The wedding reception of Lee Tan’s daughter, Pearlie, gathered the country’s who’s who in a customized hall at the Manila Hotel. This event, long-awaited by the rich and powerful for its impact on the bourses, had once been reset due to an accident involving the groom, Gibo “Lloyd” Sim, scion of the country’s richest family. It also did not help that the political climate dampened what should have been an auspicious start for the Sim and Tan partnership. National leadership of the government was under siege, both internally (with disgruntled cronies and military generals) and externally (political opposition). While the Sims brought money to the partnership, Tan provided insurance cover with political connections. With political alignments in disarray, Tan deemed it prudent not to press getting the marital union done, despite the bleeding his listed companies were suffering from at the stock exchanges.
DISCLAIMER
Although true-to-life events have partly inspired the stories presented in Miracles of Quiapo, this work in its totality is a work of fiction, a novel. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No offense is intended for any mention of names, places or things that bears similarities with actual or existing names of persons (natural or juridical), places or things.
In keeping with Chinese tradition, parents of both bride and groom invited most of the guests.
Pearlie wore white and red wedding gown, also in keeping with Chinese tradition while showing sensitivity to local preferences. Lloyd was in traditional Filipino barong.
Originally planned for 1986, the wedding pushed through in 1988, the year of the dragon, on September 22, the best date in the feng shui calendar. On that day, Pearlie was 23 years old, Lloyd was 25.
Among those who were seated at the presidential table, aside from the wedded couple and their respective parents, were key government executive and legislative officials, supreme court judges, retired and active military and police generals, a media mogul, movie and TV celebrity, etc. such as: Luciano Mascardo, the new vice president; Dimas Uy, former general and now Secretary of National Defense; Supreme Court Justices Delfino Abuyonador and Tomas De Yamat; Senator Ruben “The Gadfly” Quemas; General Sir Dikomo; Superstar Vinnie Iglesia; media tycoon Irene Pucot De Barizar; and Manila Mayor Octavo “Bonggoy” Kawatsing (legally changed from Kaw-Huat-Singh), of Chinese-Indian descent, and Vice Mayor Pilandro “Polong” Cujaco (legally changed from Co-Juang-Co), of Filipino-Chinese descent.
All of them were supporters of the new administration, although most had connections, one way or the other, to the old administration. The president had tactfully declined Tan’s invitation, saying he was already committed to other official functions, but assured Tan and Sim that the vice president would not be representing himself but the president as well. Dimas Uy was a trusted lieutenant of the old administration, but felt insulted by the repeated snub by the former president of his well-deserved promotion as Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces of the Philippines. His disenchantment grew when it became obvious that favoritism had widely influenced personnel movement in the military.
His reputation preceding him, Sir Dikomo seamlessly joined the revamped Philippine Constabulary-Integrated National Police. He soon was promoted to become the country’s top cop. There had been rumors that Lee Tan would support him to become Manila’s next mayor.
The Manila Mayor, who the press had nicknamed “Commish,” was of Chinese-Indian descent. He was the former Bureau of Immigration Commissioner. He allegedly (never proven) made millions from bribes generously given by shipping operators that smuggled thousands of individuals from mainland Qina. He then used some of his kickbacks to pay press people to drumbeat his accomplishments at the bureau.
Being thorough as usual with his plans, Lee made it a point that his connections with the previous administration were likewise represented. The invitees included the former Prime Minister, former Customs Commissioner, Investigation Bureau Directors, former members of Congress from both houses, fellow cronies and oligarchs, among others.
Ben Benaobra, the former Interior Minister who owned logging companies in Mindanao and Samar, along with trusted aide General Reg Makatigbas, was also there. Both Mr. and Mrs. Dayamante managed to get invited as well.
Sim’s associates in the real estate, banking, and transport industries, were also there. Tobacco magnate Venancio Co, with allies Leopoldo Ty and Luis Verzosa, was also present.
To the fringes of the sprawling hall could be seen the less consequential government functionaries. They mixed with friends, colleagues, and relatives of the newly-married couple. Almost unnoticed was the table reserved for Manila Archbishop Maximiliano Calaveria who officiated the church rites at the Manila Cathedral but begged off from attending the reception at the Manila Hotel. He sent Monsi Ubanon to represent him instead. The Quiapo rector wanted to cheer the sickly Father Revo up, so he asked the controversial priest to join him at the party.
