January 19, 2001

By 8 a.m of Jan. 19, along with Press Secretary Dong Puno, I met at the New World Hotel Senators Juan Ponce Enrile and Gringo Honasan, and the President’s defense lawyer, Estelito Mendoza, to sound them out on the proposal to open the second envelope. “If this is the President’s decision,” said the senators, “we cannot do anything.”

Sensing the situation was becoming critical, I called Macel Fernandez from the hotel to draft an Executive Order creating an ad hoc committee to monitor and manage the fast-swelling crowds in order to safeguard human rights and prevent violence.

At 10:22 a.m., I arrived at the Presidential Residence. Secretary Robert Aventajado, Lito Banayo and Dong Puno were already having breakfast. Only Mercado was wearing black. He was seated beside Macel. DILG Secretary Alfredo Lim was also there.

The President’s legal team, Estelito Mendoza, Andres Narvasa, Raul Daza and Cleofe Verzola, arrived soon after I did. Together with the President, Lito Banayo, Dong, Orly, Fred Lim and I went inside the small conference room of the residence to discuss two important points –the opening of the second envelope and the ad hoc committee to handle the demonstrations. A consensus was arrived at that the President would issue a public statement calling for the opening of the second envelope. The president also quickly agreed to constitute the ad hoc committee, with the executive secretary sitting as chair and the secretary of interior and local government as vice chair. Members would include the secretaries of Justice, national defence, finance, the press secretary, the director general of the PNP and the chief of staff of the Armed Force of the Philippines.

I had the committee members called earlier for our first meeting. All of them were present, except the AFP chief of staff, Gen. Angelo Reyes, and Secretary Pardo. The Nica, Isafp, PNP Intelligence Group and NBI head also came as support staff to the ad hoc committee.

Discussions on the state of security followed. “The military is 100% secure,” reassured Orly. I did not know that moments earlier, he had told Macel that government had to act fast, because in the last few days the Military would move. I also did not know that Orly’s vehicle that day contained at least 20 high-powered firearms.

At 1 p.m., Orly left the palace. He said he was just going to the office.

1:20 p.m.- The President calls me into his small office at the Presidential Residence (PR) and says in a somber tone, “Ed, seryoso na ito. Kumalas na si Angelo (Reyes) (Ed, this serious, Angelo has defected).” General Calimlim is beside him. On the couch sits Ping Lacson, talking on his cell phone.

The President could not understand why Reyes would defect, after he had consistently improved the soldier’s pay and welfare benefits. And he could not understand why Reyes, whose appointment had been extended by the President until 2002 just a few days earlier, would abandon him at the time he was most needed.

2:00 p.m- The President prepares to tape the previously prepared statement regarding the second envelope.

While the President is dressing up for his taping, Sen. Raul Roco calls me on the cellular phone. “Partner,” he says, “it’s time to take a decision. Perhaps you should convince the President to resign.” While I am talking to Roco, Secretary Alredo Lim is hovering around me and asking, “Who are you talking to?” “Raul Roco,” I answer. Lim immediately says, “Aalis na muna ako. Immobilize ko lang si Maganto.” (I have to leave, I will immobilize Maganto),” said Lim. “Hintayin mo muna si Presidente, nagbibihis lang,” I told Fred. He answered, “Hindi na, mauna na ako.”(Angara tells him to wait for the President who was dressing up. But Lim said he had to go.)

Chief Supt. Romeo Maganto, head of a task force at the interior department, reportedly allowed the protestors in Mendiola to get closer to the Palace gates.

2:30 p.m.- Secretary Lim leaves the Palace. The President, in a last minute effort to diffuse the situation and hold back the demonstrators, decided to hold a snap elections, and that he would not himself run in that elections.

I asked Senator Roco what he thought of the snap elections. Roco answered that snap elections might be very difficult considering there is no vacancy for the vice presidency.

2:45 p.m.- I invited Senate President Pimentel and Speaker Noli Fuentebella to come to Malacañang to ask for their opinion on the snap elections. They arrived at the PR and met with the President and myself. “There would be technical difficulties on the snap elections,” Nene said, “since the position of Vice President is not vacant.” Noli did not volunteer any comments. Nonetheless they asked the President to send them a written request.

3:00 p.m.- General Reyes announces his decision. I see on television that General Reyes is accompanied by Orly Mercado, wearing black. Orly had been one of the most trusted and favoured Cabinet members of Estrada and was president of Estrada’s Partido ng Masang Pilipino.

Considering that the President’s options at the time are limited to snap elections and still fighting it out, I pull aside Nene Pimentel and ask him if he could advise the president not to exclude other options. “A dignified exit or resignation might be the best way for him,” I said. The President listens intently to Pimentel, who volunteers to put the idea to Cory Aquino and get a feedback.

3:45 p.m.- I see on television that General Calimlim has joined General Reyes in withdrawing support for the President. He had been in the PR just hours before. It was now more crucial than ever that the PNP remain loyal to the presidency. Ping Lacson immediately said he would check with the PNP directors who were waiting in his office.

4:00 p.m.- Ping Lacson leaves the Presidential Palace.

5:30 p.m.- The President tapes a statement at the main conference room of the Palace calling for snap elections and stating categorically that he would not run. Friends and supporters rallied around him for support.

Ping Lacson called me to say that the PNP has decided to withdraw support for the President. He asked to talk to the President but I said the President was taping a message in the main conference hall. I promised Ping that I would call him back as soon as the President was free. I then crossed over from the residence to the Palace and waited for the President to finish taping to relay to him Ping’s message.

I have Ping called and the President and he talk over the phone.

6:00 p.m.- Ping Lacson announced on television that the PNP was withdrawing its support to the President. Ping said it was the most difficult decision of his life.

8:00 p.m.- I leave briefly to meet with several senators at my apartment to update them on developments. I arrive at the same time as Tessie Aquino-Oreta. Sen. Jonny Ponce Enrile arrives soon after.

9:00 p.m.- Before other senators arrive and as I start briefing Tessie and Johnny on the developments, I receive a call from Nene Pimentel asking me to join him in the Palace to meet the President. I immediately rush back to Malacañang. The senators met without me, with Senators John Osmeña, Tito Sotto and Gringo Honasan arriving after I had left.

9:30 p.m.- I arrived in the Presidential Residence to meet Nene and the President. Nene is already with the President inside the latter’s small office. They are JV Ejercito.

The President, Nene, JV and I meet in the President’s office. Nene repeats to the President the need to make a grateful and dignified exit, saying that he would be allowed to go abroad with enough funds to support him and his family. The President said he will never leave the country. The President also reiterates his desire that the second letter be opened. A letter is immediately drafted, where the President asks the Senate sitting as an impeachment court to open the second envelope.

Later, an aide says Cardinal Vidal has arrived and the three of us join the Cardinal in the main sala.

10:00 p.m.- After the meeting, the President tells me, “Ed, Angie (Reyes) guaranteed that I would have to a week in the Palace.”

11 p.m.- Rene de Villa, one of the opposition’s emissaries and now Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s executive secretary, calls to ask that we meet in negotiation.

I receive a call from former President Fidel V. Ramos.

“Ed,” Ramos says, “magtulungan tayo para magkaroon ng (Let’s cooperate to ensure a) peaceful and orderly transfer of power. It is important that there will be no violence.” I answer: “Of course, Mr. President, it is also in our interest that no violence will break out.”

We set the first round of negotiations in the Office of the Executive Secretary at  Malacañang’s Mabini Hall. Political advisor Lito Banayo, Assistant Secretary Boying Remulla of the Presidential Management Group, my aide Dondon Bagatsing and  PMS head Macel Fernandez are with me.

 

 


Thursday, November 30, 1972

On the day of the signing of the Constitution, the headline of the Daily Express was “FM tells the Military: I want Free, Open Discussions on Charter Provision.”

What lie! What double-talk! Hitler seems to be alive again! But many people were somewhat comforted by these pronouncements of President Marcos. Being allowed to open the window of freedom somewhat after having been deprived our civil rights for more than a month now, is great.

We do not really value our freedom until we are deprived of it. Then we understand why throughout the ages, men have fought for their freedom as an important ingredient of human dignity.

An air of excitement was in the air at the session hall. The delegates, in spite of everything, seemed to exude a sense of history—whether a famous or infamous one, the future will tell.

The roll call of delegates for individual signing of the Constitution in English and Pilipino was somewhat unruly. President Macapagal kept on banging the gavel, asking the delegates to sit down.

Sig Siguion-Reyna whispered, “Macapagal should have shown this force a little bit earlier, not now; I myself thought that he should have at least presided over our meeting last night if only because it was the last session, but, sadly, it was Vice Pres. Abe Sarmiento who did.”

There were some congressmen who had entered the hall. Speaker Villareal was there, and so were Congressmen Sanchez and Caram and Solicitor General Titong Mendoza (UP Law Class ’52) who had phoned the Con-Con that I had been taken into custody by the military. Yesterday, Titong told us he had a conference with Justice Undersec. Taling Macaraeg (Class ’52) about my arrest. Taling’s suggestion was for Titong to guarantee me and take me into his custody.

Sig Siguion-Reyna learned last night that our colleagues in detention are to be released for one day today during the signing of the Constitution. He said he wanted to make sure of this so he had relayed the message to President Macapagal.

True enough, before we could finish our conversation, Nap Rama, who is detained at Fort Bonifacio, dramatically appeared at the session hall. He is no longer sporting the same macho hairdo. Rather, his hair is somewhat dishevelled and bears the untypical look of not having been creamed for sometime. How un-Nap-like! He also sports a mini-mustache now.

Two minutes later, Joe Mari Velez, also an inmate of Fort Bonifacio, appeared. Unlike Nap, Joe Mari is wearing a thick mustache curved sideways at the edges. He came in a blue t-shirt, looking quite healthy.

Nap Rama’s usual swagger seemed to have deserted him. After only two months in Fort Bonifacio! Joe Mari, on the other hand, looked defiant.

Joe Mari immediately told me that the news in his camp is that I have also been taken. He gave me the unnerving information that if I have not yet been arrested I would be—very soon.

I could hardly catch my breath. I thought my ordeals are over.

Both Nap and Mari expected me to join them soon—and in the isolation stockade of Fort Bonifacio, not in the relatively more comfortable Camp Crame stockade.

My heartbeats pounded like a gong.

Nap said that they had long expected me to be detained because their information was that I was marked by the military from the beginning as an enemy of the regime.

He talked about their own ordeal. In the first two days, the military had really sought to break them. The soldiers had put barbed wire fences higher than their windows all around their barracks. Poor Nap does not know until now precisely what he is being apprehended for.

Nap sounded desperate. Like the others, he seemed resigned to the present political situation. He will cooperate, if necessary, if this would give him back his liberty.

