What’s in a Katipunan name?
Most of the books I remember from the hundreds published by the University of the Philippines Press in 1998, to commemorate the centennial of the declaration of Philippine Independence, were works of fiction. If memory serves me right, the most memorable titles came from the pens of authors in or associated with the UP Creative Writing Center rather than the Department of History. I commented then that while I was happy that Teodoro A. Agoncillo’s landmark works, “Revolt of the Masses: the Story of Bonifacio and the Katipunan” (1956) and “Malolos: Crisis of the Republic” (1960), had been reprinted, I wondered why other important works that contributed to our understanding of the period were noticeably absent, foremost being Milagros C. Guerrero’s doctoral dissertation, “Luzon at War: Contradictions in Philippine Society, 1898-1902” (1977), that remains unpublished to this day.
Young historians are lucky to have a handful of compilations of primary-source material in English translation available for preliminary reading, but they will need to dig up the rest that remain in archives in the Philippines and Spain. The big challenge that faces many beginning historians is that they are separated from the past because of language. For example, a five-volume compilation of newspaper reports on the revolution from the Spanish press is available in print, but if the researcher is not armed with at least a reading competence of Spanish, these sources remain closed to him/her.
Fortunately, we now have Jim Richardson’s welcome contribution to the literature, “The Light of Liberty: Documents and Studies on the Katipunan, 1892-1897,” which saw print last year. Richardson provides a selection of important documents translated from the original Spanish or Tagalog, with erudite notes. His work is the proverbial tip of the iceberg and points others to the archives and libraries where much more remains to be worked on.
In one of the appendices, Richardson provides a detailed list of Katipuneros culled from the historical sources, which includes other relevant information such as: date of birth and death (when available), occupation, address, Katipunan rank and nom de guerre, etc. All these data neatly arranged in tables are something that should have been done half a century ago, but then somewhere along the line we lost our appreciation for bibliographies, catalogues, census records, etc. The data in these research tools may appear trivial or useless at face value, but the real magic is when you find connections between bits of information and weave them into a story.
Data on the 28 members of the Supreme Council (Kataastaasang Sanggunian) make for an engaging read if only for their occupations and Katipunan names. Someone should do a study on the names they took and what these indicate about their personalities and their world. For example, Andres Bonifacio was Maypagasa (There is hope), a bodeguero or warehouseman in the German trading firm Fressel y Cia. Why was he merely hopeful when another looked to salvation? Teodoro Plata was Pangligtas (Salvation), and an escribano del juzgado de Mindoro. Enrique Pacheco was Makabuhay and looked to “Resurrection,” and was a clerk in the Manila civil government.
Why did some just play on their names like Tomas Remigio, Toremige, a clerk in a law office? Why did others name themselves after terrible creatures, like Gregorio Coronel, Leon (Lion), a cloth manufacturer, and Guillermo Masangkay, Alakdan (Scorpion), a kuridor into buy and sell?
Why did some give clues to their place of birth, like Aguedo del Rosario, Tagaisok (From Isok, Marinduque), a master bookbinder, or Faustino Mañalak, Mayon (the volcano) a cobrador or collector for Capitania del Puerto? And why did some have no recorded Katipunan names, like Tranquilino Torres, a clerk at the Intendencia or Treasury, and Doroteo Trinidad, a jeweler?
Taken by themselves the names don’t mean much, but read as a whole the listing can generate different ways of looking at the Katipunan. Here’s the rest of the list:
Roman Basa, Liwanag (Light), a clerk in the Comandancia General de Marina; Pio Valenzuela, Dimas Ayaran (Untouchable), a physician; Vicente Molina, Manlangat (Raised), a concierge at the Intendencia; Valentin Diaz, Walangulat (Discreet), oficial de mesa, Binondo; Teodoro Gonzales, Bathala (Almighty), a lawyer; Restituto Javier, Mapangahas (Bold), an employee of Fressel y Cia; Ildefonso Laurel, Maytiaga (Constant), no occupation, no address; Balbino Florentino, Silang (East), draughtsman and student; Francisco Carreron, Silanganan (Eastern), a blacksmith, laborer and employee of a sombreria or hat store; Emilio Jacinto, Pinkian (Flint), a student preparatory to law; Jose Trinidad, Subiang (Splinter), a clerk at Tambunting pawnshop; Hermenegildo Reyes, Talibong (Dagger), a former customs officer and employee in a company on Calle Anloague; Briccio Pantas, Bungahan (Fruitful), secretario del juzgado de Quiapo; Deodato Arellano, Santol (the fruit), a clerk at the Maestranza de Artilleria; Ladislao Diwa, Baliti (the tree), escribaño in Pampanga; Jose Turiano Santiago, Tiktik (Spy), a bookkeeper; Pantaleon Torres, Bulalakaw (Meteor), a clerk at the Treasury; Teodoro Vedua, Kalasag (Shield), an employee in a business house.
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