Tuesday, November 28, 1972

The Daily Express said today, in an article written by Primitivo Mijares, that the draft Constitution was approved last night without any dissenting vote.

But this was a blatant lie. I had voted “No”; so did quite a number of others.

It is not without reason that my friend Tibo Mijares has jokingly called himself “the Goebbels of Marcos.” There is an element of truth in this.

I was almost lost in my ruminations on the sad fate of the Con-Con when I entered the session hall. As I did so, someone handed me an envelope.

I looked at the man. His face was somewhat familiar. He started getting out the letter inside the envelope and showing it to me. I noticed that it was from the Armed Forces. With some trepidation I began to read:

HEADQUARTERS
5th Military Intelligence Group, ISAFP
Camp General Emilio Aguinaldo
Quezon City

M56P

24 November 1972

Subject :        Summon for Investigation

To :                 Dr. Augusto Caesar ESPIRITU
6th Floor, Ramon Magsaysay Center
1630 Roxas Blvd., Malate, Manila

Pursuant to Proclamation No. 1081 of the President of the Philippines in his capacity as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the Philippines dated September 21, 1972, and pertinent implementing General Orders and Letters of Instruction, you are hereby invited to appear before the Office of the Group Commander, 5th Military Intelligence Group, ISAFP at Camp General Emilio Aguinaldo, Quezon City on 24 November 1972 for investigation/interview in a case of subversion of which you are involved.

Your immediate compliance is hereby enjoined.

(Sgd.) MARIANO G. MIRANDA
Lt. Colonel PA
Group Commander

The dreaded moment has come at last! I was being “picked up”—as I had half expected for some time now!

I immediately thought of getting in touch with Johnny Ponce Enrile through Edong Angara. Edong was not yet in, neither was Sig Siguion-Reyna, Enrile’s brother-in-law. I asked Cecing Calderon for Johnny’s telephone number. He said Pepe Calderon has the number of Johnny at his house. He gave me Pepe Calderon’s number. I tried calling up Pepe but his phone did not ring at all. I spent more than 15 minutes trying to get Pepe. Then Cecing started to assist me.

Tony Tupaz passed by. I asked him for the telephone number of Edong Angara. He tried to remember the number.

“Why?” he asked.

I told him I had received an “invitation” from the Armed Forces.

“This is probably just an interview,” he dismissed it forthwith.

I showed Tony the paper. “Well, it is only an interview, it is not a warrant of arrest,” he started. But then he kept on reading the summons… “for investigation/interview in a case of subversion.” He got alarmed.

Bakit ‘subversion of which you are involved?’ Masagwa ito,” he got worried. “Masagwa ito” he repeated.

I asked for the number of Johnny Enrile but he didn’t know. He said I should talk to Edong Angara; he is the one who can help.

“In the possibility that I am taken in, will you do something on the Malacañang front?” I asked.

“Of course, I will go upstairs, Brod.” Tony tried to reassure me.

I called Romy Capulong aside and took him to President Macapagal’s room. I asked him if he knew the phone number of Johnny Enrile and he said that he has no direct line to Johnny. As I was talking to Romy, Cecing Calderon, who had been trying to do something, came in and said, “Nandiyan na si Edong.”

I called Edong aside and led him to the office of Macapagal. I showed him the letter. The first thing that he noticed was that it was dated the 24th of November. Today is the 28th. He asked me if I had made any speeches lately. I answered in the negative.

I started thinking that this might have something to do with my letter that was taken by the military from Haruna. Yes, that international seminar of the Asian Leadership Development Center (ALDEC)!

Edong was locked in thought. Then he started tracking down Johnny. In five minutes, Johnny was on the line.

“I am here at the Constitutional Convention. Nandito si Caesar Espiritu. Meron siyang summons for investigation dated November 24 but he received it only now.”

“Do you want to speak to him directly?” Edong turned to me, handing me the receiver.

Sige na, ikaw na.” I was in no position to discuss this matter coherently.

They had a short conversation.

“Johnny said that this is just an interview; there is no need to worry,” he consoled me.

Upon my reentry to the session hall, I told Rebeck about it. He advised me to report to the military officer as soon as possible. He warned me that even if it is only an interview, this may take two days. He said many of those who have been interrogated stayed for two days.

