Apolinario Mabini is often depicted in monuments as seated on a wheelchair. He is, after all, remembered by an older generation as the “Sublime Paralytic.” A younger generation, however, will associate that image of Mabini with Professor X or Charles Francis Xavier, the character in the Marvel comics franchise “X-men” who rides a motorized wheelchair.
It is not well known that there are two photographs of Mabini standing: a formal portrait taken before he was afflicted with polio (not syphilis) that affected his legs, and another taken in Manila shortly before he was exiled by the Americans to Guam. Mabini should be better known by Filipinos, if only to appreciate someone who remained true to his convictions despite the temptations of wealth and power that came with his being the quiet but most powerful person in the Malolos Republic.
From the time he was literally dumped on Emilio Aguinaldo’s doorstep in Kawit on June 12, 1898, till the time he was removed from office through intrigue and power play in Malolos 11 months later, Mabini was Aguinaldo’s closest adviser. All papers for the President’s signature had to pass through him, and in the documents that have survived we see his small, almost feminine, scrawl providing advice and recommendations on the contents of a document. Then, a note on the margin with Aguinaldo’s initials reflected his decision and his orders: yes or no.
Mabini’s letters from exile, usually to his brother Alejandro, are relevant to many of us who remain quarantined at home. In one, he related his sea trip from the Philippines to Guam, and he described Asan, where they were first put up in army tents, because the prison house had not yet been built. Then the Filipino exiles were moved to a former Spanish leprosarium, which moved Mabini to write:
“This makes one say that the place is very appropriate because the Americans, in the conviction that our minds suffer from an infectious disease, segregate us, like lepers, from social contact with our fellowmen. Would to heaven that our segregation contribute to the pacification of those beloved lands, because exiled as I am, I do not think of myself but only of you over there who are exposed to many dangers while the [Philippine-American] war lasts.”
In another letter dated May 24, 1902, Mabini said:
“Our life here runs quietly and monotonously, without great joys or anxieties, which is, of course, only natural in prison. We try to comfort ourselves with the thought that each situation in life has its sorrows and that there are many other persons more weighted down with sufferings than we are.”
Mabini was treated relatively well by his captors due to his pitiable condition. It also helped that he was one of the few exiles who spoke English. At one point, when Gen. Pio del Pilar was elected president of the Prisoners’ Association, he refused on the grounds that he spoke neither English nor Spanish. Mabini convinced Del Pilar to accept the position on the strength of his other qualities, rather than the languages he didn’t speak. It was through this association that the exiles negotiated for many things, including the right to buy fresh food from a nearby market daily rather than endure a steady diet of canned meat and tomatoes that was provided for over a year from their arrival in January 1901.
A pity that US military officials in Guam and in Manila censored his mail, often returning letters that contained “objectionable” remarks. The disappointed Mabini wrote little, and of these few letters he self-censored. One would wish that Mabini had left us with more than the two-volume collection of his writings and correspondence, or that all his notations on official documents scattered throughout the so-called “Philippine Insurgent Records” would be put together so that we can trace how he tried to lead the Malolos Republic toward recognition as a free and independent nation.
Mabini had all the time during his Guam exile to write more than the short memoir he came up with, “La Revolucion Filipina,” where he slams his former boss Emilio Aguinaldo for the failure of the revolution and the stillborn republic. As a historian, I lament the fact that Mabini did not leave us with more material with which to help us know more about him and his world.
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