University of the Philippines (UP) Alpha Sigma Fraternity Batch 74-B Initiations: How I became a Masig

Disclaimer: The UP Alpha Sigma Fraternity no longer undertakes the physical initiation rites and methods described in this blog. This blog is for historical and retrospective purposes only. -- Beto Reyes

"Shared pain is a powerful bond among those who experienced it"

In my student days, I became a member of the activist fraternity, the University of the Philippines Alpha Sigma Fraternity. I joined Alpha Sigma sometime in March or April of 1974. I belonged to the second batch of Alpha Sigma recruits that year, so our batch was called “74-B”.There were 9 (the Lucky 9) of us.  Namely: Engr. Cayetano "Ayet" Agpi (deceased), Engr. Nani Andrade (MIA), Engr. Rudy Arias, Engr. Rene Bautista, Arch. Tito Benedicto, Engr. Jun Palmiano, Prof. Beto Reyes (yours truly), Engr. Jun Vigo, and Dr. Ninoy Villanueva.   Brod Jun Palmiano is the only one who is based abroad (Canada) and unfortunately Brod Jun as of this writing does not have an FB nor a Viber account. The batch before ours, or “74-A”, was much smaller, being composed of only two recruits. I remember who they were, because they became very close friends. They were Jesus “Jess” F. Fernandez and Roli G. Talampas.

I joined UP Alpha Sigma because of its nationalist allure, activist glamour, intellectual chutzpah, and “noble savage” posturing. When a frat recruiter told me that Alpha Sigma, or its Greek equivalent, “A∑”, originally meant “Advocates of Scholarship,” that this was later changed to “Alay sa Sambayanan” (Offered For the People), and that it was Kabataang Makabayan (KM) chairman Nilo Tayag's fraternity, my curiosity got aroused.

My original choice was the College of Law based frat Sigma Rho, because I initially planned to take up law, and besides, Sigma Rhoan Demari Raval was persistently inviting me to join. However, I hastily backed out on the first day of being a frat neophyte, or in UP language, “amuyong”, when a frat member, or “master” brashly ordered me to kiss a female dog’s vagina. I was 19 years old, and was certifiably shocked.

The first Alpha Sigma member or “Masig” who approached me was a Veterinary Medicine student named David or “Dave” Fernandez. That was late 1973, and I told him I was not interested. The second one was Jesus F. Fernandez, who was a fellow political science major and fellow member of the newly revived UP Political Science Club. When Jess invited me to join Alpha Sigma, he was fresh from the initiations of Batch 74-A.

No one projected UP Alpha Sigma's activist image during the Seventies better than frat charter member and  Kabataang Makabayan (KM) 2nd chairman Nilo Salumbides Tayag. His Philippine Collegian article "Komitment" was required reading for Left activists.  In 1969, he was arrested by government agents somewhere in the Southern Tagalog region. In 1971, the frat initiated a highly successful info campaign called "Free Nilo Tayag Movement" Thousands of posters and t-shirts bearing the above image of him were printed.  After the campaign, Nilo was elevated into national icon status, which inspired a whole generation of activists, me included. (Photo from  The Revolution for Filipinism by Bishop Nilo Tayag)

Jesus Flor "FF" Fernandez

Jess and I were already close friends when he invited me to join Alpha Sigma. During off-class hours, he told me the history and orientation of the fraternity, in an obvious pitch to make me join. It probably helped that Jess, an underground operative, already knew me as having activist views, that he became interested in recruiting me into the fraternity with the Leftist reputation. Jess was also fondly called “FF” because of the last 2 letters of his initials. However, after I got into Alpha Sigma, I found out that FF also stood for “Fighting Fish,” or what 8 mm. porn films were called in those days. During Alpha Sigma drinking sessions, Jess always had a spool or two of Fighting Fish films ready. Because of Jess’ persuasive invitation, and because I already had a number of trusted friends in Alpha Sigma, I decided to join. What Jess slyly did not tell me, however, was what went on during the frat’s week-long initiation. I had an inkling that it was tough and hesitated momentarily. However, my better judgment told me to go ahead.

Jesus Flor "Jess" or "FF" Fernandez. He was the one who got me to join UP Alpha Sigma Fraternity in early 1974.We were both political science majors and members of the UP Political Science Club. Jess graduated from San Sebastian College High School and was a member of the pre-martial law mass organization Student Alliance for National Democracy (STAND). We were close friends even before I entered the frat. Jess was known for his earthy and infectious sense of humor. He and his girlfriend at that time Marife Fetalino coached me on the rudiments of activism. He stuck by me during the physical initiations. We often hung around in his home on Ermin Garcia St. in Cubao. I often rode on his bright orange VW Brasilia. He was a very good driver even though he had one bad eye. I wondered though how he got his driver's license.  (Photo by Bantayog ng mga Bayani Foundation)

Antonio Tagamolila

An event that inspired me to join Alpha Sigma was the funeral of Alpha Sigma member Antonio “Tony” Tagamolila in February 1974. Tagamolila had joined the New People’s Army (NPA) a few years before and had just been killed in an encounter with government troops in Iloilo. Before joining the NPA, Tagamolila was an outstanding economics student, editor-in-chief of the official UP paper, The Philippine Collegian, and president of the prestigious College Editors Guild of the Philippines (CEGP).   

I was egged on by several activist friends to attend the funeral. I attended the mass at the UP Catholic chapel and the funeral at the Loyola Memorial Park. The fraternity handled these events, and, in a tasteful way, converted them into a cultural presentation of the Left.  They sang activist songs and shouted activist slogans, as they extolled Tony’s qualities and principles.

