by Lope C. Robredillo, SThD

 

IS THE HEART OF MAN in his weapons?  The statistics is staggering.  Despite all the effort to limit or abolish war, it seems that war is more normal than peace.   For instance, from 1496 AD to 1861, it is claimed that the world knew 3,130 years of war and only 227 years of peace.  From 1945 until the 1980s, there have been more than 150 conflicts throughout the world.  How normal war is could be gauged from the fact that that in the last 400 years, European nations, it is noted, have signed no less than 8,000 peace treaties.   One can easily recall Bernard Shaw’s observation in his play, “Man and Superman”: in the arts of life, man invents nothing; but in the arts of death—well, look at his inventions for murder and mass destruction; they become more sophisticated as years go by.  Nations continue to allot huge budget for their military storehouses.  If they are not in open war, they continue to engage in arms race, war of nerves, psychological warfare, war of ideology, cold war!  Who can blame Karl Marx for viewing history as a history of class warfare?

 

The Heart of Man Is Not in his Weapons

 

            For all that, however, the heart of man longs for peace.  That yearning is classically expressed by the Prophet Isaiah: “They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; one nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again” (Isa 2:4).  Understandably enough, this hope for peace, this pining for a conflict-free human experience is central to all religions.  Jews expect the fulfillment of the divine promises about the final peace (cf Zec 9:9).  Christians affirm that when Jesus comes again, peace will be established (cf Col 3:15).  International peace is one of the 10 basic principles of Baha’i faith.  Buddhists look forward to world peace once it is established within individuals.

 

            Indeed, even ideologies accept peace as part of their goal.  Socialism, as well as communism, postulates that once the state withered away after a period of proletariat dictatorship, there will be a classless society where peace will be achieved.  In fact, even those who wage war have no other purpose than peace.  “For even they who make war,” writes Augustine of Hippo in his classic, City of God, “desire nothing but victory—desire, that is to say, to attain peace with glory  For what else is victory than the conquest of those who resist us? and when this is done, there is peace.  It is therefore with the desire for peace that wars are waged, even by those who take pleasure in exercising their warlike nature in command and battle.  And hence it is obvious that peace is the end sought for by war.  For every man seeks peace by waging war, but no man seeks war by making peace.  For even they who intentionally interrupt the peace in which they are living have no hatred of peace, but only wish it changed into a peace that suits them better.  They do not, therefore, wish to have no peace, but only one more to their mind.”

 

Powerful Nations Define Peace

 

            The problem then is not that the heart of man is in his weapon; the problem is that people are not willing to pay the price of real peace.  In most cases, nations approach peace in terms of self-interest. It is like the peace that obtains in the family because the man dominates his wife and children, or, among brothers and sisters, because the domineering brother imposes his will on the rest.  There is peace because the power of the strong remains unchallenged.  In his encyclical Centesimus annus, John Paul II analyzes it thus: “In a word, it is a question of transferring in the sphere of internal conflict between social groups the doctrine of ‘total war’, which the militarism and imperialism of that time brought to bear on international relations.  As a result of this doctrine, the search for a greater balance between the interests of various nations was replaced by attempts to impose the absolute domination of one’s own side through the destruction of the other’s side capacity to resist, using every possible means, not excluding the use of lies, terror tactics against citizens, weapons of utter destruction.”

 

            There is peace, in other words, because stronger nations weaken if not ruin others militarily and economically.  Nowhere is this more true than in the Philippines.  Since its independence in 1946, the country has been dependent on the US for its military supplies and, consequently, can be dictated upon whom to fight.  What Claro M Recto said in 1956 remains true: “In a polarized world of Giant Powers we can be described as totally unarmed… The result is that, whoever we depend on for arms necessarily is in a position to dictate to us why, when, how and against whom the arms are to be used.  Thus we are deprived of the sovereign right to determine who shall be our enemy or our friend or our ally.”   As for economy, Recto said that it was heavily dominated by aliens and not meant to develop to bring welfare to the common people.  Its economic policy, which remained colonial, “has for its basic objectives: to keep the Philippines the agricultural country that it has always been; and to attract to the Philippines foreign investments.”  This dependency state of the poor nation is ensured through the local elite that further the interest of foreigners.  In the end, it is the powerful nations that control the wealth of the smaller nations.  Thus, weakened both militarily and economically, other nations have scarcely any chance to fight the powerful.

 

            In this connection, John Paul II, in his encyclical Sollicitudo rei socialis, asserts that various mechanisms employed by powerful nations worsen the poverty of Third World nations: “One must denounce the existence of economic, financial and social mechanisms which, although they are manipulated by people, often function almost automatically, thus accentuating the situation of wealth for some and poverty for the rest.  These mechanisms, which are maneuvered directly or indirectly by the more developed countries, by their very functioning favor the interests of the people manipulating them.  But in the end they suffocate or condition the economies of the less developed countries.”

 

War of Nerves and Arms Race

 

But how is peace maintained among those who are powerful?  While on surface they are not at war, yet they are engaged in outdoing each other both militarily and economically.  Historically, what took shape was a cold war between powerful nations, led by the United States on one side, and by the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on the other side.  The war of nerves had the effect not only of preventing an open war between the two, but of dividing the Third World countries, which were too weak to fight the powerful, into two blocks, and which served as their puppets, almost capable of nothing except to bark or wag.  Russia had her Warsaw Pact, the US her NATO and SEATO.  But, while the cold war was beneficial to the rich nations, it further undermined the poor countries and made them dependent on the mighty.  Billions of dollars that should go to development were used in the production of arms, and dragged them into wars for which they should not have been involved in the first place.  The wars in Vietnam, Korea, Israel, Afghanistan, Congo, Kenya, are a few examples.  In these poor countries themselves, the ideological war between East and West is continuously waged, like the one between the government forces and the New People’s Army in the Philippines.

 

Arms race is the main strategy of this war of nerves.  Each side tries to outdo the other in terms of military superiority on the conviction that it assures desistance by the militarily inferior country in attacking its more powerful enemy, and therefore guarantees peace.  Which is why, although both the East and West have arsenal of arms that is enough to destroy humanity and the environment, they continue to spend trillions of dollars every year in order to ward off threat by the enemy.  Mutual assured destruction, which is possible under a nuclear war, guarantees peace between rich nations.  Besides, the arms race means good money and business for them, even though it impoverishes the poor nations that are caught up in the race, since what should go to development and uplift from misery are spent on arms.  Says John Paul II in Centesimus annus: “An insane arms race swallowed up the resources needed for the development of national economies and for assistance to the less developed nations.  Scientific and technological progress, which should have contributed to man’s well-being, was transformed into an instrument of war…  The logic of power blocs of empires… led into a situation in which controversies and disagreements among Third World countries were systematically aggravated and exploited in order to create difficulties for the adversary.”

 

Small Nations in the Face of Precarious Peace

 

In this kind of politics, only the powerful nations, it can be seen, would find the world peaceful, but almost nothing is experienced by the weak countries but year-round instability and poverty.  How then do the small nations, given their weakened position, respond to this precariously “peaceful” situation?   What are ants to do in a quarrel between elephants?  A recourse that presents itself is for the poor nations to align themselves with, and serve as satellites of, the powerful.   Here, for instance, one pursues a mendicant foreign policy.  As Recto eloquently noted after the war, “in the world of parliament of the United Nations, it is no more difficult to predict that the Philippines will vote with the American Union than that the Ukraine will vote with the Soviet Union.  American policy has found no more eloquent spokesman and zealous advocate, and Russian policy no louder critic and more resourceful opponent, than the Philippines.  Americans may disagree violently with their own foreign policy, but it has no better supporter than the Philippines.”

 

Another alternative would be to organize small countries against any form of domination by the powerful nations.  Recto, for instance, as early as 1954, envisaged an Asian solidarity “against colonialism in any form, political or economic, from whatever source and direction and by whosoever imposed upon an Asian nation.  And ‘Asia for Asians’ is the only principle they can understand because most of them are still suffering from the effects of the colonialism that first deprived them of the blessings of freedom a couple of centuries ago.”   In 1969, he envisioned Asian nations having mutual relations which could expand into a network of multi-lateral collaborations. “It will produce a truly united Asian bloc of nations which can be an effective force for peace and render valuable assistance to people who are still struggling for their freedom from foreign control.”

 

Given, however, the realities of the contemporary world, it is almost impossible not to be caught up in the overstretched and overwhelming power of the wealthy nations.  Still, some have a different way of looking at world realities and for them, peace resulting from the existence of a few powerful nations and of the many that are poor and weak is not real.  For them, a real one can come if these wealthy nations are toppled down.  Which is why, a new reality emerged: the phenomenon of international terrorism.  The fall of the twin towers in New York on Sept 11, 2001 was so far the loudest expression of that protest against the kind of peace defended by the powerful.  Unable to fight their enemy face to face, they resort to terrorism in retaliation for what they perceive as injustices done to the poorer nations.  Why most organized terrorists come from Arab countries may be an indication that for them the imperialist countries have for decades done them great injustice that has to be corrected if the world is going to experience authentic peace.

 

But others have recourse to another way to gain leverage with the powerful countries: go nuclear.  For possessing nuclear weapons, a nation may be hated, but she is definitely feared.  All know that a nuclear war would be devastating.  It will destroy not only military installations, but will kill millions through spread of radiation and contaminate large areas.  Since no one in his right mind would allow that to happen, as it result in the obliteration of this immoral civilization, no nation would ever wage a large scale war with a small that has nuclear weapons.  Thus, peace is assured. No wonder, less powerful nations like Iran, Iraq, North Korea and others lust after possession of weapons of mass destruction, thinking that once they acquire them, they would gain the respect of powerful nations.  (The only problem would be—what if an outlaw gets the nuclear bomb?  That would drive everybody scared, including the powerful!)

 

Anyway, such is the politics of peace that obtains in the present world.  But, in reality, it is merely the absence of a large scale war.  All over the world, there is war engaged in by two or three countries or war within the same country, but still a war that owes its origin to the unjust world order and, as a consequence, to the unjust order within the nation itself where there is no peace, because the needs of the many who are poor are not really addressed.   This is true of the Philippines.  As Time puts it in his cover story, “The War with No End,” “What is beyond dispute is that the government is in seemingly perpetual conflict with a significant portion of its population.  The NPA should be a cold war relict, a forgotten insurgency rotting away in the Southeast Asian jungle.  Instead—and despite its bloody purges, its ‘sparrow unit’ death squads, and its defunct ideology—it remains an enduring symbol of the failure of successive governments to improve the lives of ordinary Filipinos.”

 

Is Real World Peace Possible?

 

            Small wonder, then, that many people believe world peace is scarcely possible to achieve?   The British Philosopher, Bertrand Russell, is not alone in his skepticism of world peace: “After ages during which the earth produced harmless trilobites and butterflies, evolution progressed to the point at which it has generated Neros, Genghis Khans, and Hitlers.  This, however, I believe is a passing nightmare; in time, the earth will become again incapable of supporting life, and peace will return.”  Reinhold Niebuhr is similarly skeptic.  He thought that while individuals may be converted to peace, yet, the “immoral society” would never rid itself from the curse of war.  Indeed, the road to peace is complex and difficult, but because peace—not sword—is in the heart of man, it is possible and plausible.  Some scientists have observed that there is now a growing consciousness in the current generation that, unlike centuries before, does not accept war as a necessity or source of glory.

           

The Fundamental Principle: Humanity is One Family

 

            But where do we start?  As can be seen from the foregoing, the fundamental defect of the politics of peace in our time is that it is premised on greed, selfishness and self-interest—there is peace if my own country prevails and lives in peace, if my country reigns supreme, is sufficient in all its needs, and has access to the sources of what it wants, without having to be concerned that this entails domination, exploitation, destruction of other nations.  For this reason, the fundamental basis for real world peace is to think and act in terms of the whole humanity.

 

            Says John Paul II in one of his messages for World Day of Peace: “This seeking of peace must be based on the awareness that humanity, however much marred by sin, hatred, and violence, is called by God to be a single family.  This divine plan needs to be recognized and carried out through the search for harmonious relationships between individuals and peoples, in a culture where openness to the Transcendent, the promotion of the human person, and respect for the world of nature is shared by all.”  He continues: “There will be peace only to the extent that humanity as a whole rediscovers its fundamental calling to be one family, a family in which the dignity and rights of individuals—whatever their status, race, or religion—are accepted as prior and superior to any kind of difference or distinction. 

 

            He goes on: “For this to happen, a complete change of perspective will be needed: it is no longer the well-being of any one political, racial, or cultural community that must prevail, but rather the good of humanity, expressed in the recognition and respect for human rights, sanctioned by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948.  It is necessary, then, to abandon ideas and practices—often determined by powerful economic interests—the political, cultural, and institutional divisions and distinctions by which humanity is ordered and organized are legitimate insofar as they are compatible with membership in the one human family, and with the ethical and legal requirements which stem from this.”

 

            From a Buddhist perspective, the same fundamental basis of real world peace is echoed by the Dalai Lama in his article, “A Human Approach to World Peace”: “A universal humanitarian approach to world problems seems to be the only sound basis for world peace.  What does this mean?  We begin from the recognition… that all beings cherish happiness and do not want suffering.  It then becomes both morally wrong and pragmatically unwise to pursue one’s own happiness oblivious to the feelings and aspirations of all others who surround us as members of the same human family.  The wise course is to think of others also when pursuing our own happiness…. We are facing problems because people are concentrating only on their short-term, selfish interests, not thinking of the entire human family.  They are not thinking of the earth and the long term effects on universal life as a whole.”

 

            This principle is enormously important, and its significance cannot be overestimated.  If this fundamental basis is recognized, it will become clear why, for instance, an offense against human rights is an offense against humanity itself, why earth resources have a universal destination, why real peace is intertwined with the integral development of the poor and disadvantaged countries and why these countries have the right to share in the enjoyment of material goods, why disarmament is in accord with human solidarity, why the poor must be the agents of their own development, to mention a few.  Of course, an understanding of the consequences of this principle requires a change in our perspective.  But it will definitely imply a tectonic shift in the way we do the politics of world peace, if such peace is to satisfy the longings of man’s heart.*

by Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD

TO THE PERCEPTION of many, Aquino’s election slogan “Kung walang corrupt, walang mahirap” so accurately described the state of the nation and its disastrous impact on the Filipinos that in no small amount it catapulted him to the presidency.  People had enough of the litany of alleged corruptions under the previous administration; and the immorality and the amount of money involved were mind-boggling: NBN-ZTE scandal, Hello Garci scandal, P738M fertilizer scam, P532M overprice of Macapagal Blvd, Nani Perez Power Plant deal, P1.3B poll automation contract, Northrail project, Garcia and other AFP Generals scandal, the results of the 2007 Mindanao elections, millions of bribe money to congressmen and governors in 2007,  Mindanao massacre, extra-judicial killings, violation of human rights, etc. And more recently, the NFA “legalized smuggling.”  These not only further plunged the poverty level of the country; they also robbed the body and soul of the nation.      

Will Aquino eradicate corruption?

To abolish corruption and replace it with “matuwid na landas” and uplift the people from the misery of poverty—what could be much better objective for a leader to pursue than that?   If PNoy now sits on the presidency, it is not so much because of what his party has done, but because of the power of the people who have grown tired about the allegations of corruption and fraudulence in the government, and the impunity of their perpetrators.  But now that he is the President, they expect him, and rightly so, to walk the talk.  But even at this point in time, many seem to be disappointed with his one-year performance.  Only recently, the SWS survey conducted between March 4 and 7, 2011 showed that his net satisfaction rating slipped from his +46 in November 2010 to +46.  Could this be an indication that in the perception of those surveyed, Aquino has yet to show tangible results?  Sen. Francis Pangilinan, himself a ranking official of the Liberal Party, was quoted to have said that the Palace should match campaign promises with concrete accomplishments, particularly with regard to poverty and corruption.  But the point is: will he be able to deliver the goods?

This question can only be answered if we have to take a good look at the corruption in the Philippines.  There is no doubt that the country is among the most corrupt in Asia, and corruption does not spare the highest government posts, obviously to the defraudation of the poor and retardation of development.   According to Political and Economic Risk Consultancy (PIRC) in 2011, the Philippines ranks third in Asia, after India and Indonesia.  For Transparency International (TI), the most corrupt countries are also the poorest.   Knowing the state of corruption of the country, it is quite natural for people to look for solutions.  Of course, popular wisdom says that to put an end to it, only untarnished candidates should be elected to lead the country, which is why people power preferred Aquino over others by a large margin.  For others, however, there should be a shift from Presidential to Parliamentary form of government.  Yet, our experience shows that from Quirino to Aquino, the corruption in the government went merrily on, despite the choice of not so corrupt—at least initially—candidates.   And as for change of government form, the Parliament (Batasan Pambansa) of Marcos has no records to show that it was less corrupt and more advantageous to the poor.  If anything, a parliamentary form in the Philippine experience is simply a different collar of the same rabid dog.

The real roots of corruption

Structural Root.  But why is the country so corrupt?  To really understand the anatomy of corruption, we have to analyze it against our socio-economic and politico-cultural structure and history.  As is typical of a largely agrarian society, ours is characterized by a majority who live in the countryside, living in real poverty, dependent on agricultural products, and a small percentage that live in luxury in the cities.  Estimates place the poor at 80%, the wealthy at 20%.  While the latter have power, privilege, and prestige, the former wallow in poverty, and find themselves taking up the burden of supporting the rich and the ruling class.  Many of those in the majority do not have the basic necessities of life and power to influence, and have scarcely received honor and privileges.  All they do is largely accept the word and explanation of the privileged minority on realities; hardly do they have any real participation on decisions that affect their own life as a class.  They are usually the victims in any attempt to question the system, and are practically left to themselves to survive.  Needless to state, such a social structure, which has persisted for centuries without any alteration, is a perfect environment for corruption to exist and prosper.  

The Government: An Instrument of Self-Aggradizement.  But quite apart from its structure roots, corruption exists and goes on because those at the top and the ruling class have a certain frame of mind that seems not to change.  From all indications, they seem to have a mentality that the state apparatus provides not the highest opportunity for service to the majority, but the greatest and highest means to self-aggrandizement, and so the primary aim of the existence of the class is to capture the state.  This is logical enough.  Those who control the state practically control the means to economic advancement.  That is why the political history of the country can be summarized as a history of the struggle among the richest families for the domination of the state apparatus, and not necessarily for the service of the constituents.  And one has to note that the struggle itself involves much corruption.  Of course, if history has anything to tell us, it is that the privileged class has yet to show that its actions are intended for the common good.  On the contrary, the wealthy endeavor to preserve their privileges and therefore their control of the state.  For this reason, elections, while the poor do participate in them, are nothing more than political exercises on who among the privileged families will control the state.  Victory in an election brings unprecedented wealth to the victors.  Few politicians or their retainers hold or leave their office without increasing their wealth.  And the increase in wealth—one has to ask: is this not tainted with corruption?

One remembers that when Arnold Clavio and Winnie Monsod interviewed Mikey Arroyo, their report showed that Mikey’s wealth increased from P5 M in 2002 to over P 70 M in 2005, or about 65 million in only three years.  At present, it is said that his declared wealth has reached a whopping P100 M.  Of course, the public wondered how he was able to accumulate such humongous riches in so short a time.  In a study made by Ibon Facts and Figures,  records indicate that from 2000 to 2008, former Pres. Arroyo’s declared net worth increased by 114% (from P20 M to 180 M); in other words, based on a year-on-year average, she added some P 10.97 M to her net worth every year.  Although Malacañang attempted to explain her statement of assets and liabilities by citing conjugal income and dividends, these have been questioned because, according to Ibon, “data from other sources aside from her undetailed SALN have yielded financial transactions, sales and ownership, and even the possible illegality of financial transactions.”

Within this frame of understanding of power and privilege, it is not difficult to see how corruption gets in.  Political power is really convertible to economic power.  Power brings about wealth, and with it, also corruption.  In their book, State and Society in the Philippines, Patricio Abinales and Donna Amorsolo, for instance, observe that as far back as the 1920s, our leaders began to use the state as an instrument of primitive accumulation, and largesse came from two sources: the state itself, and the extension of spoil system.  “Through the spoil system, Filipino politicians distributed offices (and their corresponding budgetary allocations) to relatives and appointees.  Political appointment of kin, allies, and cronies became standard practice. .. In exchange, an appointee facilitated the business success of his patron and protected other members of his network within the bureaucracy.”  In the extension of the spoil system, the vehicles were state corporations.  Osmeña, for instance, used appointments to the PNB offices to repay political debts, and it was later revealed that his appointees “authorized extravagant loans to companies in which the were themselves investors…[or] to finance personal consumptions, instead of production and commerce.”

Government Coffers as Private Possessions.  Coupled with this outlook is the attitude toward government funds.  It seems that for many among the privileged class, the money of the state is their personal possessions.  Or, least the distinction between public and private money is blurred.   Of course, who among the less privileged would dare to question the legality of the appropriation of money for personal use?  Practically, the powerful have enough instrumentalities under their control to stop any attempt to inquire into it.  All the poor do is see no evil.   According to David Timberman, in his book, A Changeless Land, this is a long-standing element of the political culture in the Philippines, but “it became much more pronounced under Marcos, because of his predilection to control virtually every aspect of society.  Thus, the resources of both the government and private sectors were viewed by the Marcoses as being available for their use.  The budgets of government ministries were regularly tapped to finance Imelda’s extravagant trips and parties, and businesses were expected to make contributions and/or offer shares of ownership to family members.”

While these forms of corruption may have the veneer of legality—and Marcos had a talent for it—a legal source of corruption is the pork barrel.  (Notice that the government does not provide an equivalent for those in the peasant class.)  Every year, each congressman is entitled to P70 M and each senator to P200 M.  Although projects for which the pork barrel that is given have already a particular government department to take care of them, yet legislators insist in keeping it.  Now rebaptized as Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF), the pork barrel is perceived to increase the wealth of its beneficiaries.  It is claimed that about half of the money appropriated for a government project is lost in the form of kickbacks to legislators, engineers, etc; only about half of the budget is actually used for the project designated.  But despite all recommendations to abolish the pork barrel, not a single administration has seriously considered it, simply because of the money involved and its use especially in keeping politicians in power.  The PDAF is thus enough proof that corruption will never disappear on the face of this country.

Weak Justice System?   What exacerbates corruption is the culture of impunity. Why are members of the ruling class able to get away with their misdeeds?  Why only the small fry goes to jail?  The reason is that not only many government agencies are under the control of the ruling class, but also because the corrupt functionaries are part of the structure that sustains the system and protect the ruling class from deprivation of their privileges.  To misquote a saying, “they may be sons of bitches, but they are the oligarchy’s sons of bitches!”  It is logical that in a corrupt society like the Philippines, the justice system could be weak, or never perceived to be in defense of the majority who are poor.  How would one prosecute the retainers if the trail would lead to the prosecution of a member of the ruling class?  Besides, if the leader is corrupt, how can he discipline his men about corruption?  No wonder, efforts to go after corrupt officials are perceived not get anywhere.  For instance, despite the fact that Benjamin Abalos and other Comelec officials were charged with graft and corruption for changing the Comelec bidding rules to favor Mega-Pacific, and despite the fact that in 2004 the Supreme Court declared the poll-automation contract between the Comelec and the Mega-Pacific null and void, the Office of the Ombudsman cleared those involved.

One is reminded of an account by David Wurfel in his book, Filipino Politics: Development and Decay.  In 1975, Marcos “pointed an accusing finger at those who had violated their ‘sacred trust’ and promptly announced the dismissal of over two thousand officials, including cabinet members, bureau chiefs, scores of judges and prosecutors, and many others.  The auditor general and the director of the Bureau of Internal Revenue were among them.  Most had no prior warning, and pandemonium broke loose in the bureaucracy.  When the dust cleared, however, it was discovered that many who were ‘dismissed’ had already retired or dead.  And many charges against the more influential were ‘discovered’ to have been ‘unfounded.’  Acute observers opined that those actually dismissed were those with poor connections.  The president’s promise of a purge of corrupt military officers was entirely forgotten.”    One gets the impression that all these government crusades against corruption are all for a show; nothing really substantial takes off.  After the show—that’s all, folks.

How to solve corruption

            This brief anatomy of corruption is probably enough to show that corruption is not simply about using public money for private use; its causes go back to our history as a nation and to the very structure of our society itself.  Against this background, one doubts whether P-Noy’s crusade against corruption will succeed if he simply limits himself to removing officials perceived or proven to be involved in corruption or in protecting the corrupt.  Such action may be spectacular, and win for him an increase in ratings of credibility, but without doing something that really involves fundamental changes, nothing could come out of it, no matter how sincere he is.  His effort is doomed to fail.  Something more fundamental has to happen to the gross inequality in our society.  The majority of our people have to be involved in making changes so running the government could be more equitably participative.  But this presupposes that the government is able to enhance a fluid social mobility of the majority, and provide access to opportunities largely monopolized by the elite in order to bridge the wide social gulf.   One must point out that the elite have long been leading the country since the Spanish times, and the situation has never improved; on the contrary, corruption has gotten all the worse.  Truth is, corruption is not the disease of our society; it is simply a symptom.  And it is irresponsible to make population the scapegoat of the disease.*

 

 by Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD

 

 ALONGSIDE THE LITURGICAL celebrations that the Church observes during the Holy Week are practices which, in the Philippines, have long been linked with it. Among them are the siete palabras, the way of the cross, procession of images, salubong, pabasa, cenaculo, and penitencia. For most Catholics, they not only add color to the week-long celebrations, but are, in fact, so associated with the Holy Week that it could not be conceived without them. It is not seldom that devotees--if only for these folk rituals—would spend the Holy Week in Sta. Cruz (Marinduque), Palo (Leyte), Grotto (Novaliches), or in some remote town in Bicol or Pangasinan, rather than in their own parishes. Some, for example, may decline to attend the Good Friday liturgy, but they will certainly make an effort to witness penitentes reenact the crucifixion on that day. Indeed, it happens that these activities attract more people than the liturgical celebrations themselves. But since these practices belong to the extra-liturgical spiritual life of the Church, the question is often raised: how do you look at them a critical point of view?