Guests were treated to an unlimited array of food and drinks. The buffet included symbolic dishes, again in keeping with Chinese tradition: fish for abundance, turkey dish for peace, a suckling pig (symbolizing the bride’s purity), and a sweet lotus seed dessert for fertility.
Halfway through his meal, Father Revo stood up to help himself with extra servings. He proceeded to the row of symbolic dishes and filled two saucer plates with the sweet lotus seed for dessert. Then he gave one plate for Monsi Ubanon and the other for himself.
Father Revo was not done making fun of themselves. He went on a mini-monologue, without necessarily addressing his superior.
“If this happened during Spanish times, some insulares and ilustrados here could have been extradited for not sitting a Monsignor at the podium table.”
He waited for some reaction from Monsi Ubanon. He did not get anything. He pressed on.
“Even lowly Friars had to be at the presidential table on any social occasion.”
Monsi Hoben finally said something. “Gomburza is probably to blame for why we are a forgotten lot.” It was a subtle dig at the revolutionary bent that Father Revo had been known for.
Both clerics knew that being present in that expensive party was in itself distasteful, if one was going by the book. The issue could spark more nitpicking. Even among priests, Calaveria had been accused of favoritism, in hushed tones of course, not only on the matter of parish assignments, but also in choosing his representatives to functions like these. Some thought it was the archbishop’s way of reciprocating Ubanon for being the biggest funder of Caritas Manila, the humanitarian and social development arm of the Manila Archdiocese. But then the next question was: why weren’t the parish priests being rotated for assignment at Quiapo where collections practically poured in perpetually. What was commonly understood was that Calaveria and Ubanon were classmates at the Jesuits seminary where they obtained their theology degrees. Whenever small talk like this took off, the scuttlebutt that the scourge of politics, money, envy and lust, among other strange gods, was alive in the house of God spared no one.
After an hour of feasting while artists performed entertainment numbers, many guests have left. Monsi Ubanon and Father Revo themselves had earlier asked permission to be excused, but seeing Vida De Gracia at the other end of the hall prompted them to drop by at her table for a chat. The retired judge was retained by one of Sim’s companies to litigate, in collaboration with three other law firms, the eviction proceedings against urban poor settlements squatting on a 1-thousand-hectare reclaimed property at the Manila Bay. Sim was reportedly on the planning stage for a shopping mall, hotel and entertainment complexes in the area.
Father Revo, in particular, was aware that homeless families in Quiapo and Tondo had transferred to the reclaimed site years ago when he was still active in community organizing. They wished to know from Vida if she had updates on the judicial proceedings. Vida, whose late son was one of Father Revo’s classmates in the same Jesuit Seminary where Monsi Ubanon completed his priestly formation, said the paperwork needed to provide for a relocation site was taking time to complete.
Soon guests who got busy intermingling with fellow guests had dwindled to such an ampaw density that those who still remained could easily see or wave at each other. Among the last to leave were Lee Tan, Sir Dikomo, Justice De Yamat, and The Gadfly.
Monsi and Father Revo were about to finally leave when Sir Dikomo, dapper in impeccable black suit, passed by. The top cop was heading for the comfort room. Both clerics had been on the lookout for the opportunity to confer with him in private. They thought that that opportunity has come. They waited for him to come out of the comfort room.
“Good afternoon, General!” Monsi Ubanon greeted Sir Dikomo.
Looking genuinely pleased and surprised, Sir Dikomo shook the rector’s hand and gestured to kiss the latter’s ring. “Nice to see you, Bishop!”
Monsi Ubanon wanted to know if Sir Dikomo remembered about the toddler which the Quiapo police were supposed to present to the parents years ago.
“Is he with his family now?” Also, would he remember the name of the parents?
Sir Dikomo could hardly remember anything. Monsi, who was probably older than Sir Dikomo by 10 years, thought that maybe Sir Dikomo’s new role had taken its toll on his memory.
As usual, Father Revo was quick to offer help: “It was in 1981, General. Some kind of a riot erupted at the Underpass.”
“Yes, of course!” Sir Dikomo howled in his usual baritone voice. “But we lost that kid due to the coincidental disruption. Our investigation showed that the prisoner, the inmate, who was accidentally fired upon by the prison guard had issues with the Quiapo crowd that pushed him to try to escape. With respect to the identity of the parents, I’m sorry but we are not at liberty to disclose anything, for security reasons. I hope you understand.”
