Paperback Riot!

Ipagpapatuloy natin ang hindi pa tapos na himagsikan ni Andrés Bonifacio.

Pagtatanghal ko ng "pagtatangka sa pagsasataludtod ng himagsikan" sa Malansang Isda #TanggolWikaAtBayan forum ng League of Filipino Students noong Sabado.

If history teaches us anything, however, it’s that our country’s history is built on revolutions led by rebels and subversives—from the Philippine Revolution led by the Katipunan to the People Power Revolution of 1986. Attempts to stifle dissent only breeds stronger resistance against oppression, tyranny, and dictatorship.

September 28 was a rather busy Friday afternoon for us. Dapitan was flooded with more cars than usual with the weekend rush hour, and the noise of blaring horns nearly drowned out our chants in our small protest outside the University of Santo Tomas (UST). The megaphone we had was malfunctioning, so we had to amp up our voices and rely on the strength of our placards and streamers to get our points across.

There were the same chants: “Duterte, Marcos, walang pinag-iba! Parehong tuta, diktador, pasista!” and even “Never again to martial law! Never again! Never again!” Just a week after the mass martial law commemoration mobilization in Luneta, we were back in the streets. After all, the fight is not yet over.

People usually tend to ignore us or give us the side-eye treatment when we’re holding a small protest, but that day was different. A few minutes in, more than ten policemen came to encircle our protest. They took pictures, asking for our names and organizations, looking for our supposed “leaders.”

I remembered policemen pulling the same stunt in an anti-EJK rally at Ateneo de Manila University (ADMU) last year, but the policemen in the University Belt were more aggressive. An officer went straight to us in the middle of a solidarity message and interrupted our protest with questions.

“’Di kami pumunta dito para pigilan kayo,” the officer said.

He told us they are assigned to the University Belt, claiming they were only there to “protect” us and “maintain peace and order.” Policemen never approached us like this before. I even got into a brief argument with an officer. I told him we’re all legitimate students and we’re doing nothing wrong for them to come near us in an abrasive manner. We were only carrying flags, cardboard signages, a streamer, and one malfunctioning megaphone.

“Ikaw,” pointing at me, “nakita na kita sa ibang rally, ikaw ba leader nila?” was his only response.

In the end, we agreed with their proposal to keep distance. But they never did. Policemen in motorcycles proceeded on following us as we marched outside UST. A week later, UST was included in the military’s list of schools allegedly part of the so-called “Red October” ouster plot. Schools indicated in the list were University of the Philippines (UP), Ateneo de Manila University (ADMU), the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, and other schools where student activists are emerging, or alive and thriving.

The military and police saw student activists organizations as “communist fronts” actively recruiting students for “Red October.” They claimed this plot aims to destabilize and eventually overthrow the government. Philippine National Police Chief Director General Oscar Albayalde even said “these were common knowledge already.” He also proposed to file cases against teachers and professors promoting supposedly “rebellious” ideas.

“Kung kasuhan natin yung mga teachers na nag-i-instigate ng mga estudyante, hindi ba? They should be also charged for contempt kung ano tinuturo kung meron man na mga faculty members,” Albayalde threatened.

Student activism is definitely the latest target of “Red October” after the president and the military top brass tagged the Liberal Party, Magdalo, and other opposition groups as part of this alleged grand communist-led conspiracy to topple the government.

This list is yet to be verified by the AFP. And so far, it even includes one non-existent school called Caloocan City College. Try giving it a Google. You’ll only be greeted by vitural tumbleweeds. If releasing an unverified list to the public isn’t irresponsible enough, the AFP’s pronouncements regarding the “Red October” plot are becoming more and more erratic. To borrow the words of Vice President Leni Robredo, the plot accusations would have “laughable if they were not so dangerous.”

Our government seems to be making students and teachers pay by accusing them of taking part in “Red October” efforts. This will supposedly involve labor and transport strikes, massive protests, anti-martial law campaigns and martial law film screenings in schools.

AFP Assistant Deputy Chief for Operations Brig. Gen. Antonio Parlade Jr. said that films about human rights abuses under the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos were being shown “to incite students to rebel against the government, incite resurgence of the First Quarter Storm experience among students while projecting President Duterte as the new Marcos.” Artists and filmmakers took Parlade’s words as an attack on artistic freedom.