I inquired about his SSS loan and the reported foreclosure of his mortgage. “Yes,” he replied sadly. He has received a telegram saying he has ten days within which to pay the loan or else his house will be foreclosed. That is why his house is now for sale.

Nap did not sound bitter but he was clearly on edge. He said that it is ironical that the same reforms that we have been fighting for seem to be now under implementation by the martial law regime.

I inquired about Teddy Locsin. Teddy, Nap said, is quite bitter. Teddy says that he had fought so much for these reforms and now the military has put him in prison rather than awarding him a medal for his crusade.

Romy Capulong was with me while I was talking to Nap.

Nap gave us the shocking information that our meetings at Pepe Calderon’s place had been completely monitored by the military.

God! I gasped.

Could it be that some delegates went there with tape recorders in their pockets? After all, Romy said, in some of the meetings there were 30 or 40 delegates in attendance.

Still, I could not imagine how anyone in our Independent-Progressive group could have betrayed us.

Romy thought that it was possible that either one or two delegates who were present during one of our meetings could have done it; after all we also have counter-infiltration on the other side.

Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Romy who they were, and Romy said, “I don’t want to tell you because it might poison your mind and especially because it may not be true. But someday I will. One of these is a woman,” he said tantalizingly.

I overheard a delegate saying that Joe Concepcion and Tito Guingona were in the Steering Council room on the 13th floor and that they were waiting for President Macapagal.

“You better go down already,” Joe Feria told me. “I am just fetching Macapagal.”

President Macapagal was, for a while, busy entertaining Speaker Villareal, who had come in shortly before 11 o’clock. In the meantime that this was happening, Titong Mendoza came along looking for a copy of the new Constitution.

While Titong and I were in Macapagal’s room, I noticed former Central Bank Governor Cuaderno lying on his side on the couch, writhing in pain. Nobody seemed to be looking after him; nobody seemed to mind.

I was alarmed. I ran towards the governor and fell on my knees.

“Governor, is there anything wrong? Are you sick?”

“It’s my asthma.”

“Shall I call a doctor?” I asked. I gathered from his murmur that a doctor has been sent for.

“Air, air,” he murmured.

I opened the windows.

The doctor took long in coming. I thought it was heartless of many delegates to see him there and not to do anything to help him. Of course, they had other excitements today, but….

Then came the Convention doctor; we were not sure, however, of his competence. I was hoping that a physician delegate would come. Then Tony Velasco, himself a medical doctor, came in.

I went to the session hall looking for Dr. George Viterbo; I trust him most.

Two minutes later, Tony Velasco was in the session hall, doing what everybody else was doing—asking for the autograph of delegates. He asked me to sign his copy of the proposed Constitution. “But what, about Cuaderno? What have you done?” My concern was great.

“Oh, it is only asthma. The doctor is taking care of him. The medicine has already been brought in.”

President Macapagal was already with the detainees when I arrived. Tito Guingona and Joe Concepcion, among others, were asking him to make representation on their behalf with President Marcos.

President Macapagal kept on saying, “Yes, yes, yes, I will take it up.”

“I think tomorrow is the best time to discuss this,” I chipped in. “President Marcos will be in a good mood; this will really be good for national unity.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Macapagal nodded in agreement.

Joe Concepcion wanted Macapagal to do more than this. He kept on asking whether or not they would be allowed to see President Marcos tomorrow. Macapagal said he could get another clearance for them. Of course, he would not talk to the President about any single one of them. He could only ask that all delegates be invited—including those under detention.

The detainees present were Joe Concepcion, Tito Guingona, Ernie Rondon, Bren Guiao, Pepito Nolledo and Natalio (Taliox) Bacalzo. Nolledo was standing at the back, somewhat lost!

Joecon whispered to me that the one in most pathetic condition among them is Nolledo. He seems to be on the verge of a breakdown.

Ding Lichauco is, likewise, not in good shape. He has contracted pneumonia and was taken to the hospital this morning. He is in a pitiful state. He has no children and his wife, Nita, is now alone.

Macapagal bade the detainees good-bye. “You know it’s good to meet with you… even just to be together for a while,” he said. “But I must now go up and attend to the Convention.”

Bebet Duavit arrived as Macapagal was leaving. “Here is the man who can help you,” he said as he left.

We all finally got Duavit to promise that he was going to talk to President Marcos. When the detainees told him that Macapagal had already talked to Marcos, he dismissed Macapagal: “Wala ‘yan.” Macapagal is too proud to talk to Marcos. He only sends letters. He does everything in writing. He said that as past president of the Philippines, he should be in a position to talk to President Marcos for the detainees. Bebet intimated, the detainees should not expect Macapagal to be able to do much for them.

President Macapagal’s ego is monumental, Duavit added. When he and Macapagal were with Flores Bayot, one of Marcos’ assistant executive secretaries (who was in the session hall yesterday; Sed Ordoñez, in fact, was asking me why? What was he monitoring?), Duavit said he had told Bayot, “You tell your President that my President is arranging with the postman for the delivery of the Constitution in Malacañang.” Duavit saw Macapagal’s face light up, he was all smiles, and he seemed to have grown two inches taller.

Duavit promised to talk to President Marcos tonight and follow it up with another talk tomorrow morning.

Joecon and Tito Guingona asked Duavit to tell Marcos that they can help in the implementation of the program of the New Society.

Duavit promised to try to persuade Marcos again, as he had done in the past, to release them. President Marcos had, in fact, told him at one time that Duavit should talk to the military and tell them that he would guarantee them.

But Duavit expressed reluctance to guarantee anyone. “Baka naman e-escape kayo,” he said sheepishly.

“Why not divide the responsibility?” I suggested. “You guarantee X, Ven Yaneza guarantees Y.

            Eh, kung umescape kayo.” Duavit has misgivings.

Tito Guingona then spoke up. “Yes,” he said, “political amnesty is the best.”

In the beginning, the detained delegates present had all come from Camp Crame only and so Tito, Joecon and the rest talked about amnesty for them… because they were presumably not charged with as grave crimes as the detainees in Fort Bonifacio.

But later, Nap Rama from Fort Bonifacio dropped by. They then agreed that the amnesty should include all delegates.

Bren Guiao tried to pin down Duavit on whether he would visit them. How else would they know the result?

Duavit promised to visit them tomorrow.

Later, as we were leaving, Joecon lingered around to talk some more with Duavit. Duavit then said he would tell President Marcos that it would be good for the Rizal delegates to be released because they would especially need to get “Yes” votes from Rizal—the oppositionist district.

What a paradoxical figure this Duavit is! So much a lackey for Marcos, yet warm, possibly even affectionate towards his colleagues—even to those in the opposite side of the political spectrum. Is he a good man at heart—who is possessed? If so, he needs an exorcist! Or is he a marionette? What is he really?

Joe Feria, Naning Kalaw and I invited the detainees for lunch at the Sulo Hotel. Later, Romy Capulong and Raul Roco joined us. Still later, while we were eating, Ric Sagmit came by and spent a while with us, particularly with Bren Guiao.

Everyone has his own story. Bren Guiao said that on Saturday night, he had dinner with Tito Guingona, but Tito did not tell him then—and Bren turned towards Tito reproachfully—what he, Tito, may have already known.

Tito was with General Rialp. Tito had asked Rialp if he was in the list. They went over the list alphabetically. “Letter G… Guiao, etc., no Guingona. You are not in,” Rialp had confirmed.

But in the meantime, the name of Guiao had already been read aloud and Tito did not warn him!

When Bren phoned his house Sunday morning, he discovered that about 40 Metrocom troopers had surrounded his house. So he did not know what to do. Finally, he decided to talk over the phone with the commander. The commander said he was being invited for interrogation. So Bren answered, “I might as well meet you in Camp Crame.”

He thought he would be interrogated, then released immediately, but when he got into the Camp he was not allowed to get out anymore.

Romy Capulong and Raul Roco’s houses were raided at 10:00 o’clock on Saturday—the very first day. Romy and Raul would have been ahead of Guiao in the stockades were they not able to run out of their houses earlier that day.

It was on the sixth day—on Friday—as Tito was talking with Bobbit that he, Tito, was arrested.

Taliox Bacalzo said he was interrogated at the stockade for his radio broadcasts going back to 1949 (sic).

The detainees still kept their sense of humor in spite of their obvious anguish. They were complaining of each other’s behavior, like little children. First, they picked on Pepito Nolledo.

Joecon said that in the first two nights, Nolledo would suddenly go up to his fellow prisoners and ask, “By the way, are you a spy?”

Bacalzo swore that one night, Nolledo came to his bed and stared at him for three minutes without speaking. He (Bacalzo) got scared. After three minutes, Nolledo asked Bacalzo, “Brod, are you a spy?” Bacalzo was terribly shaken!

There was a near fight in the camp. Nolledo was at the lower bunk while the hard-hitting columnist Louie Beltran was on top. One day, Beltran’s watch got lost. He searched everywhere, swearing and cursing as he went. Finally, he found the watch in the bag of Nolledo. Apparently, the watch fell down from the upper bunk and fell right into the open bag of Nolledo.

Nolledo was peeved by the remarks of his friends about him.

“Joe Concepcion’s behavior was worse than mine. He was always crying during the first two days” he attacked.

Joecon blushed. When his children came, one of them rushed to him and cried, so he started wailing also, he explained.

Joecon said that one of the worst things that can happen to a man is to lose his freedom.

I was reminded of my note to Raul Roco on his birthday a couple of weeks ago—that we are prone to take our liberty for granted; it is only when we are denied it that we realize the real value of personal freedom.

Joecon, who is a close friend, then turned towards me and said complainingly that he now realizes who his real friends are…. I did not even visit him!

Of course, they all know that I was interrogated; that I was in the secondary “list,” that were it not for my long friendship with Enrile, I could have been in the stockade with them.

Joecon admitted that the officers of his corporations have been going there for meetings with him every week. I had also learned from Vicente (Ting) Jaime, that Joecon has been getting passes because his mother is sick. Also, at one time, he had procured a pass to attend a board meeting of his company.

The detainees feasted as on nectar and ambrosia. In no time, we had cleaned up the plates. We horsed around for a while in an atmosphere of complete carefreeness.

This was the first time they have had a good meal in weeks. Also the first time that they were in an air-conditioned room.

Tito Guingona complained that the terrible thing in the stockade is like being in a sauna, he said; the gym is as hot as hell!

I asked then why Conception Industries did not install an airconditioning unit there. Of course, Joecon said, if they would allow it for two months, he would have it done. But the gym was so huge.

I told Joecon I did not recognize him because he no longer looked like a bouncing baby. He had lost at least five kilos. Besides he was not wearing his famous two-way transmitter in his belt anymore.