Both Monsi Ubanon and Father Revo were pleased to hear Sir Dikomo’s explanation. They then asked to be excused, wished him good luck, and left.
At the main entrance of the hotel, Lee caught up with Benaobra, Makatigbas and Dayamante. The latter three were seen in a huddle with Justice Abuyonador and Leopoldo Ty at the reception hall; the five were still by themselves at the parking lot. Lee chatted with Benaobra in private before they both hopped into their valet-driven respected cars.
PHOTOS OF GUESTS SEATED at the presidential table dominated the upper half of page one of newspapers the following day. They were enough to push upwards the value of the shares of stocks of both Tan and Sim publicly-listed companies.
In the days that followed, opinion writers extensively discussed “The Wedding,” as one newspaper had captioned the event. Most commentaries hailed it as auguring well for the economy in general, others savagely bashed the lavish display of wealth and power, and there were also those who mixed their optimism with sarcasm.
“One thing is sure,” one opinion column said, “this marriage will last longer than Vinnie’s one-year affair with Julio.”
MASCARDO NARROWLY DEFEATED Benaobra in the 1992 presidential elections. Same thing happened to their respective party mates. Mascardo’s party won 7 Senate seats. Benaobra’s allies won 5 Senate seats, including Makatigbas, the former multi-awarded military field officer who became a police general when the law creating the Philippine National Police took effect. Majority of local political leaders allied with Mascardo also won.
At the local level, majority of Mascardo’s allies also won, although at an uneven fashion. Most of his Metro Manila mayoralty candidates won by landslides. However, Manila re-electionist Mayor Commish barely made it.
Considering that Benaobra’s party were thoroughly defeated in the preceding presidential elections, Lee Tan agreed with Benaobra’s analysis that the results augured well for a more organized bid to reclaim Malacanang in the next presidential elections. While Tan did not thread on hostile territory under the previous administration, and had no reason to think things would change under the new one, he still preferred a leadership that was now steered by Benaobra. His next agenda would be finding ways to provide covert support for his party.
It was obvious to Tan that the strategy he needed was one that took into account winning beyond 1998. Two presidential terms, which meant winning not only in 1998 but also in 2004, was the minimum target; winning more than that down the road was ideal.
Tan had pending tax evasion cases in the Supreme Court. Although his clout succeeded in slowing down their litigation, the risks remained high that an unfriendly administration could re-open them. Any adverse result from the judicial processes could send his companies to bankruptcy. Aside from the pending cases, threats of other cases—ranging from estafa to complicity in graft and corrupt practices—hang over his head. He needed a friendly court. He did not need judges whose decisions he could influence. He needed a president who could influence judges to decide in his favor. A one-term beholden administration cannot ensure a majority of friendly Supreme Court justices at any given time; but two, better yet three or more, successive beholden administration should.
After a series of inner-circle consultations, Tan and Benaobra agreed to polish the projection for both the highly-popular former generals Sir Dikomo and Benaobra’s trusted aide Makatigbas. The initial steps of the strategy would call for either of two to run for president in 1998. In the intervening mid-term elections in 1995, Sir Dikomo would run for Manila Mayor and Makatigbas would run for re-election as Senator.
WORKING ON A TIP from envious competitors, Quiapo police raided the store of Guimo and Katalina. The store was charged for selling counterfeit products. Fifteen-year-old Boy Deo was also implicated; he was charged for swindling as an impostor, a fake faith healer. But Madis-ogon, the Quiapo Police Station chief, later released him for being a minor.
Before Madis-ogon set Boy Deo free, he falsely accused him of using drugs. It was an age-old police trick, bluffing suspects on the likely outcome that they would relent, especially among young offenders.
Depressed, deprived of income, vulnerable to peer pressure, and assured of Madis-ogon’s protection, Boy Deo did not only try illegal drugs, he peddled them. Madis-ogon’s syndicate had two layers. A network of area coordinators on top and mobile street peddlers below. The street peddlers consisted mostly of minors, because even if they got caught and arrested, law enforcers had to let them go on account of a law that exempted minors from criminal liability.
Both Junie and Boy Deo started to skip their classes. For a time, they completely stayed away from school.
