's, or a story, as in Stray Dog, which is Simenon - in fluenced; or, a legend as in Seven Samurai), consults make-up artists, sits with the camera, chooses the dances and the songs and the sceneries to be shot. "But what is really most important is the thought that I want to say." What matters then is not where the story or the script came from, but what it wants to tell. Ikiru, is his own meditation upon death. It is a personal labor between what he is doing and what he really wants to do. "I feel that there is still so much I have to do, and yet have done so little. I think I have not lived enough, but I try not to be sad." So, Ikiru was written and produced according to this thought. It is the problem of living and of identification. The Stray Dog, although a Simenon infatuation, "is quite true." It was his idea to present a "real detective who lost his pistol." Despite incongruities and in-consequentials, it still came out as an excellent idea: "Why is it that the truly good are not identical?" To quote Richie again, "by suggesting that good and evil, cops and robbers are one, he has shown us that we are in ourselves both good and evil, both cop and robber. The difference among these is not one of essence. It has to do merely with identity. The character of the murderer is indeed the most important because it is only he (among others in the film) who made the choice not to hunt, not to find himself, not to persevere, not to believe." The Seven Samurai is a historical film based after the "jidai-geki," on the period 62 films; but what Kurosawa wanted to bring out was the meaning of these samurai and their relevance to the present. It is not, therefore, a historical documentary but something alive that will speak of a tragedy which Kurosawa has made into a cinematic masterpiece. Although Kurosawa was intrigued by Hamlet, he felt that Macbeth's story had more appeal because it did not involve the audience too much in deep thought. But why Macbeth particularly of all of Shakespeare's characters? To quote Donald Richie again, "Kurosawa saw in Macbeth a contemporary issue - a parallel between medieval Japan and medieval Scotland which illuminated contemporary society; and further, a pattern which is valid in both historical and contemporary contexts." "I look at life," comments Kurosawa, "as an ordinary man. I simply put my feelings into the film. When I look at Japanese history - or the history of the world for that matter - what I see is how man repeats himself over and over again." Why the choice and why the reason, one sees these in his films. He tries to explain these, operating only with tradition and a retined imagination. Economy and precision are still his most artistic. He uses the commonest, the simplest, the nearest at hand; he refrains from broad farces; he becomes highly cultured without being over-sophisticated. If there are faults inherent in the films, the virtues on the other hand are very exceptional. And to appreciate his movies calls for new attitudes towards the film as art. "I cannot, as yet, speak of any forthcoming film. At the moment I am still recovering from the surprise at getting this award." The award overwhelms him. "I can use the money for another film," he adds. He is more happy than afraid of having to stand before an audience to deliver a speech on the evening of the award ceremony. "This is the first time that I am directed what to do on stage. I am awkward in front of a crowd." But home is where the work is, and a few days in a different city is not really respite from the job. The wife is a silent critic, and the two children, he is glad, do not share the burden of his thoughts. A nineteen-year old son sings his folk-songs. ("I, too, enjoy folk songs aside from the classics, and I do hope to see Joan Baez when she comes to Japan."), and an eleven-year old daughter is busy with school. Nine o'clock at the studio, shots taken, scripts revised, locations located, places, and people and actors - this is home; this is Japan. Japan is also an emotion. The Japanese are again developing a consciousness for history, and modem Japan in its variety recedes occasionally into the past. In 1894, after more than two centuries of the Tokugawa Shogunate's seclusion, Japan began absorbing Western technology. A few years after this awakening, the Japanese film industry started. Today there are several names to remember in the Japanese film world - Ozu, Mizoguchi, Inagaki, Kinugasa, Yoshimura, and Kurosawa, who brought international prestige to the Japanese film industry in 1952 by winning the Venice International Film Festival's Grand Prize with Daiei's Rashomon. Despite competition with the television and a film-hungry public which compels production companies to "turn out films simply to feed the cinema chains," the Japanese film industry has a future delicately guided by its present film directors It is a future that could turn anywhere ac-cording to the temper of its directors and the demands of technique and trade. Kurosawa may yet stand out as Japan's most dynamic director and one of the greatest in the world cinema. "I can only do my best," he says humbly. "The making of a film industry demands very much, and it is not often a happy approval that one gets from one- I recall Stray Dog and the unhappiness that he voiced about the film. "It is just too technical. All that technique and not one real thought in it." Obviously, this time, his thoughts were not clearly said in the film. The picture is concerned with the search for a pistol clumsily lost by a detective; the story unfolds, as the pursuit of subject and object, the confusion between animate and inanimate. Like the 63 Simmenon novel, which Kurosawa said he did not quite achieve;' the inconsequen-tials reveal an uncanny importance. Eventually, the distinction between pursued and pursuer is blurred. Here is a compromise between man and his virtue, and even if Kurosawa himself is not too happy about this film, it doubtlessly leaves a clear picture of postwar Tokyo, almost "Balzacian in its variety," a city stretching out from the slums, strip-tease joints, and geisha houses. This could be a picture of Manila, too; malevolent, corrupt and straining for some semblance of affluence and order. "But my failure to put my thoughts in film is not my only problem in a production. There are the time element, the problem of materials, setting and actors. As far as actors are concerned, I look for those who have as little self-consciousness as possible." And when he do finds them, they are made to suit the roles afforded them, and like Mifune, the relationship between director and actor lasts for a great number of years. Kurosawa toys casually with a cigarette before lighting it. "It takes so much to put out a film aside from the energy one dedicates to it. I have made around two dozen films - I can't remember exactly bow many, and some film scripts alone take more than a year to finish. There is the Seven Samurai, a film which has come out as Tokyo's most expensive film to date. Aside from the financial difficulties, there were the scenes which were difficult to shoot, the weather which was always bad, the lack of materials and props like horses." Despite these, be went on filming. "I have always wanted to put out a real period film." Other producers have done so, but again, Kurosawa did not want to stop at a period; instead he wanted to make the past relevant and significant so that it shows not as an historical documentary, but as an important transition from that period to the present, shorn of the time element, and imbued with universality. "The American copy (Magnificent Seven) is a disappointment, although entertaining. It is not a version of the Seven Samurai. I do not know why they call it that. Oh, but I do enjoy some American films," he adds hurriedly. "But I do not remember their titles. I am partial to European films." He mentions several names: Fellini , die Sica. Kazan, and a film, The Red Balloon." It is dark outside, and the lights are dim in the coffee shop. We can no longer distinguish the grass from the night. More people come in, and we have had a pot-ful and almost a case-ful of coffee and . beer. "Although whiskey is my favorite," he adds. "My thoughts are better expressed in my films. And I am sure that what I say in my films I cannot say in any other way." We all stand and he offers a handshake. It is a cold hand I take, but there is warmth in his smile. I leave Kurosawa and hail a cab. It does not matter if the traffic takes me more than half an hour to get back to the office. On the way, I do not count the light posts any more. 64 ISHTAR
GEM1NO H, ABAD 65
The Idle State of the Filipino Novelist Celso Al. Carunungan THE FILIPINO NOVEL in English is, without doubt, one of the most talked-about, written - about, whispered - about, and fought - about subjects in Philippine literature. But it is not being written. Literary historian Teofilo del Castillo, in the latest edition of his book on Philippine literary history, states that since 1921, when the first Filipino novel in English - A Child of Sorrow, by Zoilo M. Galang - was written, only that and twenty-four other novels by Filipino authors have been published. This means - and I wish to emphasize this - that during the past 44 years, only 25 novels have been published by Filipino writers. Francisco Arcellana, the distinguished critic, listed only 16 novels in I960; and, in the list of the "most distinguished books in the field of Philippine literature in English in the last fifty years," as chosen by five students of Philippine writing only four novels are mentioned. The situation becomes even more disturbing when we compare our record with those of other countries in one year alone, 1,500 novels are published in the United States, 2,000 in the Soviet Union, 1200 in the small country of Denmark, 800 in Japan, 500 in Nationalist China, and about 200 in Indonesia. In Czechoslovakia, inspite of censorship (the publish-government for approval) the record is still formidable : 300 novels published in 1963. In the same year there was no novel in English published in the Philippines. " One may counter that comparison in this case is not only odius but misleading, because of differences in population and other factors," declares publisher Alberto S. Florentino in a recent article." But no matter. Take any nation of comparative population and stage of civilization and you will receive the same impression." It would seem then that for the Filipino novel in English, the past seems dark, the present not too bright, and, therefore, it is not surprising to hear, during a literary seminar at the Ateneo University, a lecturer implying that all we can talk about the Filipino novel now is its future: "Writing on the future of the novel seems to be the favorite pastime of literary critics these days . . . our literary journals are full of scholarly articles which categorically state either that the novel is on the verge of extinction or that it is on the threshold of a brave new world." The paucity of Filipino novels in English is puzzling although as Leopoldo Y. Yabes notes in his exhaustive bibliography of Philippine Literature in English, "novel writing was among the first am to be attempted by the Filipino writers." But why are our writers not writing novels? They are capable and their stories, poems and plays are appealing. But they seem to shy away from a project involving hundreds of manuscript pages - and, at least 80,000 words. They find all sorts of subterfuges to hide the truth behind their not working on a novel: "After all, there is no market for novels." "It's too taxing a job." In fact, some are dissipating their creative genius in simply thinking up of reasons why they are not writing novels. One critic said of Villa: "He has not written anything for years, because he has been using all his creative faculties in devising situations that would project the uniqueness of his personality, in stead of writing more of those exquisite poems that have established his reputation." Many talented writers in our country have similar attitudes. They read a lot of books; they follow or revolt against fads; they rally against conventions, the church, America and even their own parents; they put on 66 masks, experiment with what they think is grown-up sex; they discuss and discuss almost everything over endless cups of coffee or frothy glasses of beer. They end up outraged, distraught and helplessly sapped of creative energy. And it's four o'clock in the morning. John Knowles, one of the United States' younger novelists says, "Energy is the writer's firmest friend. I don't think that any writer is ever "written out." It seems to me that the dullest seeming life in the world provides materials for masterpiece after masterpiece. What fails isn't material or experience but energy, the imaginative energy, to dig down deeply into your subject, where the truth about it lies, the artistic energy to form what you find there as it should be formed, and finally the brute physical energy, the same kind used in scrubbing floors, to put it in words on paper." Unfortunately, many of our writers are the "single-sitting" kind. They are aflame with a single burst of firecracker literature. They can work in fury for a few minutes - or even a day. And then, all is over. And they feel either elated over an achievement or depressed over a seeming failure. Then they would talk about this for days and days, not even bothering to rewrite the piece. And when they submit it to an editor and it is rejected, they find it impossible to believe that the editor can have - and, indeed, they do have - some kind of editorial discernment. For didn't my friend Irma tell me that my story was wonderful? Our literature is cluttered with short stories done in a brisk clip, poems of a few lines done during a moment of immense sparks, or one-act plays that are over in a few scenes. All belong to firecracker literature. Meanwhile, the novel awaits the warm sure hand of the good true writer. When one has the urge to do anything, he will find the time, even the place. The creative urge is, of all urges, the most compelling. Writers who have the most to do, those who are the busiest, are the ones who actually write novels. Take Bienvenido N. Santos, N.V.M. Gonzalez, Edilberto K. Tiempo. "The good writer," said William Faulkner, "is always too busy writing something. If he isn't first rate he fools himself by saying he hasn't got time or economic freedom. Ordinary people are just afraid to find out just how much hardship and poverty they can stand. They are afraid to find out how tough they are. But nothing can stop a good writer, Neither time, nor money, nor success." Has it ever occurred to anyone that if he can write only five pages of manuscripts a day. in one year he will have finished over 1,500 pages? This is equivalent to three novels. And five pages, if one is working steadily - with or without the muses at his side - can be done in less than two hours. If we want our literature to mature, to achieve universal stature, our writers must write sustained, substantial pieces. A nation's body of literature, in the long run, is not judged by the short and quick blasts of literary genius, such as those little poems of Sir Walter Raleigh's and Robert Herrick's during the Elizabethan times, but by the epic masterpieces of poetic power, such as those of Edmund Spencer's whose The Faerie Queene is an ela- borate allegory originally planned to be in 12 books, of which he finished six. Indeed, the ultimate picture of a culture, of a people, can be drawn only on such a canvas as broad and overpowering as an epic poem or novel. "In my judgment," says American novelist Ellen Glasgow, "the province of a novel is the entire range of human experience and the vast area of mortal destiny." The test of a nation's literature is if it can be recognized in the company of other national literatures. While preparing an anthology of world literature for MacMillan, I went over 300 books. I did not come across any anthology of general literature to which the Phil-ippines had contributed. In fact, the volumi-nous Encyclopedia of Literature, edited by Joseph T. Shipley, does not even mention Phil- ippine literature although it lists hundreds of various national literatures from the obscure Accadian to the Polynesian and to the Zuni Indian. And the Columbia Encyclopedia, in its article on the Philippines, gives Philippine literature this one line "Almost all the literature of the Philippines is colored by the political sentiments of the authors and must be read with some caution." The ignorance of other countries about our literature stems from the fact that we have not produced a substantial body of literature. Very few of our novels have broken into the world market. The United, by Carlos P. Ro-mulo, is not even a Filipino novel; it is set 67 in a foreign land, and the only Filipino character in the book is the driver of the hero. Many of our writers are unable to get published abroad - even those who are acclaimed in Manila have difficulty getting recognition elsewhere. I believe that the most serious setback of most of our writers in English is their in -adequacy in expression, in articulating Filipino feeling in English. The typical Filipino author writes in a form of English that is often confused, peculiar or complicated. This is so, perhaps, because many of our writers have absolutely no native, living acquaintance with language. They have learned their English from books, movies, TV, and from their teachers, most of whom are, like themselves, foreign to the language, too. Thus, they do not realize that there are various kinds of English, that there is the mid-western American English of Sherwood Anderson and possibly, Hemingway; the southern American of Faulkner and Tennessee Williams; the far West idiom of John Steinbeck; the Chicago American of James T. Farrell and Carl Sandburg; the King's English of D.H. Lawrence; the New Zealand English of Katharine Mansfield; the Welsh English of Dylan Thomas; the Irish English of James Joyce and Sean O'Casey; the Negro English of James Baldwin and Richard Wright; and the New England English of J. D. Salinger. In the difficult process of a Filipino writer's development, he inevitably falls under various influences. Invariably, he will use the idioms of his favorite authors. I know of a writer who was greatly influenced at first by Hemingway, and so the idiom and style of his early stories were shadows of the late Nobel laureate. Then, he made use of some of the lilting idioms of Dylan Thomas while retaining some of Hemingway's. Recently, he fell under the sway of Nick joaquin's darkly elaborate prose. And so, in one particular story he wrote, he used all three idioms and the result is as ridiculous as a Visayan trying to write in Tagalog using the Tagalog varieties of Quezon Province, Laguna, Bulacan, Batan-gas, and Nueva Ecija, all in one story - set in Cebu. One very prominent Filipino author, who has won many literary prizes in our country, sent his story to the editor of a famous literary quarterly in America. In the rejection note, the editor said candidly: "I found the language rather amusing because of the many curious words which are used, words which have been obtained from the Roger's Thesaurus and which one does not encounter in the ordinary use of the English language." This is typical of those who are writing in a language that is not their own. Let's take Joseph Conrad. He was a Pole who, at 21, knew only three English words: "Look out there," which he learned from a sailor who shouted to him from the upper deck of a boat, thinking Conrad was about to fall overboard. His early story, The Black Mate, written in 1886, was characterized by high-flown elaborateness of language. He described an eyewitness as having gone through "an ocular demonstration." And to him, men do pot curse, "they hurl objurgations." His characters spoke stiffly; even his Polish characters spoke with a British flavour: "I verily believe." But Conrad was a consummate artist. "He took English," Ford Madox Ford said, "as it were by the throat, and wrestling till dawn, made it obedient to him as it has been obedient to other men." Our writers have not been as successful as Conrad. I can immediately think of one who has a story in which the Filipino characters spoke in a kind of drugged beat English. The characters thought like beatniks, too. And, worse, of all, none of the characters left the Philippines; they lived in a hovel near Ong-pin street, in Manila. As long as our writers do not succeed in rising above all these influences, to become strong and versatile enough to create the English language that is their very own, like Joseph Conrad, Saroyan, Alan Paton, or Santha Rama Rau, they will have absolutely no chance of getting a hearing abroad. That this problem can be overcome by Filipinos is borne out by the success of such writers who have published widely, like Bienvenido Santos, Carlos Bulo-san, N.V.M. Gonzalez, Emigdio Enriquez, Stevan Javellana and Alejandro R. Roces. Another fundamental flaw in our writing is its lack of genuine Filipino feeling. Somehow or another, the writer's sophisticated education from books by Mary McCarthy and the New Yorker and the Partisan Review school of writers, get in the way of their becoming real Filipino writers. These writers think and speak like lost Vassar alumni, although they 68 are simple Filipina teachers or clerks with naive attitudes. They move about like characters from Salinger, whose literary faults, even, are copied by some. A critique of Salinger by Seymour Krim, which appeared in The Commonweal, can also be a commentary on some of our so-called sophisticated novels. "To reduce it to fundamentals," says Krim, "I believe that Salinger is not quite clear about the meaning of his material; he is extremely deft, sometimes over-sophisticated in his surface technique, and for the most part it is pure pleasure to follow his artistic strokes. But underneath, where it is a question of values and finally of the iron moral grasp of meaning, one suspects a dodging of issues." This brings us to what I think is the crisis in Philippine letters: lack of significance in theme, no universality of interest, and absence of plain old-fashioned substance. J. D. Salinger, himself, a master literary conjurer has been accused of these. "The significance of his themes evaporates in the ardors of the technique until we are left with a puzzle," continues Seymour Krim. "Why so much shock for so little nubbin? (as Sherwood Anderson is reputed to have said when he saw the smallish William Faulkner wrapped in a huge overcoat). In other words, are Salinger's sentimental jazz ballads worth such symphonic orchestrations?" After reading some of our Filipino stories, I am almost tempted to pose the same question. Are they significant enough? Or, are they merely exercises in language dexterity in which the writer shows off? At one Columbia University session the lecturer Whit Burnett read a story by a student in the short story writing class. After he finished he spoke of what he thought was wrong with it; "Too much