Accents
'Stockade' moms
Unusual title, huh. Call this one more tribute to mothers, an extended celebration of Mother's Day. "Stockade" moms? We do exist or did exist, past tense because others have already passed away to poet John Donne's "silent chambers where each shall find his place" -- ultimately, eventually, sooner or later. The military did not place us in the stockade, but in the almost day-to-day visits to our loved ones in the detention center of the Marcos dictatorship, we were as good as detainees ourselves.
Last May 10, we laid to rest at the Christ the King Memorial Park a "stockade" mom, Lilia Arches Posa (1923-2006). I'd like to share the letter her daughter Luing has e-mailed, a letter that could very well speak for us, "stockade" moms -- our values, thoughts and feelings crystallized in black and white:
To My Family:
Death is inevitable - the door to Eternal Life. I have prepared for my death and thought about it - day by day, moment to moment. I concluded that the utmost importance is how I lived my life. Did it please God, my family, my neighbors and others?
I leave no material wealth, only a mother's love. I love you all and will always love you - even after I am gone. Please remember to love one another, support each other, take care of each other. Only God's Love is Eternal and Family Love is just like it - we need it when no other will give it.
When near death, please discard any life support. Just let me go quickly, quietly, happily and peacefully. God awaits me in His Kingdom of Eternal peace and happiness - no more sorrow, tears and sighs. Call a priest!
On my death, please give me a simple burial, masses, novenas and burial site religious ceremony for me and your Pa.
I love you all.
Goodbye,
Ma
Manang Lilia, as I used to call her then, was a welcome sight to sons Louie and Benjie as well as to the rest of the detainees to whom a face from the outside world was like streaming sunlight breaking through the dark clouds of Martial Law. 'Nang Lilia was one of the five regular visitors in the stockade in Fort San Pedro, Iloilo City, in the sinister month of September 1972 and the months and years thereafter. How long our visits would end depended on our loved ones' stay in the Marcos stockade as determined by the military.
The four other mothers were Mrs. Gloria Monfort, Mrs. Nelly Robles, Rex Hidalgo's mother, and I. (Months ago, I met Rex in a downtown mall, asked him how her mother was, only to hear sadly that she had already passed away. Rex was the editor of the school organ of the University of Iloilo and is currently editor of a local paper.) We didn't call ourselves the "Stockade Mom 5" a la "Batasan 5." We called ourselves "Classmates." At this point, let me quote from a column written seven years ago in bitter remembrance of the proclamation of Martial Law:
"Despite the years, the picture of my "Classmates" comes up clear in the forefront of memory as we trudged along Fort San Pedro lane from the gate to the stockade. There was Rex Hidalgo's mother, my elder Manang whose name I cannot now recall. Her very sad eyes still haunt me. Visiting the brothers Francis and Sammy were beautiful 'Nang Gloria Monfort and her husband and their equally beauteous teenage daughter and the lovely twins, as young as my own youngest child. Smart and statuesque 'Nang Nelly Robles would bring goodies to her son Joe, a standout from afar being the tallest among the detainees." Four mothers visiting their sons; me a mother, too, along with my children Rose, Roderick, Randy, and Raileen, aged 12, 11, 9, and 7, visiting my husband Rudy.
That column I concluded thus: "Other mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and relatives also came to visit, but we were the regulars. Maybe someday we will gather for a reunion, and ask ourselves where the sacrifices of our loved ones have led."
The years rolled on, but we never gathered for a reunion. We went on with our separate lives, on our hands the metaphor of the brush to paint the varied hues of our existence on the great canvas of humanity. We the living, and perhaps the two who have already crossed the Great Divide, will continue to "ask ourselves where the sacrifices of our loved ones have led." How much did their struggle against feudalism, bureaucrat-capitalism, fascism, and imperialism bear fruit? How goes the scorecard? Is theirs a continuing struggle that will finally triumph? Will the oppression and exploitation endured by the huge masses of our people ever end? Questions only time can answer.
(Comments to lagoc@hargray.com)