 

            For the nonce, it may be well to focus on the pabasa, cenaculo, and penitencia, and, to start with, give a short description of these practices. Usually held at home, the pabasa is the singing of the life of Jesus in poetic form, called pasyon. Accompanied by a musical instrument, with the book placed between the two lighted candles, singers chant verses, oftentimes in alternation, before a crucifix. It is not uncommon for the host to serve drinks and finger foods during a pabasa. The cenaculo is the dramatization of the passion story, which normally begins with the scene of the agony in the garden, and ends with the crucifixion. It may take the form of simple passion play or a grand one similar to that of Oberammergau in Bavaria, where practically the whole village is involved in holding it once every ten years. Unlike the way of the cross which is aimed at meditating on the journey to Calvary, the penitencia seeks to dramatize the physical sufferings of Jesus bodily, either by physical flagellation, the carrying of a heavy cross, being crucified on it, or their combination. All of them are, objectively viewed, forms of participation in the suffering of Jesus: oral (pabasa), dramatic (cenaculo) and bodily (penitencia).

 

Expressions of Affective Faith

 

            It is instructive that whereas in the siete palabras, procession, salubong and the way of the cross, the priest ordinarily accompanies the participants, especially in the provinces, he is conspicuously absent in pabasa, cenaculo and penitencia. Of importance, however, is that these three rituals are basically meant for the edification of lay people. And they are held without having to be joined with the liturgical celebrations going on in the church. The priest has no role in them. They belong to the popular tradition. But they are originally aimed at participation in the celebrations of the mysteries of redemption. If these observations have anything to tell us, it is that these rituals are expressions of the people’s affective faith, which scarcely finds place in the official worship in the Church. In effect, it may be said that these popular practices are expressions of the lay people’s affective dimension of faith and at the same time are catered to it. They enhance religious affections and feelings. In the chanting of the pasyon, it sometimes happens that singers, swept by their emotion as they sing the poetic lines, shed tears; in the cenaculo, the participants become emotionally involved as they dramatize the events surrounding Jesus’ death; and in the penitencia, they are able to empathize with him in his pain. On the other hand, Roman liturgy is sober and reticent, and such emotion experience has scarcely any place for expression in it.

 

            At the same time, however, they also externalize the people’s understanding of the faith. Of course, the lay people did not compose the pasyon; priests did. Most likely too, they did not, at the beginning, write the script of the cenaculo; but they make the oral and dramatic expressions, and obviously, having been written for them, these influence their ways of thinking and acting. For this reason, it is not surprising, indeed, that in most cases, their knowledge of who Jesus is and his salvific work shows a familiarity more with the pasyon and the drama than with the gospels or the official Christology and soteriology of the Church. Moreover, today, the script of the cenaculo is being written by laymen and, although priests are consulted, the over-all outcome mirrors the understanding of lay people. But this is especially true of penitencia. Though its roots may be traced to the practice of doing penance during Lent, it expresses the lay people’s faith in what participation in the suffering of Jesus must consist of. The rituals, in the other words, are a vehicle which expresses the faith experiences of the participants, but at the same time serving to call that faith to mind, and to catechize their audience in that faith.

 

Reason for Attractiveness

 

            That these rituals (particularly the cenaculo and the penitencia) attract more people than the liturgical celebrations has at least four significations. First, this indicates their success, at least in catering to the affective dimension of their faith, and the understanding of that faith. In other words, they are able to speak to the needs of the lay people. Unhampered by liturgical discipline, they undergo changes and additions as they develop and flourish in response to those needs. For this reason, they are meaningful to them. The second implication is simply the reverse of the first. These rituals may also be interpreted as an expression of their disaffection from the official Church liturgy. For lay people, it is difficult to appropriate the meaning of the prayers and the action of the official liturgy. Hence, they feel the need for a ritual in order to plug in to the reticent liturgical celebration. A case in point is the holding of hands during singing of the Lord’s Prayer. Although it is against liturgical norms to do so, people in Manila make that gesture because, as someone said, it feels good. More should be said of this, but the point is, there is wisdom in the proposition that liturgy should not be foreign to the affective dimension of the people’s faith.

 

            Moreover, the lay people have been estranged from the official liturgy because, before the Second Vatican Council, they had a little chance--save for cantoras--to take an active part in the liturgy. They were simply spectators, who could not understand the meaning of the words and gesture in the liturgy. Third, in these folk rituals, the lay people are, on the contrary, the subject of the expressions of faith experiences, not merely the recipients or onlookers of the celebrations. And the medium of expression is the language they speak and are at home with. On the other hand, that of the liturgy before, which was Latin, was opaque to their understanding. Hence, they could never comprehend nor feel for themselves the meaning of the celebrations. And fourth, on account of all this, the rituals provide them identity.

 

Environment of Poverty

 

            The aspect of disenfranchisement brings the discussion to the social location which these religious practices presuppose: an environment of poverty. In general, those who take part in pabasa, who are involved in the cenaculo, and who engage in bodily flagellation do not came from the middle class or above it. They belong to the lower classes–those often alienated from the official liturgy. Even today, they are, in many areas, still disenfranchised, because they are not given opportunities to take an active part and express their faith in parish celebrations to a degree which these rituals allow. (Eucharistic celebrations in which members of charismatic communities are able to express themselves emotionally are an exception rather than the rule.)  Quite apart from the gulf created between the language of the liturgy and that of the poor people, the common values which these practices represent are the pain and the suffering which Jesus endured until death, and people who are poor easily understand and identify themselves with these values. Hence, solidarity in values also accounts for the popularity of these rituals in an environment of poverty. The crucifixion for them is God’s empathy from which they can derive strength and inspiration. Clearly then, these rituals speak something of the part of society or the environment in which they thrive.

 

Encounter between Faith and Culture

 

            Their practitioners to some extend cut off from the official Church, and coming from the grass roots, these rituals--it is the whole understandable--reflect an understanding which is the outcome of the encounter between the Christian faith, which they received with much limitations, and the culture in which they were brought up. They presuppose an environment removed from the centers of religion and politics. Before the coming of the Spanish missionaries, our forefathers believed in animism. Here, it was taught that the forces of nature were controlled by spirits who, by magical rituals, could be rendered beneficent or harmful. These were performed by the diwatahan, tambalan or baylana. If Holy Week folk rituals have anything to tell us, it is the animism has not been completely erased from the Filipino psyche. If one makes a survey on those who join in the cenaculo, for example, he will discover that the motive for participation is not simply to share the suffering of Christ, if at all; some likely answers are: fulfillment of a promise, thanksgiving for a favor granted, or reparation for sins.

 

            In a study made on the penitentes of Palo, Leyte, it emerged that fear of punishment was among the motives for submitting oneself to penitencia. The fear of punishment for doing something wrong the year round motivates a person to placate an angry God. By experiencing pain, one assures himself of forgiveness, escape from punishment, and peace of mind. Nonetheless, this is actually an animist theology, though one cannot blame the devotees .They probably have never been thought correct theology, or have correctly understood it, in the first place. On the other hand, the environment of poverty prevents them from having access to opportunities to learning orthodoxy. Hence, the theology of these rituals does not perfectly cohere with the official teaching of the Church. On the contrary, it represents the result of the people’s appropriation of the gospel message vis-à-vis their pre-Hispanic culture and their situation of poverty.

 

            Which brings us to other shadows of these rituals. Alienated from the centers of Catholic authority and life, they are in danger, among others, of being engaged in for utilitarian purposes.  That one participates in self flagellation to obtain God’s forgiveness values the ritual for what the subject can obtain from it. This borders on superstitions, which nurtures the belief that as long as one engages in the ritual, he will be safe, for example, from calamities. This is true of other expressions of popular piety which are celebrated in connection with liturgy. For instance, although a procession is designed as a public witness to the faith, this is not how lay people take it. In many cases, they do not participate in it for that end. That one takes part in it so his illness will be cured, or so his son will reform his life–motives like these are very common. It fact during fiestas in rural areas, many residents will complain if the conduct of the procession excludes their houses from its ambit, convinced as they are that this will also bar them from receiving the graces that are obtained through the intercession of their patron saint.

 

Subjectivism and Lack of Ecclesial Sense

 

            Related to this is the risk that these rituals are anchored on subjectivism. As already noted, one reason for the popularity of a Holy Week ritual is that it caters to the people’s affective needs. Because it is in touch with their feelings, it makes them satisfied. But there is a danger in thinking that what satisfies is good. That is subjectivism. In official liturgy, of course, this is not supposed to happen, because liturgical signs have their own meaning. That is why the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of Sacraments, for example, forbids the raising of hands during the Lord’s Prayer because this gesture symbolizes communion.  At any rate, lay people continue the practice because they feel good doing it. But it is precisely the role of liturgy to educate us in such a way we are able to express the meaning of liturgical gestures as our own, and so enter into the mystery of God and our own as a community. This frees liturgy from the danger of subjectivism. On other hand, since lay people engage in Holy Week folk rituals because they make them feel good and satisfy their affective needs, they do not lead to a real participation in the saving mystery.

 

            In addition, these rituals hardly promote a sense of belonging to the Church. Because they focus on answering the effective needs of the participants, they, in general, are individualistic in orientation. If one were to ask the motivations of Black Nazarene devotees in Quiapo for joining the January procession or for wiping their handkerchiefs on the image, the responses would hardly differ from the ones that would be given for joining the cenaculo or the penitencia: personal favors, either material or spiritual. There is scarcely any sense of being community or of belonging to one. (Which reminds us the pre-Vatican II eucharistic celebrations where each member of the congregation acted as if he or she were not related to the other worshippers in the church.)They lack social direction. Understandably, the theory of salvation or soteriology they embody is likewise individualistic: it is the individual who is saved from material and spiritual evils. Hardly ever clear is the concept of salvation of the community, still less the teaching that we are saved through the community. Consequently, the idea of building up the kingdom as part of their mission is far removed from them. On the contrary, the understanding is oriented toward the maintenance of the status quo. It is not farfetched to say that these rituals are burdened with the pre-Vatican II theology. And since they tend to develop apart from the hierarchical structure of the Church, it is not surprising that, in some cases, they are celebrated without any harmony with the liturgical time and meaning of the Holy Week. And their lack of ecclesial sense of belonging opens itself to abuse. It does happen that these rituals are held either for the personal advantage of their patrons, or for tourism purposes, or both.

 

More Important than Liturgy?

 

            As is true of other popular devotions, these Holy Week popular rituals–to many lay people–are regarded as more important than the liturgy itself for reason already noted. As a young priest assigned to the seminary, I used to say Mass in far-flung barangays. For lack of priest, only one Mass was celebrated in each of them once a month. One day, in one barangay, the old ladies asked me a favor after the mass: "Father, since you come here only once a month, may we suggest that instead of coming every first Sunday, you rather say Mass for us every first Friday?” Similar views can be encountered when it comes to the Holy Week rituals. For many, it is more fitting to act as Pilate in the cenaculo than to attend the Holy Thursday liturgy. It is more meaningful to undergo self-flagellation than to participate in the Good Friday liturgy, for, in the penitencia, one really experiences than the pain which Jesus himself experienced. And so on.

 

            The problem, of course, is that this only reinforces the development of wrong values in the sense that these are at variance with those held by the Catholic Church. And precisely because many consider these rituals more important than the liturgy, there lurks the danger that they might think that all that is needed to be in the right before God is to take an active part in these folk practices. They might believe these are the ways of approaching God. That many ritual enthusiasts do not go to Church on Sunday, that they do not receive the sacraments, that they are more familiar with their practices than with the Bible--these reflect their lack of belonging to the Church and the importance they ascribe to these rituals. That the most important in being Christian is to follow Jesus daily in discipleship within the community, not in the yearly act of self-flagellation--this, it would seem, is still lost to the devotees.

 

Incomplete View of the Passion

 

            Finally, the primary importance attached by the participants in the cenaculo, pabasa and penitencia to the death of Jesus results in the formation of values which have grave consequences for their faith and life. (Of course, such significance is not limited to the practitioners of these rituals. As may be observed during the Holy Week celebrations all the country over, it is only during Good Friday that people feel obliged to go to church; hence, pews are occupied to the full. But Easter and its Vigil, which are the culmination of the three-day celebrations, does not, except in parishes where small communities are flourishing, command as much crowd.) The value placed on the death of Jesus has serious implications for a theology of salvation, because this overlooks the life and ministry which led his death, and the vindication of him by God through the resurrection. In such a theology, Jesus came only to die. Which, of course, is a gross oversimplification. Seen in this light, suffering almost becomes valuable in itself, or at least part and parcel of being human which nothing can be done about. But then, this would almost associate Christianity with masochism! Suffering, however, is evil, even in Christianity. In systematics, God is always viewed as a pure positivity. In the Bible, Jesus never enjoyed suffering; if he suffered, it was a consequence of the life he led. He was murdered; he never sought pain and suffering. To say therefore that all that is important is to participate in the suffering of Jesus by simply undergoing self-flagellation or by joining the cenaculo is to oversimplify the meaning of Jesus’ suffering and death. Such a theological understanding would encourage the acceptance of injustice, oppression and domination, and could be used to justify them.

 

Aberrations?

 

But despite these observations, there is no reason to dismiss these rituals as aberrations. On the positive side, what the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines (PCP II) says of popular piety readily applies to them: “These religious practices are rich in values. They manifest a thirst for God and enable people to be generous and sacrificing in witnessing to their faith. These practices show a deep awareness of the attributes of God: fatherhood, providence, loving and constant presence. They engender attitudes of patience, the sense of the Cross in daily life, detachment, openness to others, devotion’’ (PCP II, Acts and Decrees, 172). In their Third General Conference at Puebla, the Latin American Bishops describe the lights of popular piety, which may be said of any of our Holy Week popular rituals: it “presents such positive aspects as a sense of the sacred and the transcendent; openness of the Word of God; Marian devotion; an aptitude for the prayer; a sense of friendship, charity, and family unity; an ability to suffer and to atone; Christian resignation in irremediable situations; and detachment from the material world” (GCLAB, Puebla, 913).

 

But then, what is to be done?              

 

Potential for Social Transformation

 

            Despite their weaknesses, they should not be suppressed. Our attitude should be “one of critical respect, encouragement of renewal” (PCP II, 175). For one thing, these Holy Week rituals are engaged in by numerous but poor Catholic all over the Philippines. And being part of the Church, they are subject of the Church’s care. This even gains prominence today since the Church in the Philippines has declared its intention to become a Church of the Poor where, among others, its “members and leaders have special love for poor.” The Church must therefore value their faith expression, however distorted or superficial, found in these rituals. For this reason, we must help the devotees in such a way that these practices can contribute to the maturing of our faith. And, probably, this could be done in two ways. First, we can identify their values and motivations and purify them in the lights of Christian faith. Then we can transform them by imbuing them with Christian values. In the process, we can show how these rituals are connected, for example, with the entire life of the Christian, and with the life of others. The purpose here is primary their coherence with right beliefs and right living (orthodoxy and orthopraxis).

 

            Second, in helping deepen their faith, we can explore the potential of these rituals for social transformation. At present, they are observed yearly, but do not have--it would seem--any visible impact on the communities they are held in. Probably for most, they are simply rituals, religious externals--period.  But it is instructive that during the Spanish period, from the 18^th century onward, the Tagalogs found in the passion story a motivation for revolt against oppression. (A Filipino theology of liberation must take into account the theology of the Filipino peasant religious movements.) We are still in the process of liberation, and as the Philippine bishops noted their Pastoral Exhortation on the Philippines Centennial Celebration, “today, our liberty is eroded as much by foreign invaders, as by internal enemies as the poverty of the many and the concentration of wealth among the few, inequality and lack of participation, injustice and exploitation, deficient culture values and mind-set, destruction of the ecosystem and deterioration of peace and order, to mention a few. True freedom demands that we, especially the poor and the disadvantaged, are liberated from this evils (cf. Gal 3:25-28). It requires profound changes in socio-economics and political structures, revolution of the heart (cf. Jas 4:1) and, most important, liberation from sin (2 Chr 7:14 Rom 6 18; 1 Tim 1:5).  It dictates that we ourselves shape our history.”   Of course, we should not utilize these rituals to incite revolt—that is unchristian. But surely we can ask: what values could be appropriated from these rituals which could serve as vehicles, in a very Christian way, and how they could contribute to the process of transforming society, which the PCP II speaks of (cf. PCP II, Decree 97)?  How can “they serve the cause of full human development, justice, peace and the integrity of creation” (PCP II, 175)?* (Note: The author wrote this essay in 1998].

Commencement Address Delivered to the Theology Graduates at the St John the Evangelist School of Theology, Palo, Leyte, on March 19, 2011

by Rev Msgr Lope C Robredillo, SThD

Vicar General, Diocese of Borongan

THE REV MSGR Benedict Catilogo, Rector of St John the Evangelist School of Theology, the Rev Ramil Costibolo, Dean of Studies, the Reverend Fathers, the Reverend Sisters, Graduates, Parents and Guests.  Good afternoon.  On this particular occasion, I would like to share with you some thoughts on the priesthood and the challenge of consumerism.  Allow me to begin with two news.

               Last week, we were told that, according to the Commission on Audit, the board of trustees of the Government Service Insurance System (GSIS) enjoyed excessive benefits in 2009 to the tune of P88 M, or P11 M for each member, which could have been used for its stakeholders.  Not so long ago, the Senate investigations disclosed that one general received P50 M pabaon (send-off gift), another P160, and still another P80.  These two, both unconscionable, are just the most recent in the series of scandals that captured the headlines.  The question I want to raise in relation to my topic is this: Why do many Filipinos sink into such morass of immorality in order to accumulate wealth?  Since our actions always reflect an anthropological presupposition, we can add the question: What concept of humanity do these people involved in these scandals presuppose in their unconscionable behavior?

I raise these questions because, if these scandals disclose anything, it is that they imply a certain outlook of life and of being human.  Of course, in Christian teaching, our common vocation is to become men and women for God and for others.  We become truly human when we give ourselves to God and to the members of our society.  Unfortunately, however, it seems that our society does not recognize this vocation.  Quite the contrary, what people know today as their vocation is to make consumer’s goods the object of their life, for the simple reason that it is consumer’s goods that they find their identity in, and that their life is oriented to.  In this assumption, we are what we have. We are what we consume.  That is the brief description of what consumerism means. 

That life is all about acquiring consumer’s goods seems to be the philosophy of life of many.  When I asked a tour guide about his religion, he said he had none.  So, what the purpose of living? I asked.  He answered, I want to make money.  It seems that people no longer want to be saints.  Saints seem no longer to have relevance for many.  Notice how town officials replaced street names of saints with names of politicians.  People want to get rich—and quickly.  In addition, consumerism posits a lifestyle.  You do not simply aspire to be rich; you want to live like one.  Hence, a certain lifestyle, which is actually artificial, is created.  This new lifestyle is pursued, often relentlessly, since one thinks that this will provide the good life—la dulce vita, filled with satisfaction and happiness.

            The problem with this is not only that possession of goods has become the be-all and end-all of life.  The problem is that, many aspects of social life have become subordinated to it—morals, culture, and religion no longer decisively matter in the process of acquisition.  What is important is not how you got rich; whether it is by hook or by crook, no one seems to be bothered about it.  What matters is you a rich. Period.  Indeed, it has become the principle by which people organize their personal lives, their relations to others and the whole society.  What is of the essence is the acquisition of goods.   Why become a lawyer?  To pursue justice? No, to get rich.  Why serve abroad?  To make money.  Why vote for this corrupt politician?  He is the highest bidder.  Why resign? A new much more financially rewarding job is being offered. Thus, if the GSIS board decided for themselves their humongous perks, obviously they never thought about the ordinary GSIS beneficiaries who find it difficult to claim even their paltry pension.  Obviously, the Generals receiving the “pabaon” (send-off gift) were not thinking of the ordinary foot soldiers suffering under fire from the Abus’ bullets. 

            Under this philosophy of life, man exists for himself, and all others have to be used to satisfy his heart’s desire.  No wonder, man has become subservient to consumer’s goods.  He is now a victim, and has become a tool, a slave, both literally and figuratively.  Thus, his conscience is not troubled by using Filipino women and men as drug mules to China in order to make money.  When he engages in drug trade, he is not upset by the fact that thousands are hooked in drugs, deprived of their future.  Take note, however, that in consumerism, what enslave people are not necessary bad things in themselves—they are enslaved to the business corporations they put up, the different palatial homes in several cities, and vacation houses in some beach resorts.  If these things happen, and not a hoot is heard, it is because we now measure a man in terms of his capacity to have.  We no longer look at a person in terms of his character, integrity.  We measure him in terms of his appearance, possessions, status.  No wonder the Vicky Belo business prospers, priests have to have PhD, MA, SThD, some even have 5 degrees appended to their name. politicians have become TV personalities, and clowns have become congressmen.

            It can be seen therefore that the more fundamental problem about consumerism is not simply about being rich, or about being materialistic.  More than that, it has become an outlook of life.  We can even go farther; it has actually become a culture.  It has become part of the thought patterns of society.   It is the way we think, and the way we live.   Which is why, it is very difficult for many to escape its influence.  They have become captive of consumerism.   As one might know, people do not look at Tibet with envy, despite the high idealism of its monks.  People no longer view China as an enemy of Christianity because it espouses communism.  To the contrary, we ape China because in a few years, it might even overtake the United States to emerge as the leading economic power.  Why pass the RH bill?  Is it far-fetched to assume that many want to have it approved because of the millions involved?  Fetuses have to be aborted because additional children affect our pattern of consumption.  Indeed, consumerism leads to a culture of death.  One wonders whether even the voice of the Church is being drowned in the whirlpool of consumerism.  Her voice no longer seems to command attention; look at the RH bill issue—even the Church has to make her power felt in order to bring home her message.

            What then can we, as Christians, say?  Consumerism is a big challenge to Christianity.  It is likewise a humongous challenge to the priests of today and the priests of tomorrow.  It essence, it represents not only un-Christian outlook but also inhuman philosophy of life and values.  And it would be unfortunate if the Church and her ministers co-opt it.  It would be a disaster for the Church if bishops and priests become captive of the tentacles of consumerism.  I believe that the great problem that the Church and her ministers right now face is not the problem of pedophilia, despite the fact that it is widely published.  Neither is it the problem of communism or atheism.  Rather, it is the problem of consumerism, and what could be more catastrophic than consumerism consuming the passion of priests and bishops?  If the Church will be almost irreparably damaged in the future, it will not come from pedophile priests and bishops; it will come from priests and bishops who are drowned in consumerist mentality.  That would be of tsunamic proportion.

My dear graduates, my dear future priests: this challenge should not remain unanswered.  If Council of Trent has stressed that priesthood is always linked with the community, obviously part of its implication is that priests should be able to speak to the community they serve.  Hence, if their people are being engulfed by consumerism, they have to exercise their prophetic role to protest against the overwhelming culture.  They have to be clear about this single message: to be human is not to have; to be human is simply to be.  This is not easy because it is to go against the current, it is to go against values being bombarded on us in television, it is to go against what people think is normal.  But that is precisely what it means to be a priest as prophet.  Prophets are abnormal people, they are fools.  St Paul himself declares that he is a fool for Christ.  In our time, only a fool does not accept kickbacks, only a fool refuses donations from jueteng.  As prophets, priests must not be afraid to protest against this consumerist culture. 

It is important to recall that Christianity was born as a protest.  Early Christianity was not engaged in accommodation; on the contrary, it was a countercultural community, and Jesus really meant it to be.  Let me cite some examples.  Consider his words: “You know that the men considered rulers of the heathen have power over them, and the leaders have complete authority. This, however, is not the way it is among you.  If one of you wants to be great, he must be the servant of the rest; and if one wants to be first, he must be the slave of all.  For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve and to give his life to redeem many people” (Mark 10:42-45).  Undoubtedly, the early Church had to be different—it lived a different way of life and treated people in a way different from how normal society of the Roman Empire treated them.

            That Christianity has to be different finds its roots in the conception of the people of God in the Old Testament.  In the Holiness Code, God declares: “You are to be holy to me, because I, the Lord, am holy, and I have set you apart from the nations to be my own” (Lev 20:26).  God intended Israel to be different from other nations, which is why he personally chose them to be his own people.  But in what way was Israel to be different?  From the way of life that the people had to live: “Therefore, take care to follow the commands, decrees and laws I give you today” (Deut 7:11).  These laws bound Israel, not other nations.  For this reason, since Israel was organized in terms of God’s covenant, with its own laws and decrees, its social structure was obviously far different from those of the neighboring nations.

            No wonder, the Church of the New Testament was clearly a counter-cultural community.  This is the reason why the NT letters use metaphors to emphasize this character.  Allow me to give one example from 1 Pet 2:9: “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.  Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy; now you have received mercy.  Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world….” Take note of the contrasting terms: “darkness and light,” “no-people and people of God”, “without mercy and with mercy”, “citizens and aliens and strangers”.  Notice also the adverb: “once” and “now.”  Thus, the Church is clearly different in terms of its election and its life.

            If the priesthood prolongs the mission of Jesus and the Church, and if priestly ministry is to serve the community it is found in, it therefore follows that the priesthood must be by nature counter-cultural.  Hence, because a priest is chosen to be different, he has also to live differently.  After all, that is the original meaning of “holiness”—one is set apart, one is clearly different.  Holiness is exhibited in one’s creativity and capacity to give to others.  But how?  How do we, as priests, face the temptations of consumerism?  I will not dwell on how consumerism should be refuted theologically.  I assume that your four years of Philosophy and four years of theology provided you with enough materials to arm yourselves against claims on the virtues of consumerism.   If you do not have enough arguments at hand, I will not allow you to graduate, if I were your Dean of Studies.  What I am more interested in are the pastoral, but essentially prophetic, means to combat it.  Of course, there are many ways, but let me focus on three points.

First, a priest has to know exactly his identity.  I am not, of course, going to make a discourse on priestly identity—I presume that you, graduates, have enough of that in the classroom.  What I mean is that we have to be aware that, more than any other, priesthood is a form of “being.” When one is aware of that, then, he acts like one.  When a priest goes to the restaurant, theaters, airplane, hotel, or when he is with politicians, police, beggars, he always acts like a priest, not somebody else.  When he speaks, laughs, argues, calls the attention of the sacristan, talks with giggling girls, he always does so as a priest.  The temptation of the priest by consumerism is precisely to have a different identity—some of us want to be jet setter, experts in tourism, connoisseurs of wine, political clowns and fashion models.  Others want to go into the buy-and-sell business, become contractors, and TV personalities.  Spiritual directors, of course, will always insist on prayers and other means to safeguard this priestly identity, but in the long run, it is really about being able to say—I am a priest, and my true identity does not consist in having more. I am content with who I am: a man for God and for others—that is who I am.

