After reading my column “February 1945,” Aurora Tech, a senior citizen of Pasig City, had this story to share. It is a simple account of three generations of her family, with members who died in the service of country.
Anastacio Martinez grew up in Ilocos Sur but settled down in Pasig during the Commonwealth period. He joined the Philippine Scouts, a military unit organized as part of the US Army for service in the Philippine Islands.
His only son Bruno Martinez married Matilde Sta. Ana. The couple had seven children although one died as an infant. Their eldest boy Dante, who excelled in academic work, entered the Philippine Normal School (PNS), one of the top institutions of learning at that time.
When the Pacific War broke out, Anastacio and his fellow Scouts were immediately deployed to Bataan. After awhile he lost contact with family members.
Dante, the young boy enrolled at the PNS, was one of thousands of 17-year-olds conscripted into the Philippine Army and also sent to Bataan. Grandfather and grandson would never see each other during the bloody campaign that followed. When Bataan surrendered, unknowingly both would be participants in the “Death March,” the infamous forced movement of some 60,000 Filipino and American prisoners of war from Mariveles at the tip of Bataan to San Fernando, Pampanga. At least 5,000 of those who started on the “March” never reached their destination. They were shot or bayoneted to death by brutal guards. Some that could not keep up were beheaded or buried alive along the way. Many of the survivors later succumbed to diseases like malaria, beriberi or dysentery, all resulting from the lack of medicines and proper nutrition during the Japanese occupation.
Anastacio made it all the way to Camp O’Donnell in Capas, Tarlac. He was eventually released, but the difficulties of wartime captivity would take its toll on his frail body.
Dante was pulled out of the “March” by compassionate civilians along the route, who risked their lives helping soldiers escape from Japanese guards. Unfortunately, a few months later, malaria attacks would result in his death.
Igmidio Martinez, a younger brother of Dante, perhaps affected by his elder brother’s death, joined the guerrillas. While visiting the family home in Pasig, Makapili agents (Filipino collaborators) would inform Japanese authorities of his presence. The house was surrounded and soldiers called on his parents to surrender Igmidio. His mother Matilde strongly protested ignorance of his whereabouts. A room-by-room search followed and Igmidio was found hiding in a secret location above the ceiling. He was immediately shot to death. An enraged officer who led the raiding party and who spoke English castigated the mother, accusing her of being a liar. With a defiant look, she replied that she was a mother. How could she possibly have acted in a different manner? The officer, showing signs of a compassionate streak, looked at her, bowed ever so slightly and left.
Bruno, the father of the two boys, would be killed by Japanese soldiers for aiding the guerrillas.
Aurora Tech is the eldest daughter of Bruno and Matilde. A retired Central Bank employee, she is married to Renato Tech, an engineer formerly with the Government Service Insurance System. Her mother Matilde was honored with the title of “Woman of the Year” by the province of Rizal in December 1971.
In a few weeks time, we shall be marking events connected with Bataan and the “Death March.” So many of our countrymen fought in a conflict not of their making and paid the ultimate price; their sacrifices must not go unnoticed.
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Pilar R. Oringo, an Ateneo de Davao retiree, writes about her difficulties with the Social Security System. Her husband, Dr. Roland E. Oringo, served as Ateneo de Davao University registrar and passed away in 1999. Up to the time he retired from Ateneo in 1994, his monthly premiums to the SSS were fully paid.
There is not enough space to detail her problems but in capsule form, she narrates that due to a “prescriptive period” having lapsed, the SSS denied her request for adjustment in their pensions. Her letter to Jovy Colasito, SSS manager in Region XI in Davao City, was answered through several “notices” with the starting phrase “We are happy to inform you…” and the name of “Emilio de Quiros Jr., President and CEO” of the Social Security Service as the sender.
While the SSS may have been “happy,” she was not. She wrote another letter, this time to De Quiros. Parts of her letter read:
“I am Pilar R. Oringo, an Ateneo de Davao retiree…. I would like to manifest my reaction to the manner I was notified of SSS’ response to my letter of August 16, 2011 addressed to Mr. Jovy Colasito, manager, Region XI. To say that I was disappointed is an understatement. Insulted, demeaned, disgusted… would be more fitting terms to describe my (feelings) in my recent dealings with SSS.
“Record management in SSS is dismally in disarray that stories of unposted premium payments, errors in entries, delay or erroneous information dissemination abound… with obvious consequences to pensioners. Oftentimes, pensioners get more confused than clarified when they make inquiries, or worst (of all), humiliated or demeaned when responses are devoid of any sensitivity to the person who just wanted to be enlightened.”
Oringo goes on to present a “historical/anecdotal account of events” and concludes her letter by saying, “I hope that part of your reform agenda is to address issues on record management with the vision to constantly uphold the dignity of the clients at all costs.”
When citizens are not satisfied with bureaucratic responses to their problems, they go to media to air these complaints, hoping that the officials concerned will be shamed into acting more responsibly. Sometimes exposure in the press or on television of official shortcomings and deficiencies bring about positive results. Let us hope De Quiros can make his agency more responsive to the needs of its clients, particularly elderly retirees in the twilight of their lives.