“This is red-baiting and slander of the worst kind. It impinges on our rights to freedom of expression, speech and assembly, and endangers us and our audience,” a group of filmmakers said in a unity statement read during a press conference at UP Diliman.

“We wonder why the AFP slanders us. Have they now become active defenders of the Marcoses and the criminals behind martial law? Or do they merely wish that the people remain ignorant of their central role as an institution in the wholesale trampling of our democratic rights—then and now.”

These far from subtle attempts to silence and scare activists from critical thinking are done by tagging all forms of dissent as “terrorism” or “rebellion.” The military is trying hard to distance comparisons between the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos and President Duterte. But let’s break out freshly minted “you tried” star stickers and pass it around to the AFP. It’s not working at all. The parallel between the two is impeccable. And if anything, this “Red October” plot crystallizes these comparisons.

Like Marcos before him, Duterte is now tagging all forms of dissent as “communist,” or at least in collusion with communist ideals. These far from subtle attempts to silence and scare activists from critical thinking are done by tagging all forms of dissent as “terrorism” or “rebellion.” The military’s pronouncements are eerily similar to Marcos’ anti-communist rhetoric that was used to tag anti-government protests in the early 70’s as a communist uprising to place the country under Martial Law.

In a time of rampant killings and human rights violations, the AFP’s pronouncements set a dangerous pretext to intensify the crackdown on activists and government critics through surveillance, harassment and red-tagging.

The AFP is not only attacking schools, teachers, student activists, student organizations, and filmmakers by singling them out. They are putting civilians lives at risk. This brewing paranoia aims to paint activists and critical thinking as a communist, terrorist, rebel, or subversive.

Activism is not terrorism—and if anyone’s a terrorist here, it’s certainly not students.

If history teaches us anything, however, it’s that our country’s history is built on revolutions led by rebels and subversives—from the Philippine Revolution led by the Katipunan to the People Power Revolution of 1986. Attempts to stifle dissent only breeds stronger resistance against oppression, tyranny, and dictatorship.

Student and youth groups from various schools and universities are slated to march again to Mendiola this Friday to remind us just that, not cowed by the government’s possible threats to tag the protest as a communist-led mobilization as part of the so-called “Red October” plot.

The youth must remain vigilant, of course, but we are not afraid. Young people call on everyone to be dauntless in standing up against all forms of oppression. Perhaps, it is the government that is and should be afraid of us.

***

In a time where fiction is being turned into reality and we are being trained to forget our bloody past, remembering is an act of defiance.

When I think of Imee Marcos, I always remember the 21-year-old student-activist Archimedes Trajano. He was a student of Mapúa Institute of Technology.

Archimedes—or “Archie” as he was known to his classmates—is remembered by history as the student who questioned Imee’s appointment as director of the Kabataang Baranggay in a forum on August 31, 1977.

Hours later, Archie’s body was found lifeless- beaten black and blue along a street in Manila. His parents were told he got into a fight with dorm mates. But it was easy to connect the dots.

While Archie is just one of the thousands who disappeared, imprisoned, tortured, even killed under the Marcos dictatorship, his murder remains a gruesome reminder of what the dictator and his family—including Imee—are capable of doing.

I remember talking about Archie when I was asked to speak in a protest September 21 last year, the 45th anniversary of the declaration of martial law. But Archie was not the only one in my mind. I also remembered 17-year-old Kian Loyd Delos Santos, who was brutally murdered by the police just a month before.

Had Archie been killed today, it would be much easier for the government to make an excuse. His body would probably be found somewhere with the cardboard placard “pusher ako, ‘wag tularan” and no one would bat an eye.

One way or another, the events that marked martial law—rampant corruption, human rights violations, state violence—are making a comeback, and so are members of the Marcos family.

After she asked people to “move on” from the atrocities of her father’s dictatorship, our worst fears have been confirmed: Imee is running for the Senate in 2019. I am no longer shocked. With her “move on” statement, her brother’s electoral protest against Vice President Leni Robredo and the Kabataang Baranggay reunion at UP Diliman just days before Archie’s death anniversary, the Senate run announcement is just a blatant insult.