To be sure, it is difficult to be contended with who I am, because, with the pervasive influence of a consumerist mentality, there is always the temptation to define myself in terms of what I have.  There is the tendency to think that my priesthood becomes more meaningful and fulfilling if I have a big parish, if I have more women friends, if I have a fabulous rectory and church, if I have bigger deposit in the bank, if I have a good influence over the bishop, if I have visited more cities than the rest, if to my name are attached more than one abbreviation—MA, PhD, SThD, JCD, SSD.  Not surprisingly, in this kind of life, our days are cluttered with appointments sometimes without much consideration of their priorities.  Yet, one might ask: what about the priest who is assigned in a small barrio, who is sick with cancer, who is paralyzed, who has no money in the bank, who has not earned any civil or ecclesiastical degree because he was unable to finish his thesis—is he less than a priest?  Does one think he cannot experience the joy or happiness of being a real priest, because of his altered, lowly and uneventful circumstances?  One can only say “yes”, if he defines priesthood in terms of having.  Listen to this: in the face of temptations of consumerism, there is no substitute for a priest who can say, “Whatever the circumstances, I am a priest, and I am content with it.”  Of course, the greater challenge is to be faithful to it, to stand by that statement.

Obviously, this calls for simplicity of lifestyle.  In a society like ours where consumerism fills the atmosphere, it is not easy to be simple.  For one thing, our seminary training can appear less than modest and even seems not to encourage it.  Each seminarian has his own room, he lives in a building where water, electricity and food are not a problem, and sometimes, he can even sit in a classroom that has air-conditioning.   Life in the seminary, of course, may not be luxurious, but it is certainly with ease, if compared with how the majority of Filipino students live.  Still, simplicity of life should be part and parcel of being a priest.  Probably no one can be more simple that of Jesus Christ himself, the High Priest—he was born to a very poor couple, he had no house to call his own, he did not even own a burial ground, he had a simple job, he clothed himself with tunic.  Similarly, St Paul adopted a very simple lifestyle: “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (Phil 4:11b-12).   If Jesus and Paul lead a life of simplicity, there is no really why a priest should cultivate a taste for luxury.

A simple lifestyle is the secret of faithfulness to priestly identity.  But at the same time—and this should be emphasized, it is a prophetic gesture that brings home the message that lavish lifestyle is contrary to the Gospel.  Also, it gives witness to the transitoriness of this world.  As Paul puts it, “The time is short.  From now on, those who use the things of the world, [should live] as if not engrossed in them.  For the world in its present form is passing away” (1 Cor 7:31).  As a witness against consumerism, a priest cannot spend most of his nights in socializing, or a large chunk of a year in travels abroad, or his days in endless dinners, drinking, mahjong sessions, shows, and excursions.  When one engages in so many appointments that have little to do with the priesthood, they make him succumb to the temptation of identifying the priesthood with who he is with or with what he has.  Little will be left for reading God’s Word and for care of the little ones.  At the same time, they engender so many pressures, and in the end blood pressure shoots up.   Priestly life is meant to be simple; more than that is an abnormality.  To me, it is certainly very unsightly see a priest transferring to a different parish as his new assignment, bringing with him 5 truckloads of his accumulated personal belongings, equipment and paraphernalia.

Which brings us to this point: the greatest temptation that makes a priest succumb to consumerism is his own possession.  Here, I do not have to mention how much money one has deposited in the bank, because that seems too obvious to require comment.  Others are not so.  One has to examine whether having two or three brand new cars, a vacation house in Boracay is within the limits of simplicity.  One has to consider whether his stockpile of shoes and clothes, and yes, even fancy and fabulous vestments and sacred vessels with their famous signatures, does not border on superfluity.  One has to ask whether he really needs up-to-date and costly cell phone, VCRs, TV set, Notebook, Ipad, Ipod, and fabulous gadgets and expensive dogs and exotic animals in order to be effective ministers.  For the life of me, I still cannot understand why a priest has to own one or two private houses, or a condo unit in Global City when there is already a convento to shelter him from the rain.  But even more important, one has to examine whether all these acquired things make him closer to God, and enhance his priestly character, improve his homilies, and deepen his life of prayer and improve his relationship with others.

Finally, and this is my last and third point, I really feel—and this is my belief—that simplicity of life and priestly identity would get him nowhere unless he makes himself insecure—yes, you heard it right, not secure, but insecure.  Ordinarily, a priest, like any other person, is sometimes blind to the fact that the form of this world is passing away; he sometimes forgets his identity because he wants to be secure now and in the future.  Living well today always implies that one cultivates the proper social appearance, right connection, good social networking and diplomacy.  His concern for security in the present forces him to limit his vision to himself.  Of course, I would say that all this is normal.  After, who would reject a worry-free life?  One can always say that there is no substitute for a kind of living where everything you need is within your reach.  Just look at advertisement, offering us wares that free us from worry—from feminine napkins to car batteries.  That is human need, and advertisement caters to that need.

Come to think of it: consumerism makes one think that financial security will assure a person of a happy life.  The refrain is, one cannot be happy and be contended unless he is financially stable.  Not surprisingly enough, insurance companies have mushroomed because they answer a created need in a consumerist society.  No wonder, it is not difficult to accept a pabaon of P50 M because, with the prospect of retirement when perks will no longer flow, that amount will surely help in making a secure future.  But even worse, like other elements of consumerist culture, accumulation of wealth not only subordinates morals to it, but action is judged on the basis of its effectiveness in the success of acquisition.  Even family values are jettisoned, and good family relations are broken only because of one’s desire to amass wealth.  Thus, there is no moderation in greed.

And yet, one has to take Jesus’ words on this point not simply metaphorically but quite literally: “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food, and the body more important than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they?... Why worry about clothes?  See how the lilies of the field grow.  They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is throne into the fire, will he not much more cloth you, O you of little faith?” (Matt 6:25-30).

I seriously think that if a priest is to stand by his identity, if he is really convinced of leading a simple lifestyle, there should be an element of insecurity in his life-experience.  He cannot be faithful to his prophetic ministry if everything around him gives him a sense of security.  When a pig is full, there is nothing more to do but sleep.   A priest cannot testify to the transitoriness of this world if he continues to cultivate friendship with the security that worldly life offers.  On the other hand, his insecurity will reinforce that idea that priesthood is really about “being”, not “having”.  After all, priesthood is, before anything else, an ontological gift.  Therefore, insecurity makes him human, enhances creativity, and therefore makes his vocation even more real.  It brings him back to the reality that being a priest is actually about character, virtue and integrity, not about accumulation of passing things.  At the same time, it opens his eyes to the workings of God, to his providential care, and makes him realize that there are values higher than financial security.  There is no substitute in finding security in the arms of God.  It makes one realize that in the final result, priestly life is about being wholly for God and for others.  There is, therefore, no reason to be obsessed with a worriless future.  One has to leave room for God.  That would be enough.  Solo Dios basta.

 

by Lope C. Robredillo, STD

 

YEARS AFTER the worst disaster in memory struck Southeast Asia on December 26, 2004, the survivors of the tsunami went on with rebuilding their lives.  In this process of recovery, massive international aid kept pouring in.  But beyond the problems of survival, and of economy, science and psychology that they had to resolve in order to make their lives whole again, there remains a question that baffles not only most of the survivors who believe in a God who cares for human beings, but even us who were spared: where was God in that catastrophe?  Why did the tsunami have to occur, and devastate thousands of Asians?

 

In a letter to the editor, Sen. Aquilino Pimentel, Jr. of the Philippines asked: “Was the tsunami that hit and killed tens of thousands in Indonesia, India, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Maldives, Myanmar and other nations an act of God?” (Philippine Daily Inquirer, Jan. 20, 2005).  Not so long after the disaster, Imams in Indonesia, Pimentel went on, were quoted as saying that the tsunami was a wake-up call from God who was displeased because people were not faithful to their duties as set forth in the Koran.  Another Imam claimed that it was God’s punishment, since Muslims were killing Muslims in Aceh.  However, Sen. Pimentel finds the view of a chief rabbi, Jonathan Sachs of the United Hebrew Congregation of the Commonwealth preferable.  According to this Jewish rabbi, the tsunami was a natural calamity that is a consequence of our having been placed in a physical world.  But the Senator decried that he has yet to read a Catholic theologian speak on the matter.

 

Truth to tell, though they may not have the tsunami particularly in mind, Catholic scholars have wrestled with problems of that nature.  Admittedly, however, there has never been a solution proposed that adequately satisfies.  Just to illustrate how difficult it is to give a definitive answer to a problem like it, one can single out the proposal of Teilhard de Chardin, a Catholic author, priest and scientist.

 

For Teilhard who looks at the universe in convergent evolution toward Christ, such calamities as earthquakes and tsunamis are but an inevitable condition, the price of evolution.  The universe, he says, undergoes a process of arrangement and “in such a system which advances by tentative groping” toward a higher form of complexity, it is inevitable that there are failures, disintegrations and discordances.  “We are realizing,” he says in his book, Activation of Energy, “that within the vast process of arrangement from which life emerges, every success is necessarily paid for by a large percentage of failures.  One cannot progress in being without paying a mysterious tribute in tears, blood and sin.”

 

Evil, like the big quake or the tsunami, is thus a by-product of evolution.  Says Teilhard in his book, The Phenomenon of Man: “Indeed, if we regard the march of the world from this standpoint (i.e., not that of its progress but that of its risks and the efforts it requires) we soon see under the veil of security and harmony… a particular type of cosmos in which evil appears necessarily and abundantly as you like in the course of evolution—not by accident (which would not much matter) but through the very structure of the system.  A universe which is involuted and interiorized, but at the same time and by the same token a universe which labors, which sins, which suffers.  Arrangement and centration: a doubly conjugated operation which, like the scaling of a mountain or the conquest of the air, can only be effected objectively if it is rigorously paid for—for reasons and at charges which, if only we knew them, would enable us to penetrate the secret of the world around us.”

 

But, if one may ask, why is there a need for God to create a world that has to undergo an evolutionary process at such a price?  If the tsunami were a condition for progress, who is the man, were he given the choice, who would accept this bargain in the name of evolution?  By what logic does one justify the occurrence of such a disaster in order to succeed in the arrangement and centration? The point raised is a bit similar to Fyodor Dostoevsky’s, in his book, The Brothers Karamazov: “Imagine,” says Ivan to Alyosha, “that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at all, but it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance—and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect of those conditions?”

 

How much wisdom, then, one would ask, is there to creating a world that has to evolve from a less perfect state to a more perfect one?  One cannot, for sure, maintain without blasphemy that God, like a Roman emperor pleased to see a slave dancing in the arena before the horns of a bull, is such a sadist who enjoys himself in failures, clapping for a encore, seeing an elimination round.  To do so would lead one not just to doubt or deny his wisdom, omnipotence and providence, but even, more particularly, to question the discrimination it would engender.  What is wrong with a world not subject to continuous changes, a world in its highest state of complexity right from the start of creation?

 

Probably, it would make more sense to accept the view that evolution must exact its price, if those who pay it are only those who have turned against God.  In that sense, one could agree with the Imam who said about the tsunami being God’s punishment for Muslims who kill their fellow Muslims in Aceh. In fact, this is how some Old Testament texts view misfortunes that befell on Israel.  In the book of Judges, for instance, God would raise up an enemy to punish the people for their sins.   The friends of Job held the same conviction.  For them, God would never have allowed Job to suffer adversity if the latter had never defied him.  If Job suffered, he must have done something to deserve it, even though he refused to admit it.  But if the victims of the tsunami deserved it, were they more sinful than the people of Europe and America?  Were the poor people in Indonesia worst off than the rich who control the economy of the Third World?  Thieves, criminals, terrorists, and swindlers should be in jail—and yet where does one find many of them if not in the parties of the rich and famous, or gracing in the society page?  One can always ask why the greedy and the very corrupt prosper, while the honest, the meek and the humble are often damned.

 

Voltaire, who was perplexed at the Lisbon earthquake that killed more than 30,000 people and happened, ironically, on All Saints’ Day, November 1, 1755, has a point, when he asks in his poem, “The Lisbon Earthquake”--

 

Was there more vice in fallen Lisbon found

Than Paris, where voluptuous joys aboud?

Was less debauchery to London known,

Where opulence luxurious holds her throne?

Earth Lisbon swallows; the light sons of France

Protract the feast, or lead the sprightly dance.

 

But the truth is, many innocent people, including children, perished in that tragedy with the guilty.  And that is very hard to comprehend. What have the innocent children of Southeast Asia to do with the price to be paid for the evolution?  Why should they be the ones to pay?  One is reminded of words of Dr. Rieux, an unbeliever, in Albert Camus’ book, The Plague, to Father Peneloux who has been preaching that the calamity that struck Oran was a just punishment from God for the people’s godlessness: “No, Father, I’ve a different idea of love.  And until my dying day I shall refuse to accept a scheme of things in which children are put to torture.”

 

No doubt, Teilhard’s cosmic vision sheds much light on the problem.  Tsunami, for him, has to be understood in terms of evolution, the general good which conditions it.  Perhaps, of this tragedy that hit Southeast Asia, he may speak as a condition for the order and arrangement of the evolving universe, whose value is far greater than the evil it conditions.  The tsunami must be taken not as an isolated phenomenon but as a structural part of the total ensemble of stages in evolution.  “Provided the peak is actually there,” he says in his book, Activation of Energy, “and the game is worth the candle, what mountaineer is surprised or complains at having to be injured as he climbs, or at having to risk a fatal fall?  Taken as static facts and in isolation, pain and perversity are meaningless.  Taken as dynamic factors, in a system that is fluid and feeling its way, they are both vindicated and transfigured.”

 

Even so, Teilhard does not adequately solve the issues his proposal raises.  But if his solution fails, like all other explanation, it is because, to get into the heart of the problem, one has to go beyond the cerebral.  Rational explanations are doomed to conk out.  Teilhard’s theory is acceptable in shedding light on some aspects of the problem, but it sorely fails in its other dimensions.  It leaves several questions unanswered, like the inclusion of the innocent children in that tragedy.  It seems, however, that the problem is not one of lack of solutions.  Rather, it is about the inadequacy of tools.  Logic, in this matter, is a failure, because it does not have enough tools to get into the kernel of the matter.  There are realities in life where logic fails, like the experience of beauty, the ecstasy in sex and love, the drawing power of the innocent, or the language of love.  Love defies logic.  When one makes it logical, one deprives oneself of the experience.

 

The same is true of finding God in the tsunami.  One has to go beyond logic.  In the face of Asia’s worst tragedy, probably the real question is not about why God allowed it to happen, or where was he when it struck, but about our approach to it.   For a Christian, one has to share the experience of Job in the Old Testament.  Because his friends failed to account for his suffering adequately, he wanted to hear what God had to say about his it.  But when he spoke, God, far from justifying his action, merely overwhelmed Job with his power and omniscience. Job’s encounter with the Almighty’s power and knowledge made him realize how futile human logic was; he had to retract his rational approach. “I heard of you by word of mouth, but now my eye has seen you.  Therefore I disown what I have said and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:5-6).

 

What does this imply?  Since there are no adequate rational approaches to the problem of tsunami, a Christian must learn to live with realities that defy logic.  Even more important, he has to transcend it.  Following Job, one can only stand in awe at God’s wisdom, realizing how incomprehensible his system that governs the world.  His omniscience and man’s knowledge are unbridgeable.  Like Job, one must surrender to God’s mystery. One must trust him, even if he does not understand.   When one abandons himself to the incomprehensibility of God’s wisdom, knowing that God is God and not man, it would not be difficult to find God even in the tragedy of tsunami.  A man of faith knows that God is not absent in such an event.  He is there in the victims.  As Hans Kung puts it, in his book, On Being a Christian, “suffering, too, is encompassed by God: suffering, too, even though it seems like being forsaken by God, can become the point of encounter with God.”

 

Illustrative of this is a story that happened in a concentration camp during the Second World War, in Elie Wiesel’s book, Night. After the electric power was blown up, the Gestapo eventually put its three suspects on the gallows, two adults, and one child.  After the three necks were placed within the nooses, someone said, “Where is God?  Where is he?”  Finally, the two adults died, their tongue hung swollen, but the third rope was still moving.  Being so light, the child was still alive.  “Where is God now?” the same man asked.  Then, Weisel heard a voice within him answering the man: “Where is he?  Here he is—he is hanging here on this gallows.”  To see God in the child on the gallows, to see him suffering with the victims of tsumani—that should be the specific Christian experience in the tragedy, because Christ himself revealed on the Cross that God suffered with victim. 

 

Hence, the tsunami is never an evidence of God’s absence.  Quite the contrary, it is there that a Christian, who abandons himself to him amid utter meaninglessness, can encounter him.*

By Lope C. Robredillo, SThD

This essay is dedicated to the Most Rev Godofredo P. Pedernal, DD, a saintly bishop

(The original text of the talk delivered by the author in Samarenyo [or Binisaya] language to the delegates to the 50th Anniversary Celebration of the Diocese of Borongan at the Borongan Cathedral on October 22, 2010, 8:30 AM)

THOUGH the Estehanons’ first recorded encounter with Christianity occurred on March 16, 1521 when Magellan’s expedition reached Homonhon island, the historical beginnings of the Diocese of Borongan may be traced to as far back as 1585 when Augustinians set foot on Eastern Samar, but especially 1595 when Jesuits from Dagami, Leyte, systematically preached the gospel to the natives of the southern part of the island.  The people in the eastern littorals, on the other hand, were evangelized by Jesuits from Catubig and, later, Palapag as early as 1601.  In spreading the Christian religion, the missionaries initiated the reduccion of the population and founded towns, educated the inhabitants in the faith, raised stone churches, taught agriculture, and protected the faithful from Muslim raids.  The major bungtos at that time were Bacod (now part of Dolores river bed), Jubasan (now Giboangan, Can-avid), Sulat, Libas, Borongan, Guiuan and Balangiga.  On the whole, there was no stiff opposition to the reception of Catholic faith.  After half a century, however, the mission suffered a major setback in the Sumuroy rebellion in 1649.

When the Jesuits moved out in 1768, the Franciscans took over the parishes that the former had created save for Guiuan and Balangiga which were briefly administered by Augustinians.  The major problems that they faced were largely the same: population dispersion, Muslim raids and cholera epidemics.  They founded the parishes of Lanang (1851), Balangiga (1854), Sudao (1862), Oras (1863), Libas (1863), Nag-as (1864), Paric (1878), and Quinapondan (1894). These parishes, together with those founded by the Jesuits, all twelve of them, constituted the Vicariate of the Eastern Coast of Samar, under the Diocese of Cebu.  In terms of orthodoxy, however, they found a big challenge in the influential but heretical teachings of Don Gaspar de Guerrero.  It may be remarked that during this period, some Samareño priests already held parishes as pastors. However, the Spanish-American war in 1899 shook the Franciscan ministry and the local Church on Samar as a whole, what with the anticlericalism and Aglipayanism of Gen Vicente Lukban who had presented himself as Aguinaldo’s appointed Governor of Samar.  In fact, the Spanish friars resigned from their posts.  But at the same time, many people, including a number of Filipino priests, suffered from American ill-treatment.  Bucolic life was disrupted; hundreds of Samareños were killed.  Though Lukban was captured in 1902, peace never reigned; in the fierce war of the Philippine scouts with the local freedom-fighters, the Pulajanes, the latter practically controlled the island until 1905, leaving much suffering in its wake.  As a consequence, there was dearth of priests, between 1899 to 1905, to serve the needs of Samareños.

On April 10, 1910, the Estehanons became part of the Diocese of Calbayog, when the island of Samar was separated from the Diocese of Cebu.  Protestantism, American education system, and American culture became a challenge. Several Franciscans returned to work in the parishes.  Partly to counteract the spread of Protestantism, a Catholic school was established in Guiuan in 1927, as was done in other towns of the island.  Other schools followed eventually placed under the management of or established by the RVM sisters (Assumption College of Samar, 1940; St Joseph’s College, 1946; Holy Cross Institute, 1947; Our Lady of Fatima Academy 1949; and St Anthony’s Academy, 1949; Loyola Academy 1958 reverted to Msgr Desoloc).  During World War II, which displaced, decimated and impoverished the Estehanons, some priests aided Filipino guerillas.  After the war, the following parishes on the eastern part of the island were created, now all under Filipino priests: San Ramon (1955), Giporlos (1955), Maydolong (1956), Can-avid (1956), Sulangan (1957), Pambujan (1958), Matarinao-Burac (1959) and San Policarpo (1959).  Catechesis in elementary school was engaged in by almost all parishes.  In 1957, A lone Italian missionary (FdCC) started working in the parish of Jipapad.

On October 22, 1960, Pope John XIII issued the apostolic bull, Quod sacri, creating the Diocese of Borongan (Dioecesis Boronganensis), which originally included the aforementioned parishes as well as the parishes of Gamay, Basey, Calbiga, Pinabacdao, Villareal, Osmeña, Talolora and Sta Rita.  Bp Vicente P Reyes, DD, was the first bishop, installed on April 11, 1961.  The minor seminary, Seminario de Jesus Nazareno, was formally inaugurated in 1965.  Partly to halt the inroads of Protestantism in parishes, and in compliance with the First Plenary Council of the Philippines, diocesan schools, managed by diocesan priests, were also established: Jesus Nazareno Academy (Maydolong) 1962; Divine Child Academy (Lawaan) 1962; Borongan Cathedral School 1965, and Guimbaolibot Memorial School 1965.  Apart from Lapinig in Northern Samar, erected were the parishes of San Buenaventura/Balangkayan (1961), Lawaan (1961), Mercedes (1964) and Lalawigan (1964).  The faith was sustained among others by the strengthening of the Catholic organizations/cofradias (San Antonio, Lourdes, COM, Apostolados, San Jose, Holy Name, etc.) under the umbrella of Catholic Action, the best known being the Catholic Women’s League (CWL), Knights of Columbus (KC) and the Legion of Mary which had 12 Curiae and 105 Praesidia.  Cooperatives and credit unions in parishes were organized. 

With the closing of the Second Vatican Council, the Diocese moved toward the implementation of some conciliar decrees. In 1962, the Cursillo de Cristianidad became popular in the renewal of Christian faith and life, but the movement that penetrated the common people both in the poblaciones and the barrios was the Barangay han Birhen.  To involve the laity, pastoral councils were organized in several parishes as early as 1961.  It was in the 1970s until the early 80s that the faithful in the Diocese, including the clergy, were confronted with the problems spawned by Martial Law: deterioration of peace and order, human rights abuses, displacement and evacuation of inhabitants, among others.  People were caught up in the crossfire between the Philippine Army (PA) and the New People’s Army (NPA), with many untold and unhappy consequences. In the 80s, population declined.  The clergy tried to respond concretely to these problems.  The diocesan thrust, following the response of the Philippine Church, was development and liberation. Developmental projects were pursued, especially for farmers and fisher folk.  On December 5, 1974, the Diocese became confined to the civil province of Eastern Samar, when some of its parishes were ceded to the new diocese of Catarman. Only one parish was added in the 70s: Homonhon (1979). 

Late Martial Law period (1980s) and onward saw the rise and growth of movements that sustain and deepen the Catholic faith—Charismatic under various brands, Neo-Catechumenate, Marriage Encounter (ME), Oasis of Love, El Shaddai, Light of Jesus, Chrisma, Brotherhood of Christian Businessmen and Professionals (BCBP) and the Couples for Christ family (CFC), the last one having branched out to all the parishes and large barangays.  They appeared to have put a break to the spread of Fundamentalism and Pentecostalism.  Lay ministries were introduced.  In 1991, DYVW, the only Catholic radio station in the province, started a new media ministry.  New parishes were born: Maslog (Quasi-Parish, 1982), Buenavista (1999), Sapao (2004), Maypangdan (2005), Hinolaso (Quasi-Parish, 2006), Buabua (Quasi-Parish, 2006) and Sabang, Borongan (in process).  Several religious congregations, each with its own apostolate, enriched the pastoral ministry: Missionaries of the Sacred Heart (MSH) in 1987, Sister Servants of the Visitation (SSV) in 1988, Society of Don Bosco (SDB) in 1991, Franciscan Sisters of the Sacred Heart (SFSC) in 1995 in Dolores, Daughters of Charity (DC) in 1995-2005, Order of Friars Minor Conventual (OFMConv) in 1997, Oikos Ptochos Theou (OPT) in 1998, Sisters of the Presentation of Mary (PM) in 2010 and the Living the Gospel Community (LGC) also in 2010. The Nativity of Our Lady College Seminary was established (1996) to form seminarians in the local context.  Partners in formation in the faith are 2 colleges (St Mary’s College of Borongan and Mater Divinae Gratiae in Dolores) and 9 high schools, mostly run by religious sisters, a good number of pre-schools, and 1 technical school. One has yet to see, however, how the recently aired (2010) diocesan channel, Borongan Catholic TV, Channel 13, will contribute to faith formation.

In keeping with the recommendations of the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines (PCP II), the Borongan Diocese, after a two-year preparation, held its greatest ecclesial event: the First Diocesan Synod (1997), defining its life and mission in the present and coming years, and providing basis for its pastoral plan. Its diocesan pastoral plan was formulated in 2004, almost decade after the synod, supposedly to culminate in the golden anniversary of the diocese, but it has yet to see its implementation phase.  Although the Diocese had several social programs to help the poor, like the now defunct Emergency Livelihood and Assistance Program (ELAP) in 1991, and those handled by the Social Action Center, like Small Enterprises and Kapital Assistance Program (SEKAP) in 1995, Community Health Base Program (CHBP), involvement in the election process, anti-mining advocacies, not to mention other services (orphanage, home for the aged, clinics, home for children of the poor), its pastoral thrust, as enshrined in the first synod and in the pastoral plan, was the formation of Basic Ecclesial Communities (BECs).  The Daughters of Charity (DC) handled the program for 10 years (1995-2005), and several other communities sprouted in various parishes after they left.  On the other hand, as a service to its ordained workers, the Diocese has its own medicare program (1984), pension program for the elderly priests (2007), and priests’ home (2010).

In its 50-year history, the Diocese of Borongan was governed by nine Ordinaries: (1) Bp Vicente Reyes, DD, 1^st bishop of Borongan (1960-1967), his Vicars General being Msgr Simeon Desoloc (1961-1966) and Msgr Angel Hobayan (1966-1967); (2) Msgr Hobayan, JCD, Vicar Capitular (1967-1968), (3) Bp Godofredo Pedernal, DD, 2^nd bishop (1968-1976), his Vicars General being Msgr Angel Hobayan (1968-1969), Msgr Conrado Balagapo (1969-1971); Msgr Desoloc (1971-1973), Msgr Hobayan (1973-1974); Msgr Desoloc (1974-1976) with Fr Exequiel Singzon as Pro-Vicar General (1974-1976); (4) Bp Ricardo Tancinco, DD, Apostolic Administrator (1976-1977), (5) Bp Sincero Lucero, DD, 3^rd bishop (1977-1980), his Vicars General being Msgr Emiliano Balein (1977-1978); (6) Bp Nestor Carino, DD, 4^th bishop (1980-1987), his Vicar Generals being Msgr Conrado Balagapo (1980-1985) and Msgr Alfredo Amistoso (1985-1987); (7) Bp Leonardo Medroso, DD, 5^th bishop (1987-2006), his Vicars General being Msgr Crescente Japzon (1987-2001) and Msgr Lope Robredillo (2001-2006); (8) Msgr Robredillo, SThD, Diocesan Administrator (2006-2007), and (9) Bp Crispin Varquez, DD, 6^th bishop (2007-to date), with Msgr Robredillo as Vicar General (2007-to date).   

