IN A SENSE it’s true that a lie repeated too often turns into a historical truth, as in the ingrained date of the declaration of martial law on Sept. 21, 1972. I remember that it was already two days later when President Ferdinand Marcos announced that he had declared martial law.
Home for me and my wife at that time was her parents’ house in Project 8, Quezon City, where I usually did my work as freelance entertainment reporter and ghost writer for an entertainment columnist of the Philippine Sun and Evening News.
I turned on the radio before dawn on Sept. 23 but could not pick up a radio signal. Soon enough, I heard my neighbors complaining of similar “damage” to their radio and TV sets.
Word of mouth spread that Marcos had declared martial law and had rounded up politicians and activists critical of his regime.
The evening of the same day saw me attending a birthday party at a friend’s house. Nobody was smiling. All the birthday guests were apprehensive, their attention glued on TV that had just gone back on the air. On the screen was a video recording of a stern President Marcos confirming he had declared martial law on that day “to save the Republic and build a New Society.”
We took his word for it even after a foreign journalist named Raymond Bonner wrote that he remembered then Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile saying he had witnessed Marcos sign the proclamation in the morning of Sept. 23.
When Marcos allowed radio, TV, magazines and newspapers to resume operation, it was on condition they would cater “developmental journalism.” Any media practitioner criticizing the New Society would be arrested.
In fact, pre-martial law critical journalists were already behind bars in the company of anti-Marcos politicians bitten by the ASSO. It was no dog but acronym for “Arrest, Search and Seizure Order” issued by Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile.
Being with the entertainment beat, I thought I was safe from ASSO. In fact, the new Marcos-controlled Daily Express gave me a job. I wrote “Getting to Know Nora,” a daily illustrated snippet on the most famous singer-actress at that time, Nora Aunor.
One day, Pete Vael – the editor of Hiligaynon magazine, where I was doing an entertainment column – talked to me. He would resign from Liwayway Publications because he had been offered a government job at the Ministry of Information, which was headed by Francisco Tatad (the same man who would later be senator), and would like me to join him there. I initially resisted because I had been critical of the Marcos government in my student days as news editor and columnist of our school paper at the Manuel L. Quezon University.
Eventually I changed my mind. With Pete Vael already seated at his new office, I applied for a desk job. My application form landed in the office of Col. Vicente Tigas, who was detailed at Tatad’s office for the sole purpose of screening applicants.
To my horror, Tigas pulled a sheaf of documents, including clippings of my Quezonian columns critical of the President.
“Don’t worry,” Tigas said. “Just go to Camp Crame and sign a promissory note. They will give you clearance to join our office.”
I did as asked. The promissory note I signed under duress required me to avoid writing “negative” opinions on the President and the government.
I did not anymore return to Tatad’s office. Since then, I have never applied for a government job. I must have lost a “good future” but I have upheld my right to write what I think is right. (hvego31@gmail.com/PN)