One time Father Revo substituted to preside for the 4 AM Mass. He did a Father Andoy by sniffing the dawn air at Plaza Miranda. And there, on one of the wooden benches, he saw Boy Deo asleep. Probably because there was nothing else he could use for a pillow, the boy used his right hand as buffer between his head and the hard wood. It was the second time Father Revo had seen him sleeping in that same bench, with the same pillow, and similar sleeping position. Boy Deo was probably 7 or 8 when Father Revo saw him sleeping among street children for the first time.
IN HIS SENIOR YEAR, Joey exchanged letters with Olivia Paez, the dashing Executive Director of Peace and Development Foundation, a Jesuit-run non-government organization. They personally met two years ago when Olivia, who was the Foundation’s Community Organizing Supervisor at the time, represented Tondo urban poor communities in a dialogue organized by the Manila City Hall. His father, Mr. Ty, was one of the signatories of a petition supposedly lobbied by concerned citizens to get rid of urban blight posed by squatters within the vicinity of Tondo’s commercial district. His father sent his son Joey, who again was on semestral break at the time, to represent him in the dialogue.
Olivia impressed Joey with her arguments, saying the urban poor helped raise profits of businessmen on account of cheap labor they provide. Citing poverty data, she explained that low wages kept them from gaining access to affordable housing. She also made a persuasive presentation on papal encyclicals that preached social justice.
Later on, Joey would know Olivia was born to and raised by a well-off family. She studied in an exclusive school. That she would choose a profession by which she practically lived with the poor and owned their issues impressed him even more.
Joey knew his father, who had reconciled with his mother on his and her sister’s demand, had arranged for somebody to be his future wife. Except for the mother, nobody objected to the father’s choice, even among the would-be in-laws. The mother objected for reasons that only she could ever know: the father of the would-be daughter-in-law, was also the father of her son, Joey.
In the end, in his desire to make amends for his philandering ways, Mr. Leopoldo Ty proposed, to make it appear he was not totally submitting himself to the decision of the wife, a compromise: Nobody would get in the way of Joey making the decision for himself.
Joey and Olivia were married a few months after he graduated from the military academy. He joined the PC-INP, now renamed the Philippine National Police. His first assignment was in Region 3, where he was assigned to lead an anti-illegal gambling unit.
One day, his unit brought in a big time jueteng lord. Expecting an on-the-spot promotion or reward, he was chided instead by his superior.
“But don’t worry,” the Provincial Director assured him. “You’ll learn how things work around here as you go along. Rookies are like that.” He got a pat on the back though.
Next, Joey ran an errand for the boss who was about to celebrate his birthday. Tell him, he was instructed, to contribute some bags of rice.
He expected a donation of at most 3 sacks of rice, but imagine how surprised he was when a truck fully loaded with sacks of rice parked inside the compound of the police provincial office.
The unspoken aim of the mission was to help Joey hone his skills at building rapport with the underworld constituency. But he was too young to lose his idealism. He doubted his capacity to adapt. He soon requested a transfer.
His request to be stationed in Nueva Vizcaya for his second assignment was granted by the hierarchy. He did not elaborate, without necessarily being untruthful, on why he needed to leave Region 3 and on the reason for choosing Nueva Vizcaya. He wanted to locate Golek, who his father said came from a farming family in Nueva Vizcaya.
Joey was determined to repay Golek for what his family had done to him when the boy was just about 8 years old.
Joey learned from Porferio that Golek was accidentally killed in Quiapo. He also learned a few other things: that Golek was survived by Katalina, Golek’s wife, and Junie, their son; that they lived in Sta. Cruz, etc.
It took a while before Joey was able to track Katalina and her son down in Sta Cruz. Golek’s family was barely getting by. They had lost almost half of their merchandise from the raid. They were also having a hard time trying to win their customers back. Their consolation was the police did not press the charges after they settled the penalties imposed arbitrarily by the arresting officers.
Junie was also having problems in school, owing largely to the tutorials he missed from Boy Deo, who was mostly away from their studio apartment. Again, their consolation was having Guimo by their side, who was equal to the task as protector and provider for the family. In some respects, he could be considered an upgrade; Yago’s shrinking legacy, insofar as Katalina was concerned, was that Yago was there when everything started.