One memorable moment at the funeral was when a Masig, Joy de los Reyes, realizing that so many government agents had mingled with the medium crowd, defiantly shouted “Marcos Hitler Diktador Tuta.” Joy had long been the fraternity’s slogan shouter because of his booming voice. I admired Joy’s courage, because he could have been arrested on the spot. After all, martial law was not even 1 and ½ years old at that time. At any rate, after the funeral, I decided that this was the fraternity I would join.

Antonio Tagamolila: UP Alpha Sigma, former editor-in-chief, Philippine Collegian and president, College Editors Guild of the Philippines (CEGP). He had a brother, named Crispin, who, as a 1st lieutenant in the Philippine Army, raided the Philippine Military Academy armoryon March 29, 1971, along with another lieutenant, Victor Corpuz. Crispin Tagamolila and Corpuz then joined the communist New People's Army (NPA)  and delivered to the latter the firearms they took inthe raid.    (photo by Bantayog ng mga Bayani Foundation)

The Paddle

The first session of the initiation was called a “presentation”. I was “presented” to the fraternity at the residence of medical student Danilo “Danny” Sacdalan. Danny’s home was located in the  campus, a short walk from Romulo Hall, and along Katipunan Avenue.

There was just a handful of Masigs or “brods” attending. It was just me being presented, but I was told there were others who were entering Alpha Sigma with me. They blindfolded me, removed my wallet from my back pocket, and checked if had any kind of padding on my rear to dull the pain. Then, without much introduction, I received the initial 5 “paddles”.

The “paddle” was a mean piece of hard wood, about a meter long, an inch thick, and about 6 inches wide. It narrowed down considerably at one end, so the user could use both hands in powerfully whacking it at a neophyte’s posterior.

While blindfolded, I remember hearing someone blurting out: “Assume!” After this command, I was made to bend over and spread my legs a little. Two persons held on to my upper arms to support me. I prepared myself for the incoming blow, but I had no idea how hard the paddle would hit.

Joy de los Reyes was Alpha Sigma's resident theoretician, philosopher, and slogan shouter. His booming voice could project "Marcos Hitler Diktador Tuta" around a 100 meter radius. He did so at Loyola Memorial Park during Tony Tagamolila's funeral in 1974, when he noticed so many government agents around. An audacious act, considering martial law was at its most repressive at that time. Joy died of lung cancer May 3, 2013. (Photo from ellentordesillas.com)

The first paddle gave my buttocks a profound pain that lingered many seconds after it struck. Instantly, it dawned on me how tough this frat initiation would be.

In fairness to the Masigs, they waited for 10 to 20 seconds before delivering the second paddle, and so on until the fifth one. I bit my lip after every wallop landed.  By the fourth one, I had decided that I was going to endure this week-long thing and be a full-fledged Masig. When the fifth paddle hit, I remember my ass was already numb.

The next day, the entire batch of neophytes was told to go to Vinzons Hall at 12 o’clock noon. The Vinzons Hall cafeteria was where the Masigs usually had their lunch, together with the Sigma Alpha, their sister sorority.

The seal of the UP Alpha Sigma Fraternity. Frat lore has it that the founding brods had the legendary Alpha Sigma  bulletin board bearing the seal engraved on narra wood in Paete, Laguna (photo from Alpha Sigma Facebook]

Public Humiliation

It was time for the public humiliation part of the initiation. Most of the batch did not have classes at noontime, so the Masigs had more than a handful to embarrass.

The Masigs, or, as we were required to call them --- “masters”, ordered us to do demeaning things, like serving them food, rubbing their shoulders after eating, and telling us to give flowers and publicly court or woo any random girl who happened to be eating lunch.

I gutsily played along, because I really wanted to be an Alpha Sigma. One Masig, Soliman “Soli” M. Santos Jr., even gave me a rose and told me to present it to his girlfriend, Doodie Martinez, who was enjoying her lunch. I did just that, and added some theatrics, like singing to the lady while falling down on one knee. It was fun.

In the one-week period of the Alpha Sigma initiations, my vacant periods from my studies were spent being the willing fool in these public degradation sessions. On many occasions, we were required to spend time at the frat “tambayan” (hangout) at the College of Arts and Sciences (CAS) second floor lobby.

Charter members of the UP Alpha Sigma Fraternity. The fraternity was founded on October 10, 1962. In the early days, Alpha Sigma admission had a general weighted average requirement of 1.75 (Photo from Alpha Sigma Facebook)

Second Floor CAS Lobby Tambayan : The BB

The Alpha Sigma tambayan was a well-known place in CAS. Located at the entrepot that was the second floor CAS lobby, it consisted of two long benches at a right angle to each other, with one having its back to the academic oval, and the other against an imposing concrete wall on which hung the fraternity’s ornately carved narra bulletin board, or “BB.”

Within Alpha Sigma, the tambayan was endearingly called BB. The bulletin board itself was a sight to behold. Measuring about 1.5 meters by 1 meter, it was carved in Paete, Laguna out of narra hardwood. At the center, framed in a square, were engraved for posterity the letters A∑. From behind these letters emanated majestic rays of light, which had been so skillfully depicted by the Paete sculptors. At both sides of the BB were either empty polished spaces or shelves --- here memories fade.

To top it all, the BB was varnished a stately golden brown, and polished from time to time, such that the wood grain stood out and it shimmered when touched by the afternoon sun. To the Masigs, it was an enduring symbol of the fraternity. 

During a rumble with Upsilon Sigma Phi  fraternity some years later, I heard that our opponents plastered our beloved BB with human excreta. My heart broke.    