He said that he was dictating on his Philip machine but even that was taken from him. And he was heartbroken because his two-way radio is no longer allowed.

Bobbit Sanchez came later and said that he had talked to Duavit for some few minutes more after we had left. Duavit was supposed to have said he was going to see the President today and tomorrow and the detainees should have an answer one way or the other in 15 days. In any case, Bobbit said, possibly, after the ratification of the Constitution they would be freed.

Joecon wailed “No, no, no, that is too long. Tell us if it is 15 days, it is 15 days. Then at least we can hope. Magpapasko ba naman kami doon?

Joecon then proceeded to mention that he knew someone who was going to commit suicide during the first few days because of the loss of his liberty.

Bobbit reported that Joe Mari Velez refused to be included in the proposed amnesty. He left him in the session hall waiting to be called because he wanted to deliver a speech. Even if there is hardly any audience anymore.

But, he said, the session was already over last night, he would certainly not be allowed to speak. Indeed, it is foolish and senseless waiting to speak when the session is over.

Bobbit said that Joe Mari said he would stay in the stockade even if it meant staying indefinitely. Joe Mari is very bitter.

One of the delegates whispered that part of the bitterness lay in the fact that Voltaire Garcia had voted “Yes” in the transitory provisions when he could have voted “No” because he was only under house arrest (after he had already been released from the stockade).

In fairness, however, I knew that Voltaire fell ill in the stockade; I had seen how pale and thin he was when I met and embraced him upon his release.

“I am worried about Voltaire”, I had told Ding afterwards.

“So am I,” he said. He had watched Voltaire as he entered to vote.

Raul Roco said that we should really understand that the environment of Joe Man and Nap Rama in Fort Bonifacio is different from that in Camp Crame. In Bonifacio there is a group of defiant people like Ninoy Aquino, Pepe Diokno, Chino Roces, Teddy Locsin. This is the reason Joe Mari is defiant; he has been influenced by his environment.

Taking a cue, Joe Mari made a doomsday statement. Based on their reading of history, he perorated, they would either be executed or they would one day seize political power.

“Correct, correct,” Bobbit Sanchez nodded in assent.

“Except that Nap Rama seems to have a different frame of mind,” I teased. “Nap has acquired a Camp Crame mentality. He has shed his Fort Bonifacio mentality.”

“True, true,” the naughty Bobbit blurted.

Poor Nap flushed and we laughed freely. What was it Thomas Gray had written in his Elegy in a Country Churchyard?

            We look before and after
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught…

Nap quickly recovered his composure and took over with a vengeance. Last night, at 12:30 past midnight, he had received a call from President Macapagal. Awakened by the call, he abruptly got up. This is it, he thought. I’m going to be executed. He fell on his knees to pray.

Of course I remember that Nap was a seminarian. I could imagine him reciting his Hail Marys:

Hail Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with thee….

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour…

Joecon butted in. He recounted how President Macapagal had called him up after the call to Nap. The result was that he had hardly slept because Macapagal talked for three hours—until 3:30 in the morning. Either Macapagal was incoherent or he was just too sleepy, Joecon confessed, but he didn’t understand what Macapagal was talking about. That was why he rang up Joe Feria to find out what this was all about.

Joecon added that Nolledo had excitedly woke up Ding Lichauco.

“Ding, Ding, si Macapagal.”

Ding jumped out of bed. “Nasaan ang punyetang Macapagal?”

Nolledo explained that Macapagal was on the phone talking to Joecon. Several minutes later, Ding got up again and shouted, “Nasaan siya? Nasaan ang punyetang Macapagal?”

Joecon explained that it was Macapagal who was arranging for this one-day freedom and they should be grateful.

All the delegates then started their litany of complaints against Ding, his picayunes and foibles. Affectionate complaints against a comrade in suffering?

Ernie Rondon quipped that Ding Lichauco is so used to royalty he had decorated his bed with different varieties of blankets so that his bed looked like a royal bed.

They were all afraid to get near him, they said, because he is irritable. (Not to mention the fact that he was a boxing champion at Harvard?)

            Katakot-takot ang punyeta at punyetero,” Joe Concepcion and Taliox sighed. “Talo pa si Quezon.”

They were picking on Ding now, but all of them respect him as a patriot, a nationalist, one of those rare guys who really have the courage of his convictions. At the back of their minds they all knew this and respect Ding for it. But this did not deter them from getting more and more juvenile.

“I am one of Ding’s friends but many times I can not talk to him.” I was now contaminated by their degenerate mood. “Do you know that at one time, when I was with Joe Romero at CEPO, Ding appeared? Upon seeing his friend, Joe, without any provocation, he said: ‘Romero, if the revolution should succeed, your head will roll.'”

“I’m sure he was kidding,” I added, “but do you know how Joe took it? He was visibly unnerved.”

“But wait.” I was not yet through. “Upon seeing me also there, he went on with his offensive: ‘Also your head, Caesar.'”

“But enough of his good qualities. Let us talk of his foibles.”

Little Bobbit was a teen-ager again, in his barkada mood.

“Okay,” one of the detainees said. “Do you know that whenever Ding received his food, he would eat without making any gesture of sharing it with the rest of us?”

“This is only a cultural pattern; after all, he had spent seven years at Harvard, where this is the norm,” I was now defending Ding.

Still, barbarian Taliox from the wilderness of Cebu could not understand this. In a burst of mischief, he said: “But then when somebody else is eating I notice that Ding would even steal some cookies from this somebody.”

“Oh, come on.”

Everyone laughed.

Poor Ding. These friends had to make merry. And they just happened to pick on Ding because he was not present. They seized the opportunity of making fun of him because they would otherwise have been afraid to say these things to his face.

In the process, our friends forgot their sorry plight—for a moment, at least. Indeed, for a moment, they were like little children. And the rest of us, too.

My heart went out to these friends. They were a pathetic sight. We had fun, of course, while it lasted. It was really a celebration—a celebration of their temporary freedom. And I was happy that we made them happy, thanks to Joe Feria and to Naning Kalaw, who had taken the initiative to organize this dinner.

Our eyes were moist as we escorted them back to the long line of Constabulary guards who were all heavily armed, as if Joecon and Taliox, Bren and Pepito and Tito too—these harmless peacemakers—would not run away at the explosion of a bawang firecracker.

Raul Roco, as usual, pretended to be nonchalant.

“At least, these guys do not have to pay for their gasoline,” he said. He had the look of a shyster as he laughed. Typical.

Tito Guingona, however, looked so forlorn. He was a study in brooding silence. He was desolate.

“Everyone is in revelry, Tito,” I comforted this man who has been a sincere and gallant partner in our struggle for decency, fairness and freedom. “You alone seem so despondent.”

Tito lifted his eyes and spoke his parting words: “Do not forget us, Caesar.”

“Forget? Tito, how can we forget?”

Our hearts went out to our colleagues as the soldiers came forward; they were to be returned to the stockades.

“Do not lose hope!” Joe Feria, Naning Kalaw and I chorused as we waved at them.

Not lose hope? Did we really mean what we said? But today, the 30th of November, 1972, did we not really lose hope ourselves? On this day of infamy, did we not bury our dreams?

The Con-Con is over. Finished.

“I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith,” Paul had written to Timothy. But as for us, did we tight the good fight, really, or did we simply capitulate?

The Constitution has been bastardized. Authoritarianism has been legalized—but surely not legitimized! Where is that acceptance by the population of rulers imbued with superior moral, intellectual and political capabilities which Antonio Gramsci says, is the hallmark of legitimacy?

Up to now, our democracy, at best, has been a fragile one. But even this as yet imperfect—because clientelist and elitist—democracy has been cruelly snatched from us by this coup from above. Will the political institutions of this fragile democracy someday be restored, perhaps even nurtured to ripen into an authentic democracy? But democratic institutions can only be sustained if they are part of a democratic culture; even free institutions may not create a free society. Can we look forward to a time when the next generation may be able to cure the defects of a facade democracy and really see a participatory society with the incandescent idea enshrined in the American Declaration of Independence—that all men are created equal—at least approximated?

But even these reflections should be set aside for now. At the moment, one anxiously wonders whether this dark night of repression that has descended upon all of us will last for a long period? Or is this going to be a mere aberration in our 70 years of constitutional development—a nightmare whose memory will vanish soon enough?

But vanish it, perhaps we should not. For if we fail to remember our past, pride will dominate our politics and history.

I now close this diary of the Con-Con which depicts the strands of a complex fabric of contradictions—of indecency, bad taste, dishonor, betrayal, cowardice—compounded by some acts of selfishness, too, even of sparks of courage among a few.

Our actuations in the Con-Con reflected vividly the tragedy of man in his pride and his vulnerability.

I remember that 27 years ago, the philosopher Karl Jaspers had addressed his fellow Germans in searing terms, whose words I can not now exactly recall: “We did not go into the streets when our Jewish friends were led away; we did not scream until we, too, were destroyed. We preferred to stay alive on the feeble, if logical ground that our death could not have helped anyone… we are guilty of being alive.”

I feel guilty of being free; thousands are in the stockades, some of them tortured. And two of the “super-radicals” at our Asian Leadership Development Conference (ALDEC)—with whom I had some violent quarrels on the night that martial law was declared—have been shot and killed, I heard.

Could a certain respect for higher principles above our own personal existence have saved our people from so much pain and suffering? Don’t ethical and moral dimensions in political decision-making count anymore?

Should not our people—perhaps the next generation, who knows?—not confront our national guilt someday?

Will this story of guilt and betrayal someday be unravelled and the judgment of history brought down upon our heads? I, for one, hereby vow that at the very first opportunity, when the dawn of freedom shall have brightened again the skies of our darkened land, I will have this diary read by our people. They have a right to know how their delegates performed and behaved at the Con-Con during the decisive last three months of its tragic life; our development, whether for progress or retrogression, is blurred enough by too much anonymization.

Withal, some halting doubts assail me as I close the Con-Con story: What if martial law was not declared? Could the Con-Con have framed a Constitution that would have brought about basic changes in our social structures, minimized inequality in wealth and political power? Could we have conquered massive poverty among the people or accelerated growth that would ameliorate the harshest aspects of poverty of the present and bears the seeds of decreasing inequality in the future? If those of us who call ourselves democrats have had our way in the Con-Con, could we have ushered in a more just society, a more participatory polity?

I do realize even as I close this diary that this is one of those great “ifs” in history. Nevertheless, I cannot help but wonder: Could the Con-Con really have effected a social revolution through constitutional means in response to the desperate need of our people for greater social justice, if only some of us, myself included, had stood up for the harder right instead of the easier wrong?