I quickly collected the clothes and papers to bring with me to the stockade. I tried to call up the house but there was no answer. Just send a note, Rebeck counselled.

Rebeck coached me on how the questions were directed to those he knew had been previously interviewed and who were subsequently released. The general sense is that the military wants to elicit assurance of voting for the draft Constitution and willingness to help in the building of the “New Society.” He advised that I should take the posture of willingness to help in the approval of the Constitution.

As if in a trance, I went with the soldider who gave me the letter, he with the familiar face.

But he was friendly. He tried to put me at ease. He started telling me in confidence that one of the interrogating officers was a former student of mine.

He introduced himself: Sergeant Rosales. He has been one of our security guards at the Convention for 16 months.

Small wonder, I knew his face. And he showed great respect towards me.

When I arrived, I was introduced to an officer who, later on, told me that he is First Lt. Conrado Gerzon.

He started by saying that the report about me said there was a letter written in blue ink. He then read the name of the addressee and the salutation. I was quite amused. He said the letter was taken from Mr. Haruna.

“Yes,” I said, “I knew Mr. Haruna. He is a Japanese pastor working at the YMCA in Japan.”

I told him that I have many international contacts who come in and out of Manila and that I have the habit of sending letters through them.

He asked me why such code names as Sascha and Karina were used in the letter. Also, why did I write that “some of the brightest and most patriotic citizens were being arrested and that I, too, might be arrested?” The military was puzzled and so he was asked to “confront” me with these.

“In the first place, you are admitting that this letter was yours,” he continued his interrogation.

“Yes.”

“Did you know that it had fallen into the hands of the military?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you not take it from the military?”

“It was not important, it was routine.”

“What was Sascha?”

I laughed. The lieutenant started murdering the German names and words written in my letter.

“Karina?”

“This is Karen in Danish, Catherine or Katharine in English, Katrina in Russian, Katherina in Central Europe. These were the editors of my two books we were putting out, Economic Growth in World Perspective and The Responsible Society.”

My interrogator was somewhat awed by all of these.

“While I am a Filipino and I consider the Philippines my primary country,” I said, “I also think of the U.S., West Germany and Switzerland as some kind of second countries. My friends in these countries are by the dozens. It is normal for me to have good contacts in these countries just as I have good friends in our own country.”

“I thought so,” he said albeit a faint note of suspicion in his voice betrayed his inner thoughts.

“Why did you write that about 13 people have been taken by the military and that one of your brilliant friends was taken that day? In fact, according to your letter, you were advising him, in case he was going to be taken in, not to run away, but to give up peacefully because his chances of survival are better inside the stockade than if he were to be in hiding.”

And why was I writing as if I, too, were expecting to be arrested?

“You put yourself in my shoes. Every day two or three of your close friends are arrested. Wouldn’t you feel apprehensive too? In fact, the whole Convention has been shaken by the arrest of these delegates. Frankly, everyone is somewhat afraid of being taken in.”

“You continued in the letter that international communications have been cut off but that you would send a message, ‘FREE’ or ‘IMPRISON.’ Why?”

“Well, I have been critical of both Marcos and of martial law,” I said. “I’m a Democrat. I believe in individual freedom and human rights. Wouldn’t you feel the same apprehension if you were in my shoes?”

“Yes, I would be,” he said with a show of sympathy. “For a while, I was confused about the air of apprehension in the Convention,” he added.

“Look at the date,” I pursued my psychological offensive. “The letter was written two days after martial law but it was not until one week later that this fell into the hands of the military. This means, I just gave the letter to the Japanese as a matter of routine knowing he was leaving for Tokyo a week or two later.”

Looking somewhat convinced, he grinned and asked me rather sheepishly whether I have taught at the Far Eastern University. I answered in the affirmative. “For several years.”

“I think I was your student.” His whole demeanor had changed.

I was not sure what I should say.

“I was thinking you were familiar but it seemed you have grown older since. Yes, you must have been my student for one year.”

“I think for two years,” he corrected me in his monotone.

I tried hard to put a glint of recognition into my eyes. “Ah, yes, I remember you, but of course, you are much older now.” My mind was in a whirl. I searched for a clue.

“I had two years of law school under you but I did not finish my studies.” He was quite subdued now.

“I am going to say in my report that it was a routine letter that you were writing to your editors in Europe,” he shifted back to the subject of interrogation.

