Albay Arts Foundation proudly announced on its FB page on November 23, 2025, “The book launch of Mga Dasô – Stories of Martial Law in Bikol in Albay at the CTE Hall, Bicol University (BU) College of Education was a resounding success — attended by over 100 audience members filled with emotion, reflection, and solidarity.”
The launch was marked by moving readings by book contributors who brought Bicol’s stories of courage and survival to life:
- Victor B. Velasco – “The Betrayals of the Golden Era” (read by his niece, Irish Abion)
- Dr. Allan Popa – “Walang Kamuwang-muwang” (and read his new poem on the theme)
- Raffi Banzuela – “Broadcasting in Albay” (gave this talk in lieu of reading excerpts)
- Dr. Jazmin B. Llana – “The Diary” (her reading left the audience in deep silence)
- Juan Escandor, Jr. – “The Gubat I Grew Up in” (read by BU CAL student Jauron Vahn Mapagdalita).
The program was hosted by student emcees Sophia Angela Almonte and Chayenne Angela Orfano and featured powerful performances by Sining Banwa and the BU Chorale.
The organizers of this event were Dr. Allan Schapira, Prof. Rafael Buemia, Administrator Rome Candaza, Dr. Abe Belleza and Dr. Cienna Jaucian of the Albay Arts Foundation, officials and faculty of Bicol University.
The Honorable Judge (Retired) Sol M. Santos Jr., Dr. Paz Verdades M. Santos, and Mr. Greg S. Castilla, esteemed editors of our book Mga Dasô – Stories of Martial Law in Bikol.
The organizers of this event, Dr. Alan Schapira, Dr. Rafael Buemia, Mr. Rome Candaza of the Albay Arts Foundation and Prof. Cienna Jaucian (officials and faculty of Bicol University).
Dear students, friends, ladies and gentlemen,
A radiant morning to all and a big thanks for the gift of your presence.
It is a solemn and stirring privilege to stand before you today—bound not only by memory, but by a shared reckoning.
This is no ordinary gathering, and Mga Dasô – Stories of Martial Law in Bikol is no ordinary book. Each page is a pulse of history, each story a lantern in the dark.
This anthology is a reckoning, a resurrection, a refusal to forget. It stands as a testament to the resilience of a people who dared to speak, even when silence was safer.
It is a monument of truth, chiseled from silence and sorrow. It is a vessel of remembrance, heavy with the weight of grief and the fire of resistance.
To hold these pages is to confront history, to reclaim what was buried, and to declare—without apology—that we remember.
Its significance lies not only in what it tells, but in what it dares to preserve.
For more than half a century—fifty-three long years—these stories waited in silence, nudged by time, summoned by conscience, and finally gathered with great labor, persistence, and no small measure of courage.
Within these 344 pages are not just narratives, but echoes of anguish and resilience—grief, loss, suffering, anxiety, and pain—etched into the soul of a region that refused to forget.
[Incidentally, Dasô, refers to a small, thin bamboo (locally, uras) used for making kerosene torch of the same name (Mintz & Britanico). It is katipong (torch) here in Legazpi and in many parts of Albay. Fray Marcos de Lisboa in his Vocabulario de la lengua Bicol offers a different meaning.
Am I right to declare that the Gen Z children, have never cradled a katipong, never cupped its fragile flame against a wind-torn sky, never marched beneath a thunderhead with that small, trembling light to guide them along an invisible footpath for an urgent errand. You may never have joined a Perdon or a Kristiyanong Turog, pleading with the Almighty to spare your barangay from coming ruin.
The katipong served many purposes, but its sacred duty was simple and absolute: to conjure light where darkness ruled. Now, in our cities, that humble flame has yielded to solar lamps, flashlights, and the cold glow of your cellphone — conveniences that outshine the past but cannot quite keep the same vigil.]
When Dr. Doods invited me into this work, I came not empty-handed—I came with stories forged in the crucible of broadcast. DZRC in 1971, as the country stood on the brink of Martial Law. DZGB in 1985, as the people prepared to rise at EDSA. From the edge of silence to the roar of revolution, I was there. Fifteen years of radio, memory, and movement. A rare experience—complete, resonant, and full circle.
I chose this subject over the crucible of risk—the street uprisings, the chants swallowed by sirens, the fragile breath of those who lived one step from disappearance. I chose it over the perilous privilege of protest, over the bruising gamble of truth-telling under the eye of the truncheon. I chose it instead of the narrow escape, the iron bars, the unfinished journey to the mountains—where I might have stood beside the legendary Sotero Llamas, known to many as Kumander Nognog, whose name still echoes like a war drum in the hills.
I wrote about mass media because they are the last living voice of a free people—and the first thing a dictator silences.
I turned to mass media because they are not mere institutions but sentinels of democracy.
A dictator knows this instinctively and moves swiftly to demolish that watchtower—silencing editors, muzzling broadcasters, and replacing outrage with obedient silence.
I chronicle the dismembering of Albay’s voices: how watchdog papers were bought and muzzled, how rebel frequencies were drowned in silence, and how a province that once spoke with fire and unity now whispers in fear, its spirit dimmed by the iron weight of control.
