RUMINATIONS ON WAR AND PEACE, Prologue to the Essay Reaching for World Peace*
by Blanca Datuin
The Age of Innocence
There was a stream out the far end of a barrio in Capas, Tarlac, where my mother and her brood of three had run to escape from the rumored impending carnage in the town. The water in the brook ran so freely we youngsters took such great delight in floating our little boats down the stream--boats fashioned out of the largest leaves we could find, or some stray paper that may luckily fly our way--on a journey to some secret destination
In our young minds, we rode on a flotilla to the other side of the world, not any which way, if we could help it. For at the helm of each boat was a captain of its own to steer it to its proper destination. In our little world, the stream was a solace, a sanctuary free from the sins of man, the water of peace and beauty. Of course, the river could run wild and the current so swift and strong it could carry you with its flow. Little did we know then what the mighty power of will could do to overcome the current and calm the storms in one's life.
It was the height of what came to be known as the battle to liberate the Philippines from the Japanese in early 1945, a period fraught with fear and uncertainties, not unlike all other times of war among peoples through the years. But for us young ones, that was the age of utter disregard for the reality of beastly acts monstrous men were capable of. We cavorted with nature in our secret world; we pranced with glee to the sound of combat planes above us. We played hide-and-seek, totally unsuspecting of the monsters of war we were supposed to be hiding from, completely unknowing of the price of the peace and safety we were seeking.
Hovering above us were combat jets of both warring sides engaged in deafening dog fights while down below roamed the Japanese soldiers combing the community for guerrillas or any civilians harboring some fallen or wounded American soldiers. Hungry Japanese marauders, on the other hand, were foraging for food, scouring hiding places of civilians for chicken or pigs for roasting. When they came upon us, I remember how everyone held his breath scared to death that the swine hidden in the closet would create a single grunt that would wipe us all. The memory of such is so confounding when you begin to wonder if that porker was worth risking our lives for. The evacuees' elders, mostly women with husbands in the underground movement, decided it was a risk they had to take with all the trust in God they could muster. For it was food for their starving children, a prized source of meat they bought in the black market with a whole sack of Japanese money they had all pitched in. I guess, fear of their young ones starving to death in the midst of that deprivation was far stronger than their fear for their own lives.
The Other Face of the Enemy
Before evacuating from the town plaza where my mother used to run a store, the enemy had stepped in with the full regalia of a Japanese sergeant. He spoke good English and had polite manner, my mother noticed, an indicaion to her that he was educated. He asked my mother where my father was, perhaps suspecting some guerilla in hiding. My mother explained painstakingly that my father was in Manila where he worked as a lawyer. Any adult son? He pursued. Yes, my mother answered, but he, too, is stranded in Manila. Indeed, lack of transportation due to the travel prohibition of the Japanese army prevented their joining us in the province or for us to join them in Manila. Such candid exchange, my mother making no attempt to hide the facts and the officer trusting my mother's words. Better close up, he finally pronounced as an order. Go where it will be safer for you and your children. And he warned us of the imminent violence in the poblacion when the "enemies" return, referring to the Americans. He spoke briskly, but with a kind of gentleness.
(to be continued)
*A rewritten version of the original essay Reaching for World Peace, awarded Second Prize in the 2002 Jose Rizal Memorial Essay Contest in Los Angeles to commemorate the 105th death anniversary on December 31 of the Philippines' National Hero. During the ceremony, the Spanish Consul General Jose Luis Dicenta "reiterated his country's recognition of 'past mistakes' and called Rizal 'one of the most actively independent characters that humanity has known." To the Filipinos, however, this was not enough. Without explicit apology, these are empty words. A grave injustice was done this peace-loving pride of the Malay race when he was accused falsely of rebellion. and executed with dispatch. The wounds of a nation would never heal without, at least, an official apology from Spain.