Joey offered an apartment in Sampaloc where Katalina’s family could transfer to if she wished it. The apartment was one of his and Olivia’s wedding gifts. However, the couple preferred to stay in a newly-constructed two-story house within the Ty complex in Tondo. As in their Sta. Cruz home, Katalina and Guimo were supposed to pay rent. The only difference was that they were under no obligation to pay, unless they were financially able to pay.
Katalina and her family, along with Boy Deo, did transfer to Sampaloc eventually, but Junie remained enrolled at Quiapo Catholic School for high school. Boy Deo had enrolled at the Philippine Science High School. He stayed at its dormitory during weekdays; he was back in Sampaloc during weekends. The change of surroundings gave Boy Deo and Junie more time to focus on their studies.
TEACHERS AT QUIAPO Catholic School conceded that Boy Deo was exceptionally intelligent. Showing scant facility for speech as a toddler, his mental growth was something Teresa, if she were around, could not have anticipated. But his decorum and absences pulled his grades down. Junie was coping well, although he depended mostly on Boy Deo for the correct completion of much of his home assignments, especially in math.
Before they graduated from elementary, they applied for admission at the Philippine Science High School. Joey was particularly gung-ho for both youngsters to go through the science-oriented high school, as this would prepare them well for possible enrolment at the military academy later on. Joey had promised Junie to personally sponsor his higher education if ever he made it to the academy.
In the fourth year, Boy Deo passed the admission test for freshmen at the University of the Philippines. In college, he enrolled at the UP School of Social Work and Community Development. For his part, Junie enrolled at the University of Sto. Tomas to take up a political science course, with the ultimate aim, on Father Revo’s advice, to pursue a career in politics. The rector’s endorsement enabled Guimo to secure a scholarship for his surrogate son.
Part of Boy Deo’s academic training entailed learning from real-world experiences. Once a week he, along with some of his classmates, immersed in the slums of Tondo. They called on community leaders. They engaged community members in small talk, introducing themselves as college students who were conducting studies in Tondo. Having gained the trust of the community, Boy Deo organized clustered meetings.
There was an existing community organization, Kalakal Urban Poor Association (KUPA), but has not been active since the 80s. Former students and faculty of the UP SWCD had helped the urban communities in Tondo organize themselves during the early years of Martial Law. KUPA was one the urban poor organizations that resisted demolition of mostly makeshift houses that squatted on government land. It became inactive when its leaders were arrested by the military.
Boy Deo facilitated meetings with the existing members of KUPA. He engaged them in a freewheeling discussion of issues that they considered important and urgent. KUPA went on to identify such issues, with security of tenure for the land on which their houses were erected as top priority. They longed to see the day when they would have no need for moving from one squatter area to another so that they could focus on their livelihood.
When Boy Deo and his classmates returned for a follow through meeting, he was ready with a list of possible donors, both from the private and government sectors, that could help them address their main issue. Information was complete with contact persons and the steps of how to access external support.
KUPA agreed as an organization to submit proposals for external assistance. Boy Deo watched as KUPA leaders and members discussed a work plan for the tasks ahead. With Boy Deo’s suggestions, responsibilities were divided among individual members, who committed to finish their tasks within an agreed time frame. The tasks included rallying the support of the rest of community members for the adopted proposal. The needed support included submission of household data and related documents as well as financial contributions to help defray expenses as the assigned leaders liaise with the offices from whom they needed assistance.
Before he graduated from college, Boy Deo received news from KUPA that the proposals it submitted had been favorably considered and were on process for grant of award.
His organizing work in Tondo enabled the KUPA to access on-site housing through the government’s Community Mortgage Program. Some were given housing units in relocation sites in Dasmarinas, Cavite, or in San Jose Del Monte, Bulacan. They also received livelihood grants from private humanitarian organizations. Years later, seeing community cohesion at work, politicians chipped in to provide financial support for KUPA-identified community projects.
More urban poor communities in Tondo copied KUPA’s approach. And Boy Deo in many ways had become the poster boy for community renewal, transformation, and empowerment. The young man with a knack for community organizing had attracted a vast market from among Manila’s urban poor population.
Boy Deo’s work in Tondo got noticed by a network of NGOs working on the urban poor sector. At 20, he graduated from college with honors, and was promptly hired by a Jesuit NGO.
THROUGH JOEY, AND WITH financial support from his father, Mr. Ty, Junie ran for Sangguniang Kabataan representing Barangay Balut in Tondo and won. He later became a member of the City Council of Manila as Sangguniang Kabataan Federation Chair.