As of 2010, out of the around 400,000 inhabitants of the province, the Diocese has about 385,000 Catholics, who populate the 34 parishes/quasi-parishes.  Compared with other dioceses, Borongan may be categorized as economically poor.   In terms of personnel who co-work with the Ordinary in serving the People of God, the diocese has 89 priests. Of the 58 working in it, 5 are religious, and 54 were ordained for the diocese.  Of the 29 who are outside the diocese, 10 are in Manila and suburbs, 16 are in the US, 1 in Canada, 1 in Australia, and 1 in Italy.  Professionally, the diocese has 9 priests who earned doctorate degrees: 1 doctor in biblical studies, 1 in dogma, 1 in moral theology, 1 in spiritual theology, 1 in philosophy, 1 in mass media and communications, and 3 in canon law.  In addition, it has 14 clerics who finished licentiate or masteral degrees in various ecclesiastical sciences.  

Currently (2010) shepherding Christ’s faithful in Eastern Samar is Bp Crispin Varquez, DD, the Ordinary of the Diocese.  His Vicar General or deputy is Msgr Lope Robredillo, who also serves as Chancellor, assisted by Rev Neil Tenefrancia, the Vice-Chancellor.  In charge of the financial affairs is Fr Inocentes Abuda, the Financial Administrator.  For administrative purposes, the Diocese is divided into three regions, Northern Region, with Fr Dan Gañas as Episcopal Vicar, Central Region, with Fr Leroy Geli, and Southern Region, with Fr Joberto Picardal.  Each region has two vicariates, each headed by a Vicar Forane: the north has Msgr Alfredo Amistoso and Fr Romeo Solidon; the central Fr Eutiquio Belizar and Fr Marlon Gacho, and the south Msgr Crescente Japzon and Fr Nemesio Quiloña.  In the diocesan tribunal, the Judicial Vicar is Fr Antonio Alconaba, Auditor Fr Geli, and Defender of the Bond, Fr Abuda.

To implement its various programs, the Diocese has a Pastoral Secretariat, which is directed by Fr Geli, the Executive Secretary.  Corresponding to the various aspects of its pastoral life and work are the following commissions along with their respective chairs: Doctrine of the Faith, Fr Belizar; Catechesis, Fr Joseph Orsal, Mass Media and Communication, Msgr Pedro Quitorio III; Liturgy: Msgr Robredillo; Clergy: Fr Marlon Gacho; Vocation: Fr Jan Michael Gadicho; Biblical Apostolate: Fr Dan Gañas; Family and Life: Jonas Rebamontan; Youth: Fr Edgar Abucejo; Mission, Fr Philip Campomanes; Social Action, Fr Juderick Paul Calumpiano; Basic Ecclesial Communities, Fr Roderick Rodeles; Religious Associations, Fr Joberto Picardal; Cemeteries: Fr Joberto Picardal; Custody of Church Properties, Fr Edwin Juaban, and Cultural Heritage of the Church: Msgr Robredillo.  These commissions, however, have yet to move on in terms of concrete pastoral plans and program of action.*

Challenges of the Times and the CBCP's Responses: A History of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines 

 

 

By Lope C. Robredillo, SThD

 

(Originally, a paper read by the author before the assembly of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines in Tagaytay City, in January 1995 on the occasion of the 50^th anniversary of the CBCP.)

 

I

Introduction

 

           Best known for its initials CBCP, the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines of the Philippines is, in its present structure, a creation of the Second Vatican Council.  A Permanent institution, it is a grouping of the bishops of the Philippines “whereby, according to the norm of law, they jointly exercise certain pastoral functions on behalf of the Christian faithful of their territory in view of promoting that greater good which the Church offers to humankind, especially through forms and programs of the apostolate which are fittingly adapted to the circumstances of the time and place” (CIC, c. 447).  However, it does not, in the exercise of its apostolic and pastoral role, encroach the autonomy of the individual bishop.  In its recently amended constitution (1994), the CBCP specifies the following among its objectives:  the promotion of the spirit of solidarity in the Philippine Church; the formulation of joint pastoral policies and programs; the active engagement of the Philippine Church as a body in the pastoral thrusts of the universal Church; and the assumption of responsibilities as evangelizer in its relationship with all peoples in the country, especially the civil authority.  Its pastoral policies and programs are implemented through its 23 commissions with the coordination of the resources of the different dioceses.  It meets twice a year.  Aside from a president, a vice-president, a secretary-general, and a treasurer, it has an Administrative Council which acts on its behalf in between meetings.  At present, it has 96 active members who are diocesan bishops or their equivalent in law, coadjutor and auxiliary bishops.  Headed by the Most Rev. Oscar V. Cruz, D.D., archbishop of Lingayen-Dagupan, the CBCP holds offices in a three-storey building at 470 General Luna Street, Intramuros, Manila and is staffed by 27 priests/religious and more than 82 lay workers.

 

            In 1995, the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines was 50 years old, not many years in terms of the whole life of the Philippine Church, but sufficient to show its usefulness and relevance to the time and the people it serves, and the degree to which it so far realized its major objectives.  It is the purpose of this essay to write the history of the CBCP’s 50 years of existence.  In writing that history, one has various options.  He may follow the traditional historiography in which history is centered on the acts, achievements or failures of its leaders, as is employed in most history textbooks.  This is “history from above.”  Or, he may approach it from the point of view of all the bishops and their co-workers.  This is “history from below.”  Or he may even apply a philosophical approach (e.g., Marxist theory of class struggle) to interpret the CBCP history.  Here, I do not intend to use any of these approaches. Rather, in describing the 50 years of its existence, I would like to take into account the ecclesiological framework within which the Conference operated and moved, as well as the changing and diverse historical experiences of the Filipino people which shaped it.  In writing this essay, it is my thesis that the major shift in ecclesiological paradigm in the Philippine Church, which entailed changes in values and orientations, transpired in the Second Vatican Council and that when the CBCP responded to the various challenges which the particular situation of the country presented, it did so within the possibilities of its perception and its ecclesiological framework which did not always coincide with the paradigm-shift.  In view of these two considerations, I would like--at the risk of oversimplification--to divide the history of the CBCP into four periods: (a) the period of defensiveness (1945-1965);  (b) the period of difficult transition (1966-1975);  (c) the period of awakening and prophetic ministry (1976-1986); and (d) the period of renewed vision for the Church and society (1987-1995).  Before treating these periods, I would like, first of all, to describe the beginnings of the CBCP.

 

II

The Beginnings of the CBCP

 

            The origins of the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines may be traced to as far back as February 15, 1945 when the Apostolic Delegate, Bishop William (Guglielmo) Piani, even as the war was raging, created the Catholic Welfare Organization (CWO), with its central office at a remodeled coop at the University of Santo Tomas interment camp.  (Eventually, the office was moved to the following addresses in succession:  La Consolacion College at 260 San Rafael Street, Manila in the same year; 1500 Taft Avenue in 1953; 2472 Taft Avenue in 1955; 2655 F.B Harrison in 1974;  Cabildo; and finally, 470 General Luna Street, Intramuros in 1983.)  Obviously with the National Catholic Welfare Council (NCWC) of the bishops of the United States as his inspiration and model, Msgr. Piani’s major objective was “to meet the war emergency created by the destruction of so many towns.”  Seeing the need of a coordinated effort to aid the stricken populace, Msgr.  Piani offered the services of the CWO to General Douglas MacArthur, and the offer was accepted.  In charge of the relief work was the Rev. John Hurley, SJ.  Its first personnel included lay men and women as well as clerics.  During and after the battle refugees, acted as important outlet of the PCAU (Philippine Civil Affairs Unit) foodstuff, and sent out burial squads to bury countless corpses.  In the first five months of its existence, it distributed food, medicine, clothing, etc.  valued at P906,030.

 

            On July 17, 1945, all the bishops met in Manila for their first meeting after the Japanese Occupation, and three days after, Msgr. Piani granted their request to place in their hands the direction of the CWO and make it the official organization of the Hierarchy of the Philippines.  After the Apostolic Delegate received from the Holy See the proposal and directive to incorporate the CWO, the articles of incorporation were duly registered in the Securities and Exchange in Manila, on January 23, 1946, with 18 incorporators.  As appears in the Articles on Incorporation, the purpose of the CWO was “to unify, coordinate, and organize the Catholic people of the Philippines in works of education, social welfare, religious and spiritual aid and other activities.”  The Board of Directors was composed of bishops Gabriel Reyes (Cebu), chairman; Constancio Jurgens (Tuguegarao), Mariano Madriaga (Lingayen), Santiago Sancho (Nueva Segovia) and Alfredo Verzosa (Lipa), members.  A few years later, a new constitution was approved by the Sacred Consistorial Congregation on June 28, 1952 and took effect on June 30, 1953.  Such were the beginnings of the CWO.  It was a welfare organization which had no juridical status in the Church.  It was financed through regular quota subscription from all the bishops. and partly from the shipping service and the War Relief Services (WRS).  Later on, the quota subscription was made on the basis of the Catholic population in each diocese.

 

The Period of Defensiveness (1945-1965)

 

            To understand its subsequent history until the close of the  Second Vatican Council in 1965, it is to be remembered that with the imposition of the American rule, and in the aftermath of the Second World War, the Philippine Church found itself in a new and difficult situation.  Quite apart from the destruction of its churches, schools, hospitals and other institutions which was estimated at P25,000,000, it continued to be confronted with various enormous problems which compounded the problem of poorly instructed Catholics, it suffered from a dearth of financial resources because the people, though generous in other ways, were slow to contribute to the Church, whose needs were supplied by the Patronato Real for nearly four centuries.  It wasl also faced with the invasion of Protestant missionaries, the anti-religious influence of masonry, the anti-Catholic tendencies, the anti-clerical Filipino elite who were inheritors of the anti-clerical feeling during the Revolution of 1898, and those who held up important positions in the government and in business.  It suffered, too, from the effects created by the Aglipayan schism.  In addition, it came to grips with such American innovations as public school system and the separation of the Church and State.  While all this had to do with the inner life of the Church, the bishops were aware of such social problems as social injustice and the menace of Communism, especially with the growth of the Communist Party’s military arm, the Hukbalahap (Hukbo ng Bayan Laban sa Hapon, later renamed Hukbong Magpapalaya ng  Bayan), not to mention the incursion of Western ways and styles and their corresponding values.  Given its ecclesiological framework which was largely defined by the ecclesiology of the Council of Trent and baroque theology, it is not surprising that since its foundation until the end of the Second Vatican Council, the CWO for the most part looked inwardly, and was principally concerned with the defense, protection, strengthening and furtherance of vital interest of the Catholic Church as a social institution and of supernatural values.  (During this period of CBCP history, the body was headed successively by the following archbishops:  Gabriel Reyes [1945-1949/1950-1952], Rufino Santos [1953-1956], Juan Sison [1957-1960] and Julio Rosales [1961-1965].)

 

            Immediately after the war, the CWO was largely engaged in relief services.  When it was made the agency for War Relief Services (WRS), its 18 bishops and prefects apostolic became the 18 regional directors for WRS relief, with the parish priests and various congregations seeing to the equitable distribution without racial or religious distinctions.  From 1946 through 1948, it distributed relief amounting to P4,645,282. 95.  Not a few of its services were directed toward the institution herself.  For instance, aside from the War Damage Claims services it offered to make possible the war damage payments to the Catholic Church, its churches, rectories and schools, it rendered services in particular legal problems for various bishops and religious orders, and, through its Shipping Department, handled their incoming and outgoing, cargoes, inter-island and overseas.  Likewise, it took care of a variety of problems of bishops, priests and religious with the Department of Foreign Affairs, Customs, Immigration, Office of the Registrar General, Registrar of Priests and Ministers division, among others.  Its information Department issued bulletins that were of interest and use of the bishops and the major religious communities.

 

            Eventually, the CWO became the means through which the interests and values of the Catholic Church were defended, protected and furthered.  Faced with the consequences of the separation of Church and State, among them being lessening of the means by which it could fulfill its teaching mission and influence the people, the CWO fought much for the religious instruction in public schools which was strongly opposed by Masons, anti-Catholic individuals and religious sects, and the private schools’ right to exist.  For the bishops, the Catholic schools could help create and support a Catholic order.  Largely for the same reason, and to spread the faith under constant attack, it tried to maintain a national weekly, The Sentinel, despite the financial burden, until its closure in 1968.  Likewise, it had a radio program over DZPI and DZST in Manila and DXMS in Cotabato, even though its original plan, as early as 1949, was to put up its own radio station in order to “guarantee Catholic independence to speak out on any question of morals.”  The “Ting in Mange Juan” radio program was instrumental both in the defense of Catholic faith against Masons and other anti-Catholics, and in the return of many to the Catholic fold.  Faced with the treat of the Communist take over in the 1950’s, the latter two became vehicles through which the Catholic view on Communism was expounded.  In the face of indifferent or even anti-Catholic politicians and Masons, it tried to influence elections and the legislature, and mobilized public opinion. For example, it helped rouse public opinion against the efforts to liberalize divorce, introduce unwise sex education in the schools, discriminate European teachers in private school because of their religion, sterilize children of lepers, etc.  With not much success, it opposed taxation or religious organizations.  And against the corruption of morals, it set up, among others, the Legion of Decency, which later became a commission, to discourage the public from seeing morally objectionable pictures and from patronizing theaters which exhibited indecent films.  As can be gleaned from its resolutions and letters, the CWO, of course, tended to confine the problems of morals to issues related to smutty movies, sex and birth control.  In 1956, it approved not to admit ballet students to Catholic high schools.  Obviously, it then lacked focus on more important moral hardly ecumenical, either in its pronouncements or its activities.  As already noted, all this reflects the ecclesiology of the period, and illustrates an effort to construct a social order in which faith can be embraced, grow, and thus create a Christian culture.

 

            At times, its battles for the protection of the legitimate interests of the Church and the furtherance of supernatural values became celebrated cases.  In 1952, for instance, it was discovered that three top men in the Department of Education, sworn into office to uphold and implement the teaching of religion in public schools, were also sworn in by their Masonic affiliation to eliminate it.  The CWO handed a letter to the President stating the stand of the Church with regard to the Masonic commitment of the three officials.  It availed of the services of Atty. Raul Manglapus, Atty. Ambrosio Padilla, Atty. Jose Feria and Atty. Francisco Rodrigo in prosecuting the cause of the Church.  The Rizal Bill No. 438 is another case in point.  Jose Laurel, proposed to make Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo compulsory reading in all universities and colleges.  The measure ignited a hot controversy, and encountered a determined opposition from the CWO, not to mention the various Catholic organizations, on the ground that it violated freedom of conscience and religion.  The controversy ended with a susbstitution of a different measure which accommodated the objections of the CWO.

 

            But the concerted voice of the CWO was also communicated to the Catholics and the whole nation at large through its letters and statements.  The CWO was almost able issue them on issues of national importance.  Its opposition to Freemasonry found expression in a joint pastoral letter, issued on Jan. 18 and 24, 1950, on the anti-Catholic book of Rafael Palma, The Pride of Malay Race, which tried to prove the Jesuits concerned were liars and the ecclesiastical authorities forgers of Rizal’s retraction, and in its statement on Masonry (Jan. 14, 1954).  Its concern over the threat of Communist takeover can be seen in its pastoral letter on social justice (1949) and on Communism (August 15, 1954).  In these letters, the bishops wisely pointed out the social roots, and criticized the injustices of Capitalism which encouraged the growth of the communist movement; and with the surrender of Luis Taruc, showed its opposition to witch-hunt, even though it rejected Communism.  That it considered the transmission of Christian truth and values through the schools important in a society that fostered pluralism in religion can be inferred from its letters and statements on Religious Instruction in Public Schools on Feb. 18, 1953, on Catholic Education on April 10, 1955, and on the Religious Instruction Bill on June 6, 1965.  The ground for its opposition to the Rizal Bill finds expression in a statement on the two novels on April 21, 1956.  And against the corruption of morals, it wrote a pastoral on materialism, its first joint letter to Filipinos after the war.  All in all, the CWO issued 39 joint pastoral letters and statements from 1945 to 1965.  It may be observed that although these letters and statements were strong when Catholic interests were under attack, in general they tended to dwell on general principles and lack of prophetic slant when it came to political and social questions.

 

            It would appear from the foregoing that the CWO was for the most part concerned with the Church ad intra.  In fact, its administrative structure lends support to this observation.  After 8 years of existence, in addition to the agencies under the secretary general (Sentinel, Relief, Legion of Decency, and Public Relation Office), it had only three episcopal commissions: Department of Catholic and Social Action, and Department of Mission.  That, however, is understandable.  The ecclesiological framework derived from the theology of the Council of Trent put theological limits to the CWO involvement in the socio-economic and the political structure of the nation.  It is not surprising, therefore, that despite the unrest in agriculture and labor fronts, its involvement in these spheres may be characterized chiefly as social charity or welfare.  The importance of the Catholic schools, orphanages, hospitals and other charitable institutions may be viewed from this angle.  Indeed, although it issued letters on social principles (1948) and social justice (1949), the place of these social principles was not yet well integrated into the ecclesiological outlook inherited from Trent.  Obviously, the CWO needed some vehicles to translate these principles into the particular situation.

 

            Initially, its work for the socio-economic aspect of the people’s lives was handled by the Social Welfare Department.  However, in 1952, the Social Action Department of the CWO was established to promote, on the national level, a sound and effective program of Catholic action in the social order in accord with the directives set forth by the popes especially in Rerum Novarum and Quadragesimo Anno .  On April 13-27, 1953, the department organized the Priests and Laymen’s Institute of Social Action (PLISA) under, auspices of the Ateneo de Manila, and one of the concrete results of the PLISA was the establishment of the Federation of Free Farmers (FFF) on Sept. 8, 1953, under the leadership of Atty Jeremias Montemayor. Staunchly anti-Communist, its purpose was the organization of small farmers and tenants for cooperative action defense of their rights, and promotion of their social welfare.  (Federation of Free Works [FFW] was organized earlier, but this was not the initiative of the CWO, even though it was inspired by Catholic social teaching).  Even so, the CWO was not very much involved in labor and rural problems of the day, despite the fact that its statements often quoted papal social encyclicals.  In 1956, the organization suffered a setback in its socio-economic involvement, because after the UST strike by the FFW--affiliated UST Employees Organization, the Catholic Church, in the words of Bishop Lino Gonzaga, “lost much prestige in the labor front.”  It would not be until 1970, and even more strongly in 1976, that the bishops’ body issued a statement on labor.

 

            The same ecclesiological framework limited the lay participation in the social apostolate.  Understandably, Pius XI, in his “Ubi arcano Dei” (1922), within the limits of a monarchial ecclesiology, defined lay apostolate in terms of cooperation in the apostolate of the Hierarchy.  Still, that cooperation was a major link between the Bellarminian view of the Church which rooted all ministry in the Hierarchy and the consciousness that each Christian had to be a witness to the Gospel in the world.  In the Philippines, the lay participation was effected through the coordination of various religious organizations on a national scale under the Episcopal Commission on Catholic Action.  Their primary objective was to strive, give practical effect, in their respective fields, to the mandata of the Hierarchy in accord with the directives of Pius XI.  The Catholic Action was represented at both the diocesan and parochial levels:  the Barangay Sang Birhen, Knights of Columbus, Catholic Women’s League, Legion of Mary, Student Catholic Action, Young Christian Workers, Sodality of Our Lady, etc.  At the national level, these federated into the Catholic Action of the Philippines (CAP).  Aside from such traditional activities as organization of religious celebrations, congresses, and catechesis, these organizations were the front liners in many rallies, lobbying in Congress, and in various social activities.  The Catholic Action of the Philippines sponsored the first Lay Institute of Social Action (LISA), and held its first post-war convention in 1952.  It was not within the province of the lay apostolate to be directly involved in socio-economic institutions and their activities.  Obviously, it was the thinking at that time that if the social order was to be renewed, it would come from the top.

 

            Four outstanding events, which occurred during this period of CBCP history, and in which the CWO was involved, may be recalled because, among other reasons, they demonstrated that the Philippine Church, despite the onslaughts against it by the anti-Catholics, was vibrant and flourishing.  The first one was the convocation of the First Plenary Council of the Philippines in Manila from Jan. 7 to 25, 1953, presided over by Norman Thomas Cardinal Gilroy, archbishop of Sydney (Australia).  Its purpose was to bear witness to the Catholic faith of the Filipino people, and to decree such legislations as may be necessary for the preservation, enrichment and propagation of Catholic life.  To solve the problems confronted at the time, the Council offered to renew the social order through the renewal of spirit of both clergy and laity.  That spirit was to be manifested in the concern for individual salvation and formation of social conscience.  And the individual and social energy generated was to be organized in the forms approved by the Church and under the direction of the hierarchy.  The second one was the Marian Congress in Manila, held on Dec. 1-5, 1954, with Fernando Cardinal Quiroga y Palacios, archbishop of Santiago de Compostela (Spain) , presiding.  It was a grand demonstration of Catholic faith, which culminated in liturgical celebration, participated in by more than a million Catholics, headed by President Ramon Magsaysay and his family.  Then, on Oct. 7, 1961, the Pontificio Collegio-Seminario Filippino, whose cornerstone was laid on Aug. 1, 1959, was finally inaugurated and blessed, so that Filipino seminarians and priests could be trained sub umbra Petri.  Lastly, the nation observed a six-day celebration of the 4th centenary of the Philippine Christianization in Cebu (Apr. 27-May 2), graced by Archbishop Vagnozzi,  Apostolic Delegate to the US, and by most of the Philippine bishops.  It saw the birth of the Philippines Mission Society.

 

The Period of Difficult Transition (1966-1975)

 

            When the Second Vatican Council ended in December 1965, it created a paradigm shift in ecclesiology, as noted earlier:  from a Church understood mainly as a social institution, the self-understanding moved to a Church as the people of God.  The CWO was met by the challenge of the shift, and its corresponding theological and pastoral implications.  The changes brought about by the council was, of course, partly noticed even in the CWO Constitution itself which was revised pursuant to the conciliar decree, Christus Dominus (nn. 37-38), and in accordance with the legal specifics provided for by Paul VI’s motu propio,  Ecclesiae santae (I, 41).  The revisions chiefly consisted in the altering of the name from CWO to Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines thus:  “to study, promote, coordinate in a way corresponding ever more to the needs of the present time the apostolate of the Church in the Philippines.” Unlike the CWO, however, the CBCP was now a canonical body, a status not given in the preconciliar period.  Approved by the Sacred Consistorial Congregation on Dec. 12, 1967, the newly amended constitution was filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission on Feb. 29, 1968.  (However, since this constitution was ad quinquinnium experimenti gratia, it was revised and approved in July 1973, and given recognitio by the Holy See on May 21, 11974).  The episcopal commissions were augmented:  created were the Commission on Seminaries, Commission on Family Life Remuneration and Distribution of the Clergy, and the Commission on Emigration.  (From 1966 to 1975, the following were Presidents of the Conference:  Archbishops Lino Gonzaga [1966-1969], Teopisto Alberto [1970-1973] and Julio Rosales, whose terms extended to the next, more difficult, period.)

 

            Admittedly, however, the impact of the conciliar ecclesiology in terms of the collective theological outlook of the bishops was not immediately felt in the years that immediately followed.  Like the pre-Vatican II CWO, the CBCP tended to look inwardly, and it would, and it would even seem that Bellarmine’s institutional model of the Church continued to dominate the greater part of this period, and its mission in society seemed to be premised, at least in the initial stage, still on the social-charity model.  In fact, on average, most of the CWO/CBCP decisions were concerned with intra-Church renewal in accord with the conciliar decrees on liturgy, ecumenism, seminaries, canon law, etc.:  others pertain to CBCP internal affairs, and the promotion of Catholic faith and doctrine (religious instruction, clerical attire, etc.).  On this score, the post-1965 episcopal body was much in continuity with the post-war CWO.  This is reflected in the subject matter of most of its joint pastoral statements from 1965 to 1971:  religious instruction, Humanae vitae, priestly celibacy, the Holy Father, East Pakistan Refugees, prayer and interior life, etc.  The intra-Church endeavors saw an important event when Pope IV visited the country on Nov. 27-29, 1970 which the bishops regarded as a reminder of the country’s vocation in a new world.  A year before, the Radio Veritas (Asia), which could be heard as far as the People’s Republic of China, was founded.

 

            This is not to say, however, that the CBCP remained on the defensive.  Quite the contrary, it slowly changed its focus from defensiveness to awareness of the role of social apostolate in the mission of the Church, as it did not fail to address the problems of the time, which by 1968 through 1970, especially in the First Quarter Storm, became the issues of rallies, strikes and demonstrations in Metro Manila.  Hence, the appropriateness of calling this period (1966-1975) one of difficult transition.  The issues during these years of rage were the widening gap between the rich and the poor, the feudal economy, graft and corruption, compartmentalized justice, and inadequate law implementation.  These were summed up in the student slogan, “Down with Feudalism, Fascism and Imperialism.”  These years saw the resurgence of the Communist Party of the Philippines, and its influence on students was greatly felt in the unprecedented growth of the Kabataang Makabayan (KM) in 1964.  Later, a Marxist-oriented group of the CCP was established, and by 1969, the New People’s Army (NPA) was already vocal about its intention to change the society by revolution.  But while some sectors of society opted for radical change, others preferred social and political reforms.