At the BB, the Masigs told us to do menial things, like massaging their backs and feet, and buying them things like food, cigarettes, and bluebooks. It was here that I finally met the leader of the frat, who went by the title of “Lord Chancellor,” or “LC” for short. His name was Alex Erlito S. Fider, a tall, skinny, and bespectacled fellow. Erlito wore glasses and sported bushy hair, and was an economics major.

The BB was also the best place to accomplish another neophyte requirement --- a notebook containing the name, nickname, batch, year and course, phone number, address, hobbies, achievements, and birthday of as many Masigs as possible. The neophyte would politely approach the Masigs, introduce himself, and request the former to fill up a page. At the bottom of the page the Masig usually wrote a dedication, or some words of encouragement. 

Another humbling thing I had to do during the initiations was go to Masig Butch Denoga’s house along Timog Avenue, Quezon City, on a Sunday morning, to wash and polish his pet Volkswagen Beetle.

Another UP Alpha Sigma hero/brod was Jose "Pepe" Luneta. He was a founding member of the frat on October 10, 1962, Kabataang Makabayan on November 30, 1964, and the reestablished Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) on December 26, 1968. He was arrested by Philippine intelligence agents in early 1976, and made a successful escape in the early 80's. I never met him in UP, but when I was detained at the Bicutan Rehabilitation Center in 1979, we met and became friends. (Photo from UP Alpha Sigma Facebook)

Ubag, the UP Alpha Sigma archetype representing Jean Jacques Rousseau's noble savage. Ubag is Alpha Sigma's contribution to romantic primitivism. Translation: simple lives but complex minds.   (Photo from Alpha Sigma Facebook)

Very Safe Physical Sessions: No Blows to the Back, Chest, Abdomen, and Head.

The physical sessions, which formed the essence of the initiations, were conducted after classes, starting at about 7 pm. They were conducted outside the campus, and always at the residence of a frat member. They would last until 11 or 11:30 pm.  

We underwent 3 of these sessions, with the third one being the harshest.  The latter was aptly called the “Finals”.

Compared to these sessions, the presentation was a breeze. For starters, there were more Masigs present. During these pre-finals sessions, there must have been 20 to 30 Masigs present. This meant that there were this many “masters” who would kick or punch your four limbs, taunt you, insult you, take turns hitting your ass with the frat paddle, and whose first name, surname, and last name you had to memorize, under threat of more bodily punishment.

Secondly, we were paddled as often as the number of letters in Alpha Sigma Fraternity. I realized then that 20 paddles delivered at full force could really test one’s resolve.

To our relief, the paddles were given in sets of 5, and in intervals of about 15 seconds. The sets, in turn, were given at intervals of about 30 minutes. Otherwise, I thought, we pitiable “amuyongs” would have passed out from the agonizing pain.

In between the paddle sets, each of us were surrounded by 4 to 5 Masigs, who took turns punching us repetitively on the upper arms, and giving us knee blows on our buttocks, and behind our thighs. I noted that the disciplined Masigs did not hit us where it could be fatal, like the back, chest, abdomen, and of course, the head.

A UP Alpha Sigma Anniversary ball, sometime in the early Sixties, at The Aristocrat Restaurant, Cubao. (Photo from Ubag Facebook)

In All Fields of Endeavor, the Mark of Excellence

In 1974, the memory of the 1967 death of engineering student Ferdinand Tabtab during the initiation rites of the UP Alpha Phi Omega Fraternity (APO) was still fresh. The Masigs, to my mind, were obviously under instructions by the Alpha Sigma officers to avoid a repeat of that tragedy.

Today, however, when I think of my widespread bruises during the beatings, I shudder to think that just a tiny blood clot from the bruises could have travelled through my veins, caused a blockage somewhere , and killed me.

While the Masigs were pummeling us, they repeatedly and toughly drilled us to be loyal to the fraternity, to love the “brods”, practice brotherhood, and abide by the frat’s principles. The three most repeated maxims were “Alay sa Sambayanan” (Offered For the People), "Truth, reason, and justice), and “In all fields of endeavor, the mark of excellence.” We would answer every instruction with a submissive and brisk “Yes master!” Who wouldn’t?

When the first session was over, I remember my upper arms and the backs of my thighs were bruised a deep purple. I also had difficulty walking, because of the pain in my ass. 

Before the maulings, there was that part where the neophytes were required to identify the Masigs by their complete names. They were conveniently assembled in a standing semi-circle.

The customary position while identifying the members was to have your left arm bent at a right angle pointing upwards, while your stretched right arm  with palm exposed pointed to the Masig you were identifying.  Mistakes, which often where made when it came to the middle names, were penalized with either extra beatings, or an extra paddle or two.

Before the sessions therefore, we wracked our brains memorizing the names of as many Masigs as possible, whether they have signed our notebook or not. The identification part was about the only part of the session where we did not have our blindfolds on. By the way, we were also required to memorize the complete names of the charter or founding Masigs --- all 18 of them. The frat was founded on October 10, 1962.

Half-naked Masigs, mid-Sixties. No jogging or lifting weights for these guys. Most of them were drinkers and smokers. But they made some of the more glorious chapters in Masig history. (Photo from Alpha Sigma Facebook)

The "Sadistas"

There was also the danger that a neophyte might casually incur the ire of a hot-tempered Masig, or what was informally called “sadista” (sadists). These were the Masigs who, for the slightest or no reason, would beat the hell out of a neophyte (within safe margins of course), or paddle him as hard as possible. Fortunately, we knew who these Masigs were, and we made extra efforts to memorize his complete name, and know his every quirk.