author." This, is also true with much of our fiction. The authors are too much involved in themselves that they have forgotten their characters must live by themselves. A few years ago, the novel The Bamboo Dancers, was reviewed by William Harrison in The Saturday Review. It was a painful, severe review. Whether we agree with him or not, what he said can be an eye opener to most of our local novelists. The reviewer touched on points that are important and use - ful. They strike at the very roots of why 1 many of our novels have failed and why many writers cannot and may not write novels. This concerns the inability of some of our writers to conceive genuine, breathing characters with an overpowering conflict set against the social and economic - even political - crisis of the nation. "It is an honest, straightforward, but highly uneven and un-sophisticated work," the review states, "with a singular lack of understatement, irony, or great subtlety. Perhaps, this is due to the main character and narrator, Ernie Rama, whose social observations are fairly obvious, whose personal relationships are generally, naive, and whose final sensitivity is somewhat questionable . .. Probably the book's most striking fault is that as a piece of social sur-vey and criticism, it really fails to criticize, . . . One might hope that the novels coming out of these areas in the English-speaking world would have, because of their economic and social backgrounds, something sharply critical about them, perhaps, something satiric that the work of the British and American authors no longer have; and that they might even re-establish the protest novel in a literary scene comprised mostly of lukewarm stylistic fancies on the lives of young dilettantes. But The Bamboo Dancers has no sting and nothing really crucial to say that might excuse the crudities in the writing." I mention this review not to disparage Mr. Gonzalez' work. I think The Bamboo Dancers is a landmark in Philippine literature, and I wish that all Filipino writers would have the dedication, faith and sincerity with which Mr. Gonzalez has endowed his craft. I want it to be known that this particular criticism does not refer to Mr. Gonzalez' work alone; in truth, it refers to many other Filipino stories written during the past few years. Somehow the real conflicts and the struggles of the Filipino are lost in a maze of stylistic and form-haunted sentences. Somehow, we have lost, somewhere along the line, the beautiful simplicity that has been the virtue of our ancient story-tellers, the powerful lucidity, the imaginative enactment of the Filipino experience that is universal in spirit. In fine narrative, the official self emerges, as Plato put in, but the soul remains "full of the ten thousand opposites occuring at the same time." 69 There is, indeed, a market for the novel if the writer takes his craft seriously and devotedly enough to finish one. The Filipino novelist has a better chance therefore to break into the world market. Big American publish-ing houses are in search of a good Filipino novel. "The miserable fact is," according to Jack Sherman of MacMillan, "I can't seem to find Filipino authors who have actually written a novel we can publish." James Michener, popular author of several novels set in Southeast Asia, once told a group of young writers at Columbia that "if I must denounce the idle, day-dreaming attachment to writing that is so prevalent, I must also report the magnificent opportunities that await the young writer with true talent and the energy to perfect it. "In New York there are some publishing companies that may have to quit business be-cause they cannot find enough good writers. A large publishing house may spend up to $100,000 a year simply looking for new writers. "Let me make this very clear. If tomorrow word were mysteriously to circulate around New York that in Waco, Texas, an unknown Scott Fitzgerald had a suitcase full of stories and novels which he was about to release, by nightfall every publisher would be making that young Texan enticing offers. He could have advances for five years. He could have a vacation in Alaska. The telegrams. would pour in, and three or four of the smartest publishers would fly their leading editors down to try to sign the body up on the spot. "In the meantime, the magazine offices would be going crazy. The 15 largest periodicals would offer a new Hemingway, a new Willa Cather, or a new Philip Wylie almost any inducement; for this fact is paramount - America is terribly hungry for writing talent. Publishers are not fools; they know that they exist solely upon the talent of writers. When they go to bed at night, they dream that in the morning they will stumble upon a masterpiece by some unknown writer. That is why no manuscript is ever turned aside unread, either by a book publisher or by a magazine editor. "I sometimes feel I am in a crazy world when I watch editors beating their brains out, trying to find good novels or stories while a million or more writers beat their brains out trying to sell what they have written. What it adds up to is cruelly obvious: there will never be enough good writers, and there will always be far too many who are wasting their time trying to be fifth-rate writers. Only by the brutal process of trial and error can the gifted writers be weeded out from among the untalented; and if you are young, and if you know that you have the talent to write, remember what Somerset Maugham said: ' It is wonderful to be young and to know you have the talent.' What he did not bother to add was, 'Because then the world will want you.' " In what is probably an apocryphal letter published originally in a Russian newspaper, Picasso is supposed to have said, "there are painters who transform the sun into a yellow spot, but there are others who, with the help of their art and their intelligence, transform a yellow spot into a sun." I would like to think that, in the near future a Filipino will find this yellow spot and with art and intelligence, transform it into a sun! 70
UTTER ONLY THE NAME OF NIGHT
GELACIO Y. GUILLERMO Loverboy Lilia Pablo Amansee ONE BALMY MORNING IN JUNE, a fair, blue-eyed stranger strode into Bullen-cock and surprised Charito and me lolling about the tables in flimsy nightgowns. "Now, don't run off girls," he said, bathing us from head to toe with the light of his cold blue eyes. "I need just one drink." "The waiter comes in at five in the afternoon, sir." Over my breasts I crossed my arms which were flapping in the air like a pair of wings. "Surely, you won't deny a wayfarer just one little drink?" "All right," I said, feeling hot and cold under his gaze. "' Wait here - I must change into something decent." I escaped from the room on the heels of Charito, gathering about me the limp, transparent clothing of my maidenhood, which the stranger seemed to divine inexorably by the cold light of his eyes. "Bert! Bert!" I called out, "a customer - sec to him, boy!" I rushed upstairs to my garret, scattered dresses and skirts about, and was down in five minutes, dressed in blue denim; my torso was ablaze in a red sweater, and I had a red bar-rette in my hair. "Young woman," the stranger smiled coolly, "is that what you call decent? Your: outfit earlier suited you better. There's nothing more decent, really, than a girl being her own true, feminine self." ''I'm a bum," I emphasized, a female bum, that is, that's why I hang around in these rags." "Well , you're a beautiful bum. What's your name?" "Lulu." "Mine's Edmund Sanchez. Will you join me?" I took a seat beside Edmund, wondering whether he was a mestizo. But I decided he was pure because of his eyes, which were true blue, and the color of his skin, which was pale pink. His last name could have been Spanish or Filipino. It puzzled me. "Are you new around these parts?" I asked. "No, I have been here two years. My parents, my foster parents, that is, are Filipinos. They adopted me in Shanghai, reared me in Hong Kong and sent me to school in London. Here I am, a bill collector in the Philippines." "You have led a full life, it seems." "Perhaps. I was married too-once in London." "Was your wife beautiful?" "Very. Blue-black hair, gray, misty eyes, skin melting like cream to your touch. She was beautiful, but I divorced her." I was slightly taken aback by Edmund's unexpected confidences. But then, the fellow probably was dying to get certain matters off his chest-and what would be a better audience than a perfect stranger. "Why did you?" "Because I thought she was unfaithful. It's true I never caught her in bed with the guy - he was my best friend, you know. But he was always hanging around my apartment, even when I was not there. Oftentimes 1 would come upon them having tea and cookies in the living room which was also our bedroom. I daresay they could have had their tete-a-tete in the pantry. It hurt a bit, knowing you were unwanted. But I harbor no hard feelings. I knew all along that she liked him -more than she ever liked me. It's a woman's privilege to change horses in midstream, you know. For my part, I realize I have been ridden long enough-that's why I'm on my way to other pastures." "You mean to say, you're not bitter? She was your wife, and he was your best friend." "I suppose I will have other women just as beautiful." "I hope so." 72 Edmund Sanchez sipped hit beer and wiped his frothy mouth with a handkerchief. He was tall, lithe and lean, with a crop of golden brown hair crowning his head. His eyes shone on you like searchlights, but he had a friendly, disarming smile and a ready wit. You could not help taking him into your parlor, even at the crack of dawn. "Lulu," he said, "when I came in and saw you in that sheer nightgown, a heavenly feeling came over me-I almost raped you, honest." "Edmund Sanchez, do you go about saying such shocking things?" "Oh, come on, haven't you been propositioned before? How many men have you gone to bed with?" "Wouldn't you like to know." "Come, tell me. Please." "I'll lie with my secret - with my pantie "Now, it's you who shock me." Edmund Sanchez laughed till he turned red in the face. "You know," he said, "I'm enjoying this - it's like being in England again, talking in a pub with a friend, or ruminating by yourself. The British love to talk. They talk so much tourists actually go around with cape recorders, which they hide in their pockets or under the table - to catch the inimitable British accent on things. Yes, I feel like I'm in England again." "I wish I could have that feeling of being elsewhere too. How I wish I were naked in Bali, or sitting cross-legged in India contemplating my navel. Better still I could be in Hong Kong drowning in a bowl of shark's fin soup." "You wouldn't drown in Hong Kong. Water is precious scarce in that area. Besides, over there, you could pass for a woman from Shanghai - ah, the phrase evokes countless memories.' "Do you know Hong Kong very well ?" "Yes, I grew up there. I know it as well as the palm of my hand or the inside of my pocket. I carry around with me always a bit of Hong Kong, everywhere I go. As a child I used to wander off towards Victoria Peak, scanning the windows of old buildings rising steeply up the hillside like gray ghosts in the twilight. Once in a while I would catch a glimpse of a beautiful Chinese girl, her hair drawn tight in a knot, gazing down from the heights on the street where I was, as if to discern someone there on his way up to reach her. When the first star would glimmer at the tip of Victoria Peak, I would wend my way home, weaving in and out of the narrow alleys, overflowing with all good things to eat. I would watch the trousered girls in the small Chinese restaurants moving from table to table, carrying baskets of steaming meats from which the customers had their pick. I went home with hunger gnawing at my stomach, and as soon as I sat down at table, consummately devoured the supper set before me by my mother, Alicia. She was an amiable woman who went to chapel everyday. Not once did she ever beat me. One night, in my sixteenth year, she died in her sleep with the covers swept from her round and gentle body. I did not know then that my foster father was to marry again and bless me with a mother just as good and kind as the first. I stood around my father's house with a sorrowing head, grim- lipped and dim of eye, and at the funeral parlor I cried profusely and stayed behind to linger by my mother's body. It was then that I met Rabutnik, the Embalmer. He it was who impressed indelibly upon me that death was another kind of life, the final achievement of destiny - that I should weep not for the dead but for the living who must thrash about in a wilderness through the rages of time. He was the strangest man I ever knew. Although he became my friend, I will still say this of him. Listen, I shall tell you a story that will shock you out of your poor, precious maidenhead. "On Sundays, when he was off, we would go up to the Tiger Balm Gardens in a tram and walk in the mist of time past the Ghost Kings and the lions, the tigers, the dragons and the shimmering White Pagoda. From the top we would look down on the green bay be-low, which glittered in the sun like pure crystal. Or we would go to Aberdeen - there to be met by a bevy of sampan girls, who would try to sell us the use of their boats with coy smiles and bird-like chatter. At the floating restaurant we feasted on lobster and abalone; the lobster we picked with our hands from baskets immersed in the sea. Aberdeen! Ah, the name itself is a memory! In the evening, on the way home, we would 73
74 uniforms, past a bird-lover walking his bird, and pig tailed Chinese amahs hovering over their charges, past a lifestream of people. I had no hope of ever knowing my love, and I died a thousand deaths for a touch of her hand. Then one day, while I was dusting my mother's antiques, Mrs. Whitman flew in, furry as a kitten. It was late November, and already, my mother's clientele was burgeoning in anticipation of Christmas - I was doing three times as much work than usual. 'Sonny,' Mrs. Whitman trilled, 'I have some new customers for you.' And lo ! Right there on the threshhold stood my love, her hair drawn smooth from an ivory forehead, a loveliness in green, a measure beyond belief. The shock of her vision almost made me drop the jarlet in my hand. Have a seat, have a seat,' I said, pulling at chairs in a daze. True Jade smiled at me; her teeth glistened like pearls and her eyes shone like precious stones; I had the sensation of being in a dream, in distant Araby, and time all around me was a haze of colors, like the veils of Salome, and I felt ineluctably the need to offer up my head to the whims of my love. The woman beside her, I gathered, was her mother, a handsome Frenchwoman of forty or fifty. She wanted to buy a vase for Christmas. Mother selected one for her, a blue glaze - delicate China for a lovely lady with a lovely daughter. When they left, I was also to deliver a bronze ceremonial jar to their place in Victoria Peak. True Jade opened the door to me, marking a beginning in my life that was like the dawn breaking on the horizon. I spent a good hour with her, expounding on the virtues of the pieces her mother had bought. She hung on to my words, watching my mouth all the time. I found out she was interested in anti-ones, and so, I tendered her an invitation to browse around my mother's place. I spent many shining days with True Jade in my mother's house, enchanted by the magic of old things. My mother and True Jade's mother became good friends, and many a time they exchanged visits at each other's house. Soon, True Jade was promised to me, in the Oriental manner, and our wedding was set for June. On my wedding day I could have actually called myself handsome. I had on a blue suit (we were to have a Western wedding inasmuch as our courtship had been Oriental) which was cut and sewn by the best tailor in town. As I waited at the altar of the church, I fidgeted like any bridegroom and kept glancing at the arched door for a glimpse of my bride, who was to come up on the arm of her father, Mr. Lee, a scented doctor (he loved and used essences to a mad extravagance) from Shanghai. Mr. Lee came in a flurry, tieless and scentless, his face a drawn white mask. Quickly, he drew my mother aside and whispered something in her ear. My mother's mouth flew open, and then her eyes darted a look at me that made me suspect something was wrong. 'What is it? What is it? Where's True Jade?' I asked everybody. 'You wait here,' my mother said, and off she galloped with Mr. Lee, leaving my father and me gaping at the altar. Two hours and ten shots of brandy later I was told by my mother that True Jade was gone - nobody knew where she went; a suitcase of her clothes was missing, and her bed had not been slept on. She had vanished in the night. Later that day I got news of her from her frantic and grieving family. We all went to the police station which reported that a girl of her description had been found in the arms of her lover, a Filipino trumpet player of Spanish descent, dead in Kowloon - in a taxi that had smash-ed-up against a wall on Nathan Road. In their mad rush to paradise these two wretches had taken other lives with them. The newspapers carried varying accounts of the tragedy, and a few carried a picture of the taxi-driver's wife bent in grief over her husband's body. Few would ever know that I bore a greater grief than she, and that from that fatal day on I would count myself among the living dead. Until now I still cannot believe that True Jade was false to me. I looked for an ideal, and deep in my heart I wonder if I'll ever find one. " 'True Jade lay in state at the parlor of Mr. Yao and was buried quietly on a misty morning beside a flowering bush in the city cemetery. I visit her grave every year on All Souls' Day and lay on it the tenderest spray of white roses. The day after her burial I started on a pilgrimage to all the places which had known her presence: the cemetery, Victoria Peak, the ferry, the Botanical Gardens, even the funeral parlor of Mr. Yao, which I later baptized The Happy Landing Grounds. 75 Strangely, my mother's house, where I shared many a divine moment with True Jade, ruminating over old china, visions, desires and such was unbearable to me. Perhaps, the place was so because of its intimacy with the past: True Jade's laughter seemed to resound all over the place. Perhaps, it was my mother's encompassing pity that drove me away. She would not let me forget my grief. Now, it's 'Son, I am sorry for what happened; someday, we'll get you another woman - a good one. She will sustain you with her love through life.' Then it's 'Son, do not grieve too much, it would make you ill.' I fled then to the places where lingered softly like wisps of smoke the memory of my love. You would see me often, haunting the cemetery, Victoria Peak, the ferry, the Botanical Gardens and even the funeral parlor of Mr. Yao. All over these places there loomed the shape of many beautiful women: an exquisite porcelain loveliness from Shanghai, a fair Nordic goddess, a warm, earthy Latin, and that beauty of all beauties - a Eurasian. The sight of them all threw me into a pit of longing, and I would tremble no end. Until now, I tremble at the sight of beautiful women. I need to lean against a wall or hold on to a sympathetic hand lest I fall into the gutter and make myself the laughing stock of the world. " 'The place which I enjoyed visiting the most was the funeral parlor of Mr. Yao, The Happy Landing Grounds. There I would sit on one of the benches and watch the faces of grief around me. I began to feel a certain satisfaction listening to the weird keening of women and scrutinizing the silent visages of the men. There I could feel a little less sorry for myself, a little more kinship with the human race. After one month of it, Mr. Yao noticed my omniscience in his parlor. One day, while I fat in a corner, lulled by the wailing of mourners around me, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up into the lean, greasy face of Mr. Yao. He asked me, as courteously as possible, why I hung around his parlor. Taken aback, I said the first words that came to my tongue: 'You see,' I said, 'I want very much to work in a funeral parlor.' It was Mr. Yao's turn to evince surprise. 'Indeed?' he said, incredulously. Then I told him, without mentioning names, that my betrothed was serviced during her last days on earth at his place. He seemed satisfied with my ex-planation and immediately put on a mask of sorrow (I knew from one month's observation that Mr. Yao never felt sorry for the dead; to my mind he had rapturous visions everyday of people dying like swatted flies on the streets. Oh no, I knew Mr. Yao to be an extremely happy man within the gray confines of The Happy Landing Grounds). Mr. Yao then told me that he had been thinking indeed of procuring an assistant for his embalmer , who was growing old and doing less work in a day than usual. Mr. Yao said he was dubious of taking a white man for such an indelicate job, but I implored him and he gave in. He named me a salary which was rather small, but which I accepted because I wanted to start a new life. Thus, I became an apprentice to the terrible Mr. Chang, who slashed bodies right and left, without qualm or sorrow, in his hallowed sanctum at The Happy Landing Grounds. I will not describe to you my work at the parlor, as you might lose your appetite for this delicious rabbit stew we are having. Suffice it to say that we kept the blood and the entrails in big glass jars, and every morning a young man would come and load them into a taxi. I never asked Mr. Chang what was done to these honored remains of the dead as he was the paragon of the inscrutable Oriental. I was awed by his lordly Mandarin mien. The young man still comes to take away the glass jars, but I cannot ask him questions because he is a deaf -mute. Perhaps, his employers do not want their business bandied around, that is why they employed one like him in the first place. At any rate, I have learned not to pry into other people's affairs, not unless they wanted me to. When I confronted you at the parlor at your mother's wake, I did so with some misgiving. But the memory of my unhappy youth urged me to stretch forth my hand to you in your dark hour. I do not regret what I did. " 'In the fourth year of my employment, Mr. Chang, the Scourge of a Million Dead, the Terror of the Living, and My Lord and Master of the Scalpel, joined his ancestors at last. I was left with the terrifying prospect of embalming him, my mentor. I stood for half an hour contemplating his stern aspect. What if he should suddenly open his mouth to tell 76 me bow grossly inefficient I was! That would have ended my romance with the dead forever. At last, conscious of the work to be done, I cut up, disemboweled and embalmed the terrible Mr. Chang. I passed the supreme test - not once did he flick on eyelid open to reproach me! I sat down on a stool after my labors to congratulate myself. How richly I deserved a laurel leaf for my success, I thought! When Mr. Chang was buried a good measure (about six feet deep) in the earth, I was master of The Happy Landing Grounds at last. The day after the burial I surveyed my domain, with a growing sense of elation. I kept feeling this ticklish sensation around my heart, which one in ecstasy is apt to feel. Then I began to notice the sea of corpses around me. Before this, I had thought of the corpses as faceless entities that my Lord and Master Chang could terrorize at will with his slaughter knife. If they screamed at all, it was in unison - one long cry of terror, a whimper and no more. Now, each corpse began to assume a personality of its own. That one over there was Hitler, with his plastered hair and square mustache; the one in the middle looked great for the ladies, like Rudolph Valentino; and this one had a nasty resemblance to Tokyo Rose. I pushed aside Rudolph Valentino and pulled the table which held Tokyo Rose to the center. I half-expected Mr. Hitler and Mr. Valentino to fight for her favors, but no such thing happened. I stood there for some moments gleefully contemplating my charges. I, Rabutnik, was master of the dead at last. What a feeling! It was while I was in this complacent mood that I noticed the corpse beside Valentino. She was a Chinese girl, about sixteen, who was brought in only that morning. I heard that she belonged to a well-to-do family, and that she had died in the night of pneumonia. The Happy Landing Grounds, I must point out, is a parlor for the wealthy. Our clientele consists of rich emigrants from the mainland, some white people, and a number of Eurasians. When I came to work for Mr. Yao our customers grew in number - I suspect, mainly because it was bruited around town that there was a white man working as an embalmer at Mr. Yao's parlor. Somehow, being served by a white man gave our clientele a sense of prestige. No other place in town could boast of someone like me. Considering that Oriental labor was shamefully cheap (and still is), and that I, a white man, was engaged by Mr. Yao in an occupation shunned by many, his funeral parlor was indeed thought to be high class, discriminating, luxurious - the gathering ground of the elite dead! " 'The girl before me was in the first blush of spring, a peach blossom of a girl, with a gently curving mouth like a rosebud. She had a small nose, not flat, not high - it was just right for her face which was almost round - a moon face. Her eyelashes were straight, their long silkiness softly shading her cheek. What a pity I could not see her eyes ! 