Of course there is no way to test the big decisions of history, as the Czech writer, Milan Kundera, says, because there is no way to go back and see what the opposite choices would have brought. Indeed, how can we know for certain that those of us who had experienced detention or been suppressed in the exercise of our freedom of expression during the Con-Con would not follow after the footsteps of our oppressors if it should happen that someday it may be our turn to wield political power? Would we not, then, precisely fulfill the role set by Paulo Freire in his Pedagogy of the Oppressed?

I do not really know what to think of these things; perhaps I can never know. Indeed, often in life we have to face serious and difficult questions where no one really knows the answers. But it does not really matter, as Max Frisch has once said; the important thing is to raise the questions nevertheless. Then, in the end, everyone must answer in his own way. Some, no doubt, would answer with their own lives.

Manila. Three hours past midnight of November 30, 1972.


Monday, November 27, 1972

The headline of the Daily Express today was “Second Reading Vote Today on Draft of Proposed Constitution.” The subheading is “Charter Reflect Spirit of New Society.”

I had a brief chat with Johnny Remulla and Jun Davide.

“There is no more oppposition in Cavite,” Johnny declared triumphantly. “Governor Bocalan is in the stockade while Senator (Tatang) Montano is out of the country. Tatang Montano was one of those to be arrested on the first day of martial law for smuggling and/or gunrunning.”

That left Johnny, indeed, the virtual ruler of Cavite.

I had thought that today we could start with our interpellations. I was about one of the few more interpellators who could not be accommodated yesterday because we adjourned early. However, when the session started in the morning, Roy Montejo moved that all other interpellations on the draft Constitution be submitted in writing to the Secretariat no later than 5:00 p.m. on November 28 for insertion in the journal.

I whispered to Sed Ordoñez, who was sitting beside me, “They have just killed my interpellation.”

I then dictated my interpellation to my secretary, Olive:

“We have divided the provisions of the new Constitution into those that are meant to be transitory in character and those permanent and enduring. I understand that the transitory provisions are meant to be merely provisional—that is to say, in the interim; that because of extraordinary circumstances certain powers are vested in certain officials. Is this the rationale for the concentration of executive powers which, ordinarily, we would not write among the permanent provisions during normal times?

“The members of the committee have been instrumental in convincing the majority of delegates that a parliamentary system of government is desirable for this country. The transitory provision, according to the draft Constitution, shall effect priority measures for the orderly transition from the presidential to parliamentary system of government. Does this mean that after the transition period, we shall then revert to the parliamentary system?

“If so, why the grant of extraordinary powers to the prime minister after the transition? Should these powers not be effective during the transition period only? Why should all the powers of the presidency be vested in the prime minister during normal times? Why not limit this grant of extraordinary powers during states of emergency? Again, why should veto powers be given the prime minister during normal times?

“As a corollary, there has been a diminution of the powers and responsibilities of the National Assembly under the draft being presented to us. I grant that during periods of emergency the power of Congress or of the Assembly may be greatly weakened, the reason being that these are abnormal times. But why, after normalcy shall have returned, should the National Assembly be allowed to pass only bills of local application? And what can be the justification for the deletion of the traditional immunity from arrest of its members during normal times?

“In the same manner, let us talk about civil rights. In the long history of constitutionalism, the most fundamental problem is that of striking a balance between national security and individual liberty. During normal times, however, democratic politics have tended to give greater weight to the fundamental liberties of citizens—not only of freedom of thought and speech, press, and worship but with all those freedoms that make human life human—the freedom to work and play, the freedom to laugh, the freedom not to be afraid. I find the predilection for being obsessed with national security understandable during abnormal times—during states of emergencies. But should we institutionalize the doctrine of national security and correspondingly diminish our vigorous support of civil liberties in the permanent provisions of the Constitution—after the national emergency shall have been over?

“Finally, we have a thick draft of the Constitution consisting of 92 pages. I find no more than eight pages given to the provisions on the national economy. And yet all of us agree that problems of national economy are among the most compelling problems of our people, and that indeed, the mediocre performance of the economy may put at risk the survival of our fragile democracy.

“What is our grand design for development? Is it not necessary to work for a fundamental restructuring of the world economy and a radical restructuring of social, political and economic institutions internally if we have to achieve development?

“And most important, is not social justice the overarching goal of development with which economic growth and self-reliance must be integrated to enable our people to attain a higher quality of life? Make their lives more human under the stresses and opportunities of growth? In other words, how do we effect radical changes in social structures so as to liberate the poor and the weak in Philippine society from their age-old bondage? What plan do we have for social reconstruction?”

Consummatum est,” I said as we filed out of the session hall at 9:40 p.m. today.

“Consummatum est,” echoed several delegates behind me, among them, Jess Matias and Erning Amatong. “We have just put the last nail in the coffin,” Erning said.

The elevator was getting to be full and I was the last one to enter. I asked quite innocently, “Where are we going?” A voice from behind said, “Very appropriate question—’Where are we going?’—Where else but down?” And still another delegate spoke: “Caesar, why do you ask such a question? Of course we are all bound to go down.”

The delegates were taking in stride the tragedy that has just struck. Filipinos are adept at double talk and the use of humor to hide their wounded feelings. Yet the note of fatalism cannot be hidden from their remarks.

The draft Constitution for the Republic of the Philippines was approved on second reading by a show of hands. Several of us—many from our Independent-Progressive group—abstained or voted “No.” But naturally, it was approved just the same.

But let us review the events of this day of infamy.

The day started with Delegate Yuzon proposing to change the first sentence in the Declaration of Principles to “The Philippines is a social and democratic Republic.” He made a very eloquent plea for acceptance of the amendment, arguing that the present wording, “The Philippines is a republican state,” was too tame to suit the progressive orientation of the new Constitution.

Of course, even the German Basic Law speaks of Germany as a social democratic state.

But responding on behalf of the committee, Ikeng Corpuz contended that the amendment would lead to confusion. The Yuzon amendment was lost, but I went over to Yuzon, anyway, to congratulate him for his progressive views.

The amendment of Naning Kalaw, which expresses the sentiment that those who have less in life should have more in law, was inserted into the records. Actually, President Magsaysay had made this as his slogan in the 1950s, the centerpiece of his social amelioration program. The poor guy did not realize that his legal adviser, Prof. Enrique M. Fernando, had taken the idea from Prof. Thomas Reed Powell of Harvard Law School. Insofar as our countrymen are concerned, this slogan is inextricably linked to Ramon Magsaysay; didn’t I see it inscribed at the Magsaysay Center at Roxas Boulevard?

At about 11:13, while we were still in the midst of amendments, Vic Guzman moved for the previous question on the entire draft of the Constitution.

That was not only foolish; it was sordid. Many delegates were furious.

I do not know what was in the mind of Vic. Of course, none of the amendments would be accepted. Nevertheless, he—along with the majority that completely overwhelmed us—could have manifested a spirit of moderation, of fair play, let alone generosity.

“Worse than the executioner is his valet,” Mirabeau had said during the French Revolution. How appropriately exhibited in our Con-Con!

When we started discussing the Bill of Rights, Sed Ordoñez rose on interpellation. He asked if the Bill of Rights was supposed to be operative. The answer of Tony Tupaz was “Yes.”

But was it not in conflict with the transitory provision?

“No, the Bill of Rights would be effective, subject to the transitory provision,” was the deceptive reply.

Double-talk!

“This is a fundamental matter—that of the civil liberties of citizens,” Sed warned. “We should not gloss this over.”

Tony Tupaz reiterated that the transitory provision would not nullify our civil rights; rather our civil rights would be subject to the transitory provision. Tony did not bat an eyelash as he solemnly affirmed his devotion to individual freedom.

In effect, our rights are guaranteed so long as they are not in conflict with the transitory provision, that is to say, with the decrees of the President. In other words, the President may suspend all our rights because we gave him that power in the transitory provision. Das ist klar (that is clear), my German friends would say.

Ramon Diaz has been around since yesterday. Presumably, he is only here to vote “No.” He had abandoned the Convention more than two months ago, right after we lost on the resolution providing for no reelection for the President. In fact, when I saw him, I said, “Ramoning, it is good to see you around; I mean, it is good to see you personally although it would have been better if I were seeing you elsewhere….”

“Yes,” he said, “it is tragic.”

Lolo Baradi and I exchanged some pleasantries in the hallway. Baradi, until the end, professed loyalty to Marcos. Yet…

“I tell you partner,” he said, “this New Society will fall unless the economy is able to pick up. What about the unemployment situation? I was talking with some of my clients and their attitude is not to move. The President has told the businessmen to cooperate, not just to wait and see—but why will the businessmen move when all they hear from the President are decrees: ‘Do this!’ ‘Do that!’ ‘Don’t do this!’ ‘Don’t do that!'”

I looked at this kindly old man quizzically. Here is a good friend of President Marcos disagreeing with what is happening and yet not being able to express openly his true feelings.

During the meeting with the businessmen, he commented, the President should have taken the opportunity to have some dialogue with them. What the Apo did was a monologue.

“Yes,” Lolo Baradi continued in a whisper, “the country will not prosper until we stop these decrees—’Do this!’ ‘do that!’ ‘don’t do this!’ ‘don’t do that!’ business.”

What a pity that men can have good thoughts but have their lips sealed, I thought.

I kept on waiting to pursue my amendments. I wanted to put on record my amendments on the Bill of Rights. Of course, Naning Kalaw has already presented so many amendments which have been recorded. I wanted to read my amendments on the Bill of Rights into the journal.

At 4:30 p.m., Vic Guzman stood up again and presented his motion to vote on the previous question.

What a terrible pest! Why the mad rush? Why not give everyone a chance to present amendments? Of course, these would all be voted down but nevertheless that was the very least that should be accorded the minority—the vanquished minority—us. The sporting idea of fair play, if not the generosity of the victor, is absent.

I thought of a strategy. I went to Edmundo (Munding) Cea and President Macapagal. I suggested that if we should run out of time, the floor leader, Roy Montejo, should move that all the amendments properly filed and not discussed on the floor should become part of the journal records. They agreed.

Munding was happy enough. But I suggested to him that it would be good to wait until the last moment to say this. In the meantime, we should still continue with our amendments.

President Macapagal was somewhat vigorously suggesting the same thing to Munding. “We should give everyone a chance to present his amendments,” he said.

“The amendments would be refused hut at least everyone should be given a chance,” I added.

Even President Macapagal was finding the proceedings repulsive. “Yes,” Macapagal echoed. “At least give them a chance so that people would not say we have railroaded everything…. Let us be somewhat democratic about this.”

We went through the whole ritual of having one amendment after another presented to the body refused by the committee, and overwhelmingly disapproved or withdrawn by the proponents. Whenever it was an amendment which would be quite difficult, a recess would be called by the committee members—Tony Tupaz, Tony de Guzman, Peps Bengzon, etc.—and then they would talk to the proponents. It was almost unbelievable—the way this would be followed by withdrawals of amendments by the proponents.