 

            The CBCP was socially aware, and it stood for the amelioration of the socio-economic order.  Indeed, at this stage the Conference, in its letters and statements, showed a better contextualization of Christian principles.  Already on Jan 8, 1967, it issued a pastoral letter on social action and development in which it stressed, among others, the mission of the Church in the temporal order, the relationship between evangelization and development, and, in particular, the rights of workers.  In answer to the request of  PISA (Priests’ Institute of Social Action) participants, the CBCP created the NASSA (National Secretariat for Social Action) which served as the secretariat of the Commission on Social Action.  In the same year, it organized the National Congress on Rural Development (Feb 4-11) to promote a genuine awareness of the socio-economic problems.  “The Church Goes To The Barrio” was the popular slogan at this time.  The congress was followed up by a pastoral letter on social awareness (May 1, 1968).  In its statement on bishops and moral leadership on July 5, 1969, it affirmed that the mission of the Church included the concern for man’s bodily and temporal welfare, though” her mission is a work of mercy and love.” Acting on the suggestion of the Pontifical Commission on Justice and Peace, it decided in 1967 to adopt the Commission on  Social Action as its counterpart of the pontifical commission.  Priests were trained to head the Social Action Centers in different dioceses.  The following year (May 1), it issued a pastoral letter on social action in which it affirmed the role of the Church in creating a more just social order.  It appears, then, that in the late 1960s the CBCP saw non-conflictual development (cooperative, credit unions, self-help projects) as its new and relevant form of social involvement.  It is probably from this perspective that one is to interpret the CBCP’s response to the statement of the Divine Word Junior Clergy Conference (May 16, 1969), calling on the Hierarchy to respond to the critical social situation.  Obviously, the development model was a step forward from that of social charity.

 

            It is within the familiar framework that the Conference addressed political and government-related issues and problems.  By 1970, student and peasant demonstrations became more frequent, and the CBCP was at first concerned with the demonstration themselves and the analysis of their tactics.  It saw in them the dangers of Communism, and defended the Church against the accusation that it was rich.  It proposed dialogue between teachers and the youth, establishment of recreation and training programs for the youth, even recommending the holding of a congress for the purpose.  When the issues raised in these rallies and demonstrations led to an urgent call for a Constitutional Convention, the CBCP, on Jan 25, 1970, appealed to Congress for a non-partisan convention.  In preparation for this convention, the CBCP agreed to deliver talks and sermons about this political exercise, cooperate with other groups for honest and free elections, hold convention priests on the subject, and allow clerics to run as candidates.  It may be noted that the Conference exerted much effort and worked hard so that provisions on religious instruction and tax exemption of Church properties be included in the proposed Constitution.  Six months later, as the violence in the country escalated, it issued a letter on civic responsibility, denouncing what it perceived as the evils of society, and asking citizens to participate conscientiously in the political life of the nation.  Admittedly, however, there were progressive members of the CBCP who perceived that more than social charity and development were needed to restructure the Philippine society and thus solve the social ferment.  Though these were minority, this nonetheless indicated that the CBCP was being caught in the difficult transition from the old to the new ecclesiological paradigm.

 

            But to what extent the paradigm shift in Church’s understanding of itself and its mission after the Second Vatican Council affected the collective ecclesiological outlook of the CBCP is probably nowhere shown more clearly than during the years of Marcosian regime from 1972 to 1986.  Ostensibly declared on Sept. 21, 1972 to save the Republic and reform the society, martial law eventually showed its true colors:  with the democratic institutions dismantled, Marcos acquired almost unlimited powers clothed with a veneer of legality by the 1973 Constitution, curtailed the freedoms of the media, revoked the writ of habeas corpus, forbade assembly, strike and mass action, legalized arbitrary arrest and detention.  In the process, thousands of opposition leaders and suspected “subversives” were jailed.  With US support, he beefed up the military to more than 150,000 in  6 years, and to more than 275,000 in 8 years, flung open wide the country to world market.  The economy deteriorated, and foreign debt ballooned to around $28 B later.  The poor became poorer, and violation of human rights was almost pandemic.  In the face of these realities that affected the Philippine Church, the CBCP met head on with a new challenge which almost eclipsed many side but grave issues.

 

            In general, it may be said that the responses of the CBCP to the challenges under the new dispensation underwent development, and were not always homogenous.  Five days after the declaration of martial law, its Administrative Council issued a letter recognizing the right and duty of civil authorities to take appropriate steps to protect the sovereignty and assure peace and security of the nation, and asking martial law implementers to exercise prudence and restraint and respect human dignity, and the people to be calm and law abiding under the new political realities (Sept. 26).  But despite the uneasiness of a number of bishops, and despite such important issues affecting the nation as the approval of the 1972 Constitution, the abolition of Congress, the Referendum of 1973 through National Assemblies, and despite the grim realities spawned by the new order, the CBCP was generally silent in the first five months, nay, in the first three years of the martial law regime (1972-1975).  Of course, in its first plenary meeting in 1973, the bishops agreed to organize a CBCP liaison group with the government, but then the issues were intra-Church: radio stations closed, Catholic schools, Chinese priests’ integration with Philippine society, and cases of priests having difficulties with martial law.  This concern for the interest of the institutional Church is reflected in its various decisions.  In the same year, it made a stand of contraception vis-a-vis the government policy, and condemned sterilization which a decree of Marcos’ made officially acceptable.  Late in the year, a Church-Military Liason Committee (CMLC), which, among other tasks, monitored arrests, detentions, and subversive activities, was established, with Citizen’s Committee on Justice and Peace at the local level and urged citizens to vote in the referendum as a moral obligation, and which was thought to be in contradiction to “A Declaration for Human Dignity at the Polls” signed by 14 bishops.  The latter called the referendum “a vicious farce.”  The right of the Administrative Council to issue the statement was questioned by 12 bishops on October 6, 1976.  (The dissent, it may be conjectured, was not lost to Marcos who, after the massive boycott in the Oct. 16, referendum, retaliated against the Church by deportation, raid, closure of radio stations and publications, as well as arrest and detention of lay workers.)  Chiefly for this reason, the Jan. 1977 meeting of the CBCP was preceded by a colloquium which brought to conclusion the bishops’ thinking on the Church’s involvement under the martial law regime.

 

            From 1977 to 1982, the CBCP became more united and its collective approach to the challenge of martial law is best described by Cardinal Jaime Sin’s policy, namely, “critical collaboration,” although, in the light of the bishops’ letters and statements, it was largely more critical than collaborative.  Even though at this point in time, it did not yet question to legitimacy of the regime, the CBCP, no doubt, was in touch with the concrete historical experience and the aspiration of the people.  At the same time, it became obvious that in its understanding of the role of the church in the socio-economic and political order, it was not only development but, more accurately, it was liberation, and the CBCP became more committed to it.  Its statement of its mission in the Jan. 1977 pastoral letter, “The Bond of Love in Proclaiming the Gospel,” deserved to be quoted:  “This is EVANGELIZATION:  the proclamation, above all, of SALVATION from sin; the LIBERATION from everything oppressive to man:  the DEVELOPMENT of man in all his dimensions, personal and communitarian:  and, ultimately, the RENEWAL OF SOCIETY in all its strata through the interplay of the GOSPEL TRUTHS and man’s concrete TOTAL LIFE (Pope Paul VI,  Evangelii Nuntiandi, n. 9, 29).  THIS IS OUR TASK.  THIS IS OUR MISSION.” This shift to the liberationist understanding of ecclesiastical mission can be noted even in the themes of Alay Kapwa in the early 1980s:  Communal Action Toward Human Liberation” (1980), “Beyond Poverty into Total Liberation” (1981), and “People’s Participation, a Way to Total Human Liberation” (!982).

 

            These constitute an advance from the cooperative and development thrust in the late 1960s.  But in this Jan. 1977 pastoral letter, the CBCP sharply criticized the government population program, the treatment of national minorities, the handling of the Mindanao situation, the harassment of basic ecclesial communities (BECs) was viewed as springing from the mandate of the Church’s mission, the lay workers being essential in the implementation of that mission.  This teaching marks a change from the pre-conciliar one in which lay apostolate was understood to spring from the mandata of the Hierarchy.  Clearly, as a body, the CBCP awakened to its mission of liberation and assumed the role of “a prophet to the nation.”  The year 1977 may then be considered a turning point in the CBCP history.  Henceforth, the Conference no longer engaged in the pronouncement of principles, as it did in 1969.  Instead, it courageously made moral judgment, denouncing the excesses of the regime.  As the socio-economic and political situation deteriorated, and as militarization and repression intensified, the CBCP came out with a pastoral letter, “Exhortation Against Violence,” on Oct. 7, 1979 to stress that the escalating violence in the country has its roots in the unjust structure of society, and that it can be stopped by putting peace with justice to the same structure.  Marcos lifted martial law in 1981, but this was merely a cosmetic (it was most likely timed for Pope John Paul II’s pastoral visit to the country Feb. 17-22), for the dictatorial effects were well in place.  In fact, the following year was a bad one for the Church, for it saw what amounted to Church persecution:  arrests and detention of priests, lay workers, and activists; raids of institutions; attempts at infiltration; accusation of communist infiltration in the Church; trial by publicity in the media, etc.

 

            By 1983, the year in which many Filipinos, as a result of the tarmac incident, were mobilized in the struggle for freedom and justice, the CBCP understandably became even more prophetic and critical of the martial law regime.  And it may be conjectured that the Pope’s socio-political messages during his visit two years ago could have emboldened the bishops in their concern for the construction of an alternative vision of society.  In fact, the CBCP’s posture, as it finally turned out in 1986, was on collision course with that of the dictatorship.  The Conference was not only, as it were marching with the people; it was leading them on the march, and it did so credibly.  The Church--and probably no other--was looked up to as the bastion of hope.  No doubt, the collective ecclesiological outlook of the CBCP was liberationist, and the understanding of its role in the socio-economic and political order was not hazy.  Indeed, it called for the transformation not only of individuals but also of societal structures as part of integral liberation.  In the final result, what was under criticism was not simply the individual acts of martial law; the whole structure of dictatorship itself stood under severe criticism.  It is not insignificant that from 1983 through 1986, all its joint pastoral letters and statements, except for its statements on biblical apostolate (Feb. 1985) and on the Marian Year (February 1 and August 6, 1985), had direct reference to martial law and the major problems it engendered.  Not surprisingly, then, the CBCP-Government relationship became increasingly strained.

 

            Thus, on February 20, 1983, it made the first of its strongest indictments against the dictatorial regime in the pastoral letter, “Dialogue for Peace,” even though it was meant as a call to restructure society in accordance with God’s plan.  It amounted to an expose of problems (arrest and detention, disregard for due process, torture, etc.) which have roots in poverty, anti-people economic program, economic corruption, and unjust laws.  It took a clear preferential option for the poor, supporting them in their assertion of dignity and defense of rights.  The letter was followed up by the CBCP’s “Pastoral Guidelines for Priests, Religious and Lay Workers in the Task of Social Justice.”  As a result of the pastoral letter, Marcos asked the bishops made it known that reform of structure was what was in their mind.  In the same year, the CBCP withdraw its membership from the Church-Military Liaison Committee because of an apparent pattern of government pressure on Church people and activities.  With his authority slipping off, Marcos instituted the PCO (Presidential Commitment Order) by means of a decree, which enabled the military to arrest arbitrarily and detain indefinitely.  The CBCP, in its message to the people on the exercise of PCO, passed a moral judgment on the presidential decree, calling it, along with its implementation, immoral.  The second half of 1983 was marked by a worsening of political, economic and social conditions, precipitated by the assassination of Sen. Benigno Aquino Jr.  With the country on the brink of chaos and anarchy, the CBCP issued a statement of reconciliation on Nov. 27, calling for a social transformation--transformation of unjust structures and individuals--required by authentic reconciliation with God and with one another as an alternative to the continuance of present injustice and violence.

 

            Late in the year, the CBCP Administrative Council (Dec. 28) decided to issue a statement on the coming plebiscite and Batasan elections in May 1984.  Published on Jan 8, 1984, it did not fail to mention, among others, the right not to participate in political exercise which citizens consider contrary to their conscience.  Meanwhile, the national situation continued to turn for the worst:  people were being “salvaged” both by the Left and by the Right” the foreign debt ballooned to $24 billion; the peso depreciated very much and the economy was almost bankrupt:  Marcos revived the “secret marshals” who were virtually licensed to kill; and he continued to exercise martial law powers through the notorious Amendment 6.  It is against this background that on July 11, the sacredness of human life and its defense:  “Let there Be Life.”  It called for a revamp of the entire economic and political structure and, in particular, severely criticized the institution of secret marshals (which Marcos later disbanded), the Amendment 6 whose repeal it demanded, and the economy, whose crisis, according to the bishops, could be solved it, in the first place, confidence in the government is restored.

 

            The following year, the CBCP did not issue any pastoral letter or statement which had direct bearing on politics, except the one on terrorism (July 8).  In this letter, the CBCP denounced the murder of those dedicated to the service of others, the execution of civilians suspected of collaboration with the Left, the use of cultists in counter-insurgency campaign, and urged the reorganization, if not the dismantlement, of the CHDF.  Early in the year, it released a joint pastoral letter on biblical apostolate (Feb.) and two on the occasion of the observance of the Marian Year (Feb. and Aug. 6).  But the worsening situation was not far from their minds.  In their January meeting, they held a brainstorming on the national issues and searched for positive action regarding them.  They discussed such issues as the question of Communism (faith and ideology), violence and non-violence, and such specific questions as US bases, nuclear plant, social justice and social development.  The CBCP committed itself to a free, clean and honest election and to support Namfrel in its work to achieve the goal.

 

            The climax of the CBCP’s involvement and commitment during the Marcosian years came in 1986.  When Marcos called for a snap election in late 1985, the CBCP took up the issue in their January meeting and on Jan. 26 issued the joint pastoral letter, “We Must Obey God Rather Than Men.”  Having stated that elections can become a great scandal and an offense against God, it said that the forces of evil bent on frustrating the people’s will should not make them succumb to cynicism, and in the conflict of interest and loyalties, it reminded them to let God’s will prevail.  It assured them that the bishops stand with them.  Elections were held on Feb. 7, and as the bishops feared, the fraud and deception were systematic and of incredible proportion.  The Namfrel tally showed Aquino leading by a large margin, but the Comelec tabulation had Marcos coming ahead. Eventually, the Comelec computer operators walked out to protest the discrepancy between the input and the Comelec count.  On Feb. 12, the KBL-dominated Batasang Pambansa declared Marcos winner.  The following day, the Bishops drafted a post-election statement and issued it to the public on Feb. 15.  The statement labeled the elections as unparalleled in fraudulence, and virtually accused Marcos of criminally using power to thwart the people’s sovereign will.  In its strongest condemnation of the Marcos power through fraudulent means had no moral basis.”  It called for a peaceful, non-violent and systematic struggle to correct the wrong.  The pastoral statement proved to be historic.  In a few days, the EDSA Revolution was born, and Marcos was dislodged.  Clearly, the CBCP stood as a moral leader of the people, showing itself as champion of democratic principles, and its statement became a catalyst of non-violent revolution.

 

            With Marcos gone, the CBCP assumed the role, it may be said, of a moral and spiritual leader and guide in the direction which efforts at social transformation must take.  No doubt, its ecclesiological outlook remained one of integral liberation, and though it continued its policy of critical collaboration with the Aquino government, this time the emphasis was on collaboration. On the whole, it would seem that the CBCP was supportive of the Aquino Administration, probably because it had high hopes that it would be instrumental in the renewal of the social order and in the establishment of a more lasting peace.  Of course, there is little doubt that the bishops had some influence on President Aquino.  She appointed to the Constitutional Commission four people easily identified with the Church.  Such provisions in the Constitution as the primacy of family, the prohibition of abortion and divorce, and religious instruction in public schools were indicative of the moral influence of the CBCP.  Understandably, with its pro-life, pro-poor and pro-Filipino provisions which are consonant with authentic human values, it was not surprising that the CBCP, after much discussion in a meeting to which some members of the Constitutional Commission were invited to speak, opted in its letter “Covenant Toward Peace” on Nov. 21, 1986, for the ratification of the proposed constitution.

 

The Period of Renewal of Vision for the Church and Society (1987-1995)

 

            This period was one of hope and expectations.  (The archbishops who served the CBCP as President during this period were Cardinal Ricardo Vidal, whose term ended in 1987, Leonardo Legaspi [1987-1991] and Carmelo Morelos [1991-1995].)  As the socio-political situation has changed, it appeared to the bishops that an opportune time had come to renew the local Church.  As already noted, a paradigm shift in ecclesiology took place in the Second Vatican Council, and while its effects influenced the collective thinking of the bishops, there was a need to exteriorize the implications of the shift in terms of the theological thinking and aspiration of the people and the pastoral programs of the local Church, which had become even more complex and problematic.  While the CBCP understood the Church as the People of God, and its mission as integral liberation, yet the implications of this understanding had yet to be enshrined in a vision and made concrete in a comprehensive program for the Philippine Church.  Thus, in January 1988, the CBCP approved to hold a plenary council.  Preparations, immediately began, and the Second Plenary Council was finally celebrated from Jan. 20 to Feb. 1991, participated in by a total of 479 participants (96 bishops, 181 priests, 21 major religious superiors, 12 presidents or rectors of Catholic universalities, 24 rectors or deans of seminaries and 146 lay faithful).  The decrees of the PCP-II were given recognitio by the Holy See on April 25, 1992, and promulgated at the Cathedral-Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Manila on July 22, 1992.  Without exaggeration, the council may be recognized as the greatest ecclesial event in the CBCP’s 50 years of existence.

 

            Basically, what the Council did was to define what the Philippine Church ought to be.  In its final document, the Council envisioned a Church which is a community of disciples, in which there is unity in diversity, equality in dignity and participation; a Church which is at the same time a community-in-mission:  a Church of the poor expressed in basic ecclesial communities.  Its mission is integral evangelization, which implies the salvation of the total human person and the liberation and transformation of society.  Clearly, this is far removed from the institutional understanding of the Church (presupposed in the first years of the CWO/CBCP) whose mission is the salvation of the soul by means of grace, word and sacrament.  This vision of the Church needed to be actualized.  Hence, the CBCP resolved to implement the Council’s mandate for a National Pastoral Plan.  On July 11, 1993, it gave its official approval to the plan.  The present challenge to the Conference is to see to it that the plan is implemented through a pastoral management and administrative system that will operate from the top down to the smallest ecclesial community in the parishes.

 

            Though the council was the most significant event in this period, yet the CBCP’s vision for renewal not only for the Church but also for society can also be seen in its ad-extra statements and activities.  By 1987, the different branches of the democratic government have been restored.  But despite the hope that a new political society would emerged from the EDSA Revolution, it became clear that the old society was back.  Thus, precisely because the socio-economic ills did not disappear at the February Revolution, the CBCP, conscious of its mission in the socio-political order, was critical of the post-EDSA administrations.  For example, the realization that corruption still remained, involving even high government officials, occasioned the pastoral letter, “Thou Shalt Not Steal,”  on July 11, 1989.  The letter considered graft and corruption a sin that is hateful because it steals money from the poor.  It suggested the formation of multi-sectoral anti-graft council across the country to monitor the use of public funds and muster public opinion in the hope that a massive, persistent campaign would discourage the practice.  On July 24, 1992, it opposed the Ramos Administration’s move at restoring the death penalty and, instead, proposed that the President does something to the ground which breeds criminality (poverty, defects in the enforcement, justice and penal systems, presence of scalawags in uniform).  In its pastoral statement on kidnapping (Jan. 25, 1993), it appealed to the Philippine National Police (PNP) and the Military to cleanse their ranks of kidnapper accomplices or masterminds.  Of no less importance, it called for a thorough review of the Republic Act 7716 in a statement on taxation and expanded value-added tax, questioning whether the law merely strengthens the tax structure’s bias against the poor (July 10, 1994).

 

            Of course, it appeared to the bishops that the transformation of society requires more than a change of leadership; it is a work of justice in which the community participates and cooperates.  Hence, on Jan. 26, 1987, it addressed the issue of peace process, and stressed that only non-violence is consistent with Gospel values.  It called for land reform, denounced political extremists, condemned atheistic communism and liberal capitalism, and encouraged dialogue.  In its efforts to help transform society, the bishops reiterated its call for a comprehensive land reform in its exhortation on July 14, “Thirsting for Justice.”  It is the landless, the exploited, the disadvantaged and the powerless who have the single most urgent claim on the conscience of the nation, the bishops said.  When the putchists attempted a coup d’etat on August 28, 1989, which dealt a serious blow to the government stability, 17 bishops, headed by Cardinals Ricardo Vidal and Jaime Sin, issued a statement of support to the Aquino government the following day.  And on Jan. 31, 1990, in the pastoral letter “Seek Peace, Pursue It,” it likewise condemned the attempted Dec. 1989 coup d’etat, the bloodiest, costliest and most serious one, as immoral and unjust usurpation of power.

 

            To be sure, the transformation of society does not only require the reform of those in the government, the participation of the governed in the peace process, and in the cooperation of the Rightists.  Of no less importance, it cannot dispense with the support of the Left, specifically with the effort to put an end to their two-decade struggle.  Dialogue with the CPP-NDF was essential.  In fact, in 1992, President Fidel Ramos organized the National Unification Commission (NUC) to make contacts with the group.  The CBCP supported the move, and in Jan. 25, 1993, it issued a pastoral letter on peace to participate in the peace process, directly or indirectly.  This was followed by another letter, “Peace in Our Times,” in which the Conference expounded the meaning of real place.  Indeed, as early as Jan. 1992, the CBCP acceded to the request of the National Peace Conference (NPC) to head a delegation which would meet with the CPP-NDF representatives, either in Hongkong or in Switzerland, to discuss proposals for a dialogue. But despite its effort to enlist them to the peace process, the CBCP never recoiled from criticizing the Left (even as its criticism applies to the military as well) on various occasions, as in its statement on the manipulative use of human rights violations on July 11, 1989.

 

            If the CBCP lodged criticisms such as these, it was a part of its effort at helping the people (including the administration, and the oppositionists) in the renewal of the social order.  It is for the sake of this renewal that it gave much importance to the holding of truly democratic, peaceful and clean elections in which citizens must be truly involved.  In its “Pastoral Letter on Preparing for the 1992 Elections” on July 22, 1991, it pointed to the wastage of the nation’s resources and the perversion of democratic principle in the disservice done by individual’s unworthy of the office, and hence the need for education of voters.  Thus, in its desire to strengthen the democratic ethos, widen the horizons of peace and unity among the people, it issued “Renewing the Political Order” on Nov. 28, 1991--a pastoral guideline on choosing candidates for the May 11, 1992 elections.  It is noteworthy that among the desirable qualifications of candidates that the letter enumerates are maka-diyos, spirit of service, vigorous defender and promoter of justice and an enduring and preferential option for the poor-qualifications which are consonant with integral liberation.  And on Jan. 31, 1992, it issued another letter, “Decision at the Crossroads,” appealing to the people to set priorities aright:  honor and dignity before money, service before power, common good before self-interest, the nation before utang na loob.  The following year, it decided to recognize and encourage the PPCRV.  In all this, the CBCP asked the people to take seriously their participation in the political process by various means.  It reiterated this point in its statement “Election 1995--A Challenge to the Young”  (Jan. 16, 1995).  The CBCP, was active in the elections through NASSA’s votecare (Voter’s Organization--Training and Education for Clean, Authentic and Responsible Elections) program in all the 79 dioceses, with more than 250,000 volunteers.

 

            Equally important, the integral-liberation ecclesiological outlook helps explain why in the post-Edsa situation, the CBCP addressed itself to various issues of national importance: devastation of nature, overseas contract workers, foreign debt, oil prices etc.  For instance, having observe the devastation of natural resources, which has to do with the inequality of the social structure, it issued the letter,  “What is Happening To Our Beautiful Land?” on Jan. 29, 1988--probably the first one issued by an episcopal conference in world history.  In protest of the inhumanity, abuse and exploitation of overseas workers, whose migration is rooted in the poverty of the people, it asked the government to take effective measure to safeguard the rights of Filipino expatriates, and appealed to all for economic recovery so Filipinos would not be forced to leave the country.  In 1990, it recommended that a desk for pastoral care of migrants and their families be set up in the diocesan social action centers.  On the occasion of Flor Contemplacion’s funeral a few weeks before the 1995 elections, it repeated its appeal to the government to provide the overseas workers protection, which should take precedence over potential economic gains.  Even its rather long pastoral letter on the the Eucharist, “To Live in Memory of Him:  One Body, One People” (Mar. 21, 1988), does not fail to allude to integral human liberation:  “we desire to become eucharistic communities active in the defense and promotion of the downtrodden, ready and willing to give ourselves eucharistically to others, struggling in the building of a just, peaceful and loving society.”  The same may be said of foreign debt which weighed heavily on the people and which constituted a humongous obstacle to economic recovery.  Of course, the CBCP, through the permanent council, offered no solution in its statement on Sept. 10, 1990, but it asked the government to consider the debt crisis within the context of the ethics of survival.  And of no less significance, in 1994, it registered a strong protest against the price increase of petroleum products authorized by the Energy Regulatory Board (ERB).  It saw no objective justification for the increase, and regarded the increase prior to the holding of hearing a lack of concern for the common good.

 

            It may be said that the 50th year of CBCP existence ended with a historic note.  In 1995, John Paul II made his second pastoral visit to the Philippines on the occasion of the 10th World Youth Day, the theme of which was: “As the Father sent me, so I am sending You”  (John 20:21).  The purpose of his coming was for the youth who, as the third Christian millennium approaches, “are entrusted in a special way with the task of becoming communicators of hope and workers for peace in a world that is in ever greater need of credible witnesses and messengers consistent with [Christ’s] message.”  At the same time, it saw the quadricentennial celebrations of the Archdiocese of Manila, Cebu, Nueva Segovia, and Nueva Caceres.  But for the CBCP itself, this period (1987-1995) witnessed other important events and activities:  the canonization of Blessed Lorenzo Ruiz (1987), the publication of the final draft of the Catholic Faith Catechism (CFC) by the Episcopal Commission on Catechesis and Catholic Education, and the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), the Statement on Fundamentalist Groups (Jan. 27, 1989), and the Guidelines for the Eucharist (1990), the birth of the Program for the Rehabilitation of Mt. Pinatubo Victims, and the holding of the National Retreat for Priests (1992, 1993 and 1994).

 

III

Conclusion

 

            That, in brief, is the history of the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines--a body that leads and builds up, engages, commits, prays, and serves.  Its 50-year history sketched out above may be succinctly described, however, in terms of transformation: from a CWO that was defensive to a CBCP that was involved in the liberation of society:  from a silent body to a prophetic one in the face of social injustice:  from a CWO that saw the Church as a social institution to a CBCP that regards the Church as the People of God: from a CWO that had answers to human problems to a CBCP that listened to the “signs of the times”:  from a CWO that tended to focus morality to problems of sex, birth control and smutty films to a CBCP that questioned and protested against violation of human rights, social injustices and violence to the poor:  from a CWO that saw involvement in the social order as a part of pre-evangelization to a CBCP that considered transformation of the social order as a part and parcel of its mission; from a CWO that looked at the work of the laity as part of the apostolate of the Hierarchy to a CBCP that viewed the laity as ecclesia discens (the learning Church) to a CBCP that respected them as partners in the task of integral evangelization:  from a CWO that was tried to renew the social order from the top to a CWO that was engaged in social charity to a CBCP that was involved in total development and liberation.  Undoubtedly, this description is a generalization, if not oversimplification, but the truth may not be far removed from it.

