“Daso” in Bikol is a native torch, made from a slim, splintered bamboo – used in religious processions, in places of worship, or in areas made for dancing – used, always, to extinguish the dark. There could not have been a more appropriate title for this book on stories of martial law, as this book is a torch, as it were, now being passed on as legacy, a symbolic weapon, from one generation to the next.

As one who lived through the horrors of Ferdinand E. Marcos’ martial law, I am eternally grateful for the persistence of the editors in collecting and synthesizing these voices from Bikol heroes whose lives were intimately touched by years of oppression, 14 years in all. A few of these writers have passed since the book came out, and others remain fragile and no longer remember the details of the past. Thus, the significance of this well-crafted book – the capture of a painful and simultaneously joyous era, one that brought out the best in our generation.

For Daso’s memories define who we were, and who we can be in the face of life-and-death choices. We are the stories and myths we construct ourselves, the struggles we launched and fought for decades, and are yet seeking to complete. This book serves as a guide and inspiration.

Daso’s voices come from all the corners of Bikol’s wide archipelago – from the Camarines provinces in the North, to the outlying islands of Catanduanes and Masbate. If one takes an imaginary stroll through these pleasurable islands, one will almost hear the sound of the storm-tossed trees, smell the scent of spices and coconut milk, and the angry crackling fire from the beautiful Mayon.

There are voices that come from varied perspectives – stories written from the underground, with bonds of deepest friendship a-forming as well as one of a shocking betrayal, stories written in the fastnesses of the countryside, and stories written from the viewpoint of professionals interrupted from doing jobs they do best: as broadcasters, lawyers, medics, teachers.

There are stories that map the beginnings of martial rule and the quiet evolution of resistance, grueling stories of the arrest of heroes Atty. Antonio Carpio and Grace Vinzons Magana (whose father died at the hands of the Japanese invaders).

There are stories of the infamous Daet Massacre, in which 35 Philippine Constabulary troopers arbitrarily fired Armalite rifles at 4000 citizens, including women and children, massed together in a political march.

There are stories on People Power, such as that of Y de los Trino. Here, teachers and students watched ballot boxes at a crucial moment and prevented the steal of elections. It is audacious and funny at the same time because in the end, the enemy (the dictator’s soldiers) shared their toothpaste in exchange for some food. She can only express the fair exchange in the colorful vernacular, “Ta pirang banggi na mayong urulian, mayong karigusan!”

Here are stories from the viewpoint of children of activists. For instance, Maria Ira Bisuña says that her parents “drew their strength from service – a heavy legacy I know, but it is now my obligation to carry on …” Another younger woman Jazmin Badong Llana wistfully writes, “The grappling with the past will never be over. I was a ‘martial law baby’ and will forever be marked by the experience of struggle against authoritarianism, which continues to this day…”

The image of a model father remains with Rebecca C. Torres when she writes, “I attribute my passion for social transformation at a young age to my father’s influence. As children, we sat at his feet as he told stories about heroism, fairness, and compassion. He knew Rizal’s Noli and Fili by heart and would describe people based on characters in the novels.”

Here too are remembrances of fathers who sacrificed sons to the movement, as when Soliman M. Santos Jr. writes of the martyr Alex Belone’s father, whose words of grief are matchless in its tenderness: “We have done our share in raising a son who loved his country,” Ka Tandis’ father said, “In times of peace, you pay revenues in terms of cash. But in times of crisis, you pay in terms of life. …Kung namatay siya sa fever at hindi namin na-save ay grabe ang aming pagsisisi. Pero namatay siya sa bala para sa bayan, paaanong hindi kami magmamalaki!” Lino del Rosario recounts the profound anguish endured by his family as they lived with the uncertainty of not knowing where the remains of his sister, Nona del Rosario, killed by the military, were laid to rest.

Here too, eminent professionals recall rough days but still see moments of redemption.

Raffi Banzuela describes the “spicy dishes of arrogance and heavy handedness” of Marcos’s soldiers when they took the radio station (which he managed) off the air. Chito R. Irigo in his Camp Canuto Days says that though he was confined to a small cell of a bartolina inside Camp Canuto, he still saw it as a gift – he was able to do a lot of reading… and was exempted from the prison’s daily weeding. Greg S. Castilla writes compellingly about the short but admirable life of a desaparecido he met in the squatter area of Quezon City. Juan Escandor describes his town’s spiritual tradition and the Gubatnon fiesta in honor of its beloved patron saint, during which time families find connections each year with kin and classmates, contemporaries and more.

A few names of Bikol heroes are now rightfully enshrined in the Wall of Remembrance of the Bantayog ng mga Bayani in Quezon City. But as Alma Domingo reminds us, for every name written on the wall of heroes, there are countless others “…who will be remembered only by their kin. Or maybe only by the very earth that holds their remains…”

This book is made to remember the many unsung heroes and the many celebratory events. It should be required reading for the young in our secondary schools.

The editors say the initial impulse to publish this collection came from the 2016 book on stories of martial law published in Davao (now required reading in Davao high schools), and the 2022 stories of martial law in Cebu. These three regional histories, unique in their own ways, are a powerful boost to other regions that were pillars of resistance to the Marcos dictatorship. It is our hope that with this excellent compilation, other regions will soon memorialize our people’s love of land and language, their audacity and ingenuity, that is our heritage.

The header is a posterized image of the book artwork. It depicts the dasô fire and light from the native Bikol torch signifying illumination in the darkness. (Book cover design by Stephen Prestado)

Editors’ Note

First published in POSITIVELY FILIPINO, online magazine for Filipinos in the Diaspora. Limited copies of MGA DASO are available in the U.S. through its Las Vegas-based co-editor Greg S. Castilla who may be contacted by email at grecast66@hotmail.com. In the Philippines, the book can be purchased from the University of the Philippines Press. Click the link to learn more: https://press.up.edu.ph/product/mga-daso-stories-of-martial-law-in-bikol/

About the author

Marilen Abesamis is a grandniece of Bikolano heroes General Ludovico and Tomas Arejola, who gave their lives to the nation’s struggle against the Spanish and American colonizers in the 1900s. She is a retired teacher and an energy medicine practitioner. She has a Master in Women and Development from the Institute of Social Studies in The Hague and worked at the New York Times in the 70s before moving to Mindanao, where she taught writing and communication skills to farmers, workers, and students during martial law.