The "sadista" Masigs whose names I remember were Masig David Fernandez who was also nicknamed “racha,” which was a Tagalog colloquial for beat completely, and Mario “Mar” Padua, whose stare could kill any neophyte. After the initiations, to the batch’s surprise, Dave and Mar turned out to be very nice brods.

To even things up, there were also the compassionate Masigs, those who would just pretend to beat you up, like giving soft blows, and soft paddles. They would also gently whisper words of encouragement in your ear in the heat of the beatings. This helped a lot.

Most of these nice Masigs were the national-democratic or Left activists, who shunned overly hurting neophytes. Probably it helped that they knew I already had activist leanings,  because I felt that they were singling me out for soft treatment and words of encouragement midst my agony. The Masigs I remember doing this to me, kind souls all, were Jess Fernandez, Romeo “Ome” Candazo, and William “Billy” Begg.

The 3 are now no longer with us. Jess Fernandez died of cancer in 2007, Ome Candazo died of a heart attack in 2013, and Billy Begg died, as an NPA, in an encounter with government troops in 1975.

I remember William Vincent "Billy" Begg  as the brod who supported my arms during the furious paddling, and who whispered comforting words to my ear during the rest periods. I played basketball against him once --- he was a very quick point guard who ran circles around me. Probably learned the game in minor and major seminary, from where he came going into UP.  One of the gentlest Masigs of my time. (Photo from Bantayog ng mga Bayani Foundation)

Alpha Sigma "Pulajanes"

I later learned that the Left activists within Alpha Sigma called themselves the “Pulajanes,” in honor of a suicidal Filipino resistance group in Samar during the Philippine-American War from 1899 to 1903.

Aside from Jess, Ome, and Billy, the Masig Pulajanes I remember were Daniel C. “Gut” Gutierrez, Alex Erlito Fider Jr., Soliman S. Santos Jr., Renato S. “Rene” Velasco, Joy de los Reyes, Jesus “Jess” Lagunzad, Diwa C. Guinigundo, Alex Africa, Felipe "Ipe" Reyes, and Roli G. Talampas. Raul Pangalangan, Ruben "Benrubs" Edejer, Sabino "Abe" Padilla, and Arnel "Batman" de Guzman were also Masig Pulajanes, but at that time they had not yet entered Alpha Sigma. 

I remember the two pre-finals sessions were held, respectively, at the houses of Masigs Renato S. “Rene” Velasco in Caloocan, and Soliman  M. Santos at 18 Mariposa St. in Cubao, Quezon City.

At that time, I went home to Bulacan, Bulacan, which was about an hour and a half commute from Metro-Manila. The problem was that the sessions finished at about 11:00 pm, while the buses I took to our house only made trips up to 10 pm.

To reach home, therefore, I rode the Bocaue, Bulacan bound Sarao-type jeepneys at Monumento which ran trips 24/7. At a junction in Brgy. Wakas, Bocaue, Bulacan, I asked my kind parents, Domingo Coronel Reyes and Eneida Enriquez Reyes to pick me up at something like 12:00 midnight. They were just too happy to fetch me even at that unholy hour.  

It was somewhat dark, so they did not notice the extensive eggplant-colored bruises on my arms, at least until we got home.

Alay Sa Sambayanan and the frat motto: Truth, reason, and justice. (Photo from Ubag Facebook)

The Finals

The final session was held at the house of Lito Tiongson, a Masig who was an aspiring script writer for films and documentaries. I remember Lito’s house was in Project 8, Quezon City. Lito has also passed on, many years ago. When he died, Lito was a professor at the UP College of Mass Communications, and a multi-awarded writer.

The finals was more violent than the previous two sessions, for two reasons.  First, the amount of paddles we received was not only equivalent to the number of letters in the frat’s name,   but also included the number of letters in our respective complete names, and “Alay sa Sambayanan.”

In my case, I would receive 56 paddles that night, compared to 20 apiece for the preceding sessions. Overall, I received 101 paddles for this Masig initiation, and God knows how many other blows.  

Second, the number of Masigs who attended final sessions was traditionally the highest in the whole initiation process, roughly, 50% more.  The number of punches and kicks a neophyte was to probably receive, therefore, increased by this scary magnitude. And it did.

Romeo "Ome" Candazo was one of the ardent Alpha Sigma "Pulajanes." He became its"Lord Chancellor" (LC) sometime in 1974. Another close friend and brod. I was arrested and detained twice during martial law, once in 1975, and again in 1979. In those two times, we were together. There's nothing like going through a life-threatening experience together to preserve a friendship. On our 2nd arrest, when we were both blindfolded and handcuffed in Camp Crame while awaiting interrogation, he jokingly whispered to my ear --- "Brod huli nanaman tayo" (Brod, we've been arrested again). That single statement, spoken so nonchalantly, eased my fears somewhat.  Ome was once a columnist for the Philippine Collegian, going by the name of "Ahas Tulog" (Sleeping Snake). He once used my name to depict a hungry street boy who was oppressed by the system. One of his classic pieces, the column was titled "Nang Kumulo Ang Tiyan ni Beto" (As Beto's Stomach Churned) Ome Candazo died of a heart attack on August 19, 2013. (Photo from Romeo Candazo Facebook)

The Gauntlet and Lots of Tancho Tique

After we had gone through the paddles, the identification part, and the indoctrination underscored by severe mauling, we braced ourselves for the last part of the finals, which we were told was the no-holds-barred “Gauntlet.”