We talked about my friends who have been taken in. I mentioned the names of Lichauco and Guingona. His face lit up when I mentioned Lichauco.

“Is he the one you mentioned as brilliant?”

“Yes,” I said, “he is the one. He was sitting beside me the day he was taken. And he is not a subversive, he is not a Marxist. He is just a nationalist—an anti-imperialist.”

“I am also a nationalist,” I confessed, “and a democrat. That is the reason I’m frequently held under suspicion.”

“Our society is so much in the right,” I lectured. “It is so much easier in our society to be a conformist than to retain one’s integrity. But there is so much injustice in society. We need to alter structures of power, institutions and of economic benefits. We need to be on the side of the poor and the weak.”

“The only difference is that Lichauco is more outspokenly anti-imperialist than me,” I continued. “But I, too, believe in national integrity. I do not like our foreign policy which Recto has called a foreign policy of mendicancy. I believe in justice and equality for all nations, and for all people in our country.”

I told my interrogator about my travels. “I’m invited to something like five seminars, workshops and conferences every year in Europe. In a way, I might be called a nationalist internationalist.”

“Oh, yes, Sir, I remember you were travelling a lot.”

“Yes, I have been attending seminars on international development as well as on human rights.”

“And I believe, Sir, that you are a Recto follower,” my interrogator is now deferential.

I responded by saying that Lichauco was influenced by Recto even more, and so have many of other young people.

He said casually that Lichauco would be interrogated tomorrow.

I cautioned him that they should remember that I consider Lichauco a patriot although I do not agree with all of his views.

Earlier, before my interrogation, Roquito Ablan, an assemblyman who reportedly had access to Marcos’ bedroom, came along with a visitor’s tag. I was surprised.

“Hello, Brod!” he boomed.

“Hi, Brod,” I answered. “Are you the kitchen-in-charge here? Or the detention mayor?”

I thought of Sed Ordoñez’ earlier story about Ninoy Aquino having been ousted as kitchen-in-charge at Fort Bonifacio. But apparently I made a mistake. Roquito is not under detention.

“I’ll see you in the interim Assembly, Brod.”

“I’m not sure about that, Brod.” I chuckled.

He briefly spoke to me in Ilocano and I answered him in Ilocano. He then warmly waved good-bye and breezed away.

Ammoyo gayam ti Ilocano (so you know Ilocano),” Gerzon said approvingly.

            Bassit (a little),” I replied, then casually proceeded to speak again in English and it was then he said he is from Nueva Ecija.

“Oh, you are my provincemate. Rebeck is your delegate.”

“Yes,” he responded, “Rebeck is my delegate; I come from Cuyapo.”

Our conversation lasted for 45 minutes. In the end, he said that was all. He “invited” me to return tomorrow so he could introduce me to his commanding officer.

“Of course. Would 10:00 or 11:00 o’clock be okay?”

“Oh, anytime at your convenience.” He was casual and deferential.

We were getting to be teacher and student again.

The session was about to adjourn when I returned. There were fireworks because Ambassador Quintero was going to speak.

Tony Sison, chairman, explained the action taken by the Committee on Privileges with respect to the investigation of the famous Quintero expose of Marcos payola in May 1972. He reported that his Committee had found “no scintilla of evidence to prove the charges of Delegate Quintero.” (Quintero had charged that he kept on being sent money in envelopes by Marcos to vote along certain lines.) Sison then moved that all the persons mentioned in the expose, including the first lady, Imelda Marcos, be exonerated of the charges against them and that the case be deemed terminated.

The motion was approved overwhelmingly. This is, indeed, the world of the absurd!

Quintero tried to stand up. He was very angry.

But he was not allowed to speak. By then partisanship was running so high. The delegates had lost their reason.

The session ended almost in an uproar.

Delegates Bongbong and Jaime Opinion were very angry too—at Quintero. Do executioners really get angry with innocent victims?

“They had very guilty feelings,” Rebeck commented.


Monday, November 13, 1972

At the session hall, Francis Zosa was absorbed in reading some documents when I approached him. Since he is the chairman of the Credentials Committee, he would know hest what is happening in terms of who have voted for or against the transitory provision.