'I will call you Little Lady Moon,' I said, pinching her milky chin. Affectionately, I smiled at Little Lady Moon. Then a strange thing happened: the girl whirled around in a rising mist between us. I rubbed my eyes and was in time to see a blush suffusing her cheeks. It was barely perceptible, but I peered close to assure myself, my heart palpitating madly, my body in a quake. Was I having a hallucination? I never found out, because Little Lady Moon's mouth opened like a rosebud before me, and before I knew it, I was kissing her, at first timorously like a young man on his first date, lightly pecking the corner of her mouth, limning her upper lip with my tongue, then her lower lip. A long hot thrill shot through my loins and I began to push into her mouth, my mouth a suction of desire, engulfing hers, salivating, opening and closing to taste the delights within. 'Little Lady Moon, Little Lady Moon,' I whispered hoarsely. Then a wave of passion hit me like lightning, and I found myself on fire. In a flash I was upon her, pulling and throwing her drawers away. I was as avid as a bridegroom on his honeymoon. It was a thrill to find out that she was a virgin, and that I was her first lover. At last I gave out one gasp of ecstasy, and was still. Time was lost in the rapture of that moment. Presently, I was on my legs again, and was kissing her thing which I started to call Mommy. 'Mommy, Mommy,' I said endearingly, 'Daddy wants you, very badly.' When I had my fill, I rose from Little Lady Moon, wiping the sweat from my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I picked up her drawers, of fine muslin with a wide band of lace around the leg openings, and kissed it; I was about to take one long intake of breath and kiss it again when suddenly I heard a knock- 77 ing on my door. I thrust the pantie (a memento I was to take home triumphantly that day) into my pocket and opened the door to Mr. Yao, who wanted to find out whether I had started working on the young Chinese girl who was brought in early that morning. ' Yes, Mr. Yao , I said calmly, 'I have started working on her. Do not worry, she is in good hands.' When Mr. Yao left I thanked my lucky stars that I had acquired the habit of closing the door whenever I was in the room - an idiosyncrasy inherited from Mr. Chang who did not want outsiders peeping into his sanctum. Mr. Chang, I suspected, also wanted to build a wall between the tawdry world of Mr. Yao and the quiet, inner world of our domain. Little Lady Moon was laid to rest- with no one ever finding out that she joined her venerable ancestors sans pantie and sans honor. Thus, I had my first taste of a woman, and I ravished many beautiful women afterwards, the young and not so young, white, yellow, brown - I have limned them all. And perhaps, I shall continue to do so until Doomsday. Call me a ghoul if you wish - for I have robbed countless women of their honor - I have robbed them who have robbed me of mine. I work without assistants at The Happy Landing Grounds; this is extremely convenient for one who wants to enjoy life to the brim. I work overtime, far into the night, hugging in a frenzy the bodies of my beloved women. I am underpaid, but do not complain. Mr. Yao is happy; he does not have to pay two men, for I do the work of both, ana he lets me be, seldom visiting me now in my sanctum. What more could I want from life?' " Edmund Sanchez sipped his fifth beer and railed. "What happened to Rabutnik; Did he continue committing his sordid deeds?" I could hardly control the eagerness welling in my throat. Edmund's eyes gleamed mischievously. "My, but you are enjoying the story, aren't you?" he teased. Clearing his throat, he continued: "I was assigned by my paper to the Korean front, and I did not see Rabut -nik until after the war. We had dinner at the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon, a gaunt, Gothic building with high ceilings, whose floors were covered with dusty rose carpets frayed. with use. Rabutnik took up the threads of his story just as if there had been no inter-ruption in our lives: 'One beautiful morning in June,' he said, 'you were away recording a war then, I read, over a breakfast of toast bread, ham, jam and coffee a small item in the papers about a woman who had died on her wedding day. The news item said something like this :
The news tickled my belly that beautiful day in June. I was certain, from her distinguished lineage, that she was going to be brought to The Happy Landing Grounds. I went to work that morning, carried along by a wave of happiness, whistling a tune as I flew like a bird from body to body, my heart a-flutter in my sanctum there at The Happy Landing Grounds. The women of Shanghai were fam -ous for their beauty, and still are. How of ten had I dreamed of a woman from Shanghai like my first love, True Jade. Sure enough, the body was delivered that afternoon to Mr. Yao's funeral parlor. I let the corpse lie on its table for some moments, circling it slowly. My eyes were riveted on 'the body, while I moved cautiously around like an animal stalking its prey. Then I pressed forward and pull-ed away the sheet covering her body. A shock of green satin hit me in the eye. I shook my head dazedly. There on the table, her hair swept back majestically into a bun, her skin a mask of ivory, and her lips curled up into a shadow of a smile, lay - miracle of miracles - my one and only false love. True Jade! It couldn't be! This was Helen Wang, bride-elect of Peter Lam. My True Jade left me a long time ago. I moved closer to the corpse: certainly, there was something slightly different about the girl before me: she had a mole on her cheek the size of a pin's head; her nose, though as delicately carved as True Jade's, curved faintly up at the tip. She had 78 a fuller mouth. But ah! she was as beautiful as True Jade in her emerald green cheongsam. I began to tremble, as I often did, at the sight of a beautiful woman. Of a sudden I knew that I loved and desired Helen more than I had desired and loved any of the lovely corpses that had passed the portals of The Happy Landing Grounds. I fell upon her in a rage of love and passion, and possessed her beyond the limits of the imagination. I could feel my soul moving within her, and a cry reached out from me to her - to the very center of her being. Helen! Helen! My own True Jade! I breathed the words of love upon her mouth, which were soft and tempting as the name Helen, And Helen - may the gods protect me - quivered like a leaf, and her eyes flew open to stare vacantly into minel I wrenched myself from her and fled the room, past Mr. Yao, his face and his palm full of grease, past the herd of wailing women and dumb-eyed men, past Mr. "Wei the plump manager of The Happy Landing Grounds, and into the street where the sun illumined a vast expanse of sky. I arrived home, still in a sweat of cold terror, and locked myself up in my room. My mother, who was speaking less to me with the passing of each year, knocked on my door twice to ask what was wrong. I opened the door, and before her astonished eyes, packed two bags. Kissing her goodbye, I told her I was going on a long vacation. I took my savings out of the bank, checked into the Gloucester, and fixed up some papers. Two days later I was in Macao, a city floating with the dregs of humanity. Macao was the sin city of the East; it had more freedom, more danger and excitement than Hong Kong, and I intended to lose myself in it; I would be no more than a mote of salt in Sodom. I floated around the city, visiting its marketplaces where was found all manner of forbidden goods from forbidden cities. On the Street of Happiness, the Rua da Felicidade, a woman touched me: she was a painted Chinese girl in the last bloom of youth, and there was a suppliant look in her eyes as she gazed up into mine; I shivered past her outstretched hand and turned into the fantan houses, where I lost a good deal of my money. I could have lost my soul, I muttered, as I wended my way toward the boats in the bay. Suddenly, out of an alley there came forth an old man, tottering on legs which were like twigs drying up in the air; his eyes were holes in his head, and his cheeks were caves sinking into his face. I faced this old man, and I saw the ghastly image of that raging hunger gnawing at his soul. He stopped before me, and for one dread moment, I thought he would speak, but he staggered by and I smelled the smoke of opium in the air, hovering like a sword above an entire city. And the city was soon covered by night. I passed scores of lost, emaciated humanity on my way to the shore. Everywhere I saw the shape of sin, and I was sick in the heart. But was there damnation to be found anywhere that was greater than mine? In the cool of the morning I found a legend on a wall: RAINHA DO MUNDO: MAE DE PORTUGAL: AMPARA MACA. Were the people supplicating Mary or Lilith? I did not know myself whom to pray to. One month later I returned to Hong Kong, to my mother and my father, who rejoiced at my coming. They prepared before me a feast of roast duck and wine, smoked ham, cheese and tangerines. My mother, delighted at seeing me, chattered like a mynah. She had never really gotten over my turning into an embalmer, but now she had the fair hope that I had travelled the road to salvation at last. She narrated how Mr. Yao came looking for me three times during my absence. It seemed that he hunted all over the city for me - in vain. He became a most unhappy man, ray mother said, and it was a long time before he got over the fact of losing me. Mr. Yao's story provided my mother and him with a clue to my mysterious flight. According to Mr. Yao, my mother said, the day I left home in a hurry, a dead girl had come to life in the Chinaman's funeral parlor. 'Mr. Yao said,' my mother said, 'I was feeling very warm that day sitting in my office, going over my book-keeper's accounts. I thought I detected an error somewhere, but I could not put my finger on it. My bookkeeper was hunched in his cubicle which was separated from my office by a glass wall. In the outer room there was a flock of grieving relatives of the dead girl Helen who were all waiting for her body to be embalmed. Just then I heard shouts and a commotion outside. I rushed out in time to see Rabutnik fly out of his sanctum, as though a dragon was at his heels. He made it to our 79 door in two great leaps, disappearing among a crowd of people on the street outside. That was the last I saw of him. I was debating with myself whether I should follow Rabutnik when suddenly the women in the front room started screaming. I turned around and saw in the doorway of Rabutnik's sanctum the dead girl Helen. She moved forward with shaky mincing steps; her eyes were glazed, and her mouth hung open querulously. Her relatives were ready to flee. I called out to my manager Wei to approach and pinch her, but the poor man stood rooted to his post by the doorway, Desperate, I dragged my bookkeeper out of his cubicle and ordered him to touch the dead girl or suffer the consequences of his insubordination. My brave bookkeeper laid a finger on the girl's arm. Immediately, she raised it and murmured, like one half-asleep: ' Water, please give me water.' Somebody handed her a bottle of Coca Cob, which was the liquid immediately available. She drank from it and gurgled a thank you. Smiling at all her relatives cowering in a corner, she said, 'I have come back, can't you see? Please take me home.' Helen Wang's mother was the first to move. She approached her daughter with a look of dread disbelief on her face; tremblingly, she took the cold ivory hands in her own and peered into the girl's eyes, which were like burnt almonds. 'My daughter, my daughter,' she exclaimed, embracing the girl wildly and bursting into a flood of tears. Seeing that the girl was indeed alive and not a malignant spirit, we all rushed to her side and pumped her with questions. The girl was led to a bench where she sat down, clasping her hands and gazing up into our faces as she told her story: 'Last night,' Helen Wang said, 'I closed my eyes and got lost in darkness. I wandered around blindly, tearful and shivering with cold, until I came upon a narrow path just enough for one man to pass through. Gleaming swords lined the path on each side. I was hesitant about going through when suddenly I heard the voice of my father calling out to me from the other end. 'Be not afraid, my daughter,' he said, 'walk carefully and follow my voice. You will arrive at your destiny safely.' I obeyed my father just as I had always done in all things in the past, and I edged my way towards the direction of his voice. Then a million eyes appeared out of nowhere, glinting in the darkness around me, and I began to feel a certain shame at the thought of being watched while I was seriously occupied by the delicate matter of traversing a thorny path on a cold cold night. A pair of eyes specially engaged my attention, because they bulged like fireballs in the wilderness of night. There eyes were unlike anything I had ever seen, and I 'had the sensation that they would devour me with their flame. True enough, a tongue of fire shot out of these eyes, hissing through the air to reach me. I began to feel a fire flowing through my veins, which I enjoyed, strangely. I swam in the current of this liquid fire conning through my body, from top to too, from blood to bone, from orifice to orifice, from the viscera to the heart. The river of fire consumed the aching cold in my body, and in my happiness I forgot my father's voice and stumbled on a sword. The pain sank into my very being, and I woke up to find myself in a room full of dead people. A strange, wild man fled the room as I sat up on the slab. I walked to that door over there in some kind of a stupor, like a vague sweetness after a night of sleep. And here I am. " "I returned a great part of the money advanced to me by Helen Wang's family,' Mr. Yao said, shaking his head ruefully. 'But destiny is destiny, and who will begrudge a girl a pure, sweet happy return to the world of the living?' Thus, Mr. Yao ended his account,' my mother said. And Rabutnik went back to tending his mother's antiques.' " Edmund Sanchez drank the last drop of beer in his mug, his face flushing with the pink of contentment. "I must go," he said, glancing at his watch. "Good Lord! I've been here for hours! It was indeed seven o'clock in the evening and Bullencock had come alive with dim red lights. Cleo the pianist ambled in to entertain us once more with her sentimental ditties. Edmund, our fair, blue-eyed stranger, rose to go. "I'll see you again," he smiled down at me from his height, like a god on Mt. Olympus. He went away, but never came back, and I have no way of ever knowing whether he told me a tale or not. 80 TWO POEMS
81 The Silence of an Afternoon Alfred C. Pucay SHE WAS STANDING by the window, looking outside, and I sensed she was al-ready remembering. Except for one event perhaps, there will not be too many memories of this place worth keeping when she gets back to the States. At least I was sure of one memory she will carry for as long as she lives; it was part of her long before she was aware of it; it just needed this place and these people to have brought it out of her. A cigarette burned short between her fingers. She squashed it on the window-sill, heedless of her own rule of cleanliness to the schoolchildren. She turned to me and the shadows hid a faint sadness in her face. " Do you believe he is still alive, Mr. Noblejas?" She did not try to smile. When I did not answer she turned to look out again. The sun had long vanished. But as it always happens among these mountains and deep valleys, the darkness fell slowly, spreading out from the deepest ravine, crawling upward on the mountainsides and finally spreading softly across the sky. I asked her if she did not want to leave just then and said that my wife would be waiting. "But where . . . where must we all go?" she asked. She dropped her arms which were crossed over her breasts and lapsed into one of her silences. It was a mannerism to which I had grown accustomed. Usually it was preceded by an outburst of anger, at anything, but mostly when seized with indignation she would stomp into my office and with candor and frankness condemn the educational system, the inefficient government, the ignorance of the children, the unrewarding challenge before her. And always, like a chastised child who is suddenly aware she has done wrong, she would be contrite and re-enter her world of silence. Her face would take on a shade of remoteness, not of being lost, but as if she were enclosed, by her own will, in a glass cage from which she ignored completely the people who would stare at her. She walked quietly to her desk, picked up her purse and books and papers and waited for me at the porch as I locked her classroom. We walked up the road. The principal's cottage where my wife and I lived was on top of a small hill and overlooked the schoolhouse and scattered grass houses on the rice fields. We walked by another cottage. Susanna had lived in it for almost two years. She looked at the old, rusty galvanized roof, smiled and looked away. My wife had asked her to stay with us for the remaining weeks before she went home. " Mrs. Noblejas and you have been like foster parents to me," she said. " I shall al-ways think of you when I'm back home. I hope you will let me do something for you. Is there anything you want from the States?" I told her we did not want anything but that she remember us once in a while. "Oh, I always shall!" she cried, and looked down at me the seriousness shining in her amber eyes. Susanna was tall. Once in the city I had met her when she was in high heels and felt so embarrassed as we talked on the sidewalk for almost an hour, with her looking down at my bald head. Now as we walked up the road, she talked of what she would do when she got home. She gazed at the distance, shook her head 82 and said, " Why do I have this feeling of failure? I know I did the best I could. Still, this feeling of deception." She hugged the books to her breast. I protested. The community, the children, her fellow teachers thought otherwise. We were giving her a farewell party in which the governor of the province was to give her an award of appreciation. "I have loved every minute of my two years here," she said, "and although at times, as you well know, I had been quite angry about one thing or another, I know I didn't do too badly. Still, I have this nagging feeling of not having done what I was sent out to do." There was anguish in her face and I said that perhaps she had expected to achieve much. I assured her that what she had done for the community and the children was far beyond what anyone of us could have done. She stopped. "No, I don't think it's that. No one volunteers without the knowledge that he is going to be deprived of many things he was used to." She looked down at me. The walk up the road every day was a strain. "You may not believe this," she was saying, " but the very first months I was here I used to cry at night." I said we all had moments of despondency. "I have been living in limbo," she said. "I did not care whether I liked teaching or not. I just acted without purpose. And then he came along, this kid who could have been any ordinary boy. I started liking my work, even developing some dedi - cation and had pleasure in it. But it happened so fast and ended just as fast as if God ... as if God was teasing me with a little happiness." She had stopped walking "This little boy" she had said, and I knew why she could not bring herself to speak his name. She was chitting again into that world of silence. I knew which little boy she meant. "This boy, this Simbal Bovai," I said, raising my voice. Four months ago and Simbal Bovai. He stood by the door. Susanna had just finished erasing the blackboard and was slapping the eraser on her palm. She sat down heavily and buried her face in her hands. Outside, the children's voices died away into the mountains where they were going home. Susanna raised her head and turned to the figure at the door. She could not see him clearly, for the late afternoon light shone through the doorway and shrouded his tiny frame in a shadowy silhouette. "Yes, what is it?" Susanna was sure he was not one of her pupils. He came forward and stood before her. A shock of straight, uncombed hair ran down to his ears and at the back all the way down to his shoulders. Susanna had not moved. Large brown eyes stared up at her and she took a frayed piece of cardboard he extended, which she recognized as an old school card. Susanna turned it over. "You haven't been in school for two years. And you're late two weeks."