I started swapping jokes with my neighbors, “Madali palang magpa-withdraw.”

“How?”

“Two words are uttered by the committee people: ‘Isusumbong kita.'”

“Maybe it is not only ‘isusumbong kita,’ maybe it is ‘ipapa-stockade kita.'”

We laughed. Our laughter was tinged with sadness.

How come everybody, no matter how vehement about his amendment in the beginning, later on acceded to the request for withdrawal after a little conference?

“We are in a bullet train—five hours to Osaka,” I said in a loud voice.

“Yeah, make it three hours so we can go home,” echoed another voice.

We shook our heads in disbelief. Out of so many proposed amendments falling by the wayside, only one amendment was passed. This was a proposal by Sensing Suarez on search warrants and warrants of arrest. Under the committee draft, a search warrant and warrant of arrest shall be issued only upon probable cause to be determined by the judge or such other responsible officials as may be authorized by law after examination, etc. The amendment was to delete “or such other responsible officers as may be authorized by law.” In other words, only a judge may issue a search warrant or warrant of arrest under the Suarez amendment. Of course. Surely, not police officers!

The amendment was unexpectedly approved on a vote of 96 to 87.

We were jubilant. How grateful we are even for little blessings. The first amendment approved in two days! I was one of the many who congratulated Sensing for this.

Sensing told us the reason he stood up to thank the members of the committee after the voting was that the committee members also voted in favor although it was formally refused for the committee by Tony Tupaz.

Later, I joined Joe Feria, Bobbit Sanchez, Naning Kalaw, Lilia Delima and Cefi Padua at the terrace.

“What is your stand now?” Jose asked me.

“As of now, if the voting were nominal, I would abstain. If it is by a show of hands, I would abstain or vote ‘No.'”

Lilia then said, “Please reconsider. It is important for us to vote ‘Yes.’ The majority would only be too glad to have us out of the Assembly. They would only be too glad to see us taken to the stockade. Do you know that during the voting on the transitory provision, they were urging me to vote ‘No’ so that I would not be in the Assembly? Why should we play into their hands?”

Most of us decided to abstain or vote “No” if it is going to be a show of hands—with the exception of Fr. Ortiz, Justice Barrera and Nene Pimentel who, we know, are already firm in deciding to vote “No,” in any case.

Our little group was hoping that the voting would be by a show of hands.

Bebet Duavit was at the next table. He agreed with us. Nominal voting should only be on third voting.

We wanted it this way so that our little group could at least abstain if we may not be able to vote “No.”

As we were talking, Raul Roco strolled towards us with an air of nonchalance. He was whistling.

“Are you having any problem?” he asked laughingly. “Why do you have problems? I have no problems.”

“Sit down.” We put Raul on the chair.

He then told us that he had spent many hours of discussion with two “moral counsellors” and both of them had advised him to vote “Yes.” It was meaningless to vote “No” anyway. The important question was what possible harm could there be in voting “Yes?”

“Obviously, we have different loyalties. We have loyalties to our families, our committees, our country, but what harm does it do to vote ‘Yes?’ There could be harm in voting ‘No.'”

I related to this group—the remnants of our once proud Independent-Progressive bloc—the interview with Sakharov which I had read the other night. When asked finally whether they thought that their efforts—which have been putting him, his wife and his family in very great danger—would produce any significant change in Russian politics, Sakharov answered that he did not expect any such changes at all. Then why continue exposing himself and his family to danger? Because for them this is not a political struggle. It is a moral struggle: “We are dissenting, because we have to be true to ourselves.”

Raul Roco straightened up and looked straight into our eyes.

“The time to be true to ourselves has passed—that was during the voting on the transitory provision.”

There was a deafening silence.

Raul confided to us that one of the priests—with a foreign name which I cannot recall—told him it was like the question of Laurel and Abad Santos during the war. But then, Raul said, the analogy is not very accurate. The enemy was clear and specific during the Japanese time. The lines are quite vague this time. Who are we to say that this or that is the enemy?

We asked whether as a condition for the removal of his name and that of Romy Capulong’s from the wanted “list,” he was supposed to vote “Yes.”

“No,” Raul answered. “There was no discussion, there was no such condition. But it was assumed…. it was assumed.”

He laughed. Nervously.

We were all downcast, depressed.

Soon we were voting on the entire Constitution.

Sed Ordoñez stood up to move for nominal voting. As was to be expected, his motion was lost. The majority insisted on voting by a show of hands or by standing up.

Should I vote “No” or should I abstain? I could not possibly vote “Yes.” But what might I expect if, indeed, I voted “No?”

Before I could think through my dilemma or banish my fears, voting was called. Those who were voting “No” were asked to stand up.

I found myself instinctively standing up—to join the “No” voters. In half a second, Joe Feria joined me. But before we could fully straighten up, a sudden loud roar of approval burst out. The overwhelming majority of the delegates had obviously voted for the ap­proval of the Constitution!

We now have a brand new Constitution. A Marcos Constitution. Authoritarianism has been institutionalized. The lapdogs of the dictator were delirious with joy.

I remember that the British Prime Minister Gladstone had called the American Constitution “the most wonderful work struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man.” Our brand new Constitution is the opposite; it is the most despicable work struck off at a given time by the warped brain and purpose of man, to his lasting disgrace.

What is really this new Constitution that we have approved? It was not the draft Constitution approved by the Convention as such, a couple of months earlier. For all purposes, this is a new Constitution that has been framed by a Convention that has changed its stripes. The watershed was reached during the proclamation of martial law. From then on the Convention has been a transformed Convention. Several delegates have even turned against their own provisions—willingly or under duress.

Of course, the most “scandalous provision,” to use the phrase of (Senator) Jovito Salonga, is that of the transitory provision. It is objectionable on several points: (1) we have constitutionalized a dictatorship; (2) we have affirmed all the proclamations, decrees, general orders and letters of instructions of the President; (3) we have made ourselves, as delegates, beneficiaries of this Constitution by making ourselves assemblymen.

We shall become assemblymen—just like that!

The second feature—the legalization of the decrees of the President, was just somewhat improved upon by the amendment of Ikeng Belo to delete “are hereby confirmed, ratified as valid and binding,” etc., etc.

Part of the objections are contained in my interpellation which will be submitted tomorrow—because we are given until tomorrow to submit our written interpellations. Our oral interpellations have been cut off.

Bobbit Sanchez represents the same 2nd district of Rizal that Bebet Duavit represents. Bobbit informed us that it is now official knowledge in the Convention that Duavit is the high priest of Malacañang in the Convention. He receives instructions from Malacañang and transmits these during the proceedings.

Bobbit Sanchez confirmed that Duavit is presently thinking that only those who would vote for the Constitution on second and third readings should be allowed to be members of the Assembly. And we have just now not voted in favor. We have voted against. We are not going to disgrace ourselves. Whatever else life would bring or deny, one thing is absolutely certain: that we should not break faith with ourselves; that in our own eyes, our honor remains bright.

Duavit spoke. We should bear in mind, he said, that the rules of the Convention have been suspended.

What is the import of the rules being suspended? It is that the majority can do whatever it pleases, precisely because there are no rules.

But this is a perversion of democratic politics. Majority rule demands that the majority should prevail, it is true, but there are two conditions attached to these: that minority rights are not suppressed in the meantime, and that some day the minority might be the majority. In fact, the rationale for a written Bill of Rights in a democratic polity is to ensure that certain basic principles are insulated from the passing whims and caprices of majorities and officials.

Bobbit Sanchez, who seems to be able to gather much intelligence, gave the information that the other thing that Duavit is trying to accomplish is to undo the Suarez amendment, which restricts the issuance of warrants of arrest and search warrants to judges.

It was 9:18 p.m.—quite late in the night—when Duavit quietly, almost innocently asked Vice Pres. Abe Sarmiento, who was presiding, whether the rules have been suspended. He received an affirmative answer. He then quickly proposed to amend Section 16, Article 9, by adding on line 6, the words “unless the National Assembly shall provide otherwise.”

On behalf of the committee, Tony de Guzman accepted the amendment. Three seconds later, Abe banged the gavel to signify that the amendment was approved.

It was 9:19 p.m. No one was paying attention. Many delegates were still coming in.

Duavit then murmured some words. Was he uttering some magical incantations? He seemed to be proposing something… to amend Section 3, Article 4, by inserting the words that were deleted by the Suarez amendment on who may issue a warrant of arrest, “or such other responsible officers as may be authorized by law.”

Tony de Guzman accepted the amendment—which only a few people heard—in five seconds flat.

Chairman Abe Sarmiento asked if there were no opposition. A small, little figure swiftly darted towards the microphone and cried, “Objection!”

It was Bobbit Sanchez. Bobbit of course. Our gallant knight.

“We vote,” said an unruffled Abe. “Those in favor, raise your right hands. Those opposed…. Approved!” He banged his gavel.

It was 9:20 o’clock.

Ano ba ang pinag-uusapan?” one delegate innocently asked. He could have come from Mars.

Joe Feria was shaking his head in disbelief.

Ano, ano?… ito ‘yong amendment ni Suarez? Maganda ‘yon a. Hindi ba inapprove na natin?” Eli Johnson asked likewise in innocence. She could have also come from another planet. Creatures from another planet could have already conquered Earth, and she did not know it.

“This is terrible, terrible!” Rebeck exploded.

Yan ang sinasabi ko,” Bobbit threw his arms sidewards in a gesture of despair. He was grim. What can one really say to this? Like the dancing bear in Heinrich Heine’s Atta Troll, we are a people who love making speeches about freedom but secretly enjoy being in chains!

Many delegates started asking what had happened. All in one minute. But Abe was already far away on another item in the agenda. The railroad team had worked so efficiently. There was no discussion, no explanation.

Our Independent-Progressive coalition likes Abe but many delegates get exasperated when at times he becomes too cooperative with the establishment.

What is the meaning of the latest action? The clear meaning is that now it is not only the judge who may issue a warrant of arrest as provided for in the present Bill of Rights. It may be such other responsible officers as may be authorized by law. And law may be a decree. Which means, by a decree the President can ask any colonel or major or any other government officer, say, a chief-of-police, to arrest anyone.

It was not until some 15 minutes later that the full impact of the most recent action of the Convention was realized by most delegates. But by then everything was finished.

Cicero Calderon said that Duavit had phoned Malacañang about the earlier deletion of the phrase and that President Marcos was very angry over the deletion.

The Convention is really finished.

Two centuries ago, Vauvenargues said that the greatest evil which fortune can inflict on men is to endow them with small talents and great ambitions.


