Pact of Biak-na-Bato

One hundred and twenty-six years ago today, the Pact of Biak-na-Bato was signed. If you have forgotten or were absent when this was discussed in Araling Panlipunan, this was the truce between the Spanish colonial government, represented by Pedro Alejandro Paterno, and the Filipino revolutionaries, headed by Emilio Aguinaldo. The pact is made up of three documents that lay down the terms for the truce and for the revolutionaries to go into exile abroad. Aguinaldo left for Hong Kong with a down payment of 400,000 Mexican dollars. Balance was not paid, leading to the resumption of the second phase of the Revolution.

As usual, textbook history leaves out the details found in two primary sources. Most accessible, in English, are Aguinaldo’s “Memoirs of the Revolution” (1967) translated from the original Tagalog “Mga Gunita ng Himagsikan” (1964) and Paterno’s “The Pact of Biyak-na-Bato” translated from the original Spanish “El Pacto de Biyak-na-Bato” (1910) and published by the National Historical Institute in 2004. Both texts are memoirs, written years after the actual events, so one needs to be wary of memory creating its own fictions.

I made two trips to Biak-na-Bato in the 1980s: first, with my graduate class on the Philippine Revolution, second with the late Benedict Anderson. On my first visit, I did not realize the Aguinaldo cave could only be reached by wading neck-deep in water. I just went in and air-dried on the ride back to Manila. On my second visit, Anderson asked one of his incredible questions—“did Paterno have almoranas (hemorrhoids)?” I didn’t have a documented answer to this question but how could one explain Paterno traveling from Manila to Aguinaldo’s lair not in a carriage, not on horseback, but in a hammock carried by twenty men in relay. He was also accompanied by his loyal valet Andres Cabrera who carried his personal effects. If there was one thing one could say about Paterno, he did travel in style.

On a map, Biak-na-Bato looked too close to Manila to be a place of refuge for the revolutionaries, but visiting the caves (one called Bahay Paniki) with all its hiding places and escape routes gave me perspective. I remembered the secret passages in Aguinaldo’s Kawit mansion. He survived all assassination attempts (both real and imagined), not because of a “kapre” guardian, he was always prepared. Rounded off the trip by looking at photos of Aguinaldo’s camp and those of the major players in the negotiations, those who accompanied Aguinaldo into exile in Hong Kong. It always pays to have a face to connect with the names we read in our history books.

Compared to Aguinaldo’s matter-of-fact narration of events, Paterno’s re-telling is more creative because he was both a poet and novelist. Lest one forget, Paterno’s “Sampaguitas y Poesias Varias” (1880) is the first published collection of Filipino-Spanish poetry, and “Nínay” (1885) is the first Filipino novel, antedating Jose Rizal’s more famous “Noli me tangere” by two years. As a self-referential document, Paterno does not even feign humility stating that to effect peace in the Philippines after the outbreak of the 1896 Philippine Revolution:

“I was disposed to sacrifice my well-being, the comforts of my home, and even my own life for my adored country that I have idolized and venerated since childhood. Before, though I was away from my native land, I could feel the warmth of her sin and the perfume of her flowers in far exotic Europe.” He spent over 20 of his 54 years in Spain.

On his way to Biak-na-Bato, he met Rizal’s brother Paciano, then a general in the revolution, who did not look kindly on a truce. For Paciano and many revolucionarios willing to lay down their lives for their country, peace was out of the question without Philippine independence from Spain. They would not accept anything less. Paciano received Paterno formally, coldly, not even to offer a handshake. Paterno presumed that “the general … heard my name mentioned a thousand times by his brother, Jose, [who] spoke to me lovingly and with respect.” When you read Rizal’s diaries and letters, you will know that this was not the case. Rizal accepted Paterno’s hospitality abroad, ate at his table, but made fun of him in private.

“What do you want,” Paciano asked Paterno, “do you want for us to make peace with Spain and be precisely the bearer of that peace when they shot my brother Jose, banished my parents and brothers, and even accused us falsely, down to the last member of my family, confiscating our lands and hurling a thousand horrors on our faces?

“Ah, Don Pedro! Dig a very deep well. Fill it, top to bottom, with all the bolos and lances that you want. Then, later on, command me to throw myself into it and Paciano Rizal will do just that. But do not ask me the other one, that of peace [with Spain], because that one, Don Pedro, is impossible and absurd.”

I’m glad college students now have a course on Philippine history from primary sources, I just hope teachers supply what is relevant and engaging.

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