--Lope C. Robredillo--

    

 

By Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD

 

(Pre-Note: Partly revised to fit the format, this piece is an excerpt from the body of a letter addressed to the parish priest of Sulat, Eastern Samar, who sought the author’s opinion on the accuracy and appropriateness of celebrating the centenary of Sulat in 2006.)

 

 

WAS SULAT created in 1906?  Since the Philippine Commission of 1906 seems to say that Sulat was given independence on October 31, 1906, some have construed this to mean that Sulat became a municipality on that date.  The impression created, however, is far from correct.  Quite the contrary, Sulat was constituted a municipality long before 1906.  The truth is, Sulat was one of the earliest pueblos (townships or municipalities) to be established on Samar, dating back to the time of the Jesuits. 

 

Let me cite some history references attesting to its creation:

 

 (a) According to F. Huerta, Estado Geografico, topografico, estadistico…en las Islas Filipinas (Binondo: Imprenta de M. Sanchez, 1865), p. 308, when Sulat came under the administration of the Franciscans in 1768, it was already a pueblo or a municipality that was founded by the Jesuits: “Seiscientos ochenta y nueve tributos con 3,637 almas contaba este pueblo, fundado por los PP Jesuitas cuando el año 1768… de su administracion y se le asigno por primer cura franciscano….”

 

(b) F. Redondo. Breve Reseña… (Manila: Sto Tomas, 1886), p. 222, citing Cavada, states that the town was founded in 1650: “Creado en 1650, segun Cavada, y tiene la advocacion de San Ignacio de Loyola.”

 

© A. Pastrana, “The Franciscans and the Evangelization of the Philippines (1578-1900),” Boletin Eclesiastico de Filipinas, XXXIV (1965) 435, p. 86, says that Sulat was founded before 1768.

         

     Indeed, even the souvenir programs of Sulat town fiestas argue against 1906.  Why? The reason is that in those programs, Sulatnons usually publish the names of the gobernadorcillos and presidentes of Sulat during the Spanish and early American time.  But then, one must remember that only towns had gobernadorcillos or local presidentes.  In other words, the souvenir programs themselves admit that Sulat was a township before 1906.  The gobernadorcillos, capitan municipal and presidente del pueblo in the 19^th- and early-20^th century Sulat were the equivalent of today’s municipal mayors.  If Sulat were a barrio in the 19^th century, it would not have gobernadorcillos, but simply tenientes. 

         

     Moreover,  if Sulat were not a municipality in the 19^th century, it would have been called not pueblo (which is the Spanish equivalent for municipality in the Philippines), but visita (barrio) or rancheria (sitio).  Huerta (1865), for instance, merely describes Catalab-an as a visita of the pueblo of Sulat, because it was a barrio.  In 1886, Dolores is named among the rancherias (sitios) of Paric, because it was not yet a town; rather, it was simply a sitio of Carolina, which was a barrio of Paric.  Yet, none of the latter terms (visita, rancheria) were used to describe Sulat—it was always called pueblo in all documents dating from 1768 that I encountered at the Philippine National Archives.  This means that Sulat was already a municipality even before the Franciscans came to Samar in 1768. 

 

     It would seem that the idea that Sulat was founded in 1906 derives from a rather incorrect reading of historical documents.  The assertion that Sulat was born in 1906 obviously comes from the Reports of the Philippine Commission, because nowhere else (I like to think)  is the establishment of municipalities of Samar in 1906 mentioned, except in the report of 1906.  But before one reads the report of 1906, it is important to read the report of 1903, Act 960, Section I, no. 17: “The municipality of Tubig shall consist of its present territory and that of the municipalities of Paric, Sulat, and San Julian, with the seat of the municipal government at the present municipality of Tubig, under the municipality of Taft.”  Note the word—municipalities!  Hence, Sulat was already a municipality even before 1903!

 

          Now, in the Report of the Philippine Commission of 1906, Act No. 1558, Section I, we read: “the former municipalities of Paric, Sulat, and San Julian [are separated] from the municipality of Taft.”  The significance, therefore of October 31, 1906, is simply the restoration of Sulat to its former status as a municipality, after it was combined with Taft in 1903, when the 43 municipalities of Samar were reduced to 25 only.   In other words, if the Report of the Philippine Commission of 1906 uses the word establishment, what it meant is not that it was establishing the municipality of Sulat, but only restoring it to its former independent status (as municipality).

 

          This brings us to the question: What is the significance of October 31, 1906 for Sulat, if it is not its creation as a municipality?   I can write a lengthy dissertation on this subject, but because of the nature of this piece, I will be short.

 

          To begin with, when the Americans came to the Philippines, they tried to picture that we Filipinos embraced them, and that there was not much armed opposition.  Hence, in 1901, they declared the pacification of our country so their imperial designs would be acceptable to the Americans at home, the senators and other government officials who opposed the colonization.  To the contrary, Samar was turbulent!  But they concealed the turmoil by handing over the administration of the island to the civil government on June 15, 1902.  To put the island under martial law or under the military government would be to admit that there was war on Samar.  The truth is, even after the surrender of Gen Vicente Lukban, the Samareños carried on the war against the Americans, largely through the Pulajanes.

 

          One can gauge the turbulence by the following figures of 1904 I lifted from the history of the Philippine Constabulary: “There were 1,800 native soldiers on Samar and 16 Companies of the United States Infantry occupying the coastal towns.  Eleven officers and 197 enlisted men had been killed in action, 48 officers and 991 men had died of disease, 46 officers had been wounded in action, 768 men had been discharged for disability.  Firearms to the number of 7,474 and 45,018 rounds of ammunitions had been captured or surrendered to the Constabulary, 4,862 [Pulajanes] had been killed, and 11,997 prisoners had been taken.”

 

          Why did the Philippine Commission of 1903, Act No. 960, combine Sulat with Taft, together with San Julian and Paric?  The reason is that the civil government had no control of these municipalities; they could not be defended by the PC or the Scouts, nor could they be governed by the pro-American inhabitants! In the whole Eastern Samar, the municipal police had no arms, except in Borongan!  The Americans could not arm them in the first place, because they were not sure of their loyalty!  On the other hand, the Pulajanes were too numerous, their force overwhelming.  Terror reigned. What could a few scouts do in town? 

 

In Dolores, for instance, on Dec. 17, 1904, the 38^th Scouts encountered 1,000 Pulajanes who attacked on the rear and flanks, and Capt Hayt and all of his 37 men were butchered, except one sergeant who bore fearful bolo wounds. In Oras, on Nov 10, they overpowered the Scout garrison, massacred all the 13 Scouts and took their rifles. Moreover, sometimes the town officials were also the officials of the invisible town government of the Pulajanes!  Yet the Americans did not call in the US Army to Samar until later (practically only to Eastern Samar) because they wanted to create the impression that there was only banditry, no insurrection!  The result was that thousands of people, because they could not be protected by the Scouts and the Constabulary, joined the Pulajanes; otherwise, the latter would have to eliminate them. (Oh, our written history has been unkind to the Pulajanes.)

    

      Thus, in order to have control of some people, and make it appear that the municipal governments have not fallen into the hands of the Pulajanes, the government resorted to the concentration of the natives.  The remaining inhabitants in Sulat, Dolores, San Julian and Taft were concentrated in Taft, with Angel Custodio Crisologo, a Paricnon, as their Municipal President.  The truth is, most of these towns on Eastern Samar, including their barrios, were sacked and reduced to ashes, left with practically no dwellers!  Because they did not summon the Army, the Americans allowed many Samareños to die.  On the other hand, those Sulatnons, San Juliananons and Paricnons who went to Taft for protection were not having picnic, either!  Numerous as they were, they suffered hunger, fear, sickness, disease and death.  Moreover, they were far from their fields, carabaos, and their livelihood!

 

However, by 1906, the Pulajanes, who were the virtual rulers of the entire island until 1905, were decimated, albeit there was still resistance.  That is why, although before 1903, there were 43 municipalities, now in 1906, there were 32—an increase of 7 from the 25 towns of 1903, among them being Sulat.  This implies that the Sulatnons who had survived, those who had surrendered, and those who had lived in Taft, returned to Sulat, and began rebuilding the poblacion and the barrios.   (But unlike Sulat, the 11 other towns could not yet be given back their former status as municipalities because protection of life and property, let alone governance, could not be assured.) 

                     

     I have more to say about this unfortunate period of Samar history, but I hope this would be enough to give a background to the significance of October 31, 2006 for Sulat.  In our time, it would be comparable to liberation the town of Maslog by the local government and the military after it was ruled over by the NPAs in the 70s, although with a formal declaration by a duly constituted body, similar to the Philippine Commission during the American period. *

By Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD

 

            (This piece was delivered by the author to the Sangguniang Bayan of Salcedo in December 1999 upon invitation by the Mayor to help settle the question on the exact date of the founding of the town, which for many years was thought to be December 8.  After the talk, the Sangguniang Bayan made a resolution changing the date.)

 

IN MAKING HISTORY, there is no substitute for carefulness.  Let me begin with a real case. During the Marcos era, it was proposed that the name of the country, the Philippines, be changed to one that does not convey colonialism.  It was then suggested that it be named Maharlika, a Tag-alog word for noble and aristocrat.  If I remember right, Senator Eddie Elarde brought this proposition to the floor of Batasan Pambansa.  Of course, Marharlika was the name of the guerilla band that Lt Marcos allegedly led.  But scholars came on the scene, recounts Time magazine.  They pointed out that Maharlika was probably derived from Sanskrit.  But then, they observed, the original words for Maharlika were most likely maha lingam which means great phallus!  From that time on, the plan to change the name of the country to Maharlika was pulled out.  Were it pushed through, it would have made us the laughing stock of the world.

 

The Current Observance of the Foundation Day

 

            If this contemporary example obviously brings home the point that we should be very careful in making history, it is no less important that we should be critical in writing it.  We should listen to scholars.  We are writing for generations to come.  And not many people have the leisure, still less the talent, to write history.  Most of us depend on historical accounts handed down to us, never bothering to inquire whether they are authentic or not, whether they are correct or not.

 

            And this especially applies to the writing of the history of Salcedo.  For a number of years, Salcedo has been observing its founding day on December 8. Personally, this came to my knowledge two years or so ago, when I happened to come to the place.  Having seen how busy people were, I inquired what the celebration was all about, and I was told that they were commemorating the founding of the municipality.  As a student of Eastern Samar history, I was surprised at the information, because I never recalled that a certain Eastern Samar town was founded on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception.  So, I went over my collection of historical data, and sure enough, I discovered that the foundation day of Salcedo was being observed on a wrong date.

 

The Exact Date of the Founding of the Township

 

            When, indeed, was the township of Salcedo founded?  On the basis of my historical inquiry, I can say squarely that the exact date of the creation—or, to use the proper term—erection, of the municipality or pueblo of Salcedo is December 5, 1862.   This is what one discovers when he wades through the documents on parish erections.  Contrary to the impression of many, the creation of a municipality is done not because a group of people decided to establish a town in a way they want.  I am a bit uneasy when I read local histories that appear in souvenir program of town fiestas, recounting how so and so or his family founded the town.  Even as early as the time of the governor-generals, there was already a process observed in the creation of towns.  Which is why, it is properly documented.  Indeed, when one reads the records on parish erections at the Philippine National Archives, he will find out that certain procedures are observed.

 

I wish to add, for the sake of information, that just as the country of 1990s has the local government code that stipulates the requirements for the creation of a municipality, so in the 1800s the Spanish government had its own provisions for its founding in the island of Samar, and whole Philippines for that matter.  First of all, there must be a petition by the people for its creation.  But before a petition could be made, they must see to it that they have established the institutional requirements, namely, the proposed pueblo should have a church, a rectory (convento), and a casa tribunal (roughly, a municipal building), and should have a population of at least 600 tributos.  Once a petition is formulated, it has to be approved by the priest who has jurisdiction over the proposed pueblo, then approved by the bishop of Cebu and the gobernador political-militar of Samar.   Only then it is forwarded to the governor-general of the Philippines who issues the royal decree.  In the case of Salcedo, it was approved by Governor Geneal Rafael Echague, because it had all the physical requirements and had a population of 783 tributos, roughly, 3,000 inhabitants, enough, according to law, to support a parish priest.  There are, in other words, documents when the town of Salcedo was created, and it is on the basis of these documents that we should ground our assertions.

 

A Set of Evidence for This Correct Dating

 

            But quite apart from the original documents on the erection of the pueblo, the following standard works should be enough evidence to argue for December 5 as the correct date:

 

1.      Felix Huerta, Estado geografio, topografico, estadistico, histori o-religioso de la santa y apostolica provincial de S. Gregorio Magno, says: “De una visita del pueblo de Guguan [Guiuan] titulada Sudao, se formo este por decreto del Superior Gobierno de 5 de Diciembre de 1862, quien le dio el nombre que lleva.”  Huerta further states that a stone church and a parish house were built by Fr Pedro Monasterio.  The pueblo had also a escuela de primeros letras (primary school).  It had a population of 3,400.

 

2.      Felipe Redondo, Breve Resena de lo que fue y de lo que es, gives some more information.  Aside from saying that the pueblo was established on December 5, 1862, he also states that the parish was erected on August 19, 1865: “Erigido en parroquia por el Diocesano en 19 de Agosto de 1865, for Superior aprobacion de 5 de Diciembre de 1862.

 

3.      Bruce Cruickshank, a Fullbright scholar, who earned his doctorate in East Asan History from the University of Winsconsin, Madison, USA, says in an article in Leyte-Samar Studies on 19^th century settlement on Samar that “on December 5, 1862, it [Salcedo] was taken from Guiuan and made both a pueblo and an independent parish… It had been known as Sudao, but evidently changed its name when given pueblo status.”

 

This set of evidence makes it difficult to argue that the present observance on December 8 is correct.  It may be noted that one of the revered criteria of historicity is multiple attestation.  According to this criterion, a historical material should be witnessed by multiple sources.  Here, December 8, 1862 fails, because it is not witnessed in any other document.  On the other hand, what is attested to by various sources is that Salcedo was made into a pueblo on December 5, 1862.

 

The Source of this Erroneous Dating

 

            In view of this, a question may be raised.  If Salcedo was erected on December 5, 1862, according to all reliable historical records, then, how come the foundation anniversary is observed on December 8?  I think, I know the answer.  Sometime in the late 70s up to early 80s, a certain priest (let us call him Fr N.) from Samar collected historical materials on Eastern Samar.  He asked a lady to copy some translations of some materials from the files of Fr Cantius Kobak.  Unfortunately, the copyist made several errors in her work.  For example, for the erection of Paric, she wrote 1892, whereas the document says it is 1878.  The same may be said of the date of the creation of Salcedo.  The copyist had it wrong.  (Of course, we make mistakes in copying materials!)  My certainty about this error is reinforced by the fact that, in my file on the town of Salcedo which comes from the late Fr Kobak, the papers date the founding on December 5, not December 8.

 

            Now, part of these erroneous documents was, unfortunately, too, used when the brief history of Salcedo was written.  I do not know who wrote the brief history, but I am quite sure that he/she obtained the material from Father N.  (he is now deceased), or must have consulted him.  The proof is that the translation of the relevant documents corresponds almost exactly to that of Father N.  I hasten to add that only Father N. was in possession of these erroneously copied documents.  And therefore, the error in the writing of Salcedo history could have come only from this document in question.  In other words, there is only one explanation for this historiographical inconsistency; it is a case of erroneous copying.

 

            Let me put in bluntly.  As far as I know, there is no existing historical record which states that Salcedo was born on December 8, 1862 (except, of course, the one that the municipality of Salcedo now has and the source of that erroneous dating—the copied document of Father N.).  It is, of course, unethical on my part to challenge any one to produce documentary evidence which claims that December 8, 1862 is the correct date for its founding.  Nonetheless, one can always inquire for himself whether my research on the exact dating can be invalidated by some other documentary evidence.

 

Final Remarks

 

            Let me end this talk with a short note.  History is an on-going science.  It is always updated.  We change historical assertions as soon as we discover new historical facts, and we change historical interpretations on the basis of newly discovered data.  To illustrate: the Philippine independence was celebrated on July 4 for many years.  But it was changed to June 12 by then Pres. Diosdado Macapagal, upon the advise of historians, like Teodoro Agoncillo.  For more than a hundred years, historians, including Rizal, thought that the recorded first mass in the Philippines was celebrated in Butuan.  But it was on the basis of a mere footnote in the work of Blair and Robertson, The Philippine Islands, published in 1901, that historians began re-reading the account of Pigafetta and came to the conclusion that the first mass was in Limasawa (of course, there are scholars who continue to defend Butuan).  And who knows, a few years from now, it may become acceptable to assert that the first mass was held in Homonhon, Guiuan, Eastern Samar?

 

            My hometown is another example.  For many years, Dolores was thought to have been founded in June 1888.  However, when I started making research on its history, I was able to obtain original documents, and I discovered that the township was erected on April 20, 1878, much to the surprise of many Doloresnons!  I also came to know that the 1888 dating came only from oral source, in particular, from two old men who were already in their 70s (?) when they were interviewed in 1952, recollecting what happened when they were still children.  A last example: for many years, the Pulajanes of Eastern Samar were viewed as fanatics, who were said to have been fooled by their leaders.  Today, they are seen in a new light, thanks to such historians as Renato Constantino and Reynaldo Ileto.  When I wrote on the history of the Pulajanes in Dolores, I embarked on a new interpretation of the movement.  Indeed, while writing the histories of various towns in Eastern Samar, I discovered so many inaccuracies in their earlier historiographies—those that can be read in parish/town fiesta souvenir programs.

 

            Changes in historical assertions and historical interpretations are always inevitable.  If this is true of the Philippines, this should be true of the history of Salcedo.  There is no reason why we should stick to the wrong date.  It would not be historically valuable to assert that the observance on this wrong date is traditional, because historiography is a science.  Wine is always valued for its vintage, but not historiography.  It would not be flattering to insist on this wrong dating which, after all, owes to an error of a copyist.* 

by Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD (Biblical Studies)

 

WHEN our committee translated into Binisaya (Samar-Leyte version) the Order of Mass in 1995, the majority opined that the translation of the Lord’s Prayer need not be changed, since it has been hallowed by tradition.  However, I felt then, even as I do now, that a new translation was in order.  For one thing, we do not have a common translation of it (as can be seen shortly).  For another, its translation, I like to think, should reflect contemporary biblical scholarship.

 

In what follows, therefore, I would like to present my proposed Binisaya version and give reasons why I give a different rendering.  My translation is anchored on the almost unanimous scholarly consensus that the Our Father (traditionally known among Catholics as Pater Noster) is an eschatological prayer, that is to say, it is a prayer that is closely connected to the period of the last days, when Christ returns, the forces of evil are destroyed and God establishes his kingdom (see R Brown on the subject). In other words, my translation does not view the Lord’s Prayer in terms of everyday needs and aspirations.  For purposes of comparison, I give here five translations in existence (nos. 1-5), and the last one (no. 7), which follows the original New Testament Greek Text (n. 6), is my own version (LCRV), followed by an explanation for my distinctive rendering.

 

1.      American Bible Society (ABS, 1948): Amay namon, nga aada ka ha langit.

2.       Philippine Bible Society (PBS, 1984): Amay namon ha langit.

3.   Traditional Version, Devocionario (TrV1, 1953): Amay namon nga aada ka sa mga langit.

4.      Traditional Versions, Ordinarium Missae (1965), Tanaman han Kalag, (1972) (TrV2, there is no difference between the two save that the former uses sa and san instead of ha or han): Amay namon nga aada ka ha mga langit.

5.      Balerite’s Translation (BaT, 1995): Amay namon ha mga langit.

6.      Greek Text: pater hemon ho en tois ouranois

7.      Robredillo’s Version (LCRV, 2010): AMAY NAMON NGA AADA HA MGA LANGIT.

 

My proposed translation has langit in the plural (contra ABS and PBS) because the Greek is in the plural (tois ouranois).  Nga aada (so ABS, TrV1. TrV2) is retained (contra PBS, BaT), since the Greek ho is used to stress the distinction between the one in the heavens and the one on earth.

 

1.      ABS: Gindadayaw an imo ngaran

2.      PBS: Pagdayawon an imo baraan nga ngaran

3.   TrV1: Pagdayawon an imo ngaran

4.      TrV2: Pagdayawon an imo ngaran

5.      BaT: Pagdayawon an imo ngaran.

6.      Greek Text: hagiastheto to onoma sou

7.      LCRV: [PAG]SANTOSON AN IMO NGARAN

 

The word santos is used, rather than dayaw, to translate hagiastheto whose infinitive is “to make holy;” in Samarenyo language, dayaw (ABS, PBS, TrV1. TrV2, BaT) generally means to praise, not to sanctify.  The Greek word is translated [pag]santoson because, contrary to the common impression, it is not in the subjunctive—this is the mode used in the Latin Vulgate translation—but rather in the aorist, imperative passive.  Also, it should be noted that the

grammatical construction here is divine passive, that is to say, the agent is God, not man.  It is God who makes his name holy: [Pag]santoson an imo ngaran. However, it may be admitted that it is also legitimate to translate it as [pag]himayaon an imo ngaran because to make holy and to glorify is synonymous.  The prefix pag is in brackets inasmuch as the word can stand without it.  Of course, instead of pagsantos, which is really an adaptation of the Spanish santo, one might use the verb pagbaraan, but the former has an almost universal acceptance among Samar-Leyte Bisayans, whereas the latter literally means fortunate.

 

1.      ABS: Kumanhi an imo ginhadian

2.      PBS: Maghadi ka unta ha amon

3.   TrV1: Ikanhi mo sa amon an imo ginhadian

4.      TrV2: Ikanhi mo ha amon an imo ginhadian

5.      BaT: Ikanhi ha amon an imo Ginhadian

6.      Greek Text: eltheto he basileia sou

7.      LCRV: IKANHI AN IMO PAGHADI

 

Ikanhi is used to translate the Greek word eltheto which is also in the aorist imperative, not subjunctive, which seems to be the assumption of the PBS translation.  (In Samar-Leyte Binisaya, unta is usually employed to indicate contrary to facts; its use in this verse by PBS is therefore surprising!)  This sentence follows the Matthean construction—imperative + article + subject + sou.  Like the previous petition, this one is also divine passive, which can be loosely translated as Ikanhi an imo paghadi.  If paghadi is used instead of ginhadian (contra ABS, PBS, TrV1, TrV2, and BaT), it is because ginhadian connotes territory or space, which is hardly envisaged by the context, whereas the Greek word basileia is a dynamic concept—a concept which seems to be behind the maghadi ka unta ha amon of PBS.

 

1.      ABS: Matuman an imo pagburot-an, sugad ha langit, amo man ha tuna.

2.      PBS: Matuman dinhe ha tuna an imo kaburut-on sugad han didto ha langit.

3.  TrV1: Matuman an imo boot dinhi sa tuna sugad san didto sa langit.

4.     TrV2: Ipasunod an imo pagbuot dinhi ha tuna sugad han pagsunda didto ha langit.

5.      BaT: Matuman an imo pagbuot dinhi ha tuna sugad han pagsunda didto ha langit.

6.      Greek Text: genetheto to thelema sou hos en ourano kai epi tes ges.

7.      LCRV: [PAG]TUMANON AN IMO KALADNGANAN DINHI HA TUNA, SUGAD HAN [PAGTUMANA] DIDTO HA LANGIT.

 

Also in the imperative passive is the word genetheto, here translated as tumanon. (Most translations use the verb pagtuman [so ABS, PBS, BaT, TrV1] instead of pagsunod [so TrV2] which literally means to fulfill, observe.)  Like the previous two petitions, this one has the imperative + article + subject + sou construction, and is also in divine passive, with God as agent.  Instead of pagburot-an (so ABS) or kaburot-on (so PBS) or pagbuot (so TrV2 and BaT) or boot (TrV1), the word kaladnganan is used to translate the Greek thelema which is more than the buot or “will” of God; its meaning is actually the divine plan of God.  The thought of the petition is that the community of Christians asks God to effect on earth the divine plan which is faithfully observed in the heavens.

 

1.      ABS: Tagan mo kami niyan hin kan-on ha ikinaadlaw.

2.      PBS: Tagi kami yana nga adlaw han pagkaon nga amon ginkinahanglan.

3.   TrV1: Tagan mo kami niyan san kan-on namo sa ikinaadlao.

4.      TrV2: Tagan mo kami niyan han karan-on namon ha ikinaadlaw.

5.      BaT: Tagi kami yana han karan-on namon ha ikinaadlaw.

6.      Greek Text: ton arton hemon ton epiousion dos hemin semeron

7.      LCRV: TAGI KAMI NIYAN HAN AMON KARAN-ON HA TIARABOT NGA ADLAW

 

Tagi is used, instead of tagan, because dos in Greek is an aorist imperative.  The crux interpretum in this petition is the Greek word epiousion which, admittedly, is one of the great unresolved puzzles of the New Testament lexicography.  It is not found outside the Gospels.  In standard New Testament handbooks, four meanings have been suggested: (1) necessary for existence; (2) for the current day; (3) for the coming day and (4) that which belongs to it.  The majority of current biblical scholarship favors the third option.  Among other reasons, the Lord’s Prayer is eschatological, and so is the bread.  Hence, rather than karan-on ha ikinaadlaw (so ABS, TrV2, BaT) the proposed translation is karan-on ha tiarabot nga adlaw.  Karan-on is used to translate artos which, in English, means bread; kan-on, favored by ABS and TrV1, is generally identified with rice.  On the other hand, pagkaon (so PBS), is generic, which means food in Binisaya, and does not fit the context.  However, there seems to be no difference between yana or niyan, and therefore, either can be used.  