Tuesday, October 24, 1972

At 7:15 a.m., Sonny Alvarez called up. This was an unexpected call from a dear friend over whose safety I am concerned.

            Sonny is one of the most committed delegates to the Convention. His concern for the poor and vulnerable sectors of society is genuine. And his social vision is broad. It is for his convictions that he is under suspicion by the military—as a leftist.

            An excellent debater, Sonny has impressed many of us at the Convention. He is my alter ego at the Convention.

Sonia Aldeguer and Raul Roco are the two other closest and dearest friends with whom I have spent long hours of discussion and fellowship.

When martial law was proclaimed, Sonia was in Rome; she is a novice of the Religious of the Sacred Heart. Sonny and Raul both went into hiding immediately after martial law was proclaimed.

Sonny said he was coming to see me in the house for some advice. I told him that I was about to leave for Rizal Park to jog. We could meet there. He agreed.

I waited for more than an hour but Sonny did not appear. Upon returning home, I was informed that he had come to the house and left word that he was proceeding to President Macapagal’s house. He was once—when still a UP student—an aide to Macapagal.

On the way to the meeting at 10:15, I met Toto de la Cruz. Of the three men in the Con-Con special group, Toto is about the closest to Sonny. Sonny wanted to know if there is any way by which he could be made to vote without endangering himself. Toto replied that he is not sure how this could be done but that, in any case, he is going to think about it and consult the other two.

At the economic, group meeting, we made quite a bit of progress in integrating the different provisions. After a while, we decided that we had worked so much—from 10:30 a.m. to 2:45 p.m. and so we were going to adjourn to meet again on Thursday. We decided that Ding Quintos and Manong Raquiza should definitely be there so we could discuss the provisions on agriculture and natural resources and land reform. Preferably Teresita (Tessie) Flores should also be there so we could also listen to her draft provisions on social justice. We also decided to invite Celso Gangan to discuss the report of the Auditing Committee and Ben Campomanes and Fanny Cortez-Garcia for their drafts on foreign loans as well as monetary and credit policies.

We did gain much headway today.

Upon our adjournment at 2:45 p.m., I received a call from one of the Con-Con secretaries, Miss Perfecto, saying that Cecille Guidote, Sonny’s fiancée, had phoned and left a cryptic message: I am supposed not to have heard from anyone; I have not spoken to anyone.

I did not quite comprehend the full impact of the message, considering my earlier discussions with Sonny. I was under the impression that he wanted me to do something to enable him to vote.

At the session hall, before we started, I asked President Macapagal whether Sonny had seen him and he answered that he had but that their meeting was inconclusive.

Macapagal was optimistic. We added that the opportunity to vote that was given to Romy Capulong and Raul Roco is not specifically limited only to the two of them, so he (Macapagal) could always interpret this to mean that Sonny could also be allowed to vote.

Macapagal was not sure whether Sonny would want to vote “Yes,” though, “considering his ideological persuasions.”

I am, of course, very happy for Romy Capulong and Paul Roco, of whom I’m very fond. But I could not see the relevance to Sonny of the lifting of their warrants of arrest. And of how ideological persuasions could influence him one way or the other.

I suggested to Macapagal that, perhaps, he could talk to the three new powers—Francis Zosa, Toto de la Cruz and Ven Yaneza.

He replied that it is not necessary to talk to the three because any one of them would be sufficient. He felt that of the three, the one most flexible on this matter is Francis. He repeated that it is a matter of Sonny’s own decision.

I gathered later that their discussions were indeed inconclusive.

I looked for Toto. “Toto,” I said, “I understand that it is better that we assume that nothing has been said, that I didn’t tell you anything, that we didn’t hear from Sonny.”

            “Bakit naman?”

“I do not know but I gather that this is the best thing under the circumstances.”

“All right.” He was greatly relieved.

The meeting then started at the session hall. Ikeng Corpus stood up to say that the Sponsorship Council had been meeting under the chairmanship of Delegate Prof. Augusto Caesar Espiritu, who has the matter under control. Some applause followed the commercial.

I talked to Celso, the closest among us to Sonny. He had not seen Sonny at all lately. I told him that I had heard from Cecille. Celso is afraid that in two days’ time, the option would run out so in this brief period, we should find ways of helping Sonny. So we went to the office to phone Cecille. To my surprise, the answer that we got was very negative.

Cecille was very tense. She was absolutely determined that it is best that nothing should have been heard, that no one knows what is happening and no one knows where Sonny is.

“It is best that we leave it at that,” she said with finality. “Anyway, the voting would have nothing to do with Sonny’s liberty; it will not guarantee Sonny his freedom.”

Of course, she is right. It is his freedom that is important. The others are of little consequence.

Cecille added that she is almost desperate. And her phone is tapped.

I felt sorry for her. I wonder if she was speaking on her own out of her concern for Sonny? Or was this Sonny’s own decision?

Celso and I were also getting desperate ourselves.

“How long will he continue in hiding?” Celso asked gloomily. “He cannot be hiding forever.”

In bewilderment and near depression, Celso and I parted. I proceeded to my meeting with two business partners, Dr. Ricky Soler and banker Ting Orosa, Jr., at the Hyatt Regency Hotel.

Ting was in a light mood. “Honorable Delegate, we have not met for a long time.”

I answered, “Yes, Honorable Orosa, that is so.”

Ricky bantered, “He has been in the stockade.”

“I was presenting myself but they wouldn’t take me,” I quipped.

We were introduced to the Marketti people from Belgium who were having a meeting with Ricky. They left after a while.

A minute later, Ricky received a long distance call from Col. Freddie Ablan. He is in Singapore on some business negotiations. Apparently, a joint venture is being organized by Freddie Ablan and Sig Siguion-Reyna with the people from Belgium. Ricky was hoping our Consultasia management group would be able to do the project study on the matter.

We continued talking in a light vein. But Ting was getting fidgety after a while.

“You know, Ricky,” he said with some apprehension, “all hotels are now bugged.” His last words trailed off into a whisper.

He emitted a soft, nervous laughter.

Ricky insisted, quite proudly, that his office was not bugged. But Ting persisted in a trembling whisper: “All hotels are now bugged, Ricky.”

Ricky stood up and said triumphantly. “You want to be sure that this place is not bugged? I’ll show you.”

He walked briskly towards his desk. We bent to look under it. And we nearly froze in fright. A bugging instrument, precisely was right there—planted under Ricky’s desk! The telephone speaker was firmly stuck there!

Ricky was visibly shocked. Ting turned pale.

We calmed down after a while. Then we continued our discussion. We felt that perhaps there would be no more tapping instruments in the room. I showed them the two Grandjean memos on our proposal to float bonds in Europe.

Ting is one of our ablest bankers. The banker’s banker, some people say. It is such a pity that he was not able to leave the country in September. He could have gone with Grandjean in Zurich to Wuttke and other bankers to work on the government’s bond project.

Ricky responded that Ting should have no difficulty leaving; he (Ricky) could make the arrangements with Colonel Salientes—the undersecretary of defense. He was very sure he could get a clearance from the DND for Ting provided Ting receives a cable from abroad saying his presence is necessary at a business meeting of a given date.

“But I can not make the same offer for Dr. Espiritu.” Ricky gave me a whimsical look and smiled.

Ting answered that this was not even necessary because the closest man to the President himself, namely Bobby Benedicto, is working on his clearance papers. Nevertheless, he said, it seems almost impossible to leave. It is not easy to get a clearance to leave now even on a legitimate business trip.

We somehow got to talking about the possibility of my taking a business trip, too. Ricky repeated that I should not attempt to apply because my name was previously in “the list” and that according to Sig Siguion-Reyna, it was only removed by Enrile. Ting seconded the advice saying that at the moment I should not apply for a clearance for a business trip because the military are suspicious of me.

“What makes you think this way?” I asked in apprehension.

“This is a fact; I heard this.”

“Why? Why this?” I persisted.

Ting suggested that when I was president of the Philippine Chamber of Industries, and likewise when I served as a member of the National Economic Council, I must have made statements which were critical of President Marcos. He therefore advised me not even to attempt to apply.

“Perhaps, after a while, after things shall have quieted down, the military would allow you to leave but at the moment, you should really stay put,” he warned me.

I felt unhappy about these confirmations by my two partners that it would be difficult for me to secure a clearance for business travel. It was some comfort, however, to hear Ricky confirm that I was no longer in the DND list.


Thursday, October 19, 1972

I presided over the meeting of the Sponsorship Council, sub-council I, on Economic and Fiscal Affairs. Erning Amatong and Ikeng Belo came along. Serging Tocao thrust himself into the meeting on the ground that he is the assistant of Justice Barrera in the sub-council. He talked about the format of the Constitution. I had to cut him short because our discussion was limited to the major provisions. Ben Rodriguez also came after a while although he is not a member of the sub-council.

The main thrust of Belo’s proposal was to remove “numbers” in the Constitution. We should not talk about 60% or 70% Filipino ownership in agriculture and natural resources, in public utilities, in retail trade, etc., vis-a-vis foreign ownership much less 100% Filipino ownership.

Under the draft provision, agriculture and natural resources should be owned wholly by Filipinos (100%), with 30% ownership by foreigners (70% Filipino ownership) allowed under certain exceptions; all other corporate enterprises in the other reports would be owned 60% by Filipinos. Belo wanted it the other way around—namely, that no nationality requirement be mentioned at all in the business activities except only in agriculture and natural resources. The requirements there would be left the way they are presently provided for in the present (1935) Constitution.

However, he would liberalize it further by providing that although they should be 60% Filipino-owned, the legislature may, by 2/3 vote, increase or decrease the Filipino ownership.

My personal contribution was on the controversial provision on foreign investments. I got the group’s endorsement of my formulation—that foreign investments from any country shall be welcome insofar as they are in harmony with the development plans and policies of the country.

When the Convention opened 16 months ago, there were three distinct factions of delegates: (1) the pro-Garcia or Nacionalista-affiliated or supported candidates which later on constituted the nucleus of the pro-Marcos bloc in the Convention; (2) the pro-Macapagal or Liberal-leaning bloc; and (3) the Independent-Progressive bloc, at least 50% of whom are delegates who have never been in active politics and who profess non-partisanship in their approach to Constitution-framing.

The pro-Garcia (ultimately pro-Marcos) bloc, had a distinct plurality over the pro-Macapagal bloc in the Convention, hence the election of President Garcia, initially, as president of the Convention. (It was only after President Garcia had passed away early during his term that the Convention elected former President Macapagal to succeed him.)

The pro-Macapagal Liberal bloc, on the other hand, had some plurality over the Independent-Progressives, which was a coalition of three factions headed by Raul Manglapus, Tito Guingona and me.