He was friendly enough but not very open, I thought. I asked him who among those abroad have voted. He could not think of any. What about Sister Sonia Aldeguer to whom I had sent both a cablegram and a letter in Rome where she had taken her vows as a nun? He replied that Sonia’s vote was vague; she had said that she was voting for article such and such, etc. And then no word from Raul Manglapus in the U.S. None from Dr. Salvador Araneta. None from Larry Arabejo.

I asked him about the people in the stockade. He did not think that anyone of them was able to vote.

“But I thought that there were moves to have them vote,” I said.

He said that there were no such moves. In fact the understanding was that those in the stockade precisely would not be allowed to vote.

“Oh, so that’s it,” I said. “Of course I knew this,” I muttered bitterly.

Francis snarled at me. “Anyone who asks about this thing when he knows it already should go to the stockade!”

I cringed at the outburst. Does power change people’s character so abruptly?

Roy Montejo asked about Quintero and Francis gave us the impression that Quintero was not able to vote on time.

Celing Fenian, chairman of the Committee on Plebiscite and Ratification, told us that the new arrangement is that one need not go to Quezon City Hall any more. One is supposed to be campaigning after our recess for the ratification of the new Constitution.

I asked him to show me the authority and he showed me a letter from President Macapagal.

All the members of Celing’s committee or of sub-committees of his committee are entitled to this privilege. He said that some delegates were asking him if they might be included and he had laughingly told them that every delegate is included in his Committee on Plebiscite and Ratification.

In fact, he was expected to sponsor the motion—calling for a plebiscite on January 14 or 17. But, of course, his original motion is that the plebiscite should not be earlier than two months after the signing of the Constitution. Now he will have to amend his motion so that it will be within two months after the signing of the Constitution.

Marcos wants to be sure there would be enough time to campaign for the ratification of his Constitution. The Constitution will be signed sometime this month.

In the evening, after my German class and after dinner, I read an interview of Dimitri Sakharov by a Newsweek reporter. Sakharov is the father of the H-bomb in Russia and is now the foremost dissident in the Soviet Union.

The latter part of the interview was interesting. Sakharov knew that he could not change Soviet society anymore. He would not be able to move the political establishment. His was a frustrating struggle. Why, then, was he persisting on this? “Because for us,” he said, “it is not a political struggle; it is a moral struggle. We have to be time to ourselves.”


Thursday, November 9, 1972

In the morning, Col. Moy Buhain (aide-de-camp to Speaker Villareal of the House of Representatives whom I had periodically served as economic adviser) dropped by to talk to me about the latest draft of the Steering Council. Obviously, he had already seen Speaker Villareal since our last talk. We were speculating on what will happen to the leaders of the country in the new political setup.

I told him that my understanding is that the President has a timetable to have the new Constitution approved by the middle of January so that Congress may no longer have to convene.

“What about Vice President Lopez? Right now he is in limbo. And what about (Senate President) Puyat? The other senators? And the speaker?”

“Theirs are problems as yet unresolved,” I replied. “Under the scenario under preparation, however, all of them would be members of the National Assembly. And there is a good chance, from my reckoning, that the President might want to have Speaker Villareal be the Speaker of the new Assembly,” I added.

Insofar as Lopez is concerned, it may be that after a while, the President would give up his post as president under the new Constitution. Already he has removed what few powers the president has left in our draft Constitution. Why did he have them transferred to the prime minister, as Atoy Barbero was telling me yesterday, so that all the powers are now vested in the prime minister? One possible answer is that he might then offer the presidency to Vice President Lopez, we conjectured. After all, under the Marcos Constitution, the president will now be elected by the Assembly and no longer directly by the Filipino people.

I went to the session hall in the afternoon. Some 40 delegates were scattered all over the session hall, chattering and flitting like birds lost in the wilderness.

No one seemed to know what was happening. The delegates were just whiling away their time. The reason? The Steering Council has decided that it was not ready to meet the 166-man body until Monday, four days from now.

Now, everything is the Steering Council! The Steering Council of 34 people decides everything while the rest of the 316 delegates are left guessing on what is happening, whiling away their time in speculations and small talks.

Greg Tingson, the famous evangelist, came to me, apparently bothered. He said, “Caesar, you and I profess Christian precepts. How shall we defend our actuations in this Convention?”

I was visibly troubled. Should we or should we not be in the provisional Assembly to be able to do what we could for the people at a time when we are needed most?

