Chapter 6 - Portrait Of A Young Rebel

 

His name was Misach. I could no longer recall how we first met. He just inconspicuously became a member of my wide circle of friends and acquaintances in our town. The first thing that drew us together was our common interest in the study of the Bible. But our biblical discussions were almost always adversarial for we rarely agree on anything. He was as zealous as the cruzaders during the medieval times trying to convince me of the soundness of his denomination’s doctrines while I was as unmovable as the Rock of Gibraltar in my defense of my church’s fundamental beliefs. Nonetheless, our religious differences did not hinder our friendship to blossom and flourish.

It was early 1970’s and we were both in high school. In those days, student activism was ripe in the air and on the streets all over the Philippines. Although our young minds were closed as far as religion is concerned, we were open to new ideas in other areas. One summer, a group of college students from Manila who came home for the summer vacation invited us for a teach-in seminar and both of us attended. Overnight we were converted and transformed into experts in the analysis of what caused the ills of the country. They were easy to remember because there were only three, right? US imperialism, feudalism and bureaucrat capitalism. After the seminar, we organized the municipal committee, and they continued to train us how to run the new organization. 

At the end of summer when our trainors were gone, we were assigned to various responsibilities. Eventually I became the general secretary of the municipal organization. Misach rose further to become the official spokesman of the provincial committee. His loyalty was unquestioned, as if his zeal for his religion was completely transferred to the new organization. As for me, I had my own reservations because of the apparent conflict between the organization’s objectives and the biblical principles that I learned, and I was still in the process of sorting out those contradictions and inconsistencies within me.

The final revelation came when we were invited to see a movie in one of the theaters in the capital city of our province. It was a special show about the construction of the Nanking Bridge. Somewhere in the film when the close-up picture of Chairman Mao appeared smiling and waving at us, everybody in the theater stood up at attention and put their hands on their breasts. I was apalled. The organization that I was serving was actually a communist front. Nationalism was just a facade.

I resigned from the organization and went back to be active in my church. A few months later, President Marcos declared martial law. Many of my former comrades in the organization were arrested, some were tortured. Misach was not among those arrested because he was not found. He went underground and joined the armed movement.  I have not heard of him for a number of years.

One day I went back to my hometown for a brief vacation. By this time, I was already teaching in the state university where I graduated. I went to the town plaza trying to relive memories of my childhood days. Suddenly I saw a familiar figure at a distance. Ah, not so familiar for there were some differences. I went nearer. It was Misach. But it was not the same Misach. He was thin and looked emaciated. His hair was long and there were some scars on his face. We sat down together and talked for a long time. I asked him about the scars on his face and neck. Before telling me how he got them, he showed me some more scars in his chest and back. In fact, his entire body was scarred. Then he told me what sounded like a script of an action movie.

One time they had a clandestine meeting at one of their safe houses near the city of Davao. It was attended by all the regional bigwigs of the underground movement. Suddenly, they were raided by the government forces. A grenade exploded in their midst and his body absorbed a substantial amount of shrapnel. Bleeding, he was spirited away and brought to a private clinic of a physician friend. While recuperating, he was being transferred from one hideout to another to elude arrest. Finally, the long arm of the law caught up with him. He was arrested and jailed for a long time. Eventually he was conditionally released but under the custody of an influential politician. And he was made to promise that he would not again join the anti-government movement.

I never saw him again. The last time I heard about him, he had an altercation with the personal bodyguard of a local politician. The heated exchanges of words transformed into exchanges of gunfires. When the smoke settled down, he was seen sprawled on the ground. Lifeless.