We were blindfolded, but prior info had it that the Gauntlet consisted of the total number of Masigs in attendance standing in two parallel lines facing each other. Given the number of Masigs that were in attendance, those two lines must have been more than 20 feet!

The batch of neophytes were to slowly walk between the two lines, and we were told, frighteningly, that the members were authorized do as they pleased to us. We were even warned that many Masigs carried a paddle, or a club, or even pots and pans.  Everyone in the batch braced for the worst.

But first things first. Before we were lined up to go through the Gauntlet, the Masigs massaged into our hair the most generous amount of Tancho Tique hair pomade I had experienced in my life. As they were doing this, we were like docile pigs getting groomed just before the slaughter. The excessively fragrant  and gooey Tancho Tique nauseated me, but I shook it off.

Then, they gave each of us a comb and told us to use it so we would look good as we were being assaulted. They warned that neophytes with unkempt hair would be battered the hardest. I must have combed myself like Rudolph Valentino.

Show Us Some Guys

And so the fateful moment arrived. Alpha Sigma Batch 74-B, was now ready to attack the Gauntlet.  The seven of us were lined up, told to put our hands on the shoulders in front of us, and blindfolded. In the case of the lead neophyte, he was told to put up a battering-ram stance.  

The Masigs shouted obscenities, taunted us, or otherwise made mincemeat of our remaining pride. But we put these all in stride, as all of us wanted the initiations over with. Our twenty-something bodies had fared well through it all.  The adrenaline was flowing, and our spirits were high.

We charged like hell into the Gauntlet as if there were no tomorrows. As Tennyson put it, ours was not to reason why, ours was to do and die. As we advanced, anticipations of pain, suffering, anatomical dislocation, or even death flashed like a carousel in my mind.

In about 20 seconds or less, it was all over. We were not hurt ----- we were only pushed, shoved, and cajoled to negotiate the Gauntlet as quickly as possible.

As soon as the entire batch was outside the Gauntlet, the menacing column broke and transformed into a cheering crowd.  Spontaneously, the Masigs erupted into a triumphant rendition of the UP Alpha Sigma hymn “Show Us Some Guys.” 

Above the din, the operatic voice of brod Pons Raya, a member of the UP Concert Chorus, stood out. The emphatic refrain went like this:

           

“You can have your cup of equity,

But we know one thing with certainty,

It’s unfair but we're there,

We're beyond compare,

Alpha Sigma Fraternity!”

We were Alpha Sigma brothers at last. They were embracing us and calling us brods. The batch, to a man, was in tears. We were so happy we forgot the pain, the humiliation, and the Tancho Tique.

Summer 1974: Pabasa, Basketball, Libots and Flores de Mayo in Bulakan Bulacan

The second semester having ended, I spent the entire 1974 summer break in my hometown, Bulakan, Bulacan. Our barangay's name was Maysantol, but it was also called Kupang.  It was a busy summer, busier than usual. UP politics and anti-martial law protests were far from my mind.  Little did I know that this summer would be one of the last authentic and personal enjoyments of my hometown I would experience before my activist career began.

I spent this summer hanging around with my barkada, which consisted of Edmund Reyes, my younger brother, my second cousins Tony Enriquez, Jun Enriquez, and Val de Jesus, and our next-door neighbor Edjie de Jesus. We whiled away time in front of Horacio's sari-sari store across our house, which had in front of it two worn out but glossy bamboo benches, facing each other.

Photo shows my barkada in Bulakan, Bulacan during much of the Seventies. We were having a picnic in the garden  in front of our house. We were feasting on pakbet, longganisang Bulakan, inihaw na bulig, (grilled mudfish), suman (glutinous rice wrapped in banana leaves), bananas, San Miguel and Budweiser beer, Johnny Walker whisky, and Remy Martin cognac. I'm the one in  light-blue shorts. My elder brother Luis E. Reyes is the one holding a beer bottle at the extreme left. The one sitting is my brother Edmundo E. Reyes. Drinking from a Budweiser can behind Edmundo is my second cousin Antonio E. Enriquez. The one wearing the Lee t-shirt is another second-cousin, Emiliano "Jun" Enriquez.  At the extreme left is Mario de Jesus, and to his right is our guitarist, Gener Candor. Holding a San Miguel Beer bottle behind me is Gener's elder brother Titot Candor. This picture was taken on November 25, 1979.

I also participated in an uneventful  barangay inter-color basketball league, which played about thrice a week on a clay court and at early evening. Dribbling was hard and a sweaty player really got dirty upon falling on the court. However, with the wild cheering of the barangay folk for their team of choice, the lowly basketball court might as well have been Araneta Coliseum to the players. 

The tournament ended abruptly in a court-wide rumble with no champion being declared. I belonged to the Tangerine Team, and my number was 77. Sometimes I even did the play-by-play announcing over a loudspeaker, being very good at it, I'd like to think.  I did it in Bulakan Tagalog!

This is the "half-court" behind our house. I am hoisting my then two-year-old
son Nikko to try to shoot the ball through the hoop. This was taken in 1985

Lastly, and not in the least, I was elected, via viva voce,  president of the barangay church youth organization. This organization of teenagers and twenty somethings was in charge of conducting the Holy Week pabasa, or the singing of the Philippine Pasyon in March, and staging the annual Flores de Mayo in May. 

It was based in the barangay "bisita," or chapel, which was located some fifty meters from where I lived. The barangay people referred to it as the Pamunuan ng Kabataan or just plain pamunuan. There were two presidents actually, one for the men, and the other for the women.

This picture shows some of my basketball mates, many of whom are about ten years younger than me. We had just played several furious three-on-three games on the half-court behind our house. Standing at the extreme left, front row is my younger brother Edmundo, while another younger brother Vincent holds the ball. 