Our Independent-Progressive bloc held a meeting at the home of Pepe Calderon of the pro-Macapagal Liberals. By this time, the pro-Macapagal bloc—their remnants anyway—were, for all practical purposes, in coalition with the few survivors of our Independent-Progressive bloc.

Inasmuch as Erning Amatong and I had arrived early, we got Cecing Calderon to talk about something else: to tell us what he had gotten from Liberal senators, Gerry Roxas and Jovito Salonga, to whom he had gone this morning.

Roxas had told Calderon: “I have already given out my thoughts to Alfelor and Trillana and Nepomuceno and that is to vote “Yes” if only because the situation is so fluid and we would not foreclose our options by voting “No” now. If we voted “No” now on the transitory provision, we would definitely not be in even if the situation should later warrant our being there. After all, if necessary, you may yet opt not to sign the Constitution, or not take your oath or take your seat in the National Assembly,” Roxas had said.

On the other hand, according to Calderon, Salonga had said that he would like to take a long look at this. In Salonga’s opinion, history would judge the proposed transitory provision in the new Constitution to be the most scandalous provision he has ever read in any Constitution. We should emphatically reject it.

Our other friends arrived—among them, Senator Juan Liwag, Joe Feria, Naning Kalaw, Totoy Nepomuceno, Fr. Ortiz, Cefi Padua, Joe Feliciano. With the eight of us, plus the Calderon brothers, we were ten in all—seven Independent-Progressives and three pro-Macapagal Liberals.

This is all that is left of our combined pro-Macapagal and Independent-Progressive blocs.

The phone rang. It was for Liwag. As he put down the receiver, he announced that Romy Capulong was coming.

Everyone was taken by surprise. Romy is a fugitive. He is in the “wanted” list and is in hiding. We all got somewhat tense.

“Is he not wanted?” Joe Feria asked apprehensively.

Cefi Padua was visibly nervous. “Don’t let him come here,” he twice suggested to Cecing.

Part of our anxiety lay not only in the fact that Romy was “wanted” but that, also, we were meeting in the home of a man who was supposed to be under house arrest.

Romy Capulong walked in, an embarrassed smile on his lips. In spite of our apprehensions, we were all very pleased to see him. Of course, he had been in close contact with Liwag because they are close. I myself was very pleased to see him. In fact, I had precisely thought of asking the members of our group to try to find ways of being able to assist him and Raul Roco financially. I was ready to pass the hat around.

I asked Romy how he was doing financially. Not very well, he said. So I then started asking for contributions. I could not immediately include Sonny Alvarez in our calculations because I do not know Sonny’s whereabouts although he is very much in my mind.

Romy told us some Catholic nuns have been taking care of him and Raul Roco. They gave him asylum in some retreat house. Evidently, according to Romy, some elements of the clergy are very much opposed to what is now happening. They are taking the posture of passive resistance.

It is some members of the Iglesia ni Kristo, Romy was made to understand by the nuns, who became the informers of the military before the proclamation of martial law. The whole INK church, according to them, was utilized by the military to get at critics, leftists and subversives. Of course, this did not jibe with the story that on the day of martial law, more than ten Iglesia ni Kristo security guards and two PC soldiers died at the gate of the Iglesia ni Kristo headquarters at Commonwealth Avenue during a scuffle at which recoiless rifles were used by the troops.

Liwag then gave again an impassioned speech against the transitory provision.

He said that someone who had run (and lost) for the Constitutional Convention was in tears the other day. This man said that he had missed the historic opportunity to prove his loyalty to his people; if he were a member of the Convention now, he would be voting against the provision.

The import of Liwag’s words is that it would be patriotic to vote “No.” Yet, when he was pressed, he seemed evasive and he refused to categorically answer how he would vote. Was the articulate and brave senator trying to hide his fear of being arrested?

Fr. Ortiz kept on saying that while he is thinking of voting “No” he also wants to be sure that there is really no useful purpose to be served by voting “Yes.” In other words, may not being in the Assembly be an opportunity for service to the people? So long as there are possibilities for doing good in the present government, he, too, is not exactly averse to serving.

Joe Feria and Naning Kalaw seemed to have changed positions somewhat. While yesterday Naning was almost ready to vote “Yes” and Joe almost for “No,” today Joe Feria is almost for “Yes” and Naning almost for “No.”

We asked Romy Capulong how he would vote if he could do so, i.e., if he has not gone underground. He said he would vote “Yes.”

Romy added that there was some hopeful news—that the President was fed up and also disappointed with his own “tutas in the Convention. His news was that Marcos did not really respect them. It may even be that the President would not be averse to getting people in the government who are more respectable even if they are not his own men.

A drowning man, it is said, would clutch at a piece of straw. But surely, also, one can see the rainbow through the rain?

Romy apparently was convinced that this is true.

As we were going out after our adjournment, Romy’s upbeat mood was not yet exhausted. “So Mr. Feria and Mr. Espiritu, you get prepared to be drafted; it may be that the President will send for you and ask you to join him in his administration.”

Totoy immediately shared Romy’s optimism. The president really respected our group more than his own lapdogs. He said it would be quite important to Marcos to give respectability to his decisions. In fact, he is very certain that none of us would be touched any longer because it is very important for the President that we give him our support.

Since yesterday, Totoy has shown inclinations to vote “Yes”—following the line of reasoning of Gerry Roxas. Cefi Padua, of course, is sure that his name was in the list. He seems ready to vote “Yes.”

The pressures were heavy on all of us. We take our freedom for granted; it is only when it is endangered that we realize that it is freedom, as Harold J. Laski has said, which can give final beauty to men’s lives.

Cicero Calderon is prepared to take a job offered by the International Labor Organization to be regional consultant in Bangkok. This gives him a very good excuse not to join the Assembly. I assured him that from what I remembered, the moment anyone has his appointment papers to work for an international organization, he may be able to leave the country. The question is if the voting were done before he could leave the country.

He said that if the voting were done before he could leave the country, he would vote “Yes.”

Cecing was emphatic, however, that for some of us, particularly me, there is really no choice: we should vote “Yes.” Twice he said, “Caesar is under duress; he would have been arrested were his name not taken out of the list by Johnny Ponce Enrile.”

Pepe Calderon discussed the pros and cons and said that the Metrocom troopers who came to his house were really sent by his political enemy in Nueva Vizcaya. In fact, his daughter twice saw one of the bodyguards of Leonie Perez, together with the Metrocom troopers, in both instances. He could not see why, given this opportunity, he should not be in the Assembly so that at least he would not be oppressed by his political opponents.

Liwag again continued his powerful orations against the transitory provision. But when pressed, he was still very vague and would not give his decision. He said that the only moral decision was a “No” decision. “If we vote ‘Yes’ it would only be because we are rationalizing or justifying our desire to vote ‘Yes'”, he said. But in the end, he still did not give us his own firm decision.

Liwag was lost in his ambiguity and indecision. Our Hamlet was clearly wrestling with his conscience.

Jose (Joe) Feliciano very forcefully attacked “the institution of a dictatorship in the country.” After the impassioned speech, he ended almost in a whimper.

“But these are abnormal times. We are under martial law. We have to take care or our own lives. Therefore, it is impossible to vote ‘No’. We have to vote ‘Yes.'”

Finally, we made a decision to have a written explanation on our vote. Without any discussion, it seemed to be understood that this would be an explanation to a “Yes” vote, particularly because Totoy, who was the one among us most openly for a “Yes” vote, volunteered to prepare the draft. Significantly, no one voiced any objection.

The fear of being arrested was now triumphing over the desire to refuse any traffic with the dictator. Is this then the way submission is finally secured from brave souls?… “But as for me,” Patrick Henry had orated before the American War of Independence, “Give me liberty or give me death.” But that was a long time ago. We all have forgotten this.

Was our little Independent-Progressive bloc—what was left of it (the others have either deserted us or have been bought by Marcos; a few are in prison and some are abroad)—inevitably drifting into an inevitable “Yes” decision? So it seemed!

On the verge of a betrayal? Or so cowed that the primal instinct of survival is fast overcoming the still small voice that had once reigned in their lives?


Tuesday, October 17, 1972

At noontime, I went to a meeting called by Senator Liwag, which was attended by the remaining Nueva Ecija delegates.

My brother Rebeck, really, is the one who represents Nueva Ecija—with Sed Ordonez, Emmanuel (Noli) Santos and Ernie Rondon. I actually represent the first district of Rizal—that glamor district comprising Quezon City, Makati, San Juan, Mandaluyong, Caloocan, Pasay, Navotas, Malabon, Parañaque, Las Pinas, Pateros and Taguig. Nevertheless, I am a native Novo Ecijano.

The agenda: the transitory provision.

Simultaneously, Alberto (Bert) Jamir, Iniong Santillan and Decoroso (Cosoy) Rosales, among others, were also meeting at another room of the Army and Navy Club to discuss the same subject.

Liwag read to us four documents written by four delegates. In the first of this, the writer said that he was going to vote for the transitory provision because he has no right to remove representation from his district in the interim Assembly. In spite of everything, he may yet be able to champion the cause of his constituents in the Assembly. Moreover, even if the delegates voted on creating the National Assembly in which they, themselves, were included, ultimately, by the ratification of the same by the people, the authority of the people would be stamped on it.

The second document said that the author will vote against the provision because actually it does not represent the real will of the people. It is not conducive to their welfare.

The third document stands for some kind of a compromise—but in the end it is for voting in favor of the transitory provision.

The most interesting document, however, was the fourth one. It sounded like it was written by a judge of the Supreme Court. The document said that there are two questions involved—one of principle and one of pragmatism.

The basic question has to do with principle. Are we convinced that the provision will be for the welfare of the people? Do we believe that this is the right thing to do? Does it not run counter to any other declaration previously made by us in the Convention?

If these criteria were not decisive enough, we should resort to pragmatism. We should find out if our vote will be decisive on the matter. In other words, will the provision pass anyway, with or without our vote? Or will our vote be decisive—can it change the decision of the Convention? If our vote is not decisive anyway, then a “No” vote will only make us vulnerable as well as ineffective. We should vote “Yes” then so that we can salvage any chastening influence that we might yet wield in the Convention or in the National Assembly.

Although he said that he would abide by the decision of the majority, Liwag gave the impression that he felt that we might as well vote “Yes” on this transitory provision if only as a matter of pragmatism—but then, he himself was not certain that this martial law is a sincere commitment to the welfare of the people.

Apparently, Noli Santos has already made up his mind to vote “Yes.” Like most delegates, he is somewhat afraid to vote otherwise.

In the same manner, Rebeck seems inclined to vote “Yes.” He said that there is really no alternative.

Sedfrey Ordoñez, however, said that, in principle, he will vote “No.”