" Does your name mean anything, Simbal?" She stood up and came around to his ! side. He did not answer and Susanna placed her hand on his head and guided him to- ward the door. His frail shoulders trembled. "Your name, mum?" "What, Simbal? Oh ... Susanna Tufton," she said and felt a tremor of delight at hearing her own name. "I'm your teacher, Simbal." "Does your name mean something?" 83 They walked down the steps into the schoolyard and stood before the flagpole. Susanna tilted her head and looked straight up where the rope dangled from a wooden bulb that swayed at the tip of the pole. "My name, Simbal," she said dizzily, "means a lot of things that I hope had something to do with me, with myself." Susanna, she repeated to herself; then she said quickly: "All the way from the book of Apochrypha to Wallace Stevens." The boy had moved in front of her and was staring at her. "I was dreaming," she said and started to walk. At the schoolgate she stopped. "Where do you stay, Simbal?" "Kaliwaga, mum" He pointed northward. She made a mental note to ask Mr. Noblejas where that was. They reached her cottage built a few meters from the road, an old structure without any ceiling. It had taken her maid, Selina, a whole day to dust off the cobwebs from (he rafters the day they had moved in. Susanna stepped on the cement catwalk that led to the front door. She turned around. The boy was in the middle of the road looking impassively at her. "Aren't you afraid you'll be late going home, Simbal?" Susanna asked. The boy looked at the mountains to the north and when he turned back he shook his head. "Where do you comes from also, mum?" he said. "Say, come, Simbal, not comes," Susanna corrected him. "Well, I come from a state called New Hampshire." "It is very far from Texas, mum?" Susanna laughed heartily. "Yes, Simbal, far from Texas." He gave her the names of places he knew of and asked if they were near Texas. Susanna told him they were nowhere near Texas. "You'd better get on home, Simbal," she said finally. He turned and ran downhill. Soon his tiny figure disappeared into the dense foliage that was now dark green in the faint light of afternoon. In the days that followed Susanna noticed something else: Simbal was regarded with some deference by the other pupils. This unusual regard, she suspected, was also maintained by the teachers, and once in a while she would catch glances of animosity from Simbal's classmates when he walked home with her, which was every afternoon after classes. A few weeks before her two years were up Susanna could no longer stand the strain of not knowing what it was that kept everyone on edge. Mr. Noblejas was reading a newspaper when she entered his office. She had not bothered to knock and a small frown registered on his face. "Dismiss your classes early, Susanna?" he said. "What's happening around here?" Susanna said softly. "Happening what?" He folded the newspaper. "To Simbal Bovai. " Mr. Noblejas stared at her and was about to speak but he changed his mind. "You know," Susanna said. She sat down on a chair beside the table and waited for him to speak. "Perhaps, Susanna, you shouldn't pamper him too much," he said. The irritation in his face was gone. "But I don't. I give him what he deserves. His grades are not much higher than average." Mr. Noblejas pushed his glasses which had slipped down his nose. "But you do spend more time with him than any other child." "I don't see anything wrong in that," Susanna said. " The only extra time I do spend with him is after school, from classroom then up the road until the walk that goes to my cottage - a matter of ten minutes." "You took him to the city for a weekend, " he said and his glasses slipped down again. 84 Susanna blushed. "He enjoyed every moment of it. I took him to see a Western! movie, the first movie he's ever seen. And he liked ice cream very much." "You're an American, Susanna, and you don't understand some of the things that . . "I've been here for almost two years," she cried. "I know these people and have come to respect them." "Susanna, I've been here more than eight years. Still I don't know much about these mountain tribes," he said heatedly, Then he launched on his favorite story about how he was dumped, literally, by politics into this God-forsaken hinterland of half-naked savages and how he was able to make the school an A - one school, good enough to have an American Peace Corps Volunteer assigned to it. "We were talking about Simbal, Mr. Noblejas," Susanna reminded him. "What does Simbal tell you about himself?" he asked pointedly. "I don't ask him about his personal life.. I've found out that children here don't want to talk about their home life." "All right, what do you know about Simbal?" "Nothing. I only know he's from some place called Kaliwaga. Never heard of it before." "That's a village up north - very warlike and . . . " "Warlike? pooh," Susanna said in an underbreath. "Why, these people are so tame, so shy and so friendly . . . and so lovely." "Susanna, Kaliwaga is a village that has had the least contact with civilization. The people still cling to old beliefs. The Catholic priest and the Seventh-Day Adven-tists have made few converts there." " I know all that. Even the people near the school here are still superstitious," Susanna said. "Why, I've seen one of me men refuse to budge from his hut because a little bird flew across his path on his way to the rice fields. And he's a practicing Episcopalian. Back home some people still believe in witches and they're all civilized. " " There's surely going to be trouble, Susanna. You're a very emotional girl and I don't want you to get involved in something over which you have no control." He pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. "You mean I've caused trouble by being friendly to a boy?" Susanna was mortified. She stood up and paced before the table. Mr. Noblejas watched her silently. He lighted a cigar. "Do you know the social behavior of these barbarians?" "They're no different from other people," Susanna said hotly, loathing the princi-pal's tone. She sat down and crossed her legs. "I'll get straight to the point, Susanna. Simbal is involved in a feud that is handed down through three generations." "Come now, Mr. Noblejas, you're not telling me there's going to be headhunting around here." " This is not a joking matter, Susanna. Feuds are taken very seriously here, though they may be quiescent, they are never forgotten." "Whose head is Simbal after?" Susanna almost screamed. "It may be Simbal's head they're after," Mr. Noblejas said. "You see, long ago, his grandfather brought home - after a tribal war - a hand he had cut off. In such a war it is a great honor, for the man and for the village. Simbal's father was killed in the Second World War and Simbal, as the next living descendant, is the possible victim for retaliation. That other village has cause now for reviving the feud. You see, they're at odds over irrigation - water rich's - and the people of Simbal's village in-sist on damming the river, thus preventing the water to flow down to the rice fields of this other village." "Isn't this problem something for the government to settle? the police? the soldiers?" Susanna asked impatiently. 85 " There will be fighting and the elders of both villages will only agree to negotiate after blood has been spilled." Mr. Noblejas said. He stood up. "It is your welfare I'm thinking of, Susanna. You have grown fond of the boy and I'm afraid that if anything should happen to him you may be affected." "My welfare? What about the boy's? Hasn't anyone thought about that? Can't the soldiers give him protection?" "There have been no direct threats." " But they know what is likely to happen." She shove her hands before her. "Why don't they prevent trouble before it starts?" "What the soldiers can do is prevent an all-out clash between the two villages. They can't give protection to every single person." AFTER CLASSES Susanna returned to her cottage in deep thought. Simbal had left early and had not waited for her. In a few weeks she would be leaving for home and she felt elated at the thought that it would, perhaps, be snowing in New London, and streets would be covered with blinding white and the maple trees leafless and bare. She looked around her, at the greenness of the pine covering the mountains, the green of the rice fields. It was a beautiful country but she still felt homesick for New Hampshire. Perhaps, her being here was indeed a sacrifice, as the natives always say sympathetically when she tells them she had come from far away. Two years of sacrifice, six months of rain and mud and six months of heat and dust. She turned to look at the children in the schoolyard who were now dispersing, following the pathways to their homes in rice fields or tucked somewhere in the mountains. Susanna was overcome by a flood of sorrow. She actually loved the shy, adorable children who had not grown used to her, who tittered and ran away when she praised them, who sat silent and afraid when she scolded them, who brought her delicious blackberries she baked into pie for her fellow teachers to eat. A mellow dusk was descending when she would have a late supper. In her room, lying in the darkness, her kerosene lamp unlighted, she fell into a light sleep and dreamed she was in a classroom filled with mute children who stared at her; she was perspiring. She tried to move and when she could not, she started to scream. She woke up, alarmed, "Susanna!" a voice called. She jumped off the bed, rushed to the window and saw in the distance a hundred torches crisscrossing the darkness. Then an impatient rap on her door. "Yes, Selina ?" she asked. "He is here, ma'am. Mr. Noblejas," the maid said. The moment he saw Susanna he spoke in a frightened voice: "It's happened, Susanna. They've come for him." Susanna stifled a cry. "The war between the two villages started this afternoon, right after Simbal got home." "What's all the shouting outside?" " They're looking for Simbal. I guess he ran away from home to see you," Mr. Noblejas rubbed his hands. "He was shouting for you and he's got the whole community all stored up. Someone has gone for the soldiers and the local police are afraid to leave their wives and children." "Oh, no!" Susanna cried. "Why should they want to harm a little boy?" The shouting and commotion ceased and Susanna and Mr. Noblejas stood looking at each other in apprehension. The maid appeared in the kitchen doorway whimpering but only for a moment. It was so quiet and still. Out of the silence Susanna thought she heard her name being called again. "Don't go, Susanna," Mr. Noblejas said without conviction. "What are you afraid of, Mr. Noblejas?" Susanna stopped at the opened door. When he did not answer she ran out into the night 86 She stumbled toward the schoolhouse; the torches that she thought were a hundred were just a few streaking before her. She could not see the men holding the torches and each time she tried to get near one, he would retreat. She called for Simbal but her voice was drowned out by the men calling to each other. She searched the building for any movement; a little cold wind blew and her dress clung to her damp, perspiring skin. A torch burned at one corner of the schoolhouse. She tiptoed forward, afraid that the man holding the torch would hear her. She did not know what to do once she confronted the man. The man's back was bare and his muscles rounded and shiny. Before Susanna could speak, the man spun around and she saw the flat face, the eyes, nose and lips shifting with the flickering flame. Below his wide g-string, his legs and feet were splattered with mud. He was as surprised as Susanna. He raised his arm and shook a weapon before her. Susanna recognized the headaxe, similar to what she had sent her brother for Christmas. The headaxe glinted. She noticed dark spots on it. A warm flush spread to her temples and she screamed once before she lost consciousness and fell. I TOUCHED HER ARM. "Susanna," I said. " Are you all right? " She clutched her books tighter. I thought she was going to cry. She said she remembered that night she fainted and asked me if I knew what happened to the boy. Someone had to find an army cot to use and it had taken six men to carry her to my cottage. My wife persuaded her to stay with us. The next morning the soldiers arrived and searched for the men, and, what was feared, the headless body of a boy of ten. But the search yielded nothing, not a trace of the men or the boy. The soldiers tried to interview the villagers but Susanna refused to talk. They left to patrol the river where the warring villagers were expected to meet and fight. The expe- rience had left Susanna distraught and it was only after some weeks that she put up a semblance of her old self. " We'd better go inside, Susanna," I said. I saw a group of men emerge from the pine forest to the north and climb over the bank beside the rice fields. They crossed the paddies in single file. They walked confidently. When they were closer I adjusted my glasses and noticed that they were fully armed, the narrow shields held high before their massive chests and spears held at their sides. Susanna could not see them; her back was turned. When they were half-way across the fields they stopped and let out a shout in unison and (humped their spears angrily on the shields. An army weapons carrier rolled up the road, and not even the soldiers in it could dispel the fear which I now felt. As the weapons carrier halted before us, Susanna moved aside. The soldiers Jumped off and rushed to line the other side of the road, facing the men on the fields, who were shouting furiously in their dialect. Susanna was looking at the whole scene as though she were looking at a play she did not understand. The leader of the men ran forward and waved his spear at me. The lieutenant with the soldiers commanded him to stop or he would order his soldiers to shoot. The man stopped and pointed the spear again, speaking intensely in his guttural dialect. The lieutenant looked at me coldly and turned back to the man, telling him to take his tribesmen away from this community, forever if possible. The man retaliated with an arrogant grunt that one day they would come back. He led his men away and soon disappeared in the pine forest. The lieutenant came to us and said that it would perhaps be safer for me and my wife if we would limit our activities to the school and the cottage, since he could not provide protection for us every minute of the day. When the soldiers left Susanna asked what it was all about. "Nothing," I said. But she knew that the man had threatened me and she asked if they were from Simbal's village. "Yes, " I said reluctantly. "The night those other men came for Simbal they came 87 first to our cottage and threatened me, even my wife, if I didn't tell them where the boy was. Out of fear I said why don't they look under the schoolhouse. How was I to know he was hiding there? or if he was ever there?" The look on her face turned from amazement to disdain. "No, Susanna, please don't judge me." I said. She turned and ran to the cottage. My wife had come out at the first sounds of the commotion and was waiting for us to come in. At the porch Susanna stopped. "Betrayerl" she yelled at me and rushed past my wife into the house. My wife closed the door behind her. The silence of an afternoon when one is completely alone frightens the man whose life shuttles between uselessness and meaning. I wanted to tell Susanna: betrayal does not necessarily mean the emasculation of one's honor. She will be going home in a few weeks and there will not be many things about this place worth remembering.
88 You have a man in C & B *
89 LITERARY FORUM The Young Poets Jolico Cuadra : MY ARGUMENT is: why write poetry at all? The human situation is more important at a time like ours where there is very little feeling left in the world. Who knows but you, my dear reader, might yet invent a way of hastening his doom much faster than all the scientists and politicians put together. For doom is where we all are heading. Or you can take the advice of Robert Frost: if you want to be a poet you either have to farm or cheat your employer; or, the words of Baudelaire: there are two ways of becoming famous - by the accumulation of annual successes or by a bolt from the blue. The second way is certainly the more original. Or be silenced by the words of a young writer: writing is such drudgery. Therefore, why bother at all about poetry, much less write it? But note that if everybody wrote poetry there would be no poetry. And yet, in spite of all those practicing the art, I can be certain that only a handful (or, even less) will survive but survive with difficulty. I believe and am convinced that in the last analysis there is no such thing as criticism; but here I am attempting a critique of the young poets. The young poets! a vague term if there is one: but the poets to be considered are those who have have not published a book of poems. This article, or if you will, essay, will try to appraise what they are doing, in which direction they are going, and towards what aim they are heading, and why (I prefer to call my piece personal observations; and should I ramble aimlessly with no sense of coherence that's because this is what the piece actually is: mere jottings). One very basic thing that these poets forget is really very simple: if you must write poetry, and you care for it regardless of consequences, you have to aim very high! Consider therefore, that man has yet, I believe, to be fully realized. I recognize the true culture of the period to be in what is being written creatively, as much as, that is man's first cry that he first gave utterance. Why, I can well think that whatever science, or psychiatry, or psychology, is doing (or did) the greatest poetry has already revealed to us. They are just words, what I have just told you, and they don't mean anything. All right. But if you mean to be a poet, then your business is words. I note as the oldest of the (young) poets Emmanuel Torres; and the youngest (presumably) Rita Gadi; oldest and youngest in terms of writing existence. In the Philippines, as I presume in other countries, particularly the United States (that's where we are all looking), the breeding ground of poetry is the campus. What is known as Philippine poetry in English is concentrated in Manila; that is, strictly speaking, poetry produced in the Ateneo de Manila and the University of the Philippines; and thrown in for good measure, the University of Santo Tomas. Sad to say, what is palmed off as poetry hereabouts, is not poetry at all. If, as they say in France, after a crime is committed, look for the woman, - well, then, in the case of poetry, look for the culprit. And, alas, he is usually no other than the professor of English. My contention is: the professor of English suffers irreparably from a miseducation of poetry. His mind in such a matter is poetically anaemic. Of course, you can always counter it with: but what about his degrees? There lies the paradox: he is almost never dependably well-equipped to teach poetry. At the most, he can teach the appreciation of poetry, that is if he can sense what is poetry and what is not. It seems apparent that the poets I'm going to talk about have been nourished 90 with the wrong food for poetry. Firstly, the student (man or woman) who is decided to write poetry is moved by sensitive feelings; he feels that he has to express himself, simply because he thinks that he is different from the rest, and perhaps because not even his parents can understand him. Secondly, he is moved by great emotions, usually unrequited love and its consequences. So now he thinks he has the makings of a poet. In every campus, they are unmistakable, these philosophizes, poetasters, and poeti-zers. The Ateneo, University of the Philippines and the University of Santo Tomas have each their own share of these modern phenomena. Hence, to become little institutions, they develop fully the cult of personality; eventually they become only too willing to welcome disciples. And finally they end with petty jealousies and eternal bickerings among themselves. Meanwhile, what has happened to poetry ? Poetry will always remain extraneous to life. Society cares nothing for it, no one reads anything. Those poems (if they are poems) printed in the Sunday magazines are not treated as poems: they serve as space- fillers for advertisements (which are a land of false poetry, for their appeal is to the wrong emotion). Like the Sunday magazines, the literary journals too have no criterion even for good, decent poetry. Despite what I have just said, do not be dismayed. Always the readers of modem poetry demand the poem to be rational; they ask the meaning of the poem; and then they subject it to the scrutiny and analysis which is reserved for prose. John Ciardi - who in my opinion - can theorize about poetry but cannot tell a poem from a non-poem (witness, alas, the poem accepted by the Saturday Review where he is poetry editor) says: 'A poem is never about ideas: it is always and only about the experience of ideas, about what happens inside a human being when an idea begins to work in him and motivate him.' A poem creates its own laws; in this sense, it is like love, in mat it exists for its own sake; and its reason for being is its own justification. The poems I'm about to look into are poems that are not written : they have no reasons for being; they were obviously written for the wrong reasons, as much as you can say that you can love for the wrong reasons and hate for the right reasons. Thus, to begin dissecting several of our specimens : The poem 'Song For The Drowning Ones by Emmanuel Torres, if read as song is not a song at all in the poetic sense, it is more a lament really, and you don't " hear' the poem at ah". The rhythm is that of prose, and the movement is all wrong. I take two lines of the fourth stanza:
Listen carefully to the words, and think of them; don't they 'sound' ridiculous? Besides, Torres uses the vehicle of prose to transport his ideas which he believes poetic, From another poem, 'Walking Home' I take the lines;
They sound 'funny' and upon closer inspection, mock-serious, though perhaps he did not intend it. You end up by asking your-self, why write about pedestrian things? There is Valdemar Olaguer and his poem, 'The Boy Who Wanted To Become Bunny Berigan.' By its title alone you know the poem isn't going to be a poem. It sounds more like the title of a story. Take the first three lines:
They are simply statemental. If you can make the lines go the way of prose, then why bother to 'make' them go poetically? The poem, 'Durham Cathedral' by Antonio Manuud reads like excellent prose I quote: It was, I remember, unusual for England To have such a sunburst day: Cows swatted flies from their brinded flanks Why he persists on trying to write poetry, 91 I wonder. The poem is not even poetic in essence. Could it be because it's "glamorous" to be known as poet nowadays? I can be sure that if Manuud were to write prose he would not have written in vain. Take Rolando Tinio's 'Poet On His Twenty-Sixth Birthday.' His poem does not only rhyme in the most conventional manner, but it reads so monotonously like the beat of a metronome:
It is also ludicrous. So far, the poems I have just dissected are formless. Put them beside a glass of water, the glass of water is better because it has form. (The fact of a poem is a performance of words. I have not seen any performance yet.) We come to Nestor Torre Jr. and his Moon-Music.' This poet is an insult to poetry. He has the wrong emotion for poetry. Listen to the lines: Your eye on mine was moon enough; We did not mind the dark Your slim penumbra tugged my tides, Horrors! Even in the time of Queen Victoria he would be pilloried! Bienvenido Lumbera is the moralist of the Ateneo campus poets. He is even more moral, I dare say, than Voltaire. I could be wrong but when Baudelaire said that 'if the poet has followed a moral aim, he has diminished his poetical power, and it would not be imprudent to lay a wager that his work will be bad' he must have been speaking of Lumbera and those other moralistic poets. For your own delectation I quote some lines from 'For Therese' and 'A Eulogy For Roaches':
I have just subjected the 'gentlemen poets' of the Ateneo to my gaze. I should like to suggest (though a little strongly) that they take up gardening instead. They might yet grow the most beautiful roses and the loveliest tulips in the country. There is in the U.P. campus a lovely lady of 'greate goodnesse,' whom Nick Joaquin never fails to call 'the high priestess of poetry': Virginia Moreno. Of the young poets, she seems to me the only one who possesses 'form.' At least she can perform quite well (mind: the fact of a poem is a performance of words) better than the rest, as evidenced by her poems 'Lament of a Cathay Handmaiden in Marco Polo's Tent-Pavilion' and ' Orfeo in Macao.' I may object to diverse things in the poems, but Moreno is not daunted by anything, and she will dare all by making the most of her 'form.' {It is only Moreno who is not afraid of words, while the others fear words.) Note:
The beauty of Moreno's poetry is the presence of a kind of sensuousness which, when fully developed is most artistic. That clown-harlequin-saltimbanque Wil-frido Sanchez is another fearless word-slinger. He is indeed 'dancing' to Moreno (Valery says that walking is to prose as dancing is to poetry). In such poems as 'Gethsemane' and 'Apparition of Tree With Child in an Acropolis' and 'Ballad for the Bishop of Manila, he proves himself quite a performer. Note, likewise:
92 When most of the poets are 'drunk with grandiose ideas' (like social injustice and lonely men returning to their rooms alone), Sanchez is inebriated with the right drink: the wine of words! Alas, I cannot say the same thing about Gelacio Guillermo, another U.P. campus poet. His poem, 'A Villanelle' is poor. The lines are easy. Besides, why use a traditional form of poetry? As exercise it may serve you well. (I consider the villanelle of Dylan Thomas the most successful in the English language.) Guillermo has these lines:
Anyone can 'conceive' of those lines. An exception though, is the line: In rocks of living blood is good and poetically probable, for observable reality is not poetic reality. (I suppose if the poem were written in French or Provencal, the form of the villa-nelle could be excusable.) And what about from the U.S.T.