 

1.      ABS: Ngan pagwad-on mo an amon mga utang, sugad han amon pagwara han mga nakakautang ha amon

2.      PBS: Pasayloa kami han amon mga sala sugad han pagpasaylo namon han mga nakasala ha amon

3.   TrV1: Ngan pagwad-on mo an amon mga sala, sugad san pagwara namon san mga nakasala sa amon.

4.      TrV2: Pagwad-on mo an amon mga sala, sugad han pagwara namon han nakasala ha amon

5.      BaT: Ngan pasayloa an amon mga utang, sugad han pagpasaylo namon han nakautang ha amon

6.      Greek Text: kai aphes hemin ta opheilemata hemon hos kai hemeis aphekamen tois opheiletais hemon

7.      LCRV: NGAN PAGWAD-I KAMI HAN AMON MGA UTANG, SUGAD NGA GINWARA NAMON HA MGA NAKAUTANG HA AMON.

 

The Binisaya word ginwara is used because in Matthew the Greek aphekamen is aorist indicative (meaning, have cancelled, remitted, pardoned or forgiven), whereas in Luke it is present indicative—aphiomen.  The thought is that God’s cancellation presupposes cancellation on man’s part.  Mga utang (so ABS, BaT), not mga sala (so PBS, TrV1, TrV2) is used to translate the Greek word opheilemata, which means debts.  It should be borne in mind that mga sala is more proper to the Lukan version which has harmatias, meaning sins.  Consequently, what is proposed here is pagwad-i rather than pasayloa (so BaT, PBS), because the sense demands it.  Moreover, the verb pagwara (ABS, TrV1, TrV2) is more inclusive than pagpasaylo.  PBS and TrV2 failed to place Ngan (kai in Greek) at the beginning of the sentence.

 

1.      ABS: Ngan diri mo kami pagdad-on ngadto ha panulay

2.      PBS: Ayaw itugot nga hingadto kami hin makuri nga kataragman

3.   TrV1: Ngan diri mo kami itugot san panolay

4.     TrV2: Ngan diri mo kami bayaan basi diri kami pagdag-on han mga panulay

5.      BaT: Ngan ayaw itugot nga masulay kami

6.      Greek text: kai me eisenegkes hemas eis peirasmon

7.      LCRV: NGAN AYAW KAMI PABAY-I HA TAKNA HAN KAKURIAN

 

The Greek me eisenegkes, which is in the aorist subjective, literally means ayaw pagdad-a. This, however, cannot be translated as diri… pagdad-on (contra ABS) because God does not tempt man (see James 1:13).  If the proposed translation reads ayaw pabay-i (the words used in TrV2), the reason is that the prayer asks God to preserve us in the final diabolical onslaught.  But the problem in this petition, which affects the translation of me eisenegkes is the Greek word peirasmon which cannot be merely translated as pagsulay (contra ABS, BaT, TrV1, TrV2).  Most New Testament scholars opine that this refers to the final (eschatological) onslaught of Satan (see Rev 3:10).  If this consensus is right, the word cannot refer to ordinary temptation, even though that meaning is not excluded.  Since the entire Our Father is eschatological, it would make sense if it is translated as ha takna han kakurian, a translation which has most likely similar exegesis that the makuri nga kataragman of PBS has.

 

1.      ABS: Kundi luwason mo kami ha karautan.

2.      PBS: Kundi bawia kami ha Karat-an.

3.   TrV1: kundi bawion mo kami sa karautan.

4.      TrV2: kundi bawion mo kami ha mga karat-an.

5.      BaT: kundi bawia kami ha karat-an.

6.      Greek text: alla rhusai hemas apo tou ponerou.

7.      LCRV: KUNDI TALWASA KAMI TIKANG HAN MARAOT. 

 

The controversial Greek phrase here is apo tou ponerou.  The word poneros is ambiguous; it can be translated either as karat-an (evil) or an maraot (the evil one).  Given, however, the preceding petition in which we ask to endure the onslaught of Satan, it is but logical that the word ponerou be translated as an adjective with the understood subject, namely, Satan, whose titles in the Bible include ho poneros (an Maraot).  By translating it as an maraot, the ambiguity of poneros is preserved, because it can refer to a person or a thing.  It seems to me that the Bisayan karat-an (PBS, TrV2, BaT) or karaotan (TrV1) refers more to “evil thing” or “evil event”, a meaning hardly envisaged in the petition, if viewed eschatologically.  The petition thus understood, it would be more correct to translate the Greek rhusai as talwasa (contra BaT, TrV1, TrV2, PBS), rather than bawi-a.  The Bisayan talwasa is quite similar to luwasa that ABS uses.

           

             My new version of the Lord’s Prayer, directly translated from the original New Testament Greek that appears in Matthew 6:9-13 reads: Amay namon nga aada ha mga langit, [pag]santoson an imo ngaran, ikanhi an imo paghadi, [pag]tumanon an imo kaladnganan dinhi ha tuna, sugad han [pagtumana] didto ha langit.  Tagi kami niyan han amon karan-on ha tidaraon nga adlaw, ngan pagwad-i kami han amon mga utang, sugad nga ginwara namon ha mga nakautang ha amon.  Ngan ayaw kami pabay-i ha takna han kakurian, kundi talwasa kami tikang han maraot.  Having proposed this, I hasten to add that I am not sure if a direct translation from the Greek text can be accepted in the Order of Mass, because strictly speaking, the Lord’s Prayer in the Mass has to follow the Latin text.  But even so, for reasons I cited at the start of this essay, I would still propose that the people of Samar and Leyte use a new translation of the Our Father (from the Greek text), if only to make them aware of the eschatological meaning Jesus gave it when he taught his disciples.

 

PS: This new rendering of the “Lord’s Prayer” is a part of a new translation that I have embarked on, beginning with Matthew and ending with John.  Hopefully, I could finish a new Binisaya (Samar-Leyte) version of the New Testament in a few years.

by Lope Coles Robredillo, SThD

 

(Pre-Note: The data used in the writing of this essay were taken from rare books and archival documents found at the Philippine National Archives [Manila], Philippine National Library [Manila] Archivo-Franciscano Ibero Oriental [Madrid, Spain], Cebuano Studies Center [Cebu], Divine Word University Museum and Library [Tacloban], Lopez Memorial Museum [Pasig] and University of Santo Tomas Library [Manila]. Other sources were provided by Dr Bruce Cruikshank, sometime Visiting Professor of Georgetown University, Washington DC, the late Rev Dr Pablo Fernandez, Professor of Church History at the University of Santo Tomas, and the late Rev Cantius Kobak of the Franciscan Friary [Manila].)

 

THE BEGINNINGS OF the pueblo (township) of Can-avid may be traced to as far back as 1604 when the Jesuit missionaries who farmed out from the Residencia de Palapag (Palapag Residence) started evangelizing the various pre-Hispanic hamlets on the eastern littorals of Ibabao (pre-Hispanic term for Eastern Samar).  In order to introduce the faith and make it grow, and to facilitate social intercourse, the early missionaries embarked on a process called reduccion, by means of which the infinitely scattered hamlets were organized into larger villages, called bungtos.

 

            Jubasan: A Pre-Hispanic Settlement. Among the bungtos which the missionaries consolidated was Jubasan, nestled a few kilometers from the mouth of Can-avid (formerly known as Ulot or Loquilocon) river, on its southern bank. The scattered gamoros (by gamoro is meant a cluster of houses, headed by a datu) along Ulot river were organized into a large village called Jubasan.  It became an important village because Jubasan river was the normal passage-way if one had to cross from Ibabao to Samar (Western Samar): “este es el paso ordinario en tiempo de brisas para ir desde Samar a Ibabao.”  In 1616, Jubasan had around 600 population.  Admittedly, it was not easy for the missionaries to congregate the people in the bungto not only because of the frequent Moro raids which drove people deeper into the hills, the raiders devastating their houses and crops, but also because of the frequent cholera epidemics, as in 1608-1609.  Even more significant, the people, as they have been used to since time immemorial, wanted to live near to their fields.

 

            The Sumuroy Rebellion.  As center of the scattered tiny settlements along the Ulot river, the bungto of Jubasan, did not last long, however.  When Agustin Sumoroy, the castellan at the Palapag fort, began a revolt against the Spaniards on June 1, 1649 in Palapag, the first bungto to join the rebels was Bacod (now submerged in Dolores river), where the inhabitants burnt the church and the convento (rectory).  The Jubasanons also joined them.  Because the rebellion assumed an almost unmanageable proportion, a huge military force was assembled under Don Gines de Rojas.  In Jubasan river, Capt. Juan Fernandez de Leon, who just came from the cotta of Guiuan to beef up the forces under de Rojas, was ambushed, although the rebels failed to kill him.  When the rebellion was quelled, the people paid dearly.  In Bacod, the gobernador del pueblo, the fiscal mayor del padre and the mayor principal were executed.  As a punishment, the bungto of Jubasan, like Bacod, was suppressed and became almost deserted.  Later on, however, people started settling again on the place, which, after the Spanish-American War, came to be known as the rancheria [sitio] of Giboangan. 

 

            The Rise of Paric. With the suppression of their bungto, most Jubasanons who survived the rebellion started gathering on a smaller settlement east of Jubasan, called Paric. In the 1720s, years before the Jesuits were expelled from Samar, Paric was already a big visita of Tubig.  Under the political jurisdiction of Paric, which was ecclesiastically dependent on Tubig, were the visitas of Carolina, Bacod, Dapdap and Oras.  When the Franciscans came in 1768, one of the first things they did was to propose the separation Paric from the mother bungto of Tubig.  Toward this end, Fr Manuel Valverde, OFM, in 1839, directed the construction of a convento, a escuela de instruccion primaria (parochial school), and a church of mamposteria (rubblework).

 

            Creation of Paric as Pueblo and Parish.  In the 1860s, the visita of Paric already had what were required for the creation of a pueblo (township), namely, a church, a convento, and a tribunal (roughly, municipal building).  It also had enough population, as the law so required, to support a parish priest.  As early as 1858, it had around 2,300, according to the German naturalist, Feodor Jagor, who visited Paric that year.  So, when the parish priest of Tubig and the town officials petitioned for the creation of Paric into a pueblo, through an expediente of August 31, 1863 written by the Franciscan Provincial, their petition was granted by the King, who decreed its creation on April 5, 1864.  The decree was communicated to Don Rafael Echague, Governor-General of the Philippines, through the Overseas Ministry.

 

            The Governor-General issued his Superior Conformity Decree on June 16, 1864.  Although Paric was created a pueblo and parish simultaneously, its ecclesiastical independence actually came only on April 20, 1878 when the Bishop of Cebu, Bp. Benito de Madridejos (1867-1886) issued the decree of the erection of the parish, placing it under the patronage of St Joachim, Jesus’ grandfather.  The bishop appointed Fr. Jose del Olmo, OFM, as its first parish priest.  Under the jurisdiction of the new township and parish were the visitas (barrios) of Bacod, Dapdap, Carolina, and the rancherias (sitios) of Dolores, Jinolaso, Tubabao and Balagon. (Oras was no longer under its jurisdiction because it was made into a separate pueblo in 1850.)  Of course, the poblacion (town proper or central village) of the municipality, needless to state, was located in Paric.

   

         The Relinquishment of Paric as Poblacion.  A problem, most likely more pressing than anything else, with which the Paricnons were confronted, was the eating up of the poblacion by the Ulot (or Loquilocon) river.  The constant erosion of the river bank on the northern part of the poblacion, caused by the big and frequent floods, has so took its toll that the portion on which a cluster of houses stood became part of the Ulot river.  At this time, the parish priest of Paric was Fr Juan Vicente Carmona. OFM (who was born on May 6, 1862 in Campo de Criptana, Spain).  The municipal officials (1885-1887), as recorded in the Relacion de los nombramientos hechos para constitutivo los tribunales municipales, Provincia de Samar, were as follows:

            Gobernadorcillo: Carlos Robredillo

            Teniente Primero: Leoperto Planesniles

            Teniente Segundo: Martin Irasga

            Juez Primero:  Pedro Esido [Hesido]

            Juez Segundo: Martines Geroy

            Alguacil: Fernando Bongon

            Alguacil: Joaquin Cebrero

 

The Growth of Barrio Maria Angeles.  In 1886, after much deliberation, the parish priest, together with the municipal authorities, formally petitioned the Governor-General of the Philippines for the transfer of the poblacion to a growing visita, known for many years as Dolores, a kilometer from the mouth of Bacod (later on, Dolores) river, thinking that the new poblacion would be safe from floods and erosion.  The petition having been approved, they effected the transfer in 1887, and the visita of Dolores became the poblacion of Paric.  However, not all the residents of Paric went to the new poblacion of Dolores.  A few remained (it may be noted that in 1912, the church and the convento were still there, and today, a part of old poblacion of Paric constitutes barangay Canteros); but others transferred to a small settlement near the mouth of the Ulot river.  This already existing settlement, known for many years as Maria Angeles, eventually became the largest visita of the poblacion of Dolores. 

 

Although they sometimes engaged in fishing, the inhabitants of Maria Angeles were basically farmers who planted rice, gabi and coconut.  In 1891, it was already connected to the poblacion by a road whose construction was started in 1887 under the direction of the friars Vicente Carmona, Vicente Millan, Pedro Calvo, Antonio Rodriguez and Gil Martinez. (May I suggest to the present municipal officials of Can-avid not to change the name of Real Street, because it is the original or “royal” street of Maria Angeles, connecting the visita to Dolores.)  The visita was placed under the patronage of the Blessed Virgin, Queen of Angels.  Politically, it was large enough to warrant the election of two tenientes to head the visita or barrio.  During the elections for the municipal and barrio officials on March 19, 1893, the following were elected to administer the visita de Maria Angeles:

       

            Teniente Primero: Mariano Lazarra

            Teniente Segundo: Alejandro Godian [Gudian?]

            Juez Primero: Ventura Gele [Buenaventura Geli?]

            Juez Segundo: Braulio Obayan [Hobayan?]

            Alguacil Primero: Onato [Donato?] Obleñana

            Alguacil Segundo: Pablo Gerces [Gercen?]

 

(In passing it may be mentioned that in the same elections, the visita of Carolina had the following officials: teniente primero: Gabriel Robeños; teniente segundo, Felipe Rebato; juez primero, Oliva Lazarra; juez segundo, Martino Robes [Robis, Robin?]; alguacil primero, Ceriaco Lazarra; alguacil segundo, Esrael Gele [Israel Geli?].  The visita of Balagon had Alfonso Goldara as teniente, and Timoteo Jucusol as alguacil.)  They held their post from 1893 to 1895.

 

            Changes in Name: From Maria Angeles to Victoria and to Canabid.  At the end of the Spanish regime, Maria Angeles was already a flourishing visita, the biggest of all the visitas of Dolores.  In 1896, it had a population of 913, half of the total population of Dolores.  Carolina had only 322, while Balagon had 170.  Its principal products were abaca, copra, gabi, palay and palawan. When the war between the Filipinos and the Spanish government broke out, Maria Angeles supported Gen.Vicente Lukban, who represented Aguinaldo’s revolutionary government in Samar.  And one of the symbolic gestures the barrio officials made to support the movement was to change the name of the visita from Maria Angeles to Victoria.  When the Filipino revolution was crushed, the officials again altered the name of the barrio, and called it Canabid (note the spelling: Canabid, not Can-avid.)  According to the 1903 census, it had a population of 1,107, whereas Balagon had 192. 

 

            Canabid Becomes a Municipality.  Canabid remained a barrio of Dolores until June 15, 1948, when it became a municipality under Republic Act No. 264, through the presentation of Congressman Adriano Lomuntad, to the Philippine Congress on February 14.  Its first mayor was Lucendo Benitez, then vice-mayor of Dolores. On June 9, 1954, the people of Can-abid, through their mayor, Julio F Irasga, and supported by the parish priest of Dolores, Fr Rufo Castro, expressed their desire to Msgr Federico Moreno, Apostolic Administrator of Calbayog, to have a permanent pastor.  It became a parish, separate from Dolores, only on July 10, 1956 when Bp. Miguel Acebedo, bishop of Calbayog, issued the decree erecting it.  The decree stipulated that the jurisdiction of the new parish, canonically dedicated to Our Lady, Queen of Angels, coincided with the civil jurisdiction of the municipal government.  Tasked to build up the parish was Fr. Clodualdo Arcales, whom the Bishop appointed as its first pastor.  He took position of the parish on July 26, with Fr Bernardino Baxal, Vicar Forane, as installing prelate.*

 

APPENDIX: EXCURSUS ON THE NAME CAN-AVID

 

I WOULD LIKE make a short comment on the changes of the name of Canabid.  As I noted previously, the earliest name of Can-avid was Maria Angeles.  During the Filipino-American war, it was changed to Victoria, no doubt to signify the victory of the revolution.  Because Lukban’s war never succeeded, Victoria became Canabid.  I suspect that the barrio officials changed the name to Canabid, instead of reusing the old one--Maria Angeles--to create the impression that the barrio has severed itself from its historical past, specifically its ties with Spain.  It is probably for the same reason why Jubasan was changed to Guiboangan and Paric to Canteros. These names--Canabid, Canteros, and Giboangan--were given after the fall of the Spanish regime.  That these are new names is evidenced by the fact that the map of Jose Algue, published at Manila in 1899, still have the names of Maria Angeles, Paric and Jubasan. (One can take a look at this map in the rare books section at the mezzanine, Philippine National Library. However, Commissioner Marcelino Libanan also possesses a copy of this rare map; he showed it to me last July 25, 2010.)

 

            But whatever value there is to the changes in names, I have not found any documentary evidence on what is so meaningful and valuable in the term Canabid that it was chosen to be the name of the settlement.  As a student of Eastern Samar history, I consider the derivation from “nahabid” as a pure aetiological legend. Incidentally, the word “habid or habed” does not appear in the authoritative 1814 Spanish-Bisaya dictionary of Mateo Sanchez de la Rosa; abid does occur, but has no meaning that relates to a formation of houses, which habid is supposed to mean.  The word is neither found in modern Samarenyo dictionaries. What can be encountered in the old lexicon is abid, derramar in Spanish, which in English means to pour, to let out of a vessel, to leak, to disembogue. Also, it may be noted that, later on, the spelling was changed to Can-avid. Why letter “v” replaced “b” is not clear.  One possibility is that it was intended to create the impression that the name is old, because it uses letters of the Spanish alphabet (“c” and “v”), and therefore can claim a long tradition.  Still, this modern spelling, Can-avid, does not appear in the documents even in the early 1900s.  At any rate, I would not object of the Congressman of Eastern Samar, through a resolution by the Can-avid Municipal Council, would file a bill changing the name of Can-avid to its original name, Maria Angeles.  There is no doubt that the original name of the town is more meaningful.*

By Lope C. Robredillo, SThD

 

POLITICS IN THE Philippines has become largely an exercise in which the rich, the privileged and the elite vie among themselves to capture positions of power, retain them for themselves, and expand them.  It is more than a mile removed from the Jeffersonian ideal.  By and large, it scarcely has the advantage of the majority who are poor and the common good for its primary purpose, however lofty might what holders of power trumpet otherwise.  On the contrary, the majority are shut out, for those who do politics represent not the poor but themselves and their interest.  And because power, as Lord Acton puts it, tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely, corruption tends to inhere in its exercise.  The greater the power and privilege, the more extensive the corruption, or the opportunities for it.  As practiced in this country, politics is the art of governance of the rich, by the powerful, and for the privileged.

 

            To begin with, those who dominate national and even local politics belong to the privileged class—mostly big landlords, big businessmen, or their agents.  (Of course, that a good number of all the 90 million Filipinos can qualify for elective positions, is enshrined in the law; but that they can actually run for elections is enshrined in the ocean.)

 

            If these privileged people run for office, one is tempted to say that it is not primarily to serve the majority, though political advertisements may argue the contrary.  In reality, they run in order to capture political power.  Why so?  The reason is that it is the single most important power in the country.  Political power enables them to control people, pass laws and make policies that are to their advantage, even legitimize their control, and dominate others.  Even more significant, political power, as we shall mention shortly, can be converted to economic power.  Hardly would they pass a bill that would be contrary to their interest, although it would be beneficial for the many.  That is why, for instance, land reform program has not been successful—that clashes with the stake of the landed gentry.  Anti-dynasty provision is found in the constitution, but one can be almost sure that until the second coming of Christ, no enabling law would be enacted.

 

            Once power is captured, they are able to convert political power into economic power.  Understandably enough, as can be seen, they become richer once they are comfortably ensconced in positions of power.  In some, their accumulated wealth may increase in geometric proportions.  Even an honest statement of assets of many of them would show that their income fantastically increased.  This leaves one with a question whether they could have amassed such wealth if they were far removed from the seats of power.

 

            Power and privileged, however, are difficult to give up.  It is within their inherent logic to perpetuate.  Which is why, politics is dominated by the same families election after election.  After the man is through with his term, the wife succeeds him, or his son.  In some municipalities, it happens that once one finishes 3 consecutive terms, all of 9 years, as mayor, he runs for vice mayor in the hope that in the next election, he will run again for the post he was no longer qualified to hold.  Political dynasty has its own logic for being. 

 

But power tends to last indefinitely not only in the same family; it tends to perpetuate in the same class.  The pre-martial law oligarchs were succeeded by rich and powerful cronies.  After two EDSA revolutions, what obtained was that one set of powerful and privileged class was simply replaced by another.  Yet, almost everything remained the same.  The shift in government never had any effect on the price of galunggong that would be to the delight of the poor.  Only faces of people within the same economic tier changed. 

 

If people power did not alter the landscape of politics, neither do elections.  Elections are only partially an exercise where voters choose their leaders to represent them.  In reality, it is an activity that enables the privileged to capture political power.  And sometimes, the ultimate object is to concentrate this power preferably in the hands of members of one’s own family and relatives.  In the country, politics is probably the best family business, which gives enormous returns that could hardly be acquired in other enterprises.  Not surprisingly, one finds that in a certain place, the husband is a governor, the wife is a mayor, an uncle is a councilor, an in-law is a board member, and the grandfather is an ex-congressman.  It would be far fetched to assume that only their family had the monopoly of talents related to governance, but voters still allow them to rule over them.

 

It has to be said that elections have little to do with an exercise in which people are enabled to choose the best men to govern them.  For one thing, the choice is limited—it is an exclusive club of the moneyed and the powerful.  What qualifies one is not so much one’s honesty, integrity, capacity for governance, or talent.   The single most important qualification is wealth; if one is not wealthy, one is most likely to be thrown into the dustbin of nuisance candidates.  After all, only the rich and the powerful can engage in nationwide campaign.  For another, many of the best have the common sense not to run for government positions, knowing that in the final result, the system would engulf them.  They cannot escape from eventually becoming a part of a corrupt system. Election, then, is an activity in which the people choose who among the rich and privileged will control them.  In practice, it is not then a choice for the principled, for people of competence and knowledge.  Voters are not given real alternatives.  Who among politicians have ever talked, assuming they have the wisdom to do it, about the problem of globalization, or trade liberalization or of democratization of wealth?  Truth is, given the ignorance of people, and under a culture of money, people vote not on the basis of issues and programs, but, with a few exceptions, on the basis of popularity and, especially in local elections, on the basis of the amount of money that politicians give them in exchange for their support.

 

In this case, election is simply an exclusive intramurals among the wealthy.  The election of 1986 could be looked at as a fight between rich and the privileged who belonged to the Marcos camp and the rich and the privileged who sided with the Aquino camp.  The same may be said of the 2010 elections.  The infighting among the privileged is all about who among them would take control of the state.  Practically, all the presidential, vice-presidential and senatorial candidates come from wealthy families.  Provincial elections are often a rivalry between two families that dominated politics in the province for many years.  Mayoralty bets oftentimes merely represent two warring families in a particular municipality.  Indeed, for the hoi polloi, elections are “their’ [the elite’s] fight; it has little to do with a contest of those who would really embody the interest of the constituents.

           

              In view of this, it is easy to understand why, when they run for office, they represent not the people, but themselves and their families as well as their own concerns.  Quite the contrary, political office is looked upon as if it were a feudal title which father and mother pass on to their children from generation to generation. It is estimated that there are about 250 political families; majority of those in congress come from these families.  If it is difficult to change the political landscape, it is because they simply continue the vision of their families for generation, and they are well entrenched.   Under such a system, a newly elected official easily becomes like a traditional politician, if not one.   After all, what can he do, other than follow the politics of his own family?  One would have to wait a Damascus experience to alter the course.

 

As a result, in many cases, one is given the impression that for these politicians, they are actually the government.  That they use public funds as if these were their own personal property is a common conclusion.  One might consider, for example, government projects.  Whenever roads are constructed, few are the exceptions among them who would not make sure that notices are posted to call people’s attention that it is their project, as if their own money, and not people’s taxes, were being spent for it.  Streamers are put up that say “Thank you, Governor, for this project.”  Is not this a sheer effrontery? 

           

              Precisely because they represent almost no one else save their families and interests, it becomes logical why in Philippine politics, political parties are in practice devoid of meaning.  In theory, parties are means through which ideology, vision and programs for running the government are made.  In reality, parties are convenient structure that candidates use to capture power.  One switches party affiliation as family or personal interest demands.  Turncoatism is as easy as changing shoes. During the 1987 elections, the Laban ng Democratikong Pilipino (LDP) was the ruling party, which won the majority seats in Congress, but because Ramos won, the LDP lost most of its members before one could say abracadabra.  Oh yes, even such a good entity as party list has been used to further one’s self-interest.

           

             Since they have to capture the seat of power by means of the majority vote of electors, politicians use practically all means, foul and legal, to persuade people to support them and eventually vote for them.  During election campaign, they not only present their plans, but oftentimes many misrepresent themselves, use unethical advertisement, provide entertainment circuses, and get media exposures.  During election time, they buy votes and use flying voters.  If these are not enough, they employ intimidation, bribery, violence, and defraud their opponents, change election results, if not assassinate them.

           

             Once they are elected, the main task now is to control the whole system, if not perpetuate their stay in power.  To cinch their continuance in office, it is important to influence not only the executive but all the other branches of the government.  Sometimes, the courts are not immune to influence.  During the Marcos years, the Supreme Court was, for obvious reasons, called the Marcos Court which lasted until President Aquino disbanded it.  The executive does everything in its power to place the legislative under its influence.  As we shall see below, this is done by patronage politics.  One glaring example is how the executive dangles the pork barrel.   Sure enough, if the judiciary and the legislative are weakened, the politician-executive has nothing to fear—all he wants, he gets.  He can always hope that the law or its interpretation can bend.  If the law sets limits on one’s term, for instance, somebody can be trusted to initiate a move to change the law.  With branches of the government under one’s influence, one can always make the educated guess that impeachment complaints against him can never prosper.   Small wonder then that, at the local level, a congressman would be tempted to influence, if not intervene even in the mere appointments of teachers, janitors, and other workers.  This is to ensure that his power and control extend to all parts of his fiefdom.

