June 14, 1979 Arrest and Torture Under Philippine Martial Law Part III Life in a Bicutan "Bartolina"

Bicutan at Last: Bartolina

Upon arriving in Bicutan Rehabilitation Center (BRC), we were given a cursory medical checkup. After that, all the males in our group were crammed into what the guards called a “bartolina." For six average size Filipino male adults, it was a minuscule cell. It was about 10 feet long, 8 feet wide, and 9 feet high. The cell was part of a whole cell block which, I believe, was at the 2nd  floor of a building. The 4 women from our group were also detained in a same sized "bartolina," but only for a day.   

Our guards told us that it was an unwritten rule in BRC for “Public Order Violators,” (POVs) as the political detainees were officially called, to spend some time in the “bartolina” before they were transferred to the more “humane” POV buildings. It was kind of an initiation thing. We were not told how long we would stay in the “bartolina.”

There was an area in the cell about 2 feet wide and as long as the cell, which had a concrete toilet bowl at one end and a faucet at the other. It was the toilet and bath area. Keeping the water from the rest of the floor was a concrete barrier about 2 inches high and 3 inches wide. 

The toilet and bath area made the sleeping area really small. And to think, we still had our bags to occupy precious space in that already stuffy cell. Given this situation, one of the first things I did was to overcome my claustrophobia. My big social bubble also had to go. 

Fr. James B. Reuter SJ Visits Us

The cell was not tiled, just gray and smooth concrete all around. There were 2 bare walls end to end. At one side, facing the corridor outside, there were floor to ceiling steel bars around an inch in diameter, and about 6 inches apart. Hanging from the ceiling was a lone 50 watt light-bulb. 

At the other side which had the toilet and bath area, was another concrete wall which had a long rectangular window, running almost the length of the cell, about 2 feet high, 8 inches thick, and about 3 inches from the ceiling. The window had steel bars the same diameter as those at the cell entrance. 

We had to stand on the toilet bowl so we could look out of the window. The window, which was our only source of sunshine, gave us a commanding view of the whole BRC. I remember the facility being divided into 5 or 6 buildings, with 3 at one side and 3 or 2 at the other.

It was from this window that we took turns in watching, one bright morning, Geoffrey Fabic being visited by Fr. James Reuter SJ. At that time, Fr. Reuter was Director of the National Office of Mass Media of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) and editor of the anti-martial law magazine The Communicator.

The two sat about a meter apart, facing us, on a concrete bench at the sidelines of a basketball court just outside our building. Fr. Reuter, to the right, sat with legs crossed and wore an immaculate white cassock that seemed brighter than the sun. A white priestly sash was wrapped around his waist, which made him look all the holier. Jutting out from underneath his cassock were the bottoms of his dark pants and his drab, black leather shoes.

Fr. Reuter's  face was gentle and pinkish white. His bald top shone, while his paltry white hair gave his face a saintly countenance.   He gestured calmly with his hands every time he spoke. Geoffrey wore a t-shirt, tight shorts, and slippers. He fidgeted in excitement as he talked, but was otherwise a picture of relief and happiness.  Fr. Reuter was all ears to him.

To us watching from the prison windows, Fr. Reuter was certainly a very welcome sight. We were very excited by the prospect of him arranging our early release. However, after a week without results, that hope waned.

One of the detention buildings in Bicutan Rehabilitation Center (BRC), now called Camp Bagong Diwa.
Photo by the Philippine Daily Inquirer (PDI)

MNLF Cellmates, Open Bathroom

Looking outside the corridor, I saw that there were 4 or 5 same-sized “bartolinas” on the other side, and that many on our side. Like our cell, they were all heartlessly crowded, even more so. The cell in front of us, for example, housed 12 to 14 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) fighters! There were also that same number OXO or Sigue-Sigue gang members in each of the other cells. I noticed that many of these inmates had tattoos all over their bodies.

Because of the congestion, and the poor ventilation in the place, I was overwhelmed by the collective odor of unwashed and perspiring male bodies, and that of human feces and urine. On the 3rd day, however, I had adjusted to the smell, as had the rest of the group. I realized the human brain would adjust to anything, just give it time.

Amazingly, the 100 or so inmates that were detained in these "bartolinas" were well behaved. During our stay, there was no commotion nor altercation. And to think, most of these detainees represented the dregs of society. What I sensed, instead, was universal resignation. 

At night, because our cell was so short, and to keep feet hitting or touching heads, the 6 of us agreed to sleep lower limbs to lower limbs. At bedtime therefore, 3 pairs of legs tangled with 3 pairs of legs. It was not uncommon for an irritated kick to hit a leg now and then.  Needless to say, the jokes and snide, but comradely, remarks abounded.

By the way, what served as our sleeping mats were big and flattened cigarette boxes. We were used to these though: they were standard issue in the activist underground houses. I remember my bed was stamped, in large green letters, “Hope Cigarettes.” There were no pillows and blankets. There were no electric fans.

In that small cell, we also learned to bathe and settle our toilet business publicly, with not even a flimsy plastic curtain giving us privacy. At the beginning, we tried to hide behind the sleeping cartons, but got used to the exposure as the days wore on. For me, I surrendered my most private and treasured undertaking. The things I would do for the movement, was my recurring funny line.

Fried Galunggong, Muslim Names, Chess, and "Cruel War"

For breakfast, we had several pieces of pandesal, a hard boiled egg, and black instant coffee. Lunch consisted of the fabled fried “galunggong,” with rice, and dinner was the indefatigable sautéed vegetables and rice. The daily fare drew no complaints from the group, because we were only glad to have gone through the AFP’s harrowing torture chambers and survived.

We made friends with the MNLF group. They were a nice lot. They told us their story and we told them ours. Soon, they were giving each of us a Muslim name. I have forgotten the one they gave me.

We even played chess with the Muslims by attaching a thin nylon line to both ends of a chessboard, with the one making a move tugging the board first. The white and green board traveled back and forth the 6 foot floor distance between their cell and ours. Sometimes we played against the guys on our cell row, both to our left and right, in which case the chess board moved sideways. The guards did not mind.

We also tried to hold meetings in the formal, "grim and determined" style activists were known for. Geoffrey Fabic tried to initiate and preside, in the spirit of making up for what we failed to cover in Las Piñas. But somehow, our minds were not into discussing business, and the meetings just went in circles. We ended up just singing, when we weren't sleeping or reading. I remember the Peter, Paul, and Mary song "Cruel War" often came up, and also the Tagalog revolutionary song "Pagbabalikwas."

Time and Newsweek, A Bottle of Peanut Butter-Guava Jelly, and a Radio

On another occasion, I received a bagful of groceries from my parents. I remember giving away to an MNLF member, and I believe he was their commander, a nice, large bottle of Lady’s Choice peanut butter and guava jelly.

We were to spend 2 weeks in the “bartolina.” Most of this time I had spent reading the Time and Newsweek issues my parents had brought me. We were then transferred to the POV buildings. These, with their compassionate though still austere amenities, were the Marcos dictatorship’s “showcase” to the world on how political detainees were being treated in the Philippines.

Before we left the “bartolina” I gave the MNLF group one final gift: an apple green transistor radio about the size of a shoebox, batteries included. It was a present from my parents delivered some 2 days after we arrived at BRC. The MNLF commander, however, begged for it as we packed our bags. 

He was too much of a friend to refuse.