Dictatorships are widely condemned because they concentrate power in the hands of a few, often leading to oppression, corruption, and the erosion of human rights.
Freedom of speech, press, and assembly are often curtailed. Censorship and propaganda replace open dialogue. Dictators control media narratives to maintain power and suppress truth.
There is absence of Rule of Law. Dictators operate above the law. Legal systems are manipulated to serve the regime, not justice.
Leaders are glorified to the point of deification. This fosters blind loyalty and discourages critical thinking.
Education and culture are weaponized to reinforce the regime’s ideology.
Power is used for personal enrichment. Cronyism and nepotism flourish, while public resources are siphoned off.
Economic decisions lack transparency or accountability, often leading to instability and poverty.
Elections, if held, are often rigged or symbolic.
Civil society is weakened, leaving citizens powerless to influence governance.
Fear replaces trust, and violence becomes a tool of governance.
Dictatorships may promise stability or swift decision-making, but the cost is often human dignity, justice, and the soul of a nation.
The Marcos dictatorship was a brutal era marked by systemic torture, rampant corruption, and the silencing of dissent.
It was a regime that weaponized fear, plundered the nation’s wealth, and crushed democratic ideals under martial law.
The Marcos dictatorship left behind deep political scars, economic inequality, and a fractured national identity. Its legacy continues to haunt the Philippines, especially amid attempts to rehabilitate the Marcos name.
Where chains were hurled to silence the spirit, voices rose—raw, relentless, resounding. And where fear ruled like a tyrant, hope ignited, ember by ember, forging fire in the hearts of the brave. Resistance was not a moment—it was a rhythm, a breath, a prayer. Born of defiance, democracy is the unspoken promise: no force shall ever eclipse the collective dignity of the people.
The dictator sought silence—but we became a chorus. They sowed division—but we grew roots of unity. Democracy is more than ballots—it’s the heartbeat of hope, the sacred truth that every voice matters, and the unyielding will to ensure it echoes. Our resilience is the story we leave behind.
Let me share a blurb about the book we are launching here today: “Each story is a small light in the darkness; together they illuminate the path so that we do not walk backwards into a future of repeated violence.”
Once again, we recall the peril: Just nine years ago, our nation was nearly shackled by the iron ambition of a rising autocrat. And now, those who profited from that failed crusade dare to demand the reins of power. But the people stand firm. They will not be swayed. Let this audacious bid falter and fall. Let freedom not merely return—but thunder forth, triumphant and unbreakable.
Mark the years—September 1972 to February 1986—when silence was enforced and truth was outlawed. For fourteen years, freedom of speech and of the press was not lost by accident but stolen in broad daylight. The airwaves, once heralds of truth, writhed in the symphony of lies; the printed page, once sacred, bent in submission to the tyrant hand of falsehood.
In that era, “freedom” took the stage in a mask of propaganda—performing conviction while concealing control.
Again, Mga Dasô – Stories of Martial Law in Bikol is no mere book—it is a battle cry etched in pages, a lantern blazing through tyranny’s shadow. It is a fortress of memory. And where memory stands unshaken, we become its echo—thundering across generations, vigilant in silence, defiant in remembrance.
“Never again” must not be a whisper of convenience—it must be a cry of conscience, etched into action.
Dios mabalos.
The header features a photo montage of contributors to the book Mga Dasô – Stories of Martial Law in Bikol: (left to right) Raffi Banzuela, Juan Escandor Jr., Dr. Jazmin B. Llana, Dr. Allan Popa, and Victor B. Velasco.
About the author
RAFFI BANZUELA (Rafael A. Banzuela Jr.) is an essayist, fictionist, poet, translator, and historian from Camalig, Albay. His published works include Selebra (Celebrate), 2011, a collection of poems, and Albay Viejo (Old Albay) 2010, a collection of prose works on Albay. He was awarded Outstanding Albayano Artist (Literary Arts) and the NCCA Writers’ Prize in 2013, the Gawad Pambansang Alagad ni Balagtas by the Unyon ng mga Manunulat sa Pilipinas in 2015, and the Gawad Kampeon ng Wika by the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino in 2017. He also won the Excellence and Lifetime Achievement Awards in Publishing and Printed Media at the Muknà Creativity Awards 2023 conferred by Malikhaing Pinoy, Lunsod Lunsad, Department of Trade and Industry-Local Government of Legazpi City, and the Legazpi City Creative Industry Council.
Fellow Bicol writers look up to Banzuela as living proof that writing in Bicol can persevere. His writing, rooted in his love for Bicol, is notable for his rich vocabulary and blend of reminiscence, folktale, history, and essay, sharpened by untiring historical research.
For MGA DASO book info, orders and purchases, see the publisher UP Press website https://press.up.edu.ph/…/mga-daso-stories-of-martial…/
The book can also be ordered and purchased thru:
Lazada: https://www.lazada.com.ph/products/i5232055989.html…
Shopee: https://shopee.ph/product/276147505/42818169660/
In Bikol, please contact Ateneo de Naga University Library in Naga City, and Albay Arts Foundation in Legazpi City.