 I remember going house to house raising funds for the Flores de Mayo particularly to pay a fourteen man band or musiko. I even went to friends and relatives outside of Bulakan, Bulacan to solicit money. As president, I had the time honored duty of providing from my pocket a hearty dinner to them right after the 9 pm procession. They had walked some two hours and several kilometers around our barangay while carrying and playing their instruments; the men were very hungry. They ate at our house.

The musicians set aside  their instruments at one corner of our house and went straight to the dining table. They understandably made short work of the nilagang baboy, chicken in cheddar cheese sauce, and rellenong bangus our maid Ka Sila had prepared, all for the grand sum of fifty pesos.  After eating, the men sat in our living room for about an hour and smoked a lot.

Some have left while a few have joined our group in this pose. I am partly kneeling with the ball, my younger brother Vincent gives the highest victory sign. My nephew, Raul Enriquez, in the blue t-shirt, is at the extreme right. 

After paying the leader of the band, something like two thousand pesos, I saw them off in their long Sarao jeepney in front of our gate. It was already 12 midnight, I had been up since 5 am, but I still had enough energy to clean the mess in our house the band left behind. It is amazing what a twenty year old body can do. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I dozed off in my unkempt bed. I slept oh so soundly, I was dead tired.   

Before the Flores de Mayo, the pamunuan sponsored nine consecutive, nightly mini-processions, commencing at 9 pm, that were devoid of the gaudiness of the Flores de Mayo. They consisted merely of just twenty to thirty plainly dressed and slipper-clad young and older people carrying candles or kerosene torches.

My barkada on our way to Baguio in 1980. We were in Plaridel, Bulacan, and we thought the historical marker would be a great spot for a group picture. The marker commemorates the place where Col. John M. Stotsenburg of the US Army was killed by Filipino snipers on April 23, 1899, during the Philippine-American War. I am the one wearing the white t-shirt and shades. My brother Edmundo is standing at the extreme left, my brother Luis is standing at the extreme right, while my brother Vincent raises his clenched fist second from the left back row. At fourth from the left, back row, is my youngest brother, Francis E. Reyes.    

Each procession wound their way through the nooks and crannies of our barangay, making the full route, some three kilometers, in about an hour. Because of this, they have been called libot in our barangay, which is the Tagalog word for wandering. I remember we had the libot around the first week of May, and the Flores de Mayo during the last week. 

In the middle of the procession was a line of about three to four female children five or six years old, each carrying a religious object that looked like a one foot square picture of a saint or of the Virgin Mary, which were called estampas. Each estampa had at its top a small crucifix about four inches high and three inches wide.

The children were dressed in modest but somewhat worn out long gowns and  were accompanied by adult women. These were usually their proud mothers, who guided them by their wee hands, and cajoled the by now sleepy tots to keep pace with the procession. 

For these austere processions, these children were the substitutes for the sagalas or the various heavily made-up and fabulously attired queens of the Flores de Mayo. At the end of the libot, the estampas, holy and antique icons as they were, found their way to a secure bin near the altar of the bisita.  

At the rear end of the about twenty meter long procession, the male youth of our barangay congregated, consisting mainly of my barkada and then some. There were also five or six male adults in their forties, which we looked upon as already "old," calling them appropriately enough, katandaan or the old folk.   

The rear led the singing for the procession, with a guitarist always present. The older folk sang a lot better than we did. The outstanding singer was my second cousin, Raul Enriquez, who was an outstanding tenor. We respectfully called him Ka Raul. 

There were other quality voices in the older group, and one of them was Ka Raul's younger brother, Recaredo, whom we called Ka Rec. Ka Rec was was an active duty policeman in our town. Another notable voice belonged to bald Ruben Morelos, who was a wistful baritone, and whom we affectionately called Mang Ruben. Together, the rear group would lead the singing of the Spanish version of the Hail Mary, or Ave Maria, until the procession ended. 

We interchangeably sang the Ave Maria , or what we informally called the Dios Te Salve in two melodies.  The guitarist of choice was Gener Candor, or Negi, owing to his dark complexion. Gener was the best guitarist in our group hands down. The other procession marchers, most of them women,  sang along, which melodious chorus, to my approximation, was a mixture of the solemn and the festive. 

The Ave Maria went like this:

"Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia, 

el Señor es contigo. 

Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, 

y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. 

Santa María, Madre de Dios, 

ruega por nosotros pecadores, 

ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. 

Amen."

I will never forget the smell of the kerosene torches, more than twenty five of them, and the yellow light and black smoke they collectively emitted, creating a surreal scene within the procession. It was as if the two twisted rows of torches were creating an eery, bright yellow and pitch black zone in between, where things were all in slow motion, and all you heard was the repetitive singing of the Ave Maria, and all you smelled was acrid burnt kerosene.  

If anyone was carrying a candle, his or her light was certainly overwhelmed by the torches and rendered unnoticeable. I surmised that there must have been very few candles in the processions anyway, because the bamboo kerosene torches, which I bought in bulk from Ka Rening, the barangay bamboo dealer, were cheaper, and were reusable besides.

At the procession's proverbial end, which of course was the bisita, all the libot participants partook of delightful bowls, five inches across, of either sopas, which was a creamy soup of elbow macaroni, chicken, and thin strips of carrots and cabbage, or arroz caldo, which was a thick rice porridge, ginger and garlic flavored, and provided with two or three chicken morsels per bowl. 