campus? Oh, are there poets there?
Those lines will certainly live. But could I say that these lines from The Ventriloquy' will even survive time?: The dialogues have been read, and the chairs have been attended to in a sequence affirming that one muscle moves before the other. I can only say, So? Why say it in poetry when you can write it in prose? I do not know if PM Ardales is still writing poems. But in his 'Two Poems For Rina,' he has what is important for a poet to possess: the lyric spirit. (I understand he is no longer a student of the U.S.T.) The lines: I
may be reminiscent of Hopkins, then prove that he has in him, besides the lyrie spirit, the rhythm for poetry. Other lines: II
The 'about-to-sing' quality that Valery speaks of is present in those lines. Should Ardales continue, much good can be ex-pected of him. But he has to work much harder, for poetry is not an easy task. The creative juices of almost all the poets I have spoken of are not flowing have not been channelled to the right direction. They seem to fear to go down, descend deeper into their own depths and be creative truth itself. They would rather 'walk' the easy way, afraid to be accused of not being true to their times, making poetry follow the utilitarian end. Mallarme cautions all who dare to write poetry: poems are made with words, not with ideas. (Italics mine.) You ask me, which way is Philippine poetry heading? It could be heading the direction of this poem by a U.P. campus poet who styles himself Lord Xlavimir (I quote the whole poem): Lament for gvj
93 Hail to thee, Lord Xlavimir, thou hast a sense of humor. Or it can head this way too; the poet's name is best left to oblivion:
Should I go on? To end my personal observations, I put down these little quips. If, as Ezra Pound declared that the artists are the antennae of their race, then you can also say in a way that, the poets are the antennae of their language. A poem is language ; yet most of the young poets fear the language, they seem to carry a feeling of inferiority, so they take the 'walk' of least resistance. When a poet uses a word, he does not use the dictionary meaning of the word; he gives the word a poetic lift. Why use the level of speech for poetry? I will tell you again: must you write poetry despite more pressing problems, Eke keeping a good name in society? Then you must set your aim very high, much higher than you can imagine it to be. And bear always in mind Laura Riding's words: (for the reasons of poetry, the right ones): literally, literally, literally; without gloss, without gloss, without gloss. As much as I have put down my personal observations, literally, literally, literally: without gloss, without gloss, without gloss! Poetry anyone? Myself, I might as well enjoy a bottle of Scotch. R. B. Gadi : I AM tempted to be vehement about Cuadra's first paragraph: "Why write poetry at all ? The human situation is more important at a time like ours where there is very little feeling left in the world." The human situation - whatever I gather he means - to argue firstly, has been important to each generation at all times. There is no need to emphasize the fact that the world, or nations particularly, have been in a constant strain. Reviewing history will very well elaborate the fact that every age possesses its particular anxieties and "very little feeling in the world" is not so much a problem as it is a manner of expression. I would much rather say that there is too much feeling in the world, and too little thought. Secondly, the role of poetry in man's life should not be preposterously confused as something which is unassimilated to man. There is the realm of the universal and the realm of the particular in all of man's action. One must distinguish which acts are meant for the universal and which are meant for the particular. If Cuadra means that poetry does not qualify to answer the immediate problems of hunger, poverty, war, economy, etc. then if must be made clear that for anything to be made use of to serve a definite purpose, one must first define the nature of the thing and the end to which it is intended. If he means that poetry could be eliminated because attention must be given to "the more important human situation, the reason for such an elimination must be stated. To use poetry as a means to bring food to the hungry, or peace where there is war, or contentment in economic depressions, is ridiculous. Essentially because, poetry, like the other visual arts which come from the finer virtues of the spirit, is not meant to satisfy the ephemeral pleasures, but to transcend the basically human sufferings and express these in the sublime. It is neither an escape nor a disenchantment, but an expression of man's finer qualities of creativeness. To surround men with securities in life has been given appointed offices in society. Poetry, on the other hand, gives knowledge and pleasure. The hunger of the mind for the beautiful and the good is a deeper hunger than the hunger of the stomach for food. Cuadra should be kinder to this art. The arguments on "why write at all" despite Frost, Baudelaire and a "young writer," are flimsy, irrelevant and rhetorical. They could be interpreted to mean differently. Frost may have meant that to write poetry alone will not suffice to have three square meals daily, and must, there- 94 fore, find work otherwise. Baudelaire and his words on becoming famous do not suit the poet, for the poet is a man who does not glory in himself but in his work, and this glory is experienced with no little amount of sadness. The "young writer" who proclaimed that "writing is a drudgery," must be too full of immaturity and less of innocence in his youth. 'This article," Cuadra continues, "will try to appraise what they are doing, in which direction they are going, and towards what aim they are heading and why." But sadly, the article does not say these much: rather all we get are observations on some writers' poems as being un -poetic. For our country, for our sentiments, are what they are doing enough to consider them poets? Why then do they pass for poets? What standards of judgment are there for these writers? Why speak of the French, etc. how about their role as Asians, as Filipinos? Again, I do not agree that these writers do not have performance or form in writing: I would much rather consider it their fault that they have too much of these. "If you must write poetry, you have to aim very high." Poetry is not supposed to aim at anything: for one thing, it cannot start a revolution. Poetry is just an emotion, set in a definite form in order to come out as artistic, that is all. So it is with all poets (obscure and otherwise); they are not commissioned to have just one end in view. It is the feeling that counts, which has to be universal so as not to be a private peddling. The standards of good writing hold true regardless of race or issue. So, where does this leave the Filipino poets? It is not a question of asserting identity in poetry, it is more a question of whether we do have a tradition of poetry and if our present writers (these "young" things) are outgrowths of this tradition, and not merely tangential twigs. Even if "to aim very high" (which was slightly emphasized in the following paragraph of Cuadra's article) means that poetry is intended to be profound, I would disagree on the basis that any attempt of poetry for the profound diminishes the quality of the poem in the sense that a poem, by its very nature speaks directly to the mind which is essentially a profound act. Attempt would only make the poetry contrived rather than spontaneous. Thus the poet need not aim; his very art is, in itself, profound. Although I do not agree with his choice 1 of "young poets," I think it is even more outrageous to have included Virginia Moreno among them. I respect her art and do not find it either just or funny to in- corporate her with the rest chosen. Neither in age nor in craft is she young. It is not enough that he quote some lines and say this is bad, this is funny, this does not 'sound' like poetry. An attitude towards poetry should not be used as a basis for judgment. The most he can say is of what value are these writings, if they have a value at all. Are they still a phase of our experimentations in language? Are they fragmented forms, or is there a pat- tem somewhere - what links one to the other, if there is a link; and if there is not, why not. After all, this is Philippine writing, and should, therefore, voice a common something or the other. The professor of English is not the teacher of poetry. True, it is through him that the language is learned and through the words the poem is made. But the role of the teacher ends when the student begins to be a poet. A student's actions do not necessarily reflect the textbook or the lecture. In the case of poetry, poesy is intrinsically individual; regardless of the influence of a school, movement or ideology. When the poet composes, he is alone, and a poem will always be a consequence of a personal emotion. Its value depends on the universality of the expression. It is sad enough that most English teachers are inadequate in the language; it is even more sad to classify poetic-apes as poets. If the language has not been controlled by the student himself, no amount of writing can ever be called an art, poetry or other-wise. Cuadra should learn how to distinguish. I do not believe, as Cuadra puts it, that "poetry will always remain extraneous to life." Poetry is intrinsic to the life of the mind. It does not assist the physical functions of man (as in digestion, etc.) but it 95 addresses itself to the passions, the imagination, and the intelligence. To write poetry requires superior intellectual faculties, but to appreciate poetry, one must only be human. It is true that not all men can write poetry, but it is intrinsic in all men to be poetic, be it in speech, song, or mode of action. What is extraneous in poetry is the attitude which has been developed. The complexities of modem society alienate poetry because poetry demands more of the spiritual than of the sensual. Attitude and essence must not be considered alike. Note further. "Those poems, if they are poems, printed in the Sunday magazines are not treated as poems; they serve as space-fillers for advertisements {which are a kind of false poetry, for their appeal is to the wrong emotion)." The treatment given to a poem does not lessen its value, neither should any one conclude that inefficient treatment of a poem consequently makes the poem false, and the appeal to the emotion could be interferred with by treatment. I feel that Cuadra is being funny again. I do not know what method of statistics Cuadra used when he asserts, " Always readers of modern poetry demand the poem to be rational; they ask the meaning of the poem, and then they subject it to the scrutiny and analysis which is reserved for prose. Although it may be true in some cases, I would not hold it as a general rule. Particular cases do not necessarily prove a statement to be true. I believe that the understanding or the appreciation of poetry is as varied as its readers, and that despite the classroom, a reader appreciates a poem because something in him understands although he may not know how to express it. Likewise, if a poem is not understood, the poem does not necessarily have to be false. Cuadra occasionally attempts to be didactic, but fails miserably either because it is absent of a scholarly approach, or he does not support his argument, or because the opinions are unique to the author alone. Note: "A poem creates its own laws; in this sense, it is like love, in that it exists for its own sake, and its reasons for being is its own justification." I believe a poem follows a general law and must not abuse it or detract from it. A poem infuses a moral sentiment into everything it writes about thus creating a correspondence between the world, the poet and man. If a poem created its own laws it is merely a selfish fabrication, because it does so to suit its purpose. Poetry, although highly individual in creation, is never personal, otherwise, if it dictated to itself as it pleases, it is selfish. The law of poetry in general is spontaneous to the art, and also like love, if it does not answer this law, becomes illicit. Although love tolerates illicitness , the virtue of poetry is purity. Poetry is the "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions;' its purpose is to express life for the sake of the values which expression itself may create, and to communicate them to others. The values are given in the utterance itself; they do not have to be waited for to come from something which may result from any free expression of life-the imaginative reliving of its joys, or the mastery of its pains through the courageous facing of them in reflection. No matter how intimate and spontaneous, no poem can escape being social. Art is autonomous expression meant to be contagious. Poetry is never purely descriptive or dialectical. The poets are Filipino poets despite their faults. Is there a future in them, or are they in a phase of experimentation? Will poetry live in this country? What aspects of society could possibly have produced these writers? Something in the system of the nation must be a cause for such writing. Is it redeemable, or condemnable? Should we sit on our privileged stools and smile smugly at them, or should we be their better critics by laboring with their works seriously? To Cuadra's question, "must you write poetry despite more pressing problems, like keeping a good name in society? Then you must set your aim very high, much higher than you can imagine it to be," can be answered, why not? Why can 96 one not write poetry despite or because of more pressing problems? Does not the poet stand in the midst of all, neither higher nor lower, voicing out what music could be produced from human suffering? Or perhaps the role of the poet in society is still not clear to those who attempt to talk about them? The progress of the useful arts has repressed the enthusiasm for the art of poetry. Neither the age nor the language serve as excuses to allow our country to remain most distant from the masters of literature. We must not resign ourselves to this seeming barrenness of imagination. Degeneracy, I believe, has been due to the absence or repression of the creative atmosphere and to the delusion that a foreign language still controls our literature. Our expectations for our literature to be excellent should never be considered unattainable. We have all the materials necessary for intellectual grandeur, and if we fail, it is only because we are idle. Shall the genius of the nation be commercial or political, or shall we he able to produce a national literature as a matter of pride and not of ridicule? I would hope that anyone who attempts to write on "young poetry" would give light on these questions. "I have laid down," as Dryden puts it, "and that superficially, my present thoughts: and shall be glad to be taught better by those who pretend to reform poetry." A BIRD COMPLETES A SUNSET
97
Redemption in the Noli: Some Aspects Miguel A. Bemad, S.J. EDITOR'S NOTE : The Philippine Revolution against Spain in 1806 was inspired by several events, among them the publication of Jose Rizal's novels, the Noli me tangere and El Filibusterismo. Rizal's public execution by Spanish musketry did not kill the ideas that were articulated in his book; ideas which have not lost their relevance to contemporary Filipino society. I At twenty-three, in 1884, Rizal began writing the Noli me longer in Madrid, continued it in Paris, then in Heidelberg, then in the German village of Wilhelmsfeld. It was printed in Berlin in 1887, when he was 26. It was a young man's work: a young man who had already known suffering, but who was also still filled with the passion and immaturity of youth. He returned to the Philippines after the novel was written and was appalled to find that much of what he had written was true. It seemed he had hoped that the Philippine situation would turn out far better than he had described it. If that was his hope, he was deceived. This was August 1887. Four months later he was writing to Blu-mentritt: "Everyone wants me to leave. The friars don't want to hear my name. The government officials don't want me around. The Filipinos fear for me and for themselves. So I shall return to Europe." He left Manila in February 1888, having stayed for only six months, and returned to Europe by way of the United States. Back in Europe he threw himself into the Propaganda Movement. In London he prepared his edition of Morga. In Madrid he wrote several important essays for La Solidaridad.* Meanwhile he was writing a new novel, a sequel to the Noli me tangere, which was completed in Brussels and was printed in Ghent in 1891. He was thirty. Only four years separated the Filibus- terismo from the Noli me tangere. But in those four years Rizal's mind had matured. Perhaps, what matured him was what he saw in the Philippines during his six-months' visit. Perhaps it was what happened to his family after that visit: his family was evicted, their house taken over, their furniture dumped into the street; some members were sent into exile; one brother in - law was denied Christian burial. In any case, many things happened after the publication of his first novel which weakened his early enthusiasm and deepened his insights. It was out of this deeper vision that the Filibtusterismo emerged. II One interesting quality of both novels (and in particular of the earlier one) is Rizal's power of humorous description. This humor consists in ironic wit by which Rizal calls attention to the incongruity of a situation, thus providing the reader an insight into its more recondite nature. It is unfortunate that relatively few readers today can appreciate Rizal's humor, which (like Cicero's) is largely verbal. There are adequate translations - including one in Chinese. Among the earliest English translations were those by Derbyshire; among, the most recent, those by Guerrero. But no translation can really replace the original. It is easy to get the main ideas, ________ * La Solidaridad, edited by Marcelo del Pilar and several others was the organ of the Propaganda Movement. 98 and even the main images; but how reproduce the play on words, the verbal assonances and the rhythms which are of the fragile nature of poetry? Rizal's humor is important because of the insight that it gives into the Philippine situation. He did not go out of his way (as did Paterno) to describe Philippine customs as though he were writing a book for the foreigner. What he did was to present a situation briefly and at the same time provide satirical commentary. A few examples can be given, which must be given in the original, together with a translation of our own. We begin with the description of the house in Binondo where a supper is being held in honor of the young Ibarra who has just returned from Europe:
The supper was held in a house on Anloague Street, We don't recall the number, but you will recognize it from our description - that is, if the earthquakes have left it standing. As it happens, not the earthquakes but the march of progress (and of course the war) have destroyed the fine old house in Binondo where the wealthier citizens resided. The very name of the street - like many of Manila's streets - has changed. There is no longer a Calle Anloague : it is now called Juan Luna; we don't know what it will be called tomorrow. But note Rizal's technique. The mention of earthquakes is a piece of ironic humor. But it is more than humor; in effect it brings into this brief mention of a house in Binondo an allusion to the impermanence of things Philippine; to the fact that books, printed on "rice paper", cannot last a hundred years ; to the fact that churches and great buildings are tonnled by typhoons or earthquakes , or gutted by fires, or reduced to rubble by artillery. Rizal's humor here is not bitter; indeed, it is gay; but in his novels, the laughter is never far away from the tragedy. Unconsciously, Rizal's allusion to earthquakes was an allusion to a country forever on the make, with no lasting monuments, with little contact with its historic past, and with - alas - little regard for it. From the outside, Rizal takes us into the house and describes the great hall or sala where the guests are gathered. They are gathered (then as now) in segregated groups - the men on one side, the women on another - as once upon a time they also were segregated even in church: La casa está casi Ilena de gentes: los hombres separados de las mujeres, como en fas iglesias católicas y en las sinagogas. Rizal then proceeds with tongue in cheek to describe the room, the pictures on the wall, the mirrors, chandeliers, furniture, and in particular the grand piano - for this is a wealthy man's house, and there fore must have a grand piano: Allá en la sala están los que han de comer, entre colosales espejos y brillan tes aranas ; allá sobre una tarima de pino, está el magnifico piano de cola de un precio exorbitante, if mas pre -cioso aún esta noche, porque nadie lo toca. There in the sala are the invited guests, among the huge mirrors and the lighted chandeliers. There also upon a platform of pinewood is the magnificent grand piano, bought at an enormous price, out tonight more priceless than ever, for no one - Here the translator is at a loss. The word -play involved in "nadie lo toca" is lost in 1 translation. Nadie to toca: literally, no- body touches it; it is too precious to be touched. But tocar el piano is also the term for "to play the piano": tonight no- body plays the piano. Perhaps no one has the skill to play it. Perhaps this magnificent piano is there, less as a musical instrument to delight those who live in the house, and more as a status symbol to impress the visitors. The family is wealthy: every wealthy family must have a grand piano -as today every wealthy family must have a big car. It may be noted in passing that it is futile to debate whether this desire for ostentation is native to the Filipino character or 99 whether it is foreign influence. It hardly matters. The fact is that it is here with us: a preoccupation with appearances, with a disregard for realities. Rizal deftly hints at this situation. This is a far better interpretation of the Philippine scene than those done by many enthusiastic nationalists. There are other allusions to this preoccupation with appearances. The furniture is "elegant but uncomfortable." The description of Capitan Tiago's house is prefaced with the following mock apology: Con gusto y por comodidad mía te ahomría a tí la description de la casa, pero esto es tan importanie, pues noso-tros los mortales en general somos como las tortugas: valemos y nos clasi-fican por nuestras conchas . . . I would gladly spare you a description of the house and thus save myself a lot of troubles; but the house must be described: we mortals are in general like turtles - we are classified and are valued according to our shells. And Capitan Tiago's portrait on the wall is in context with the rest of the establishment: Allá hay un grande retrato al óleo de un hombre bonito, de frac, tieso, recto, simétrico como el bastón de borlas que Ileva entre sus rígidos dedos cubiertos de anillo : el retrato parece decir - Hum! mirad cuánto Ilévo puesto y que serio estoy! And there on the wall is a large oil portrait of a very distinguished-looking man in a frock coat, erect, correct, symmetrical - like the tasseled cane that he is holding between his rigid and beringed fingers. The portrait seemed to say: Look how important I am, and how serious! Sometimes, hint of bitterness creeps into the narration betraying itself in a cynical remark. As when one of the few decent Spaniards in the book tells Ibarra: " Aquí no se pusde ser honrado sin haber ido a la carcel:" Here no one can be honorable without having gone to jail. Or that other sally: "Has he won his case in court? Then he can't have any money left, for no one can go to court without losing all his money." For the most part, however, Rizal's humor is innocent of bitterness though not of satire. There is in his satire a certain tolerance and a certain objectivity that allow him to look at things and enjoy their incongruity: like his amusement at the ever-changing names of Philippine streets and other landmarks. For instance, the Franciscan priory in Intramuros was situated near a certain gate: el convento de su orden situado á la entrada de la Puerta de Isabel II ó de Magallanes, sesún qué familia reine en Madrid. (Noli, Ch. 9) The convent of his Order, situated near the Gate of Isabel II - or the Gate of Magellan, depending on which royal family happens to be reigning in Madrid. A playful tone creeps into Rizal's humor when he speaks of Maria Clara. For instance, Maria Clara, hiding in a room full of the statues of saints, hears Ibarra in the other room asking for her. Prevented by decorum from rushing out to meet him, she expresses her joy, in her hiding place, by kissing the statue nearest to her - which happens to be that of St. Anthony of the Desert, famous for his temptations: Loca de alegría besó al santo que en-contró mas cerca, a S. Antonio Abad, santo feliz en vida y en madera, siem -pre con hermosas tentaciones! Not all women fare as gently from Rizal's ironic wit. There is a way of making fun of those we love, and a way of making fun of those we despise. The woman who put on airs because of some imagined supsrio-rity (like the woman who thought herself important because she was married to a Peninsular) finds herself ridiculed by Rizal's mordant wit. III One can see why Rizal's novels had more than ephemeral success. They were written for propaganda but succeeded in being literature. Much of the writing of the Philippine Propaganda Movement is now of interest only to the historian or the researcher. But Rizal's novels have survived the immediate objectives for which they 100 were composed. Their value as genuine literature consists in the fact that they contain living characters who are involved in a living situation, described deftly, with freshness and universality. Some of these character sketches might do justice to Dickens, with the difference that Rizal sees the individual against a national and cultural background. Thus, Capitán Tiago's character - parallel to his country's economic and cultural policies - are indicated by referring to the number of guests who converge upon his house at such short notice: sabíase que su casa, como su país, no cerraba las puertas á nadie, como no sea al comercio ó á toda idea nueva ó atrevida. It was known that his house, like his country, opened its doors to all - except to commerce and to new ideas. The allusion, of course, was to the Spanish monopoly of trade as well as to the strict censorship of the press. Rizal's novels, though they include scenes of bucolic simplicity, are not a bucolic idyll describing an isolated society, with the outside world shut out. Their perspective is not only national but international. The perspective is also both spatial and temporal, as may be seen in the description of Manila given in Chapter 8 of the Noli me tangere. That chapter is entitled Recuerdos (Reminiscences), and the title is significant, for there are several memories involved. Rizal, writing in Europe, writes what he remembers of the Manila of the early 1880's when he was a university student, and compares that in turn with what he remembers of an earlier Manila, the Manila of his boyhood in the 1870's. In describing the city, Rizal uses the well-known fictional device of the journey, here taking the form of a coach-ride. Ibarra hires a horse-drawn carriage and drives about the various sections that comprise the metropolitan district surrounding the Walled City of Manila. He goes first to the "liveliest" section, Binondo, with its caromatas, vendors and shops; the Filipinos and Chinese in their respective national costumes crowd the streets. The vehicle proceeds to the Escolta, and then to the Pasig - the river that divides the com- munities of Binondo and Santa Cruz and Quiapo from the Walled City and the South Bank. Ibarra notes that the old improvised Bridge of Boats is no longer there: it was once a lively old bridge consisting of boats moored side by side so that people could cross by stepping from one boat to the next. Across the river is the cigar factory on Arroceros. Ibarra passes the Botanical Garden which re- minds him of the botanical gardens of Europe. And at the seaside: "beyond the sea is Europe, Europe with its beautiful countries in continual ferment, happy amid their catastrophes." He views the sea from Bagumbayan, and is reminded of his old friend, a Filipino secular priest, who has been his wisest teacher. The passage is prophetic: for on this spot, ten years afterwards, Rizal himself would die. The vehicle leaves Bagumbayan and drives into the Ermita, and from there returns to the old walled city through the uneven roads. It is an interesting description: a tour of Manila in a carriage. By comparing the Manila that Ibarra sees with an earlier Manila that he remembers, Rizal gives his description a historic dimension. By evoking the memory of Europe, Rizal contrasts the narrow-minded tyranny symbolized by Bagumbayan with the freedom and the intellectual ferment beyond the seas. Chapter 8, incidentally, is the last of the sunny chapters that introduce the story. In the terrible chapter that follows (Cosas del país) Bizal plunges into the darker theme of the "social cancer" in which even religion is used as a cloak for evil. Then he reemerges into the sunlight by describing the village of "San Diego" -his fictitious village closely resembling his hometown of Calamba on the shores of the Laguna de Bai. Chapter 10 is a description of that village, not using the fictional device of the peripatetic coach-ride but instead the panoramic view that one gets "on a clear day" from the church tower. The altar boys climb the church tower, and through their eyes we see the entire town laid out below us, with the 101 lake on one side and the forests and the mountains on the other. This has been considered a clever device to describe the town. IV Through another manner Rizal adds a new dimension to his tale: the contrast of the ideal with the real, the romantic with the down - to - earth. Chapter 5 of the Noli me tangere is entitled "Una estrella en noche oscura" A Star on a Dark Night. The star is real enough - a star in the sky. But it is also a symbol for another star, the young beauty of the evening, Maria Clara, as unattainable as the star above - for Ibarra has walked out of the party and is now back in his hotel room contemplating "the star," As he continues his contemplation, he sees something else: he sees the terrible circumstances of his father's imprisonment and death. He had come to know about them from a Spanish officer recently on his way home. His father's sufferings belong to the past. But Ibarra now sees the details of his father's imprisonment and death vividly. In a sense the details become more real than what is actually happening in that gay party across the river. More real, not only because he sees it vividly in his mind's eye, but also because it is a continuing reality. The individual cruelties may he tolerated, but they belong to a state of affairs which is enduring - and therefore more real. The gay party is a passing phenomenon ; the enslavement of his country is a permanent misfortune. In contrasting the real and the ideal, Rizal uses repeatedly an unusual literary device to which attention has been called by the Jugoslav critic, Ante Radaic, whose essay, Rizal, romántico realista, is the only extensive analysis so far made of Rizal's novels. Radaic's chief interest is psychological, but in this connection he points out the peculiar way in which Rizal uses the moon. The moon is ordinarily a symbol of love, of peace, perhaps of mystery -in brief, a symbol of what we understand by the term "romance." Lovers (like those in the Merchant of Venice) talk of silly nothings under the moon. With Rizal, when lovers talk, they do so on the azotea in broad daylight. In his novels the moon is a malevolent influence, a tragic symbol indicating a contrast between the serenity of the heavens and the chaos on earth. Radaic gives many examples of this peculiar use. One will suffice for our purpose: the last chapter of the Noli me tangere. That last chapter (Chapter 63) deals with the terrible plight of the poor innocent woman - Sisa - who has lost her children, and later her mind. She had two sons who served as altar-boys in the church, and who in that capacity were maltreated by the cruel old sacristan. One of the boys was accused of theft and flogged to death. The other boy (Basilio) escaped to the hills. The mother, accused of complicity in the theft, was dragged through the streets by the police and was made to suffer the kind of indignity that Rizal's own mother had to suffer when she was made to walk fifty kilometers tinder guard from Calamba to Santa Cruz and then thrown into jail for alleged complicity in murder, a terrible accusation of which she was afterwards proved innocent. Rizal's mother survived the ordeal; the poor woman in Rizal's novel did not. In the novel, Sisa loses her mind. And now in this last chapter (entitled with terrible irony "La Noche Buena") she is walking through the streets at night. She pauses in her walk and stands before the house of the alférez or chief of police, and sings, looking up at the moon: " Sisa empezó á cantar delante de la casa, miran -do á la luna." As she is thus engaged, her son, Rasilio, comes barefoot from his hiding place in the hills and recognizes his mother. She, not recognizing him, runs away from him. He chases after her, out of the town, across the stream, into the forest. Finally, he comes upon the hovel where she has taken refuge. He forces the door open. In one lucid moment the mother recognizes her son. She screams and falls to the ground and dies, and Basi-lio weeps; over his mother's corpse. And outside the moon is shining: "La luna brillaba en el cielo majestuosa . . . " The passage is unquestionably melo-dramatic and over-written; but there is no doubt about its power. There is also no 102 doubt about the unusual symbolic role played by the moon. V This is perhaps the point at which we must talk about Rizal's faults as a novelist, and they are considerable. No criticism could be honest without facing them squarely. The scene illustrates that some judicious pruning would have improved the chapter. There is a certain amount of melodrama in these novels. It is not entirely free of sentimentality. Nor is it entirely free of redundant rhetoric which gives to certain passages, otherwise sublime, the appearance of cliché. This is perhaps to be expected from the writer's youth. Shakespeare at a similar age was still far from the perfection of his later plays. Still, the fact must be admitted: Rizal's novels could have stood a good deal of vigorous editing; they are not free from that tendency to overwrite which is so pronounced a tendency in many of our contemporary Filipino writers. Having discussed his literary faults, we must also look at his historical thesis: for these are historical novels, and they must be gauged, not only on the score of their literary structure as novels, but also on the value of their historical accuracy. It was Rizal's purpose to expose the "social cancer" that was gnawing at the heart of Philippine life, a cancer so painful that the patient shrank instinctively from the physician's touch. That ( as Rizal tells us in the Dedication) was the significance of the title, "Touch Me Not" (which, incidentally, is taken from Saint John's Gospel, not from the Synoptics as Rizal thought). Rizal's thesis was that the "social cancer" consisted principally of a double evil : the tyranny or the Spanish colonial government; and, the even greater tyranny of the friars. The indictment is not directed against Spain itself, but against the colonial system, whereby even good Spaniards became bad after they had lived in the Islands. This thesis is put in the mouth of the officer and gentleman - one of the few decent Spaniards in the book - who, in Chapter 4 of the Noli, gives the follow- ing explanation: Los españoles que venimos á Filipi- nas no somos desgraciadamente lo que debíamos . . . . Los cambios con- tinuos, la desmoralizactión de las altas esferas, el favoritisino, lo barato y lo corto del viaje tienen la culpa de todo: aquí viene lo mas perdido de la Peninsula, y si Ilega uno bueno, pronto le corrompe el país. The Spaniards who have come to the Philippines are not always as they ought to be . . . . The constant changes, the low moral tone in high places, the principle of favoritism, the short, cheap journey from Spain- all this is to blame. The worst characters in the Iberian Peninsula are sent here; and if a good man does come, he is quickly corrupted. The indictment against the friars is more serious, and it is contained in the entire structure of the novels. It is dramatized by the actions and thoughts of the various friars who appear as characters in the novel, whose collective and all-embracing influence is disastrous, and from whose influence there is no escape. Almost no crime is too heinous to be imputed to these friars, and even the best of them, an austere Dominican, is made to say on his deathbed: Cuando dejemos de ser ricos, no podremos ya más con-veneer á las conciencias. (When we cease to be wealthy, we shall no longer have any power over consciences) - a monstrous inversion of the Christian Beatitudes: Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are the meek. The historical accuracy of such an indictment would turn on the answer to three questions: 1) Did the friars really wield the amount of power with which they are credited in the novels? 2) If so, did they as a group, wield that power in the manner indicated, namely, to the great detriment of the people as a whole? 3) Were the friars, as a group and in the majority of cases, really guilty of such crimes as are attributed to them in the novels? It is on this last point (as well as on the second) that Rizal overstates his case. 103 It was one of the painful facts of Philippine history that there were friars unworthy of their calling. But to generalize and attribute the same unworthiness to the entire Dominican and Franciscan Orders (who are depicted explicitly in the novels) as well as to the other friar Orders, is to do less than justice to the many good and saintly men who christianized the Philippines. Prescinding from the injustice of a sweeping condemnation of all the friars, what Rizal objected to, in the unworthy priests whom he caricatured, was valid enough. In effect what Rizal was condemning was not the priesthood as such but the corruption of the priesthood. He did not condemn priests because they were priests but bad priests because they were bad. This brings us to Rizal's total vision of the meaning of suffering. What Rizal lacked at the time that he was writing the Noli me tangere was the kind of illumination that would have allowed him to see things in proper perspective and in their true colors. Faith would have given him such an illumination: but at that stage of his career he had lost his faith. He was later to regain it; but at the time he was without its influence. Rizal may or may not have distorted the facts: certainly, he did not see them in perspective. It is like seeing the individual pieces in a jig-saw puzzle before they have all fallen into place. There are other things in the total human reality besides tangible facts. Rizal (like many writers and philosophers of the present day) saw the evil that existed; he did not see the larger context, the providential plan, the economy of grace which gives meaning even to evil and to gain. He saw the pain, not the meaning - at least in the Noli me tangere. He began to catch a glimmer of it in El Filibuste - rismo. VI El Filibusterismo was written as a sequel to the Noli me tangere, but it is a sequel in reverse. In the earlier novel, Crisos-tomo Ibarra returns from his studies in Europe full of idealism and hope for the improvement of his people. He puts his faith' in the essential goodness of man and refuses to believe - until too late - that man can also be profoundly evil. He seeks to raise the level of his countrymen through schools and through enlightened municipal policy. His efforts are thwarted by powers beyond his control, powers that have made a cynic of the once brilliant student, "Filosofo Tasio." Those same powers have made a rationalist and crypto-atheist of the time-serving and wealthy merchant, Capitan Tiago. Those same powers destroy the beautiful love-affairs between Ibarra and Maria Clara; they work havoc with Maria Clara's life, destroy the family and sanity of an innocent woman, Sisa ; they destroy Ibarra's own life, even though he does not die. He docs not die because someone else exposes his own life to save his. The heroic savior is the revolutionist Elias, the man of action who wants everything done at once, whose manner of procedure are opposite those of the pacifist Ibarra. That is the situation in the Noli me tangere. In the Filibusterismo (a title which Ambassador Leon Ma, Guerrero translates as "The Subversive") the situation is reversed. Ibarra has escaped from the Philippines and has lived abroad for many years. He has managed to save his wealth. Dark glasses hide his features, now, older and wealthier, but not much wiser, he returns to the Islands as a jeweller of uncertain nationality known simply as Mr. Simoun. He has changed in more ways than one. As a young man in the earlier novel he has returned full of idealistic hope for the betterment of his people, willing to make sacrifices for their uplift which he hoped to bring about through the slow and patient process of education. In the Fitibuste-rismo, there is none of that idealism. This time he returns to the Islands with the cynical knowledge that everyone has his price, that the government itself and its highest officials can be bought, and that ecclesiastical leaders can be dazzled by the display of wealth and respectability. He seeks revenge, and his method is simple: to goad the government by a display of cruelty and tyranny as to provoke the people into open revolt. In the earlier novel Ibarra had been the peaceful re-former and Elias the revolutionary; now it 104 is Ibarra, disguised as Simoun, who has become the scheming revolutionist. Curiously enough, a paradoxical result takes place in the Noli me tangere, when Ibarra is trying to do good, he finds himself stopped by the friars and by the government (not to mention his own people's apathy). In the Filibusterismo, when his one intent is to do evil, everything conies his way, for he has wealth, and wealth begets power. He finds himself admitted to the highest circles of society. He finds himself in a position to shape public policy, which he does for his own ends. His ends are unholy, and so are his means: they include murder and deceit and the corruption of public officials. He is now using the very means which he had previously condemned the friars for using. He tries to salve what is left of his conscience by telling himself that his ultimate end is good, though the proximate ends are evil. The ultimate end is his people's salvation: in his mind, the ultimate end justifies the means. The result is tragedy - but of a different order from the tragic ending of the Noli me tangere. The Noli begins with hope and ends with frustration and despair. The Filibusterismo begins with despair and ends with hope. Perhaps this is what Rizal was referring to when he told a friend, in a letter, that the Noli me tansere was more gay, but the Filibusteris-mo more profound. Incidentally, he has revised, in this second novel, his portrait of the priesthood. The friars are still depicted in dark colors, but he pays tribute to two groups of the Catholic clergy. The first group are the Filipino secular priests - represented, in the dedication, by Fathers Burgos, Gomez, and Zamora, and in the text by the noble figure of Padre Florentino, a character drawn from life. The other group are the Jesuits, and in particular those of the Ateneo Municipal de