“It is apparent to me that this government has cast the die. There is no turning back. Should we not support it, abhorrent though it may be? Because if it fails, I foresee a revolution.” I was rationalizing; indeed, I was trying to convince myself.

“This is true,” Greg agreed readily. “For the sake of the country now, it should not fail.”

“But how can I join a dictatorial regime? I believe in human rights. I just cannot. I have pledged to fight all dictators in the world.” I was getting excited.

But if Marcos or Enrile should be out of power, Greg thought, the military would take over. We would then have a military government. Might not a transitional constitutional dictatorship be preferable to a military junta?

Between the devil and the deep blue sea? Is this now the situation of the country? Our fate is sealed?

The evil wrought on the country by the Steering Council is incalculable. However, be it said, its members are quite frank about what is happening; they keep on saying defensively that we cannot really express our own sentiments because the President wants this or that provision and that his will must be done.

It is quite true that, so far, some of the reforms of the President are laudable. I agree with Greg Tingson that these reforms may not have been done without martial law. But are these really worth the deprivation of our human rights? I do not think so.

It does not matter, of course, whether we want it or not. Martial law has been proclaimed and it looks like the state of emergency is here to stay.

My fundamental grievance against Marcos has to do with the violations of the human rights of dissenters and the creation of a climate of fear all over the land. Froilan Bacungan defended the action of the President last Sunday, telling me that if we can forget our personal interests and think only in terms of society and the country, then the deprivation of our freedom is well worth it.

In other words, instead of being bitter, Ninoy Aquino should just think of his incarceration as the sacrifice he is making for his country? And this should go for all others in the stockades, including ourselves, if we were arrested? Does this really make sense?

But the other problem that really bothers me is the fact that the President has practically staged a coup in the Convention. He has literally dictated some provisions of the new Constitution. This is indecent, immoral. And was it necessary? We have already given him—under duress—all that he wanted in terms of political power. Was it still necessary for him to impose his will on the other provisions? Unbelievable as it may seem, we now believe that it is, indeed, true that he has gone over the whole draft of the Constitution, provision by provision, and made corrections in them in his own handwriting.

Mene mene tekel upharsin. I can see the handwriting on the wall, similar to the one that appeared during Belshazzar’s feast.

I feel like crying, uttering a cry of anguish, like Othello, as he proposed to strangle his sweet wife: “But the pity of it, Iago. Oh, Iago, the pity of it!”

As some delegates were saying, it was indiscreet to have these notes of the President on the Constitution seen by several delegates. But did he even have to do it?

Even Lolo Baradi, a former ambassador and a loyal Marcos man, could not stomach what was happening.

“On All Saints’ Day, during the Cabinet meeting, the President made a slip on TV,” he told me. “He had asked Sec. Abad Santos, ‘what about the constitutional provisions on the judiciary? Are they already prepared?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ was the answer of the secretary. ‘We are preparing them.'”

The President was also reported by Lolo Baradi to have said: “I have some boys who are working with the Convention.”

Ikeng Corpuz has also seen the TV show and he and Lolo Baradi were laughing at these slips by the President. Obviously, Marcos did not realize that the TV was on when he uttered the incriminating remarks.

Moy Buhain had said this morning that he also saw this TV faux pas of the President. Or was this intentional? Come to think of it. Could it be that he had really wanted everyone to know that he was actively interfering in the writing of the Constitution? And thus intimidate every prospective oppositionist?

Ikeng Corpuz came to me and sat beside me. “You should now try to get your economic amendments in… I have read the provisions in the draft Constitution and I can not distinguish heads or tails in the article on the national economy,” he sighed.

Ikeng Corpuz is a good man but he really glosses over many things. He was obviously trying to compliment my understanding of the economic situation by supporting the provisions on economic policy that I have written. At the same time, he is also trying to impress me that he does understand their full import. But his actuations in the Convention have not been very consistent. Nevertheless, we have a certain attachment to each other.

Inggo Guevarra was in despair when he saw me. “There is nothing at all about industrial development in the new Constitution,” he wailed.

I had a dramatic meeting at the elevator with the delegate in real limbo—former Ambassador Eduardo Quintero, who had exposed Marcos’ payola in the Convention and had paid for his honesty by being framed by Marcos. Marcos had ordered dollar notes “planted” in his home. I’m sure history would proclaim him as one of the heroes of the Convention.