The steaming treats were cheerily served by the female officials of the pamunuan and some devout volunteers. Even non-procession participants, opportunists all, had their fill, for who could resist and who would refuse? Everybody was happy, because the supply was ample: it coming from two humongous calderos so big a toddler could hide in them. The merry eating, laughing, and flirting went on until something like 11 or 11:30 pm, after which everyone repaired to their houses.

   

  

     

My Experience with the Student Christian Movement of the Philippines (SCMP) 1979-1983

In mid-1979, I joined the Student Christian Movement of the Philippines (SCMP). SCMP was a campus based organization espousing "liberation theology." It was under the ambit of the National Council of Churches in the Philippines (NCCP). Internationally, SCMP was affiliated with the World Student Christian Federation (WSCF), the association of all SCM chapters around the world.

When I was arrested on June 14, 1979, SCMP was one of the NGOs that worked so feverishly for our group’s safety and release. I felt I owed SCMP that much; this debt of gratitude was one of the reasons I joined.

I also felt that, having worked as youth coordinator in the National Secretariat of Social Action (NASSA) of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines (CBCP), I knew enough of liberation theology to be able to effectively contribute my time to SCMP. I could help by writing education materials and conducting social awareness seminars, I thought.

Spreading the "Good News" in the Academic Community

SCMP traces its roots to the campus ministerial work of the Philippine Federation of Christian Youth Fellowships (PFCYF), the youth department of the Philippine Federation of Christian Churches (PFCC), which was the precursor of the NCCP. 

SCMP proclaimed itself an “ecumenical” organization of Christian youth. This meant that it catered to both Catholic and Protestant students. It assigned itself the task of spreading the “Good News” within the academic community.

SCMP was founded on December 27, 1960 at the First SCMP National Assembly held in Baguio City. This assembly was attended by 57 official delegates from 32 local SCMP units already existing. Also attending were representatives of 7 protestant churches or denominations.

SCMP formally became a member of the Philippine Left by declaring itself a “national-democratic” organization in May 1971. This change was carried out by a "Special Assembly,"  which adopted the slogan "Love thy Neighbor, Serve the People. Struggle for National Liberation and Democracy."

Reviving the SCMP 

When martial law was declared on September 21, 1972, SCMP was declared illegal. It lay dormant for a while, with work to revive it beginning in mid-1976. At this time, contacts were established with members of the SCMP chapters in Philippine Christian University (PCU) and University of the Philippines Los Baños (UPLB). 

I remember some of them: Elias “Jun” Fernandez, Samuel “Sammy” Rivera, and Bong Elizalde all from PCU, and Patrick McDivitt, from UP Los Baños (UPLB). The latter was the general secretary or "gen-sec."

To acquire logistics for this endeavor, arrangements were made with the Division on Youth Ministries (DYM) of the NCCP.  DYM was then under the leadership of Rev. Avelio “Ave” de Leon, who supported SCMP enthusiastically. For a long time, SCMP used DYM’s office equipment and supplies, and used its modest office on the 3rd floor of the NCCP building as a meeting venue. 

In January 1978, the 7th General Assembly of SCMP held in UPLB declared the organization operational after a 6 year hiatus. The theme of the gathering was “Christian Witnessing Against Campus Repression.” 

The implicit role of the SCMP in this period was to be the religious equivalent of the League of Filipino Students (LFS), which was founded in 1977.  A mass organization like the LFS, SCMP aimed to recruit Christian youth in their thousands, by building chapters in campuses all over the Philippines. SCMP expressed LFS’ “national-democratic” posture by professing “living faith” that would uphold the “human rights and democratic interests” of the Filipino people through “social action.”  

By this time, SCMP organizers had built three chapters and four organizing groups. I cannot remember any more in which schools these were located. An attempt was made to reorient the Christian Youth Movement (CYM) in the University of the Philippines (UP), but this was unsuccessful. I remember the SCMP expansion being lethargic in 1978 and 1979, because of the lack of good organizers.

SCMP-UP Diliman

In January 1980, more capable organizers were positioned in SCMP, to engage in chapter building. Not a few of these activists were former leading members of Student Catholic Action (SCA) chapters in Torres and Arellano high schools in Manila, whom I had met and organized in 1977.

One of the priorities in this push was to establish an SCMP chapter in UP Diliman.  It happened that one of the SCA members managed to enter UP. He was given this task, and did a very good job. By year's end, there was a fully functioning, vibrant chapter in the state university 

Organizers were also assigned to the Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF). MYF was the organization of young people belonging to the United Methodist Church of the Philippines (UMCP). Incidentally, MYF was where I met my future wife, Loida P. Buyao, who was one of its officers. The aim was to develop activists in the MYF, who were later to be concurrently assigned to SCMP.

Meanwhile, the SCMP chapters in PCU, Trinity College (TC), University of Santo Tomas (UST), Adamson University (AU), and Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila (PLM) were all growing. Chapters had also been established in Baguio, Dagupan, Bacolod, UP Los Baños, Dumaguete, Cebu City, Iloilo, and Davao. By 1984, the number of schools reached by the SCM in Metro-Manila alone was approximately 30.  

Rev. Dave Rodriguez and Rev. Elmo Manapat: Chairman and Gen-Sec

Early that year, perhaps in February, the SCMP National Executive Committee (NEC) elected its officers. Elected chairman was Rev. David “Dave” Rodriguez, who was the head pastor of the Kamuning UMCP. Rev. Elmo Manapat, a pastor of the United Church of Christ of the Philippines (UCCP), was elected gen-sec, replacing Patrick McDivitt.