Manila. The ending of the novel is remarkable. Fleeing from the police after the abortive attempt to blow up the government, Simoun seeks refuge in the house of Padre Florentino. Badly wounded and seeing no future except the gallows, Simoun swallows poison. Before the poison takes effect Padre Florentino discovers the fact and is horrified: "My God! My God ! What have you done?" No antidote can counteract the poison; but in one sense, these last few minutes of life succeed in undoing all the evil that he has done. He makes a full confession: "La confesión fué larga y pesada" (The confession was long and the tale heavy) - " pero durante ella el confesor no volvió á dor signo de espanto y pocas veces interrumpió al en -fermo" (but the confessor showed no sign of being shocked, and interrupted the penitent only rarely). In such a confession, the penitent is both the culprit and the accuser, while the priest is the instrument of God's pardon, But after the confession, both priest and penitent, as it were, leave the penitential tribunal and discuss the problem of evil academically. They probe into the problem of evil, the problem of national re- form, and the means to bring it about In such a dialogue, Simoun resumes his char-acter of the bewildered man whose plans have been frustrated, while the priest reverts to his character of the dedicated man of God, sequestered from the world, but who can thus evaluate human affairs objectively sub specie aetemitatis. The literary style is less than perfect. Here, as in other crucial passages, Rizal's dialogue is prolix, over-rhetorical. But in this context it is not a cliché. It is Rizal's attempt at giving an answer to the problems posed by the novels. The answer is incomplete: but Rizal, like Dostovevsky, has begun to see the pattern of things. The dialogue, much abbreviated, may be allowed to speak for itself : "God will pardon you, Mr. Simoun, " said the priest. "God knows that we are apt to make mistakes, and He has seen how you have suffered . . . . He has frustrated your plans one by one . . .We must respect His will and give Him thanks." " Therefore, according to you," said the dying man feebly, "it is God's will that these Islands -" "Should continue to groan under their present misfortunes?" interrupted the priest, seeing the other hesitate. "I don't know. I can't read what is inscrutable. I do know, how - 105 ever, that God has never abandoned those people who, in moments of supreme crisis, trusted in Him___" "Why then does He deny me His help?" asked the dying man bitterly. "Because you used a means which He cannot approve," replied the priest. "If our country is ever to be free, it will not be through vice and crime, bribing some, corrupting or deceiving others. There is no redemp-tion without virtue, no virtue without sacrifice, no sacrifice without love." "What then must be done?" asked the sick man. " Suffer and work," replied the priest. "Suffer and work!" exploded the sick man. "How easy it is to say, 'Suffer and work,' when one does not suffer," he said bitterly. "How easy to say 'Suffer and work' when work itself is rewarded . . . . If you had seen what I have seen - miserable wretches suffering indescribable torture for crimes they never committed . . . . Does God demand such sacrifice? Suffer and work! What kind of God is that?" "A just God, Mr. Simoun," answered the priest. "A God who punishes our lack of faith and our vices . . . . He is a God of liberty who makes us love liberty by making its yoke heavy. He is a God of mercy and of justice, who, while He chastises us, also lifts us up. " The melodramatic ending of the novel, inspired perhaps by The Tempest, dramatizes Rizal's condemnation of any attempt to bring about national reform "through 'ice and crime." Wealth brings power, but that is not the kind of power that brings about national reform. When Si-moun dies, Padre Florentino is left with a jewel-chest, containing Simoun's remaining wealth. Doubtless there are many uses to which the money can be put. Padre Florentino does not want the money. To him it is tainted; it has already caused much harm. Like Prospero in the Tempest he hurls the treasure into the sea. Que la naturaleza te guarde en los profundos abismos, entre los corrales y perlas de los eternos mares. Let nature keep you in the deep abyss, among the corals and pearls of the eternal seas. But why throw away wealth? Will it not be useful? Will it not be needed? If it should be needed, God will know how to raise it up from the bottom of the sea: Quando para un fin santo y sublime los hombres te necesitan, Dios sabrá sacarte del seno de las olas. Meanwhile, it is better under the sea: there at least it will excite no greed, it will violate no rights and work no evil. Mientras tanto, allí no haras el mel, no torcerás el derecho, no fomentarás avaricias. Rizal in these two novels shows that the real evils of his country are not the floods, the typhoons, the earthauakes, or other calamities that so often visit the Islands and work so much havoc. These are destructive things, but the destruction they cause is largely material: buildings are destroyed, roads are swept away, crops are ruined, perhans some lives are lost. More destructive than these natural disasters are the moral evils caused by human hatred and human lust. It is a threefold lust: for wealth, for power, and for the illicit pleasures of the flesh. It was the peculiar tra-gedy of the Philippine situation (in Rizal's view) that this threefold lust was often cloaked in the guise of religion. But it is also the peculiar mission of religion, symbolized in Padre Florentino, to point out the real way to (national) salvation. Rizal's hero had lost his way. His road had been "twisted." Dios tenga piedad de los aue le han torcido el camino. Padre Florentino murmurs when Simoun dies; God have mercy on those who caused him to lose the way. 106 PROMENADE
107 BOOKS Listen as a
Grandchild: Theodore Friend, III FROM LATE 1935 to early 1951 Douglas MacArthur lived in Asia. In these years his brilliance and courage, long before proven, had full scope in which to operate, and he achieved the things for which he will best be remembered. These were also years, however, in which MacArthur grew out of touch with America, grew more confirmed in his procliv-ity to see himself as indispensable, as world-turning, as bringer of peace through fire and sword. In telling his own story he is prone to an offensive lack of humility, and the glisten of events is sometimes dulled by heavy prose. Nonetheless, one may enjoy the work by giving in to nostalgia and consuming it as a period-piece; as if perhaps it were the creamy rhetoric of Walter Scott. MacArthur's life was certainly adventurous: forget his ambition to be President and the insolence that got him fired; remember instead the much decorated commander in the First World War, the Chief of Staff during the Depression who struggled against the isolation-ists to maintain an army of 120,000 (the size of Thailand's!) ; the august exile who later loomed so long over the destinies of Greater East Asia (the term is in disrepute, but useful nonetheless). Three countries felt intimately his presence; the Philippines, for which he was Defender and Liberator; Japan, for which he was Conqueror and Administrator; Korea, for which he was Partly Successful Defender. Given these roles, it is not surprising that Mac-Arthur should remember most warmly the Philippines, and, that of all peoples whom he affected, the Filipinos should most warmly remember him. They amply demonstrated their feelings during his "Sentimental Journey" of 1961; now he has made his own explicit in his Reminiscenes. One is sorry to report that the General writes as through a gauze darkly, and with carelessness for fact. Several reviewers, moreover, have noted plagiarism of whole passages from MacArthur ; His Rendezvous with History, by Courtney Whitney, a loyal aide. And one reviewer has asked if pages 414-418, which put forth an ultraconservative political philosophy, were written after the General's death {April I, 1964) by someone else. They were not in the galley proofs (July), but appeared in the book, which came out several weeks before the United States' November election. Whatever the case, we do not have here anything like Aguinaldo's putative memoirs, attributing elaborate thoughts to him many of which he never had. The questionable passage in MacArthur's book does not invent, nor does it misrepresent the General's outlook, which had its seed in 19 th century American individualism, and flowered as opposition to the Federal Income Tax, and as support of national fiscal policies last practiced by Andrew Mellon. The force that drove the seed to flower was MacArthur's concept (not to say "self-image") of the romantic warrior-hero. To rescue and redeem peoples captive of evil forces, or of base philosophies, the energetic and unhampered action of one man might be required. Although such posture might still appeal to some Malayan peoples with subliminal recollections of religious kingship, or to some Japanese recently dispossessed of a Divine Emperor, many Americans disliked it. While giving this particular warrior full credit for his courage, they distrusted the idea of flamboyant horseback leadership in politics. While twice electing Grant as President, they rejected McClellan. They welcomed Dwight D. Eisenhower partly because he was willing to civilianize himself to the point of extreme mundanity. The corollary to MacArthur's political style is an egocentric romanticism of literary style-He had a flair for the spoken language, as those who talked with him will never forget, but unlike Churchill he did not equally command the written language. The memoirs of several generals of the American Civil War are immensely better than MacArthur's: Grant's, vivid; McClellan's, subtle and introspective. MacArthur's, however, tends to be unsubtle, unsimple and turgid. They frequently strike false notes, as in this description of the Philippines: "the languorous laze that seemed to 108 glamorize even the most routine chores of life, the fun-loving men, the moonbeam delicacy of its lovely women, fastened me with a grip that has never relaxed." What is glamorous , about the enervation of tropical heat? Are skirts thrilling to the lavandera , eggs to the peddler of balót? MacArthur surely did not understand the life of the ordinary Filipino, perhaps because his socio- economic imagination was essentially that of a plantation owner. He was, figuratively, an hacendero from Milwaukee. One wishes that he took cognizance of Philippine men interested in economic development as well as "fun;" and while endorsing his description of the Filipina, one might like to see her applauded for competence as well as beauty. The autobiography of a soldier need not be an analytical appreciation of Philippine national development, but one still stops short reading about the return trip of 1961 : "farm shortages turned into surpluses . . . All was light and laughter. And as I saw the happiness in their faces, as I saw the prosperity of the community. . I thanked God that I was one of those who had helped them to freedom." The great changes since 1945 may have looked absolute and complete to Mac Arthur, but they certainly seemed relative, and in many ways deficient, to thinking Filipinos, not to mention .hungry ones. But this was one of MacArthur's great flaws: to be guided almost entirely by his own memory and intuition in making observations and decisions. Memory and intuition develop appetites with age; they call for favorite sub-stances and experiences, and refuse to be nourished by anything else: "Once again the fragrance of the ilang-ilang and the sampaguita filled the air as millions of devoted Filipinos greeted me with their welcoming shouts of ' Mabuhay !' " Not the heavy stench of the esteros or cries of "Corruption" in that election year, but the things MacArthur wanted to smell, wanted to hear. None will deny that Douglas MacArthur had an affection for the Philippines. His voice broke at the ceremony in Manila restoring full civil government to the liberated nation; he wept when he was awarded honorary citizen-ship in the Philippines, his name to be carried in perpetuity on the rolls of the Philippine Army. None will deny that his feelings were large and deep, for without such feelings he could not have led in the manner he did. But a book brings out more than the size of a man's feelings; it reveals their shape and their quality, and it is these that come under review. Many of this man's ideas and emotions can be summed up as self-glorifying mystique. The defect) thereof are most apparent in his treatment of the defense of the Philippines, 1955 - 42. As history, MacArthur's account suffers from errors in fact and chronology, and sup- pression, withholding, or ignorant neglect of vital evidence. All this may be forgiven when an eighty -four-year-old man writes hastily in the last year of his life. But let us be aware of what we must forgive. The General forgets the promises he used to make for his Philippine defense plan - that after ten years the Phil-ippines could withstand attack all by itself Of course, as he stresses in the book, the on -rush of war hit him when he had completed only six years of his program. But it is inappropriate to blame "Washington" for not helping him from 1935 to 1939, years when he very well knew that that American isolationism made aid impossible, and when he was promising nevertheless to make the Philippines militarily self-sufficient. MacArthur does not recall once saying that it would require" a half million men, ten billion dollars, tremendous casualties, and three years time to successfully invade the Philippines." [Later it actually took about 60,000 Japanese just six months.] MacArthur incidentally neglects to tell about Quezon's losing faith in him for about a yea and a half, after the outbreak of war in Europe until early 1941. Their relationship was fully restored when Roosevelt appointed MacArthur Commander-in-Chief, USAFFE, in July 1941. At this point MacArthur omits giving credit to "Washington," specifically Henry Stimson and the Department of the Army, for subscribing to his defense concept, and for rushing troops and B-25's to the Philippines as fast as they could during the last half of the year. Instead he adopts an attitude of valiance - de-spite - American - official - betrayal over the whole question of defense. Admittedly no fighting ships or fighter planes ever made their way through to Luzon after December 8, but the official record shows how Stimson and Chief of Staff George Marshall insisted on trying to get relief through, despite the Navy's first paralyzed reluctance and the British preoccupation with defending Singapore. MacArthur still implies that he was abandoned, although the truth to the contrary is superbly document- 109 ed in Louis Morton's The Fall of the Philippines, published in 1953. Morton's book also points up another induce of MacArthur's resistance to, or indifference to fact. Research has shown that the main Japanese forces landing at Lingayen num-bered 43,000; that a full division of these were soon withdrawn to fight in Java; and that when General Homma's attack stalled in February, 1942, he was sent reinforcements of 22,000. Thus MacArthur's ground forces - 31,000 American Army troops, including the Philippine Scouts, and 120,000 Filipino troops trained as reserves and activated - always consider-ably outnumbered the Japanese. Of course his handicaps - loss of control of sea and air to the enemy - were insuperable, and the holding of Bataan and Corregidor with minimal food and medicine was a remarkable feat of steadfastness and stamina. But MacArthur is not content with that. In his original dispatches he estimated Homma's main force at 80,000 ; he took no note of the removal of many to Java; and be estimated later reinforcements at nearly an additional 100,000. Over twenty years later these grossly exaggerated estimates had settled in his mind as stubborn fact, despite easily available evidence to the contrary. Why should a General magnify his enemy's strength to three times its real size, unless, incurably romantic, he must enlarge his own achievements in his and others' minds? The General, moreover, does not disclose that even after receiving a "final alert" from Washington, 26 November 1941, he was insisting that the Japanese would not attack until "Spring,' ' possibly April, by which time he expected his own defenses to be secure. Both Admiral Hart and High Commissioner Sayre have testified to MacArthur's saying so, but he appears just as unwilling to recognize that he underestimated Japanese capabilities and intentions before battle, as he is to recognize that he overestimated Japanese troop strength afterward. Both of these distortions lead to still a third; MacArthur alleges that "our tenacious defense against tremendous odds completely upset the Japanese military timetable, and enabled the Allies to gain precious months for the organization of the defense of Australia and the vital eastern areas of the Southwest Pacific." This is not really true. The Japanese military timetable was to capture the oil fields of Indonesia, their basic objective, within one hundred and fifty days. They easily did so. They never made plans to invade Australia; they hoped for a negotiated peace giving them control of most of colonial Southeast Asia. They were not much interested in Philippine resources; they attacked it only because of American military buildup there; Homma's campaign was merely a swirling backwater to the main effort. That the Philippine mop-up took so long embarrassed the Imperial Japanese Army and ruined Homma's reputation, but was of little consequence to the major Japanese thrust. MacArthur's version only strikes the truth when he says, "Bataan and Corregidor became a universal symbol of resistance against the Japanese and an inspiration to carry on the struggle." Entirely true: the meaning of the struggle lay in its affirmation of Philippine-American unity and its example to all the Allies in a desperate time. The significance of Bataan and Corregidor was not strategic at ail, but wholly - and powerfully - psychological. Cherishing that valiant effort, and reluctant to weaken its memory in readers' minds, MacArthur suppresses from his pages the message that he sent Washington early in February, 1942, supporting, to a considerable extent, Quezon's neutralization proposal. He also gives an impossible account of Quezon's motives, wholly at variance with those given by Osmeña, Roxas, Romulo and Quezon himself, all of which agree on Quezon's seriousness in wishing a cease-fire and general pacification of the Philippines. In any case neither the United States nor Japan would have considered the proposal; the battle went on to its conclusion. MacArthur was evacuated long before surrender; so was Quezon. Two and a half years later, MacArthur returned; with Osmeña. Could the return have been accomplished sooner ? MacArthur raises in these pages the same appeals that he raised in 1941 and 1942 for an "Asia-first," instead of a "Europe-first"' strategy. He asserts that a "serious naval effort might well have saved the Philippines and stopped the Japanese drive to the South and East." "One will never know," MacArthur says; but in fact one has a pretty good idea. A "serious naval effort," given the demolition at Pearl Harbor, is difficult to imagine. It was possible, of course, to transfer most of the Atlantic fleet to the Pacific; but the Navy alone, given the state of American surprise and military unprepared - 110 ness, could not have wrested the initiative away from the Japanese. To recapture ground already lost would also have required sending the overwhelming bulk of American ground and air forces to the Pacific, instead of to North Africa and, later, Europe. In brief, an Asia-first strategy would have meant yield-ing to the expansion of Nazi Germany - in Europe in Russia,possibly even across the Channel to England, for the sake of stopping Imperial Japan. With such a strategic emphasis, the Philippines certainly would have been liberated sooner, (say, September 1943, when, in fact, Italy surrendered to the Allies) and the United States would then have had the bloody necessity of invading Japan - an operation that was estimated would cost as many as a million American casualties (almost equal to the total for the whole war). Let us assume that Japan would eventually have surrendered - say late in 1944 - because of the tremendous cost of invasion to its own civilian population. Flitter, from a position of considerable strength, would still have continued to fight until, in August 1945, atomic bombs dropped on Stuttgart (?) and Dusseldorf (?) would have ended the war. What does this highly hypothetical speculation signify for the Philippines? "Asia-first" would have meant only a shorter occupation by the Japanese, but would not have removed the necessity for a fierce war of liberation (with all of the attendant frenzied massacres of civilians by the Japanese), For American soldiers, liberation of the Philippines would (have been followed by an even fiercer fight, a beach to village, corner to corner, ditch to ditch conquest of Japan. In sum: to defeat Japan first would have meant an exchange of a shorter period of duress for Filipinos, in re-turn for many more American deaths (not to mention a longer war in Europe, with presumably more deaths for all nations there). Posed this way the equation is ungracious at best, but such are the cold calculations made in war. The Philippines could have been spared its two scourgings, of 1941-42 and 1944-45, only if the United States had been so well prepared as to inhibit the Japanese from attacking in 1941. Once conquered by Japan, the Philippines could have been spared the scourging of liberation only if the United State-had completed and used the atomic bombs by August 1944, before the Leyte landing, and the Japanese Emperor had called for surrender of his armies in the field. But things did not happen that way. The American Navy wanted to bypass the Philippines, driving straight at Formosa and