Junie showed promise as a problem solver. At the City Council, he proposed accreditation of sidewalk vendors with the community affairs office of the city government to facilitate regulation and to ensure that they do not obstruct vehicular traffic and pedestrians. He also proposed amendments to the Zoning Ordinance to promote the interests of the city government while minimizing displacement among the urban poor and providing them access to alternative sources of livelihood and resettlement for those whose relocation was necessary.
Junie conceded that apart from Joey, he had a secret weapon in boyhood pal Boy Deo. All these years the latter had been his confidante, tutor and, as he launched his political career, adviser. Not only that, given his popularity among urban poor communities, Boy Deo had practically single-handedly won the votes for him. Boy Deo was the reason Junie was confident of winning more political wars ahead.
With Boy Deo by his side, advising and campaigning for him, Junie won Manila’s Vice Mayoralty seat in 2001. His party-mate, Sir Dikomo, also handily won as mayor.
When the 2004 presidential elections loomed in the horizon, political analysts turned their attention to Lee Tan. Most of them were one in saying that the billionaire kingmaker would discreetly support Sir Dikomo for president, and Junie for mayor of Manila.
IF BENAOBRA HAD an understudy in Senator Reg Makatigbas, Makatigbas had several understudies too. One of them was Joey.
Joey caught Makatigbas’ attention when he married a left-leaning beauty. Nobody from the military academy had done what he did, ever. Makatigbas thought Joey had the courage to blaze unchartered trails, like he used to when he was young. He stood as principal sponsor at the couple’s wedding.
The political dust from the 2001 mid-term elections had barely settled, and yet rabid partisans were already at work again. The 2004 presidential elections were still far off the horizon, but speculation about who the early favorites were had percolated. Senator Makatigbas, Sir Dikomo, and the return to power of Kawatsing, via heir apparent Bonggoy, among other names, were gaining traction.
The fuel for the speculation did not necessarily come from the potential protagonists themselves. It came from supporters. They were the ones who started to count gains from appointments in key government positions, from juicy contracts, and a variety of mammon that parasites fleeced from a myriad of government connections.
The main characters usually did nothing to establish themselves at the front row of public perception. The supporters did the spade work and heavy lifting for them. Everyone else was a competitor, even those who worked for principals within a coalition.
Senator Makatigbas and Sir Dikomo were part of a coalition covertly supported by Benaobra and Lee Tan. But a silent rivalry, approaching the edges of a cold war, emerged between the supporters of Makatigbas on the one hand and those of Sir Dikomo on the other, although the principals themselves were on the best of terms, and to some extent they did not keep track of what their supporters were up to. Perhaps they preferred it that way: that each camp plotted the downfall of the other with the principals not being consulted at every step of the way.
MOBILIZING HIS SUPPORT base early, Makatigbas sought Joey’s help, who sought Olivia’s help. The latter organized a consultation workshop, hyped as “One Nation Vision” among Peace and Development Foundation-allied civil society organizations.
ON HER RETURN to Biringan days after Luzie died, Teresa learned more atrocities committed by the military.
Relatives told her about how her first cousins—Poklo and Jason—were hogtied at the back and made to literally swim with their legs on a dirt road. Blood dripped from their bare bodies as they waded through rough edges of gravel and stone over a distance of some 50 meters. They traversed that distance from end to end, repeatedly. Their offense? They inadvertently broke a lampshade inside one of the military camps.
In a neighboring barrio, the military punished an alleged offender by skinning him alive, again literally. They sliced and took off parts of his body, then dipped them in a bowl of vinegar before champing them in between sips of Manila Beer.
Cases of more violent and cannibalistic bent by the military—like cutting off fingers and broiling livers—were talked about in hushed gatherings. But just the same, the stories flew like wildfire that forced a scared population to take up arms. At no other time in Samar’s history had there been as great a rise in the number of armed rebels as then.
Teresa herself had not seen his father and a brother alive since the day she, along with her mother and siblings, left Ilihan years ago. Rumors about their disappearance had been fodder for what rumors were made of—storylines branching to half-truths and half-lies. There were those who believed they were killed by the military. And there were those who thought they were killed by fellow rebels for double-dealing.