I have already forgotten the others who were elected, but I remember I was chosen education secretary, while UP chapter member Noel Pangilinan was selected editor of Breakthrough, the official SCMP publication.  After this election, most of SCMP’s NEC and committee meetings started to be held at Kamuning UMCP. We would, however, occasionally hold meetings at the UMCP Central Church on T.M Kalaw St. in Manila.

SCM members from other countries would, from time to time, be assigned to SCMP to undertake activities of their own choosing. They usually stayed in the country for several years. This came under the Geneva based WSCF’s “Frontier Internship Program.”  The volunteers were called “Frontier Interns.”

Jack Lakavich and Ayako Miyoshi: Frontier Interns

There were two frontier interns in my time: Jack Lakavich from Canada, and Ayako Miyoshi from Japan. Jack opted to do staff work at the SCMP head office at the UCCP building along Epifanio delos Santos Avenue (EDSA). Ayako, on the other hand, chose to stay in an urban poor community in Tondo, Manila. She even learned how to speak Tagalog, and how to use an "Antipolo" toilet.

Jack Lakavich stayed in the Philippines far longer than Ayako, who stayed only for 2 years or less. Jack, after his stint as frontier intern had lapsed, volunteered for another NGO, the Institute of Religion and Culture of the Philippines (IRCP) which was based in Muntinglupa, and was under Rev. Nael Cortez.  He probably lived in the Philippines for 6 years. I remember him as one of those who worked the hardest during our group’s incarceration.

Before coming to the Philippines, Jack Lakavich was a frontier intern in Bangalore, India. Probably of Lithuanian descent, Jack, of medium build, was almost 6 feet tall, and almost completely bald. He was mild mannered,  soft spoken, and sported a goatee. He always wore leather sandals and denims to work.  These, together with his metal-framed eyeglasses and ubiquitous shoulder bag, became Jack's enduring trademarks. 

Jack was loved by everybody. He rented a nice and spacious bungalow on Scout Gandia St. in Quezon City where he would often invite the “SCMers” to dinner. The food almost always consisted of spicy Indian dishes. I liked most his curried vegetables with chicken. For dessert, he served us licorice sticks whose strange flavor I just forced myself to like. I remember being hugely amused when I saw him using a cast-iron "caldero" cover as a frying pan. 

SCMP-UP and Talakayang Biyernes

One of the brightest spots in SCMP organizing in this period was the SCMP chapter in UP Diliman. It was the biggest, most active, and most capable SCMP chapter. The members I can remember were: Noel Pangilinan, Lidy Nacpil, Jeannie Nacpil, Telly Nacpil, Elizabeth Lacanilao, Fidel Nemenzo, Leonid Nemenzo, and Tony Debuque. Many members of this chapter have gone on to carve successful careers in government and civil society. 

SCMP-UP Diliman had a Friday discussion group called “Talakayang Biyernes” (TB) that tackled relevant campus and national issues. It was held over an early evening dinner at a Philippine Independent Church (PIC) chapel near Katipunan Avenue, which was under Rev. Primo Racimo. 

Oftentimes, a resource speaker was invited. I recall that the hottest issue in those days was the Education Act of 1982. Other contentious issues were: the 1981 Presidential elections, the “lifting” of martial law by Pres. Marcos, and the assassination of Kalinga leader Macli'ing Dulag.

May 1980 General Assembly

In May, 1980, SCMP held its 8th biennial General Assembly (GA). It was held at the La Salette Shrine and Retreat Center in Silang, Cavite. It must have lasted three or four days. Easily, it was the biggest and most successful SCMP event since the declaration of martial law. It was a coming out celebration of sorts. Nearly a hundred “SCMers” attended, representing SCMP chapters from the different tertiary education centers in the Philippines. 

I have forgotten the numbers, but attending were SCMP chapters from Baguio, Dagupan, Metro-Manila, UPLB, Bacolod, Iloilo, Cebu, Dumaguete, and Davao. The Breakthrough staff even published, on an oversized sheet of Manila paper, a wall-mounted issue for every day the GA was held. SCMP had risen from the dead as it were, and was asserting itself yet again.

The GA also elected a new gen-sec, to replace Elmo Manapat.  She was Ms. Lidy Nacpil. Ms. Nacpil came from the ranks of both SCMP-UP Diliman and MYF. She later  became the wife of activist Leandro "Lean" Alejandro. 

Anti "Education Act" Rally

I will never forget one eventful night in mid 1980 or 1981, at the Central UMCP at T.M. Kalaw St., which was designated as a post-rally meeting place. More than fifty SCMP members, who had just attended an anti "Education Act" bill rally at Liwasang Bonifacio, descended on the place. The bill, which was to reorganize the Philippine educational system, was then pending in the Marcos-controlled Batasang Pambansa. They occupied the first 5 or 6 pews from the altar, left and right.  The rally had been abruptly ended with water cannons and rattan sticks. 

Most of the them were drenched and agitated. Needless to say,  they so dirtied the pews and the church floor. They repeatedly cursed the riot cops who had just run roughshod over their human rights.

These teenagers and twenty-somethings each had a story to tell. To give everyone a chance, they took turns going to the central aisle at the foot of the altar to vent their anger, with defiant enthusiasm and verb. The speeches were punctuated by loud laughter, shouting, hoots, and yeas, which din was amplified several times in the cavernous church.  I assumed the head of Central Church, Bishop Paul Locke Granadosin, did not mind the ruckus.

I recall Lidy Nacpil giving an agitational speech, wet hair and all, which was as inspiring as it was rabble rousing. This, I mused gladly from the sidelines, produced more SCMP activists than several months of tedious seminars about police violence.