On the second point raised by Liwag, namely, the compensation of the delegates in the Interim Assembly, he made a surprise proposal—that the delegates should receive only compensation equal to what we are now receiving as delegates. To him, it would be immoral and unprincipled to accept a salary higher than what we are now getting because then we would really be taking advantage of our position to benefit ourselves. We should not unduly profit from the creation of the position.

One delegate suggested that it is also stated in the Constitution that there should be no other interests on the part of the congressmen but that actually many of them are carrying on many other interests. And in the New Constitution, it is clear that the members of the interim Assembly would really not be able to practice any profession. This will be a full-time dedication, for them, to the National Assembly.

I opined that some big-time professionals in Manila, including Sedfrey Ordoñez, Sig Siguion-Reyna, Mateo (Mat) Caparas, Enrique (Ikeng) Belo, Juan (Johnny) Luces Luna and others would probably rather resign as members of the National Assembly than give up their lucrative law practice. My statement was not contradicted by Sedfrey.

I didn’t commit myself to any position on this point. I felt that it is, in fact, not the main issue. It is whether we should vote “Yes” or “No.” I related the story of Braulio Yaranon who was told that if he were to vote against the transitory provision, he would be a hero but he would be hanged.

In the afternoon, while I was on the 13th floor, Lito, Raul Roco’s aide, passed by. I asked him about Raul. He said that Raul, who has gone underground, is safe although he has been sleeping in different places. He has met with Raul eight times already, he said. He added that Raul is determined not to yield.

I told him that I have been trying to reach Raul to let him know that if I were in his shoes, I would give up and go to the stockade because my chances of survival would be better there. I said that the times are abnormal but that Raul Roco has still many more years of creative service to render to the country. He should not unduly risk his life in the next few weeks.

Lito said that Raul is engaged in “consolidating his forces.” I tried to pin Lito down on the meaning of “consolidating his forces.” I was relieved to know that he did not mean that he would join another outlawed group, much less the NPAs. If he was thinking of joining the NPAs, I would advise strongly against it.

Shortly before I left the session hall, I got a really big surprise. One of the young activists who has been attending the Convention sessions for quite a long time already as an observer came to me and said he wanted to give me an advice.

Ray Tan—he introduced himself—said that, paradoxical as it may seem, most of the activists and radical students feel that we should vote affirmatively on the transitory provision.

But why? I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

Ray said that he had gone to many areas and communicated with many youth groups and that the common consensus is that it is better to have as many people as they can trust in the new Assembly.

But why? Ray felt that, in any case, some of the reforms that the president seems to be introducing are somewhat along the lines of what we ourselves have been advocating, particularly, land reform.

I asked him how much his contact is with students. He claimed that it is a broad one. He said that actually the students that he is in touch with are the remnants of the different leftist groups—the leaders, that is to say, who have not been arrested and detained.

He asked me also to convey this message to other conscientious delegates whom they can trust—particularly from my Independent-Progressive bloc. He felt that I am one of those the activists trust. He conceded that this is really a strange suggestion—coming from the activists—but that, in any case, he wanted me, particularly, to hear it.


Wednesday, October 11, 1972

Malakas ka pala, tinanggal pala ang pangalan mo sa ‘wanted’ delegates.”

Cicero (Cecing) Calderon said that Sig Siguion-Reyna had told him that my name has been removed from the “wanted” list. He said he himself had been exerting; efforts to see Enrile and that he actually saw him on behalf of his brother, Pepe Calderon. Actually, he said, Pepe was not in the list. However, his political enemies had somehow contrived to get Pepe’s house searched for hidden weapons. In fact, he said, Enrile has these people now under investigation.

Anyway, it’s good to know that Pepe is not in the list.

            Malakas kang talaga, he repeated as he walked towards his seat.

When I sat down, there were talks, according to Pabling Trillana, that Raul Roco has been arrested and detained. I anxiously asked him for his source and he said it is Ben Rodriguez. I sought out Ben because I am very worried about Raul. Ben is quite convinced that Raul Roco is now in the stockade.

Joe Feria told Lilia Delima and me that two nights ago Raul Roco and Romy Capulong, who are in hiding, had surreptitiously dropped by his house to hear the latest developments.

Feria also said that he has seen the list of the 12 “wanted” people from the Convention supposed to be arrested. In the list are Sonny Alvarez, Tonypet Araneta, Romy Capulong, Voltaire Garcia, Boni Gillego, Bren Guiao, Ding Lichauco, Raul Manglapus, Nap Rama, Ernie Rondon, Raul Roco and Joe Mari Velez.

Another list has also been seen personally, Lilia said, by Tony Alano from Babes Navarro. (Babe’s father, Congressman Navarro, is chairman of the House Committee on National Defense.) The list contained 32 names.

Babes Navarro remembered some of those in the list: the 12 already mentioned, plus 20 more. Among those 20 are Bacalzo, Guingona, Concepcion, Nolledo and Viterbo, all of whom have already been arrested; Delima (the only girl), Occeña, Badoy, Sanchez, the Espiritu brothers, Pepe Calderon, Kalaw, Father Ortiz and Amatong.

Lilia Delima believes that this list of 32 is quite accurate. So there is reason, Lilia stressed, for us to keep quiet and not force the issue.

What did the brothers Berrigan say during the Vietnam War? I remember it was something like this: They came for someone across the street and we did not raise a finger to stop them. Next they came for our next-door neighbor and we didn’t scream. Then they came for us.


Tuesday, October 10, 1972

Julio Ozamis sat down beside me. At the precise moment that Tito Guingona was arrested last Friday, he said, Bobbit Sanchez was talking to him.

I am glad that Bobbit has not been threatened with arrest. At most, he may be under some kind of surveillance.

When Bobbit came in, he confirmed the report of Julio Ozamiz that he was speaking on the phone when Tito was arrested by the military last Friday. He also confirmed that he had phoned me when he learned about my being in the list two weeks ago.

It would seem that the report last week that our colleague, Dr. George Viterbo, was taken in Capiz is true. However, George was released immediately afterwards.

Why George was arrested at all is so hard to say because he is one of the most sober and level-headed delegates. His integrity is well-known, his character beyond reproach. I understand that one officer saw a book in his library entitled The Ecumenical Revolution and triumphantly announced that George is indeed a subversive.

There are now 11 delegates to the Convention who have been taken into custody. Of the 11, the two who have been released are Voltaire Garcia and George Viterbo. The nine others who are still inside are: Nap Rama, Joe Man Velez, Bren Guiao, Natalio (Talio) Bacalzo, JoeCon, Ernie Rondon, Pepito Nolledo, Tito Guingona and Ding Lichauco.

Possibly, six or seven more are in the list of wanted delegates. These are Raul Manglapus, who was able to get out of the country before martial law was proclaimed; Antonio (Tonypet) Araneta, over whom there was no reliable information as to whether he is inside or outside the country; Bonifacio (Boni) Gillego, Sonny Alvarez, Romy Capulong and Raul Roco, all of whom are in hiding; and possibly Pepe Calderon, whose house was raided by the military the other day.

The agreement was that the format of the Sponsorship Council shall be used by the Steering Council in writing the preliminary provisions. Thereafter, the Sponsorship Council will make the first draft of the Constitution. Afterwards, the group of 106 people, namely, the members of the Steering Council, the members of the Sponsorship Council and the panel of floor leaders will go over this and actually put the stamp of approval on the first draft. This will then be presented at the plenary session. This way, it is expected that the Constitution will be finished in no time.

In the afternoon, Monet Tirol invited Gary Teves, Fanny Cortez-Garcia and me to the Sulo Restaurant for a brief meeting. The major item in the agenda was what kind of speech he should deliver during the sponsorship of the articles on the national economy. Another item was what improvements we might be able to make at the last moment to the materials that were given to the Steering Council. Are there inconsistencies in these economic provisions?

From the way it looks, the improvement that can be done are to shorten the chapters on auditing, on the budget and on public works. I shall go over these tonight.

On the way to Sulo Hotel, Monet and I were talking about the arrests. He was surprised, of course, that George Viterbo was taken at all, although gladdened to know that he was later released. It may be, he said, that in the case of the others, their language had been somewhat personal and bitter. He has noticed for several years now, that Tito Guingona has really been hitting Marcos. The strongest attack was during his farewell speech as president of the Chamber of Commerce in 1968.

Monet wanted to be kind to me. He said it would be difficult to imagine that someone like me would be arrested by the military. My criticisms have been of high level, my language temperate and refined.

“Your discussions and commentaries have all been based on principles, not on personalities,” Monet consoled, “I’m sure you will not be arrested.”


Friday, September 8, 1972

Ikeng Corpuz was delivering a “bomba.” He said that it was wrong to ban Marcos and his spouse. He argued that this is a question of civil liberties, and civil liberties have to do with individual rights rather than conjugal rights.

Ikeng Corpuz is a curious man. He is a former congressman and is much older than many of us in our bloc. He is unpredictable, in many ways. In the early days of the Convention, and in fact, even before the Convention, he had somehow found his way into the Manglapus camp. I think he had voted for me during my “primary” fight with Tito Guingona because of the fact that we were at Harvard Law School together. I remember him most as having been shocked that our Harvard exams were held during Holy Week. “Ano ba ang mga tao dito, Hudyo? he had uttered. Now he has been going around with and seeking the support of the Marcos people for his bid for the chairmanship of the Sponsorship Council. He has somehow drifted towards the camp of the politicians. He is really an old politician with a politician’s heart, generally of good intentions even if the strength of his convictions might be suspect.

Nevertheless, unpredictable as Ikeng might be, he is nothing compared to the enigmatic Oka Leviste, who is just about the most unpredictable man in the Convention. Romy Capulong said that Oka has been eased out of Manglapus’ Christian Social Movement for having voted “No” to the ban-dynasty resolution, as well as for many other reasons. Ramoning Diaz jokingly added that Oka’s credibility is sometimes below sea level.

Sed Ordoñez commented that between the two Levistes, Jose (Joey) seems to have more credibility. “Except that according to Raul Roco, during the election for committee chairman, Joey Leviste and Sonny Alvarez had run against each other, and it would seem that Joey then dropped all his independent feathers and sought to get the support of the Marcos bloc who were the majority. In fact, for quite a while, he really seemed to have played politics and voted with the pro-Marcos people,” Sed continued.

“But lately, he has been showing some independence again. He voted ‘Yes’ on the ban-dynasty proposal. The real problem is you just don’t really know how his mind works, because while I grant that he strikes me as being a sincere man, the way he has been voting lately makes one wonder,” I rejoined.

My conjectures with Sed were interrupted. My brother, Rebeck Espiritu, gave a speech which was well-delivered. He had explained that his “Yes” vote was really to redeem the parliamentary system and protect it from “that man” in Malacañang.