These are actions that spit on the memory of a young student who spoke against the Marcos dictatorship and whose bravery cost him his life. All this as the rest of us are already forgetting and repeating the same mistakes.

George Orwell’s dystopian novel 1984 is the oft-used warning against the dangers of propaganda, forgetting and the manipulation of thought. Its continuing relevance speaks volumes about where we are heading as a society. It’s alarming: news reports mixed with disinformation and accusations of undue bias against legitimate media, all while the government leads the blatant effort to distort facts and revise history. The agenda is to make us forget how things were more than 40 years ago. So they can be reprised without scruples or hesitation.

We have a President who is a self-professed fanboy of the dictator. It was not a surprise that he gave Marcos a surprise hero’s burial and is even keen on following his footsteps.

We may not have been alive during that dark and turbulent period in our history, but thousands of families and activists who lived through it would tell you how they lost family members, friends, and comrades simply for upholding their principles and beliefs.

Many survived to tell the harrowing tales of torture and abuse but some, like Archie, returned to their families as corpses. Some remain missing even to this day. Imee could make up a lie about how millennials have seemingly moved on from the past (or that she was “too young” to know of her father’s abuses). But I was a witness to how students quickly took to the streets to protest Marcos’s burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani when the news broke out he was smuggled in.

Thousands also marched to Luneta a few days later to insist that “Marcos, hindi bayani!” and remind everyone why the Marcoses should not be allowed to return to power. Even in social media, users and artists used hashtags and artwork during Marcos’s 100th birthday to post reminders of the dictator’s atrocities. We have not moved on. We refuse to forget.

In a time where fiction is being turned into reality and we are being trained to forget our bloody past, remembering is an act of defiance. We may be young, but we remember the bravery of Archie, of Liliosa Hilao, of other young writers, students and activists who dared to defy tyranny and dictatorship. Their sacrifices should be examples for us to bravely fight the dictator rising in our midst.

Jose Rizal would say “Ang kabataan ang pag-asa ng bayan,” but more than that, it is high time for us to stand and say: “Kabataang makabayan, ngayon ay lumalaban!” We fight. We refuse to forget. We would not let history repeat itself.

***

Had Kian been alive, he would’ve turned 18 last May 26, the same day as my birthday, only that he’s a year younger. I would only learn about that fact when I went to his burial last year and found his tombstone.

Kian Loyd Delos Santos lived a simple life—at least that’s what his friends told me when I asked them about him a year ago. A Grade 11 student, he never got into trouble at school and (upon returning home), Kian would man his family’s school supplies store until midnight. He would’ve been in his last year at senior high now. The third of four siblings, he would’ve been a year closer to his dream of becoming a policeman and lifting his family out of poverty.

But “would’ve” is a pair of words reserved for regret: after all, on this night last year, Kian met his tragic and brutal demise at the hands of three policemen during an anti-drug operation. His body would be found in a trash-filled eskinita near his house, his head filled with holes from gunshots. Police claimed that the young boy carried shabu and opened fire when he was being arrested. Nanlaban, as they would often tell—but eyewitness accounts, security camera footage, and forensic examination results tell otherwise.

A witness said he heard Kian scream “Tama na po! Tama na po! May test pa po ako bukas!” before hearing three gunshots. By then, his death had become part of  what was known as the “bloodiest” nights of the government’s anti-drug campaign.

Had Kian been alive, he would’ve turned 18 last May 26, the same day as my birthday, only that he’s a year younger. I would only learn about that fact when I went to his burial last year and found his tombstone lying on a damp pavement beside a bicycle and a tiny hole that would become his tomb. A simple resting place for a simple boy. Etched in stone were the dates that indicate his birth and (another for his) death.

Kian could’ve been me. Kian could’ve been anyone.

That’s not entirely true, however. Unlike Kian, I’m not poor—and if films like Ma Rosa, Respeto, and Buy Bust would tell us something, it’s that the police have largely targeted slum areas in their anti-drug operations. Thousands of the poor have suffered losses and lives have been lost due to spurious and often baseless rumors of involvement in illegal drug trade.

Kian alone was killed due to evidence “gathered from social media.” It’s very much easy to kill someone without legal percussions now, anyway: just tag your victim as a drug pusher or addict and no one would bat an eye. I bet my ass you’d literally get away with murder and probably even get an honorable mention from the president himself if you’re lucky.

