Because of Magsaysay
I would not have been a lawyer without Ramon Magsaysay. Worse, I would have been killed in a fierce encounter between the then Philippine Constabulary (PC) and the Huks in a remote town in Quezon province in the early 1950s if not for him.
I was only 11 years old at the time of the presidential election in November 1949, which has been described as one of the dirtiest elections in Philippine history. It was the time when Jose P. Laurel, standard-bearer of the Nacionalista Party and a province mate, was allegedly cheated of victory by the then president. It was said that even “the birds and the bees” voted in Lanao and other provinces in Mindanao.
I remember how my father, a diehard Nacionalista campaign manager in our town, wept because of that electoral debacle. In protest of the electoral fraud, a group of Batangueños held an abortive uprising that lasted for more than a month and that was dubbed the “Batangas revolt.”
The administration was so ridden with graft and corruption that the Huks were gaining a lot of followers in Southern Luzon. Many of the disenchanted joined the rebels in fighting the government. My classmate and I were among those regularly attending the “teach-ins” conducted by the Huks, headed by a charismatic and handsome commander with the looks of Jose Padilla Jr., a dashing movie actor at the time. I knew him only as “Kumander Rudy.” His “platoon,” which was composed of about 21 rebels, stayed in our house for more than a month. They cooked their own food (with my family providing the rice) and washed their own clothes during their stay.
Kumander Rudy courted my elder sister and called me “bayaw” (brother-in-law). He discussed the evils and shortcomings of democracy where the rich become richer and the poor become poorer and poorer. These words and concepts proved appealing to the less educated farmers in our town.
I remember how much I admired his nickel-plated .45 caliber pistol. He even told me he would give it to me if I joined them. I thought he was kidding.
When the rebels left our house, Kumander Rudy promised to return for me. He gave my family a carbine rifle as “rental” for their stay. “Use it when necessary,” he told my father.
My classmate, who was barely 14, went with the rebels when they left and disappeared into the forested area after crossing the Malapad River.
I used the carbine to shoot chickens so that my maternal grandmother could cook tinola for the family. She often scolded me for this, and told me to just catch the chickens.
About 10 days after Kumander Rudy and his group had left, the PC raided and ransacked our house without any search warrant and confiscated my “toy.” My father complained to our barrio captain, who advised him not to file a formal complaint and warned him that he could be charged with illegal possession of a firearm. That was the last time we talked about the rifle.
It was very timely. The year was 1950 and Magsaysay was appointed secretary of national defense on his birthday, Aug. 31. He immediately issued the policy of attraction, dropping leaflets in the mountains and surrounding areas, and telling the rebels that those who surrendered would be given a new deal—land to own in settlement areas.
My classmate was one of those who surrendered. He told me that Kumander Rudy and 14 others had been killed in a fierce encounter with government troops in Tiaong. I was crestfallen because I had been waiting for Kumander Rudy to return for me. It was providential that he never did. Otherwise, I could have been one of the casualties.
Magsaysay was the speaker during the high school graduation of my older brother in the early 1950s. In his speech he said fighting the government would only lead the people nowhere. He admonished the graduates to study very hard and become our nation’s future leaders.
After that speech, I was among those who shook hands with Magsaysay. His tight grip sealed my resolve to finish my studies and become a lawyer.
I studied very hard, graduated salutatorian of our batch, and was admitted as an entrance scholar to the provincial high school. I wrote Magsaysay letters which he invariably answered when he was running for president in 1953. I found out much later that some of his letters were written by Rafael M. Salas, who would later become my boss at the University of the Philippines (he was vice president during the time of Carlos P. Romulo’s presidency). I graduated among the top three in the provincial high school and entered UP as a prelaw student as an entrance scholar. I completed my law degree in UP in 1963.
Looking back, I have realized that I would not have become a lawyer were it not for Magsaysay’s powerful speech and the inspiring leadership that he personified.
(These memories came rushing to me with the death of Interior Secretary Jesse Robredo in a plane crash on Aug. 18. Magsaysay, a much beloved President, died in a plane crash on March 17, 1957, and the nation mourned his death.)
Pio P. Frago, 73, is a lawyer and a retired director of the UP Human Resource Development Office. He says that he now spends his time reading the Bible and at least three newspapers daily, beginning with the Inquirer.