           

            To perpetuate their control of the people, they reinforce the patron-client culture that obtains in the country.  Under this system, politicians perform various functions and favor for their favorites.  In the national scene, probably the worst expression of this was the crony capitalism of Marcos years.  According to Aquilino Pimentel, Marcos “sort of legitimized and institutionalized crony capitalism in the country.  Many businesses changed hands due to various reasons, but always, these enterprises wound up in the hands of a favored few.  For those were dangerous times to be out of favor with Marcos and his in-laws, the Romualdezes and their close circle of friends and cronies.”

 

In local politics, these could take the form of money for burial, being a godfather at baptism or a sponsor at weddings, employment, scholarship, sponsorship of basketball teams, prizes, etc, all meant to make clients dependent on their patron.  Because they feel indebted to them, the clients cultivate loyalty to their patron-politicians, especially during elections.  At the same time, these favors cement their relationship with each other.  These make the former lords, while the latter are made to feel they are dependents.  That is why, instead of implementing policies to deliver services, it works better for corrupt politicians if they perpetuate the patron-client arrangement, because it creates an utang na loob among the constituents. 

           

             At the same time, that while perpetuating themselves in office, they amass great wealth seems to be a given, at least if one judges it from people’s expectation. Money, of course, can come from various sources.  But many critics think that most notorious is the pork barrel, rebaptized in 2000 as Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF).  The head of the executive department has of course the biggest share, but those of the senators and congressmen are not paltry.  With pork barrel, one has great opportunities to beef up his wealth.  Some observers say that almost half of the appropriated funds for projects ends up in the pocket of corrupt politicians in cahoots with businessmen.  Hence, even if he does not receive his salary—and some flaunt to make sure that people know they do not—the corrupt official can still dip his finger into his PDAF.  No wonder, many infrastructures are substandard, and are easily ruined.  On the other hand, despite the corruption involved, people are still grateful to them for being allowed to work in the project.  Politicians have their cake, and are able to eat it, too.  Can one be blamed for demanding that the PDAF be abolished?

            

             It is easy to see, then, how corruption becomes part of the political system; but that is another story.

           

              Jealous of their power, politicians make sure that no one else would grab their seat of power.  There are many ways of doing this, but its ultimate expression is violence—killing the opposition or the challenger. We know how Stalin eliminated his enemies, and later, even those whom he perceived to be. The death of Benigno Aquino was for many people a political murder.  The massacre of 57 people in Maguindanao last November 2009 has to do with vying for power.  But ensuring that no one grabs one’s seat need not be violent.  At the national scene, it happens that people at the top would allow warlords to maintain their fiefdom on the understanding that when election time comes, the latter assures them of the delivery of winning votes.  One, then, need not be surprised why warlordism cannot be eliminated, despite the fact that the executive, with the police and armed forces, is very powerful, and has enough logistics to scuttle it.  The set-up is profitable for those at the top.  It is part of patronage politics. “I protect you; you assure me.”

           

              If the Philippines, therefore, is in such a sad state, if it is a society in which the majority are poor and disenfranchised and only a minority who hold much power and enjoy privilege are rich, it is largely because of its current political system which is rotten.  Politicians might blame other factors.  One remembers that shortly before martial law, a newspaper headlined that the Church was an obstacle to national progress.  Poverty of the nation may be conveniently imputed on overpopulation.  Politicians may charge that the current presidential system is the root cause of all misery; that a parliamentary one can cure the sick man of Asia.  Some might propose the need of a strong man—as if we have never been there.  But these are simply a mirage.  They represent an effort to divert the blame that should be laid on the door of our lopsided political system.

           

              Such a political system creates a culture in which people, especially the majority who are poor, think and act as if they are not the government, or part of it.  In practice, for the many who are disadvantaged, the government is of the rich, by the rich and for the rich. The former feel and remain outsiders.  As a consequence, it has become natural for these people that services to them are hardly more than crumbs that fall from the rich man’s table.  And they tend to accept it.  Thus, they sell their votes, they ask donations, and even act as their agents during elections.  Ultimately, of course, people get officials they deserve.  The corruption of the people is matched by the corruption of politicians.  Indeed, if Filipinos are passive to what politically happens to them, it is because the system makes them subservient and dependent.  Although the Constitution says that power emanates from the people, what comes up is that power emanates from the elite, the powerful and the privileged.  They are the one who make things happen, not the people.  If some would insist that people really participate in governance, that participation can be found only in political-science textbooks.

 

  Logically enough, it is situation in which the majority cannot do anything.  They are not part of the decision making, to begin with.  If they whine against the system, devices are there to make sure that that the elite cannot be dislodged.  If they do not have some military men, corrupt officials have their private army and battery of lawyers of high caliber to secure their ground.  It might be worth repeating to say that, as years go by, what happens is that one set of politicians who belong to the aristocracy is replaced by another that comes from the privileged class, but everything remains the same.  The system, one is tempted to think, is almost incapable of change.  Under the sun of the power and privilege of the elite, nothing is really new.  What has been is what will be.  If there is change—well, what does one really anticipate, an improvement of the lot of the majority who are poor?

 

  In the end, one may not say that Philippine politics is hopelessly rotten, but just the same, it remains rotten to the core.*

A Religio-Historical and Literary-Critical Once-Over

at the Padul-ong "Tradition"

(or, A Theory on the Padul-ong)[1]

 

(A paper read by the author during the "Padul-ong

Conference"  at the Provincial Governor's Office Conference Hall, Provincial Capitol, Borongan, Eastern Samar, on June 23, 2002)

 

by Dr Lope Coles Robredillo

 

IT IS THE purpose of this paper to examine the story of the so-called Padul-ong[2] tradition[3] from a religio-historical and literary-critical point of view.  This is to distinguish it from other approaches that one may use in studying this tradition, e.g., a psychological—particularly Freudian—approach, or a structuralist one using the work of Levi-Strauss. How the story is expressed in performing arts is beyond the purpose of this work, though I will certainly make an aside.  My purpose is much more modest.  I simply aim to take a once-over at the Padul-ong story, as a student of Eastern-Samar history and as scholar of biblical studies.  Toward this end, I will first present the most recent version of the story.  Then, I will examine it closely in the light of history and religion as well as of literary criticism, and wind up with some tentative conclusions and recommendations.

 

I. THE MOST RECENT VERSION OF THE PADUL-ONG ACCOUNT

 

Let me begin by quoting a contemporary retelling of the story at length, without corrections or parenthetical remarks.[4]

 

 A woman in Portugal requested the captain of a ship to board the vessel as she was bound for the Philippines.  The Captain, thinking that his crew members were all men, denied the request of the woman.  He thought that it was improper to take in one single woman on board a vessel with all men around and considering the month-long journey to Asia, to let her in was unfitting.  For a time the vessel remained by the Port of Portugal since it could not sail-off due to bad weather.  The captain relaxed and fall asleep in his cabin.  Later he was getting impatient for the delay and when he happened to open a window to check the weather outside, he was surprised to see the woman sitting on her baggage—her dress and entire body wet all over—she was trembling.  Because of that sight, which appeared before the eyes of the captain, his heart was pinched with guilt and pity that he himself went down the ship and helped conduct the woman up and inside the vessel.  His conservative thoughts placed the woman locked behind a separate cabin for fear that some crew members might disgrace the naiveness of his guest.

            All of a sudden the weather turned clear and the sea calm and cool.  They were then ready to sail-off to the Philippines.  The journey was fast and smooth but it took a month-time to reach the shores of the Philippines.  Approaching the area, the captain realized that he had a lady-visitor locked inside a cabin and that he forgot to serve his guest a single meal in their entire trip.  Realizing, he ran in haste to the cabin of the woman but his visitor was fallen to the floor, dead.  The captain noticed the baggage of the woman—a rectangular wooden box that bear letters which he believed to have been the woman’s address that would somehow guide them where to take the woman and the baggage.  However, the letters inscribed on the box were blurred that they could hardly read: Nuestra Señora de Br… 

            As they entered the area of the Philippines, the vessel could not point at whichever direction.  They tried so many targets headlong but could not pursue farther because the sailing was very hard and difficult.  When they finally face eastward of the archiphelago targeting the island of Samar—the sailing was different—it was very smoothly flowing as if they found themselves docked in the silent shore of (now) Punta Maria.  The inscription is now very clear: “Nuestra Señora de Borongan.”  When the captain asked what’s the name of the place, the native who met them answered, “Borongan.”  By that answer the problem of the captain was solved so, he told his men to carry down the baggage.  The natives were all anticipating the content of the rectangular box—thrill, anticipation, excitement prevailed in their hearts.  When the box was fully opened—there appeared before their eyes a beautiful image of the Virgin.  The natives were happy and gathered in jubilation for having received such a beautiful and rare gift.

            The news spread to the entire municipality of Borongan but the image was placed in strategic place of Punta Maria for anyone to see.  After a time, rumors have reached the parish that a beautifully scented lady frequents the Hamorawon Spring on evenings, taking a bath and leaving behind a convincing scent that is beyond description.  The old ones predicted that it could be a miracle because witnesses say that she easily vanishes when she is through taking a bath.  It was proven when a certain woman who had a skin disease got well after dipping her arms in the waters of Hamorawon Spring.  After a consensus made by the parishioners, some credible members of the community together with some town officials—the image was transferred to the town of Borongan through a “bilos”(a beat with flag) from Punta Maria.

 

II. A RELIGIO-HISTORICAL CRITICISM OF PADUL-ONG

           

       Such is the Padul-ong story.  But—the question may be asked—how are we to consider this account?  I have not heard a native of Borongan question the authenticity of the narrative.  Most Boronganons, I think, assume that it preserves an actual event that happened in a specific period and place.  I am not an iconoclast, but such an assumption raises questions that cast doubts on its historicity. 

 

            A. Internal Evidence

 

            Let me begin with the internal evidence.  Sad to say, the story is replete with inconsistencies and improbabilities. A few examples may be cited from the details. (1) Is there really such a place as port of Portugal?  There is certainly a port of Lisbon, but to say port of Portugal is like saying that there is such a place of port of the Philippines.  (2) Was there really a ship that sailed from Portugal and came to Borongan, when the bungto was already a parish?   Though the bull of Pope Alexander VI, Inter caetera, issued in 1493 and the treaty of Tordesillas in 1494 between Spain and Portugal theoretically make it a possibility,[5] the fact that the Philippines was under Spain make it an improbability. (3) What type was the vessel?  The account does not tell us; but Ladera’s recounting of the story describes it as a galleon.  But this is improbable, because the Philippines had no galleon trade with Portugal!  (4) However, assuming for the sake of argument that, since our version says that all those on board—except the woman—were men, the ship was not a galleon, but could have been something like a cargo ship, still, one wonders whether such a vessel ever plied between Philippines and Portugal.  Was it a pirate ship?  It is most likely, but the way its journey to the Philippines is described rules it out.  In other words, there seems to be no ship that fits its description.

 

      (5) Moreover, where was the ship really going?  If indeed it went from one port to another just to unload the cargo, did it have a destination?  Even that of a buccaneer does not make such erratic voyage.  (6) What makes the lady’s luggage so unusual that the moment the ship reaches a port, the crew could only try to unload it without success?  (7) If the ship were as big as, say, the Doña Angelina of the Carlos Go Thong Company in the l970s, it is possible that the captain might not have minded about the woman.  But in a ship so small like the flagship of Magellan, would a captain ever forget his passenger—considering that it took months to cross the Pacific Ocean?  (8) Moreover, in an all-male ship, could any man forget a woman?  In an age of chivalry, would the crew missed to feed her?  (9) If indeed the woman had a box that contained the image of the Virgin, would the custom have allowed its loading without inspection?  It should be noted that cargoes had to be accounted for.  In the natural course of things, it would be unlikely that no one from the staff of the captain knew anything about its content..  (9) Also, would the captain allow a woman to board his ship without knowing her identity and destination?  (10) Other questions may be asked.  It is alleged that the captain asked about the name of the place upon landing on Punta Maria.  But why did the people reply “Borongan”, and not “Guintaguican,” which should have been the most logical answer?  (11) If it were true that the image was unloaded in Guintaguican, why did the people allow it to be transferred to Borongan?  In those days, and probably today, the transfer of an image venerated in a particular place is not an easy matter to do.[6]

 

            B. External Evidence

 

            If we now turn our inquiry to the external evidence, we encounter various questions. (1) The main problem about the historicity of the account is that, even if it were internally consistent, there is no document to corroborate it.  I have read the references to Borongan in the 55-volume work of Blair and Robertson,[7] and in the multi-volume collection of primary documents of S. Zaide, but I could not find any single reference to it. (2) Also, in an age when people considered miraculous something that is perceived to be extraordinary, the first missionaries usually wrote about almost anything that seemed beyond human control or natural explanation.  In an article I wrote on the Jesuit mission in Guiuan, I mentioned two “miraculous” events that people attributed to the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception, the patroness of Guiuan.[8]  And these were recorded.  If indeed, the story of the shipment of the image was miraculous, how come none of the Jesuit reports, or the Franciscan reports for that matter, mentioned it?  (3) Equally important, it is strange that the Church, if the story were a factual historical account, did not give importance to it, for all its popularity among Boronganons, nor, to my recollection, acknowledged its miraculous origins in document.  Does this not indicate that the Church considered it as something other than historical? 

 

     (4) In 1951, President Quirino issued Executive Order No. 486, instructing teachers of compile historical and cultural data of the towns in the country, and those in Eastern Samar complied with it.  The collection is called Historical Data Papers,[9] kept at the National Library.  For Borongan, for example, Fidel Anacta wrote that included in the compilation are “historical and cultural data of the municipality of Borongan and its barrios [that] may serve to perpetuate the social and cultural heritage of the place,”[10] but if the story of the Virgin were historical, why did Anacta and his co-teachers not include it in the historical part?  (5) In my conversation with some Boronganons, I was told that the Natividad became the patroness of the town precisely because of its miraculous journey to the pueblo.  This idea, however, runs counter to the manner in which a patron/ess is selected at the time of the Jesuit missionaries, and it was ordinarily something like this: having gathered the people, the Jesuit asked them to choose an advocate before God who would protect them from natural and supernatural calamities.  They were instructed to consider several names of saints, write them on paper, fold them, and place them into an urn.  Then, the one whose name had been drawn by lot was named their patron.[11]

 

            Thus, both internal and external facts demonstrate that there is a wide gulf between the Padul-ong account and actual historical experience.  But if they show that the story cannot be regarded as historical, how are we to treat it?  I suggest that the best way is to look at it from the point of view of literary criticism; after all, the account is clearly an oral tradition.

 

III. A LITERARY-CRITICAL VIEW OF THE PADUL-ONG “TRA-DITION”

 

            From a literary standpoint, how are we to understanding the padul-ong story?[12]   It is instructive that the brochure on the “tradition”, “Padul-ong Festival,” uses various words to describe it: myth, legend, and tale.[13]  Actually, these terms, as far as I am concerned, are legitimate.  After all, there is no agreed definition on these literary genres. Besides, the differences between these terms are so fluid that each author has almost a different way of using these terms.  But as a biblical scholar who has been engaged in the study of the literary genres of the Bible, I would like to treat the padul-ong narrative as an aetiology, though I would not cavil with someone who would consider it as a legend or myth.[14]  But for my purpose, I would prefer to place it under the rubric of aetiology, following the great literary critic, Herman Gunkel, a German scholar, whose study of legends remains influential.[15]

 

A.     The Padul-ong Story: A Cultic Aetiology

           

         What is aetiology?  Aetiology is a term used to designate a story that is designed to explain how an existing phenomenon in nature, custom or institution came into being by recounting a past event which is taken to be the effective cause of that phenomenon.  As a starting point, Gunkel asserts that aetiological stories are answers to questions—man looks at things and ask why.  Thus, he classifies these stories in terms of the kind of questions that he assumes to lie behind the answers embodied in the narrative. Gunkel gives four types: (1) ethnological aetiology, which gives reasons for relations among tribal groups; (2) etymological aetiology, which explains the names of persons and places; (3) cultic aetiology, which accounts for the origin of religious rites and customs; and (4) geological aetiology, which explains the origin of a particular locality or geological formation. [16]  In Eastern Samar history and culture, one (1) and four (4) are not common, but the second is recurrent.  The story that the town of Oras was so named when the Spanish cura gave that name after the place experienced 8 consecutive days of storm and rain is obviously an etymological aetiology.  The same may be said of the explanation that the word Guiuan comes from guibang, or that Sulat originates from suslatan or that Borongan is derived from borong[17]—these are aetiologies which are difficult to verify.  Some of these, etymologically erroneous as they are, in fact contradict older aetiologies.[18] My theory is that the Padul-ong story is a cultic aetiology that legitimizes the devotion to the Patroness.  Thus, we can make sense out of the historical inconsistencies and improbabilities of the story by utilizing an aetiological motif to interpret its various elements.

           

B. The Three Original Aetiologies in the Padul-ong Story

           

              If it is a cultic aetiology, the question may be raised: how did the story originate?  I propose that the story developed this way.  At the first stage of the tradition, there were three separate aetiologies.  Later, these aetiologies were conflated, giving rise to (a) variation(s) of the present version of the narrative.  Let me first describe the first stage.  At this stage, there were three (3) originally distinct aetiologies that answer three questions: (1) Why is Guintaguican called Punta Maria?  (2) Why does the water of Hamorawon Spring have healing powers?  (3) Why is the Natividad the Patroness of Borongan?  In the same way that the people of Oras, not knowing why the town was called by that name, told the story of the eight days of storm and darkness,[19] so the people in these parts, who were ignorant of the answers to these questions, created an aetiology or myth, if you please.  To facilitate navigation, the early Spanish sailors named a body of land that sticks out as punta (reference point), but the inhabitants of Guintaguican did not know why it was so called, so they began explaining that it was called Punta Maria because it was at this place that the image of Maria was unloaded from the Spanish galleon.[20]  The water from the spring of Hamorawon had curative powers not because a good spirit (cahoynon) lived there—which was probably the answer of the pre-Hispanic Boronganon—but because—and this is the reply of the baptized Boronganon—the Blessed Virgin frequently bathed there.  The Virgin Mary became the patroness of the town because it was to this place that the Galleon miraculously brought her image. 

 

            C. The Conflation of Aetiologies

 

       At the second stage, these aetiologies were conflated.  The Guintaguican aetiology was in time joined with the third aetiology.  Thus, we have the story as recollected, for example, by the late Conrado Balagapo, which I reproduce without comment or correction: Tradition has it that the Image of the Blessed Virgin of the Nativity first landed in Gintagikan or Punta Maria.  It seemed that weather was always foul while there; the rearly Boronganons thought that the Blessed Mother wished to be enshrined a bit to the south; so they sought for the place wrapped in mist or “borong”, since then Borongan had enshrined the image we have in its altar, as the beloved Patroness.[21]  Obviously, the common people had no longer any recollection as to how the Virgin of the Nativity was chosen as their patron.  Also, it is to be noted that the belief in the curative power of the water from Hamorawon spring is no doubt pre-Hispanic.  But a Christian explanation had supplanted the pre-Hispanic credence, and so the belief arose if the image of the Virgin at the parish church could not be found from time to time, it was because she was bathing at the Hamorawon spring.  Hence, its healing powers. 

 

      But this story was applied later to the box that was unloaded at Guintaguican.  Hence the following account—I reproduce without correction or comment—which says that the image was missing in Punta Maria, only to be found in Borongan: On the course of their trip along Ibabao (Eastern Coast of Samar) and dropped anchor at a certain shore, much to the crew’s surprise, they found it easy to unload.  The natives were happy to receive the image.  But the captain asked for the name of the nearest biggest settlement, the villagers answered: Borongan.  They built huts and placed the image in a strategic place for everybody to adore.  However, news would spread in the entire village that the image was missing.  Sometimes, it could be found in the nearest biggest settlement which is now Borongan poblacion.[22]  The conflation of these three aetiologies gave rise to a form of the current version of the Padul-ong story, like that one which I quoted at the beginning of this talk.  In this version, the image of the Virgin had to be delivered by the people of Punta Maria to the Borongan port—which I will advert to in a moment— by means of a boat. In the process of conflation, of course, various elements of the different stories were ignored, while others were at the same time added, to the effect that the resulting version became laden with historical improbabilities and inconsistencies which people overlook.

 

            D. The Historical Core of the Padul-ong Aetiologies

 

            But the question may be raised.  In regarding the stories behind the Padul-ong as aetiologies, does this mean that these stories are not true?  Obviously, as I already commented, these stories contain a number of improbabilities so that they could not be entirely considered as historical.  But as in legends and myths, some historical factors shaped these aetiologies.  I have already noted that before the Spaniards came to Borongan, the natives must have experienced some forms of healing, after having bathed in the spring of Hamorawon.  And of course, the Natividad is the patroness of Borongan, even though the Boronganons could not explain the process involved in the choice of the Virgin.  What about the unloading of the woman’s luggage?  I theorize that Boronganons have a recollection of an unloading of cargoes from a ship.  Historically, this is true, and one easily recalls here what happened in the 1600s.  It may be recalled that at this time, the Dutch and the Spaniards were enemies, and from time to time, the former would come to Manila, blockading the city and seizing the galleons and their priced cargoes. 

 

      In 1620, however, the Dutch, instead of blockading Manila, went to San Bernardino Strait near Laoang, Northern Samar, in three ships to waylay the galleons coming from Acapulco, Mexico.  That year, two galleons, San Nicolas (the flagship) and a patache (her escort), were making a voyage to the Philippines under the command of Don Fernando de Ayala.  When Ayala saw the Dutch ships, he fired the gun of the flagship and disabled one of them.  When the other two Dutch ships maneuvered for firing position, night fell and a commotion arose.  Under cover of darkness, de Ayala raced southward along the Eastern Samar coast, and landed in the port of Borongan where he discharged his precious cargo before the Dutch could get hold of them.[23] . Of course, the galleon did not land in Guintaguican, but to me, this is the historical event that helped shape the tradition of the landing of the Spanish ship that unloaded the luggage, supposedly containing the image of the Virgin. 

 

IV. CONCLUSION AND RECOMMENDATIONS

 

A. Conclusions

 

      The Padul-ong, or rather, the story behind it—it appears from our inquiry—can in now way be treated as history, even if there are historical events that lie behind it, though already beyond recovery.  It is, however, safe to say that the story behind the Padul-ong is an aetiology, or more precisely, are three aetiologies that were later conflated.  These aetiologies arose because of the need to satisfy questions that obtain in a community that searches for its own identity.  The answers, as in myths and legends, are shaped by historical factors and by the creativity of the people themselves who make what later on becomes tradition.  In the present tradition in question, the historical core was in the process embellished, with the addition of other details that come from the three aetiologies, winding up with a new form of the story, like the present version to which some people have given the term Padul-ong.[24] 

 

      The Padul-ong story (or any of its variations), like the aetiologies behind it, legitimates the cult of the Patroness of Borongan. This explains why people from all over the island of Samar (as well as from other places outside it) would come to Borongan, especially during fiesta, to fulfill a vow or a promise they had made to the Patroness, usually in thanksgiving for the favor they had received through her powerful intercession.[25]  Because of the image of the Patroness, the Borongan parish church has virtually become a shrine for pilgrims.  It is therefore understandable that the story focuses on the luggage of the woman that contained the image.  Indeed, every detail embellishment in the story—whether the old or the new version—is told with the intention of enhancing the miraculous character of the image.  The miraculous circumstances in the story are clearly told in the service of it.  And that, obviously, legitimizes the miraculous character of the image which people attribute to it. 

 

      As for the newest version of the story that I quoted at length at the beginning of this talk, one, of course, is not mistaken in concluding that its details were meant to justify the ritual that is being observed in the celebration during the town fiesta of Borongan—they do not appear in the earlier account of the tradition.  The ritual or the re-enactment of the story was, in other words, first conceived, and the embellishment came later on to validate it.

 

            B. Recommendations

 

       1.       Must the Padul-ong celebration go on? 

 

       Since it is not an historical but evidently an aetiological legend, though with something historical behind it, shall we cease celebrating the Padul-ong Festival?  The lack of verifiable historical notes does not, of course, invalidate the legitimacy of its celebration.  For one thing, the Padul-ong somehow answers our need for rootedness, our search for identity as Estehanons.  It contributes to the wholeness of our culture, giving a cultural support to what it means to be an Estehanon.    So, if the Padul-ong has to be of any use to the Estenanons, it should be seen along this gamut of thought.   I do believe that these aetiologies easily related to the life of the people in Borongan during the Spanish era.  The people of Guintaguican could easily appeal to the Virgin not only at the time when the sea was rough, but also during typhoons and other natural calamities.  The Hamorawon tradition must have been meaningful to the Boronganons who from time to time suffered from the cholera epidemic.[26]  And I see no reason why the aetiologies would not make sense today.  However—and this I would like to emphasize—it would be a disservice to these aetiologies or the “tradition” if today we will only look at it as nothing more than an event that we have to celebrate for tourism purposes.  It will lose its meaning and people will be alienated from it.  Its survival can be assured only if it is rooted in the culture and well-being of our people.  Commercialism will destroy it.

 

            2. Shall we limit ourselves to the Padul-ong celebration?

           

           For all its advantages, however, I see two major drawbacks in the Padul-ong celebration.  Here, I shall not mention some minor problems that I find in the way it is observed, as, for instance, in the matter of consistency. For example: if the Padul-ong is a re-enactment, why do the participants use a modern motor boat?[27]  Why do they use the 19^th century Filipina dress, instead of the 17^th or 18^th century-attire?[28]  These are quibbles that are better addressed in performing arts rather than in history and religion.[29]  So, let me go back to my two major questions.  First, the Padul-ong is a Borongan tradition.  Definitely, the whole people of Eastern Samar do not own it.  So, the question is: is there any other tradition that all Estehanons can easily identify themselves with?  Right now, I have in mind two events.  The first is, the story of the landing of Ferdinand Magellan in Homonhon on March 16, 1521.[30]  The second is the landing of Miguel Lopez de Legaspi in Tubabao island, Oras, Eastern Samar, on February 13, 1565.[31]  This is also the date when Eastern Samar was declared a Spanish encomienda.  Both of these events can be historically verified and provide much material to the portrayal of the encounter between the native and Spanish culture.  Second, the Padul-ong reflects an animist religion. .  It does not dovetail with the Virgin in whose honor it is celebrated. In fact, Christianity is not yet there.  The theology is still pre-Hispanic.  It does not yet have the Christian value system, and all that is dear to Christianity.*

                                                                                                                                          

24 June 2002

Feast of John the Baptist

11:16 PM