Amoy. MacArthur instead persuaded Roosevelt of the strategic superiority of the Philippines as a staging area from which to invade Japan, and of America's moral obligation to free the Filipinos from Japanese occupation. So he did return at last, making good his promise, pressing forward his own personal strategy, fulfilling finally the commitment he had undertaken with Queson in 1935, and observing in his own manner an utang na loob that he had contracted with the entire Filipino people. In this achievement there is something ep-ically elevating and something tragically satis fying. Relating this, MacArthur's own proa leans forward and carries the reader at last to a consummation that, for once in a generally disappointing work, is deeply moving. This reader admits to tears upon reading MacAr. thur's account of the liberation of Manila. But he shortly afterwards read a public letter by a former American prisoner who says that emaciated ex-captives were transported back and forth and lined up so that the photo-graphers could snap pictures of MacArthur "liberating'' them - all of which takes some of the spontaneous emotion out of the incident. At the end one wonders how these memoirs ought to be read. As a special pleading in disputed historical cases? Yes. As fulsome preachment of a conservative political philos-ophy? Yes again. But what if one happens to know historical data contrary to MacAr-thur's views, and happens to hold a different political philosophy for the 1960''s? One can keep one's guard up all the way through, and rattle back at his weak points, but there are few books where one wishes to do this for 426 pages. How to relax and simply enjoy what should have been a great book by a great man ? Perhaps one way, admittedly roundabout, is to recall MacArthur's feelings about his parent!! Like mother, like son, is saying so true The world will judge largely of mother by you. So Mary MacArthur wrote her son while living near him at West Point. Thirty years later, 111 then he was asked to be Chief of Staff, "Mother . . . cabled me to accept. She said my father would be ashamed if I showed timidity, That settled it." MacArthur seems to have lived longer than most Americans with parental voices in his ear, perhaps because he had parents of extraordinary mind and will. He was not, incidentally, able to marry happily until after his mother's death, when he was 67. Marked as deeply as he was by those who rased him, Douglas MacArthur may have been disappointed (although he never publicly showed it) that his own son did not carry on the family military tradition. One almost feels as if in this book he were speaking to an imaginary grandson, showing off his medals and citations, and imparting half a century's history with the clarity that comes of egotistic focus - Grandpa was always right. Few reviewers have found it in themselves to sit on the floor and listen, pretending to be avid athletic boys of 14. But why not try it, whether one is Filipino or American? Arthur MacArthur helped to build the modern Philippines; Douglas MacArthur led in its defense and liberation. Who shall carry on the trust? So might we listen, children in our minds, oblivious to nicety of fact, indifferent to the uses of tradition, dwelling only on the teller of the tale: living in his majesty and courage, listening with his ear to duty's call. SOLIDARIDAD AWARD FOR DISTINGUISHED WRITING IN THE HUMANITIES RULES 1. Submission of Manuscripts Unpublished fiction, poetry, criticism and work on the humanities are eligible. Unfinished work must have a minimum of 20,000 words. SOLI- DARIDAD Publishing House and SOLIDARITY Magazine do not ac- cept responsibility for the loss of manuscripts or correspondence. Inquiries and submissions should be made to
II. Eligibility All Filipinos are eligible. III. Award An award of 1,000 pesos will be made each year beginning 1966. Annual deadline is April 30. Announce-ments of the winner, and publication date, will be made by SOLIDARIDAD Publishing House and SOLIDARITY Magazine will then undertake the publishing and promotion of the manuscript. Royalties will be paid on a regular basis after publication. SOLIDARIDAD Publishing House is looking for only the best materials. The highest standards of publishing will be maintained and the promotion of the book here and abroad will be undertaken. 112 continued from page 2 - the poor had no defence against those in power and authority who trampled them. in the end, Marcos won because he personified change. But even if Marcos and the Nacionahsta Party won with the clearest mandate from heaven, the need for a truly revolutionary party, a radical or a workers party would still be of great urgency. There was a time when the Party for Philippine Progress could have been that party. After all, it has no less than Raul Manglapus and Manuel Manahan - the political heirs of Ramon Magsaysay - who could have mobilized the intellectuals, the workers and the restless middleclass with their "left of centre" platform. But the PPP did not attract the moribund farmer organizations; the labor unions and the nationalists flocked, instead, to either the Nacionalistas or the Liberals. The PPP as a revolutionary party was aborted right in its convention when the knights in shining armor of Forbes Park took over so that, in the end, the PPP came to be known as the party of the privileged class, of fee neo-ilustrados who have always gotten to the top, in whatever climate and season. Worst of all, the PPP did not have a voice in the villages. In this connection, it is perhaps relevant to illustrate again how the Iglesia ni Kristo has succeeded through the years. It has provided the lower classes a community, a sense of achievement with its neo-gothic cathedrals. And most impor-tant, it has given its thousands of members among the workers and farmers that sense of belonging which the Catholic Church in this country - with all its money, sophistication and wisdom - could never give, not in a thousand years. The radical vacuum exists, not only in the villages but in Manila. Our unemployment runs into millions, more than half of our fanners are still tenants, thousands of college students graduate each year without jobs. How to harness the aspirations of these people, how to wield them into an effective pressure group upon our politicians, how to form a revolutionary party - these are problems which demand correct an-swers now. In the absence of such a party, perhaps it is time we asked ourselves the wisdom of keeping the Communist Party outlawed, it is not naivete or ignorance of the Com-munist Party's objectives which motivates this thought. We all know how Filipinos have risen to the Huk challenge in 1953 and how the late Ramon Magsaysay - in spite of his administrative shortcomings -pushed through social legislation. Perhaps, it is only in the face of danger that Filipinos can act. But more important, without a radical party, creative thought no longer pervades our politics. If the Communist Party were legalized again, it may act as a catalyst not only for social reform but for that political dialogue which is vital to any democracy. EXCESSIVE FEAR has clouded our vision and made us wary of all dark comers. Filipino nationalism could bring back to us not only the wisdom with which to see the sooty nooks of our own house; it could enlarge our vision so that we may appraise better the region and the world we live in. We are afraid to think and we often let half baked columnists, pseudo-intellectuals with social elite backgrounds and scoun-drels masquerading as patriots do the thinking for us. The articulate we often mistake for the representative. What are some of the ideas that we fear? We are in deathly fear of anything that smacks of radicalism without once remembering that in this country radicalism cannot even break through the hard crust of tradition and apathy. We are in deathly fear of disagreeing with the vociferous few no matter how wrong they may be. We are inclined to believe that all those who profess love of country are always in the right; we do not question their motives, their backgrounds, and most important, the powerful interests they represent. So, today, the Filipino industrialist who exploits and degrades his Filipino worker is edified as long as he mouths nationlist slogans; we heed not the facts that many Filipinos are steadfastly loyal to their foreign employers who give them higher wages, respect their dignity and afford them access to the highest ranks of executive authority and prestige. 113 The stomach dictates but we ignore this, Let us go hungry if pride desires that this be sol our pseudo nationalists exclaim. They can afford to for they have provided for their future. The masses have not and cannot, And someday, the masses will realize that their worst enemies are, in fact, members of the Filipino elite - greedy, grasping, treacherous. And we paraphrase here a great liberal's* lasting wisdom: "if Kg free society cannot help the many who are poor, then it cannot save the few who are rich." And if we are honest with
ourselves, we will note that, for a long time to come, we will have to
deal with the American preface and come to grips with the central fact
that many of our domestic and foreign policies are anchored on the bedrock
of tor relations with the United States. We can only hope that our leaders
will cease being sentimental about "special ties" and be guided according
to the interests of the Filipino people, not just of the sugar bloc, the
new entrepreneurs or the camp followers of Wall Street. And the national
interest is simply just that: the interests of the majority of our people
- the 29 million farmers and workers who expect so much of our democratic
institutions. There are two issues to which nationalism should address itself. The first is Parity Rights which our leaders and American business interests mesmerized us into accepting in 1946. Most Americans do not know that we amended our Constitution to grant these rights to well-entrenched American businessmen here who have connived with Filipino neo-ilustrados in ex- _______ * From John Kennedy's Inaugural Address. change for War Damage pesos. In fairness to Americans, however, it was we who went to the polls and voted freely to give them these rights. I self-respect more important than dollar aid? Have Parity Rights been beneficial to us? These are questions which must be answered dispassionately. The incoming Marcos administration can provide the answers. If it elects to ignore these questions altogether, still it cannot shirk the responsibility of providing alternatives to the cessation of Parity in 1974. The other important issue is the American bases in this country. We will have to answer unequivocally whether or not we need them. The Americans know, of course, that a base surrounded by a hostile native populace is worthless. At the same time, we cannot call ourselves independent for as long as we have such bases. And yet, we also know that the American presence - although it is destined to diminish - is necessary to us, not merely because we don't have the potential for military enterprise but because the American presence not only in the Philippines but in the whole of Asia will provide us the stability with which we can develop ourselves. This is not to say that we should be at the mercy of the American military; we do not owe them anything knowing as we do that they would pull up their stakes the moment these bases are no longer necessary or are obsolete in the light of America's strategic requirements. Knowing this, we should be able to deal with them with integrity, believing not for one instant that they are in Angeles and Subic for the benefit of Pampango tenants, but for the ultimate good of the United States and incidentally, us. HAVING RECITED the basic problems which confront us, we may now examine the alternatives. First, we need a nationalist party endowed with class consciousness. Such a party could develop out of our labor unions and farm organizations. This is the core of a third party, and its loftiest virtue should be patience. This is crucial for a third party that aims at power cannot achieve this power unless it is pre - 114 pared to start at the lowest levels, in the villages and the towns, in the factories and the farms. Only by starting with a real mass base will it be able to grow and move upward with the force and the aspirations of the people which such a party truly re-presents. If this is not feasible, then within the established political framework men of vision should work and imbue either the Liberal or Nacionalista Party with the ideology which they do not have. We need to support any move that would widen the avenues of social mobility and, in this, we need to assist all those elements of our society that could hasten the democratization process, be it better schools, better organized proletarian groups and better and more dedicated farm and labor leaders. We need to help, too, all those who are interested in giving our rural people the power to improve their lot, not only through land reform, but through decentralized government. And finally, we need to give meaning to nationalism, as only the leaders of the Propaganda Movement have given it meaning. The great tragedy which has befallen nationalism is not' that it has failed to resolve these and other questions but that it has lost social content Nationalism no longer concerns itself with the landless, the high cost of living, the educated unemployed. And its many enemies are only too glad for they and the irresponsible rich can thus, in all hypocrisy claim to be nationalists themselves without thinking twice about their exploited tenants and their underpaid workers. Why should they? Nationalism is only concerned with such high and ghostly matters like folk dancing, the Fili-pinization of Western ideas, the changing of street signs, the recital of past achievements. Thus the millionaires of Forbes Park now proclaim themselves nationalists as they collect Filipino antiques and cast crumbs to our artists. The big ail vertising firms, particularly the Madison 1 Avenue agents, now sell soap and gasoline while mouthing pious nationalist catch-words. Now every politician or govern-ment hierarch proclaims himself a nationa-list. And when nationalism had been given respectability, it was denuded of its social emphasis. In the context of the Revolution of 1896, it no longer means free-dom for the working class or the flowering of a Filipino culture unsullied by the obnoxious cliches of the cold war. Nationalism has been betrayed by the nationalists themselves, not because they were not articulate enough but because they did not see beyond their petty, personal desires and failed to identify themselves with the masses. If respectability breeds decay, then perhaps it is time to recall again all those disrespectable- terms heaped upon the Propaganda Movement if only to give meaning once again to an idea which was first pro-pounded in the pages of La Solidaridad some eight decades ago. That idea "is very simple; to fight all reaction, to hinder all steps backward, to applaud and to accept liberal ideas, and to defend progress; in brief, to be propagandist above all of ideals of democracy so that this might reign over all nations . . . "
115
FEDERICO AGUILAR ALCUAZ left the Philippines in 1955 and came back in 1964, after having amassed a series of art awards In Spain and France, including the Prix Francisco Goya in Barcelona and the Arts, Letters and Sciences Award by the French Government. Last June, 1965, Aguilar Alcuaz, at 33, received the Philippines' Republic Heritage Award in Manila In recognition of his outstanding contribution to Philippine culture. Since 1953, he has had 29 one-man exhibitions in Manila, Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Bilbao, Hamburg, Lisbon, Oporto, and recently, in Tokyo. These sketches were done during his trip to Japan. 116
117
CONTRIBUTORS Jovito Salonga is a member of the Philippine Se-nate . He received his Master of Laws and his Doctorate in Jurisprudence from Harvard and Yale respectively. He is an outstanding authority on Constitutional Law. Maximo Soliven runs a trenchant column, "By The Way" in a Manila newspaper. He is the recipient of several awards far excellence in journalism and recently toured China. Theodore Friend, III is Associate Professor of History in the State University of New York at Buffalo . His book, "Between Two Empires. The Ordeal of the Philinnines , 1929-1946," was published last year by Yale University Press. Henru G. Schwarz just completed his tour as visit-ing Fulbright Professor of Chinese Studies at the Institute of Asian Studies . University of the Philippines. He is with the Far Eastern and Russian Institute of Washington University in Seattle. Quentin Yuuitung , is the publisher of the "Chinese Commerrcial News." in the Philippines. Born and educated in the Philippines, he is an eloquent spokesman of the local Chinese community. Antonio G. Mnuud studied 17th century literature at Oxford. He is presently chairman of the Department of English in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, Ateneo de Manila University. Valdemar Olaguer received his Masters degree in literature at the San Francisco State College, has published extensively abroad and won awards for his poetry. E. P. Patanñe edited the Manila Times Sunday) ma-gazine and has written extensively on the concept of the Filipino image. Myrna Peña Reyes has published fiction and poetry. She resides at Dumaguete City where she works at Silliman University. Alfred C. Pucay won recently an international award for a short story submitted to the Japanese P.E.N. Centre. Jolico Cuadra is, in his own words, "a poet by aversion, a lover of life by conversion; and a lover by evocation. Prefers to enjoy a drink to reading. Wets once a failed boxer." Fernando Afable is a scholar at the University of Iowa. Lilia Pablo Amansec represented the Philippines in the Short Story International 1963. She has won major awards for her fiction. Miguel Bemad, S. J. teaches at the Ateneo de Ma-nila and has written on history and literature. His most recent book. Bamboo and the Greenwood Tree, plots the direction of Philippine literature in English. G. Burce Bunao is managing, editor of the Weekly Women's Magazine. Celso Al. Carunungan writes English and Filipino fiction. His first novel, Like A Big Grave Man, was published abroad and he is currently working a second novel, Trees of Paradise. Alfred Cuenca, Jr. belongs to the younger gene - ration of Filipino poets, has put out two antho - logies of poetry. Federico Licsi Espino writes in English, Tagalog and Spanish. He has put out two volumes of poetry. Alfonso Felix, Jr. is a practising attorney and is President of the Historical Conservation Society. The Society is preparing two volumes on Filipino-Chinese relations. Bernard K. Gordon is Research Professor of Political Science at the Geotge Washington University in Washington, D. C. Of his article, he says, " I hope it should provide renders a good basis for thinking through the practical problem involved in regional efforts." Bienvenido Lumbera received his M.A. In Com-parative Literature from Indiana University in 1960. He teaches at the Ateneo de Manila. Larry H. Francia's first book of poems is scheduled for publication this year. He also paints. Maidan Flares belongs to the intense new breed of Filipino writers in English. His fiction and poetry have been published in several metropolitan magazines. Gelacio Y. Guiiermo teaches at the Department of Humanities of the University of the Philippines, Los Baños . His poetry has won several awards and has been anthologized considerably. Gemino H. Abad is now at the University of ! Chicago on a fellowship. He majored in English , Literature at the University of the Philippines where he graduated last year. . OUR COVER : The design was made by Danny Dalena, staff artist of a Manila weekly magazine. Dalena is a graduate of the University of Santa Tomas and, at 23, has won major awards for his painting and magazine illustrations. 119
" The most lively and ARTHUR SCHLESINGER, Jr. Encounter is a monthly of serious opinion devoted to current affairs, sociology, litera-ture and the arts. It began in 1953 and is edited in London by Stephen Spender and Melvin J. Lasky. There is no other magazine in the English language quite like it. certainly none so widely read and frequent-ly quoted. Without in any way compromising its intellectual standards Encounter has over the years built up a circulation far exceeding that of any comparable magazine in modern times. Most critics agree that this remarkable achievement is largely due to Encounter's way of seeing "letters as being in the thick of affairs." Encounter has published many of the leading writer-thinkers of the day. Some who have contributed articles, stories, poems, comment and book reviews include: Noel Annan, Raymond Aron, R. H. S. Cross-man. H. I. Eysenck, John Gross, Richard Hofstadter, Ted Hughes, Philip Larkin, Herbert Luethy, Malcolm Muggeridge, V. S. Naipaul, Edward Shils, Andrew Shon-field, Frank Tuohy. Encounter has also published posthumous diaries and letters by Bernard Berenson , Albert Camus, Thomas Mann, George Orwell and Boris Pasternak. Encounter is international in outlook, radical in sympathy, and politically independent. It opens its pages to writers of many persuasions and encourages a spirit of controversy which gives the magazine an exciting editorial impetus. Encounter, moreover, offers its contributors the space and opportunity to write at length. While topical, it surveys the current scene in depth, more fully and objectively than a daily or weekly newspaper is usually able to do. Encounter Available at: Popular Bookstore 120
There's more to running an airline than having a fleet of the finest aircraft. And there's more to choosing an airline than comparing timetables or menus. What you want more than anything else is confidence, peace of mind, assurance. Call it what you will, it means everything. Come fly with us soon. Wherever you go, you'll know you're flying the very
best there is. It's a good feeling.
|
|||||||||||