She was eventually drawn to a church-based movement for peace, rejecting violence sanctioned by either side. She became an activist, joining rallies that denounced atrocities perpetrated by both the military and the rebels. Her peacemaking advocacies led her to a reunion with Tangdayan, who went on to hire her as an area coordinator.
Her boss sent her to the One Nation Vision workshop as civil society representative from the Eastern Visayas. In the invitation letter, she saw that Makatigbas was one of the speakers for the preliminary sessions.
At the workshop, Teresa waited for the moment when she could talk to Makatigbas in private. “Excuse me, Senator. Do you happen to remember somebody in Bukāran, Biringan City?”
The question floored Makatigbas. He remembered the place. He remembered a woman whom he had a brief romantic fling. But what about it? He felt like asking Teresa some questions himself. Who are you? Where are you from?
Teresa appeared to have correctly read what was in Makatigbas’ mind. “I am Teresa Biradayon. I once lived in Bukāran. Waday is my sister. I have another sister—her name was Paloma—who fell in love with you when you and your team were once assigned in Biringan City and you got around to visit Bukāran several times. That was a long time ago, I would not be surprised if you have forgetten everything about it. Anyway, she got pregnant with your child. But she died while giving birth, and the child also perished a few days later.”
Makatigbas blushed, then grew pale. His face turned ashen. He needed somebody’s help to deflect the impact of Teresa’s heymaker.
Trying to compose himself, Makatigbas still could not find his words; he was probably better off not being heard. But he thought he had just been charged for committing criminal neglect, and his accuser was waiting for his reaction.
Teresa continued: “Senator, as I said, you may have forgotten what happened. But those are facts. My family needs you to know them. When I go back to Biringan, my folks will be waiting for my feedback. They expect me to raise to your attention the memory of my sister. They need to know what you think.”
Makatigbas, aware the victim’s family was deserving of respect, said something at last. “I understand. It is by no means an easy news to hear. Please give me time to process that. Hope you also understand.”
SIR DIKOMO’S HANDLERS recognized the unique strength that Makatigbas had: the ability to reach out and be heard by ideologues from both ends of the political spectrum. They needed to do something to stop Makatigbas from gaining more ground.
Those who had access to resources under the command of government intelligence units could eavesdrop on people talking on their phone, including the now popular cellular phones. The security aides of both Sir Dikomo and Makatigbas had unlimited access to police intelligence assets, while those of Makatigbas had additional access to military intelligence assets.
Sir Dikomo’s aides got wind of Lee Tan’s year-long feeling-out meetings with prospective contenders. The multi-billionaire kingmaker had lined-up six names with whom he wished to talk to over dinner. One meeting in two months over a period of 12 months. First to be invited was Makatigbas. Venue would be a private member-only island resort. Chartered flights were needed to get there.
Sir Dikomo’s aides got a copy of Makatigbas itinerary. The plan was to confirm both Tan’s and Makatigbas booking details and plant a discreet recording gadget in every plausible meeting place. While they got nothing from the mole operation, they were surprised to learn that Makatigbas’s aides had arranged for a police chopper to fetch him from the island resort.
Sir Dikomo’s men went quickly to work. The next morning, news broke out that a police chopper was missing. Newshounds reported later on that the missing chopper had crashed on its way to the island resort to fetch Makatigbas. One passenger died and another one was badly injured.
With a keen eye for details, Makatigbas correctly sensed that somebody might have logs on his meeting with Tan. He had no option but to tell at least a slice of the truth. In a media interview, he said was in the island resort on “private time.”
The senator was roundly bashed in media. Not a few had called for his immediate resignation. The push for him to seek higher office appeared exhausted at this point.
Makatigbas’ security aides agreed that attempts to embarrass and discredit the Senator had been taken. They thought the other side was coming through and that they needed to be stopped. They felt provoked and ached to get even.
Miracles of Quiapo
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ACKNOWLEDGMENT AND DISCLAIMER
The author is indebted to the memory of people whose lives have inspired kindness, compassion, and forgiveness among the many lost generations that followed them.
Although true-to-life events have partly inspired the stories presented in Miracles of Quiapo, this work in its totality is a fictional novel. No offense is intended for any mention of names, places or things that bears similarities with actual or existing names of persons, places or things.
Copyright © 2022 Ingming Aberia
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798445401087
Photo Credits: QuiapoChurch.com.ph