He saw me first and greeted me. He was with his daughter, who was obviously pleased to see me. I think they were happy over the fact that I had visited Quintero twice at the hospital.

About five army troopers were immediately behind Quintero, which suggested that Quintero is still under guard or some kind of house arrest. He looks somewhat stronger than the last time I saw him at the hospital. However, like Inggo Guevarra, he, too, may have arrived too late to vote. The voting had already closed sometime last week.

In the evening I attended the party given by Ting Jaime at the Club Filipino on behalf of the Philippine Chamber of Industries for Jess Tanchanco (our long-time Philippine Chamber of Industries first vice president) who has been appointed administrator of the National Grains Authority.

Several past presidents of the Philippine Chamber of Industries were there.

Don Fernando Sison, secretary of finance in the Macapagal administration, greeted me by saying that I looked pale and too thin last week at the meeting at the Hilton. (Ever since I heard that I would be arrested, my ulcerative colitis has worsened.)

In the course of our talk, we heard from Don Fernando that, perhaps, a general amnesty for political prisoners was forthcoming on the 15th of November. I thought that this would be a wise move on the part of Marcos. It would somehow heal the bitter division in the country caused by the incarceration of so many political prisoners.

Marianing del Rosario opined that many of Marcos’ reforms seem to be getting the support of the people. He does not like a dictatorship, Marianing said, but he might even support him in his drive for reforms. He thought Marcos would succeed with his “democratic revolution.”

“And if he fails?” I asked.

“If he fails, that is the end of all of us.”

Even Don Fernando said that if Marcos did well—and if he were to run for election later—he would support him.

Don Fernando mentioned that the President, during the Cabinet meeting, which was televised, had asked the Cabinet members whether the Constitution was already finished. He and Marianing were saying that the President did not hide anymore his interference with the framing of the Constitution.

“I take off my hat to the President,” Marianing said. “He is a brilliant man—for weal or for woe. During that Cabinet meeting, he showed such complete grasp of everything happening in the country. This was clearly shown in his discussion of the problems of each department.”

Don Fernando started telling me his inner thoughts.

He reminded me that at the meeting of PCI’s past presidents last week at the Hilton, the first advice that he gave was for us to adapt ourselves to the situation. Now he is especially advising me to take this stance.

“You have to survive.” He was very fatherly.

He added that this is a matter of survival for all of us, hence we have no choice except to adapt. “Bear in mind,” he said, “that martial law is here to stay with us for some time. I read the transitory provision and it shows clearly that martial law will be with us for many years.”

I suggested that this might turn out to be something like the situation in Spain.

“Yes, insofar as the duration is concerned. It will really take many years. Franco has been there since 1935 but with a very big difference. Franco is still a dedicated man and a poor man. He is a dictator but his major concern is the welfare of his people.”

He stressed that we must adapt and survive knowing that insofar as history is concerned, dictatorships do not really last forever.

“Where is Hitler now?” he asked rhetorically. “Where is Mussolini now? Or Genghis Khan?”

When I asked him how he would have voted on the transitory provision if he were a delegate, Don Fernando replied forthrightly that he would have voted “Yes.” He said he likes to think this is the kind of situation that President Laurel was in during the Japanese Occupation. It is a question of the fundamentals by which one lives, he said. He considers Laurel a hero, not a collaborator; many others were collaborators. He added that he had read the explanation of Pepe Calderon on why he voted “Yes” and it was very good.

He also informed us that many delegates in the Convention, from the time we were discussing the form of government we should adopt, were receiving ₱1,000 each per attendance to make sure that the provision on parliamentary form of government would win.

Really? I never knew this!

Don Fernando said there was so much publicity about people being dismissed from the government for malversing the calamity funds—but these are the small fry. Some people have been dismissed for malversing ₱10 million but the government has malversed nearly half a billion.

“How do you account for the funds? The President has not made any accounting. That is the reason why before martial law Senator Tolentino and others were asking that Malacañang make an accounting.”

“So you see,” he continued, “it is easy enough for the delegates to be paid. There are enough funds.”

He advised me to continue with my journal (this political diary) and have a copy entrusted to someone in case anything happens to me. He said this would not be useful now but it should be extremely useful in the future.