A year has passed and Kian’s relatives are still seeking justice. But it seems that the government shows no signs of slowing down.

For Grade 12 UST student-activist Ronel Reyes, who joined hundreds of other students and activists in marching to Mendiola to commemorate the first anniversary of Kian’s death, it seems unlikely that justice would ever be served to Kian and the thousands of other victims of the drug war.

“Mariin ko pong kunokundena natin ‘yung mabagal o wala talagang pag-usad ng kaso ni Kian Delos Santos. Yung mga pulis na dapat nakakulong ay malayang nakakagalaw dito sa ating bansa dahil sila’y na-relieve lang naman sa puwesto tapos nilipat na sila sa ibang lugar,” Ronel said.

In a report by INQUIRER.net, most of the officers involved in the operations that killed Kian as well as 19-year-old Carl Angelo Arnaiz—who was killed mere days after Kian—have returned to active duty. Four of their superiors have since been promoted to higher positions. And the president, despite protests left and right, has remained committed to his brutal anti-drug campaign.

A year after Kian’s death, it seems that the government still didn’t get the cue that addressing the problem of illegal drugs should be about reducing poverty and that drug addiction should be treated as a mental health issue, not to mention that decriminalizing illegal drug use has shown better effects of addressing the problem rather than, say, putting bullets in people’s heads.

The government could go round and round on how drugs are supposedly this country’s main problem but it has been glaringly obvious that the government simply hates the poor. Instead of addressing poverty and rampant social inequality, the government is choosing the gun and the lives of thousands for its promise of “change” whatever that means, and whatever it takes.

In the sidelines of the protest, Florita Lopez narrated to me how her 23-year-old son Justin in an anti-drug operation in Tondo May last year. She was one of the mothers who marched to Mendiola earlier this afternoon. All of them lost children in the government’s war on drugs.

Justin was an epileptic, Florita said, but police have accused him of being a gang member involved in a murder case. She did not flinch when she recounted how she wasn’t allowed to go near her son’s body when he was killed. When I asked her for what she would tell to other families who lost children and relatives to the drug war, she did not flinch either in saying that they all should come out and fight for justice.

“Hindi mo pwedeng magsawalang-kibo na lang, kailangan talagang may lumaban para makamit ang katarungan na ‘yan kasi kung walang lalaban, paano ‘yung katarungan na hinahangan natin?” she asked.

It’s easier said than done, as the year also saw the government attacking and threatening its staunch critics. I brought up the possibility of activists being killed and framed as drug suspects to Ronel . He did not deny that possibility, but he did not quiver in saying that he is not afraid of the threats.

“Hindi po tayo matatakot lalo na sa panahon ngayon na tumitindi ‘yung pang-aapi, pananamantala, at ‘yung patuloy na pagpaslang sa kapwa nating Pilipino dahil din ito sa patuloy na karahasan sa lipunan. ‘Di po tayo matatakot dahil kasama natin ‘yung malawak na hanay ng masa.”

In the midst of all the killings—from priests to journalists and more drug suspects—it’s easy to be desensitized to all the violence. It’s easy to turn off the TV or mute political tweets and posts. The society we live in is undeniably toxic and deadly, but our choice to be deaf and blind to the rising death toll from the government’s war on drugs is what enables it to kill more.

As we mark the year since Kian’s death, the day serves as a reminder for us that justice still has not been served to the thousands of victims of impunity, and it’s unlikely that they’d ever get it—that is, unless we stand together and fight this murderous regime. We won’t allow more blood to be spilled. We remember, and we won’t forget.

***

Maraming salamat sa The Flame para sa parangal sa pagbibinyag bilang nagwaging lahok sa kategoryang Tula sa Dapitan 2019: Insureksiyon!

Pangalawang taon ko nang nagpapasa sa Dapitan at pangalawang taon ko na rin itong nakatanggap ng parangal—ngunit ang hamon sa mga manunulat ngayon ay hindi lamang magsulat at maglimbag ng mga akda sa papel, kung 'di gamitin ang ating mga salita sa pagmumulat, pag-oorganisa, at pagpapakilos.