Editors’ Note: In solidarity with the University of the Philippines Day of Remembrance and the commemoration of the 54th anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law, UP Lipunang Pangkasaysayan (UP LIKAS) held a forum Panaglagip: Local Histories During the Martial Law Period on September 28, 2026, Palma Hall, UP Diliman, QC. Retired Judge Soliman M. Santos Jr. and Dr. Paz Verdades “Doods” M. Santos shared their book Mga Dasô: Stories of Martial Law in Bikol, the process of gathering accounts of sacrifice and resistance from the people of Bikol, and the approaches to creating a more liberating and inclusive history of the Marcos Sr. regime. Earlier in the forum, Lorenzo Jose C. Martinez discussed the violent experiences of the Bangsamoro people during the Malisbong Massacre, carried out by the state in 1974, and their continuing call for justice and remembrance.

---

LIKAS Noon at Ngayon

Dios mabalos, maraming salamat, UP LIKAS, sa pag-aanyaya niyo sa akin, isa itong karangalan, na magsalita sa talakayan na ito tungkol sa “Mga Kasaysayanng Pampook noong Panahon ng Batas Militar” bilang bahagi ng pakikiisa sa UP Day of Remembrance tuwing Setyembre. Isa pang patunay ang aktibidad na ito ng pagiging “Pinakamahusay na Organisasyon” sa Kolehiyo ng Agham Panlipunan at Pilosopiya noong mga nakaraang taon. Viva LIKAS!  Nakakagalak ang makita ang inabot na ng LIKAS mula noong itinatag o muling-itatag namin ito nina Billy Begg (+), Charlie Jayco (+), Rene Velasco (+), at Nilo Ocampo noong 1973, limampung-tatlong (53) taon na ang nakakaraan. Sa “First Five” namin, kami na lang ni Prop. Nilo ang naiiwan. Siya lang ang naging propesyonal na historyador sa amin. Sa totoo lang, mas seryoso kami sa aktibismo noon kaysa sa pag-aaral ng kasaysayan. Kayo, sa tingin ko, mas seryoso sa amin sa pag-aaral ng kasaysayan. Ang konswelo namin ay ang kaunting ambag namin sa pakikibaka laban sa batas militar. Bilang mga aktisbistang nat-dem noon, naging mga tagapanguna kami ng legal na pakikibaka sa ilalim ng batas militar sa pamagitan ng LIKAS. At dahil diyan, bahagi na rin ang LIKAS sa kasaysayan ng pakikibaka laban sa batas militar o diktadurang Marcos. May isa pang malaking utang na loob ako sa LIKAS. Diyan ko nakilala at naging kasintahan muna ang asawa kong retiradong Prop. sa Literatura na si Paz Verdades Martinez Santos, mas kilala bilang “Ma’am Doods.” Kasama ko siya ngayon. Siya ay co-editor din ng Mga Dasô: Stories of Martial Law in Bikol. Sa totoo lang, siya ang punong abala na patnugot ng Mga Dasô. Sinama ko siya para sagutin ang mga tanong niyo sa Malayang Talakayan. Hanggang dito na lang ang paggamit ko ng wikang Filipino, ipagpaumanhin niyo na ang paglalahad ko ay gagawin sa Ingles.

This talk has two parts: first, on our book Mga Dasô; and second, on approaches to historical work.

Part I — Mga Dasô: Stories of Martial Law in Bikol

Mga Dasô: Stories of Martial Law in Bikol (2025) [hereinafter “MLB”], co-edited by myself, Doods and a US-based Ateneo de Naga High School Class of 1966 alumnus and published by your University of the Philippines Press, is a book about how the Marcos dictatorship from the martial law declaration on September 21(23), 1972 to his ouster by the EDSA People Power Revolution on February 25, 1986 was experienced and struggled against in the Bikol region.  It features 33 voices from the six Bikol provinces.

The initial models for this book were Martial Law in Cebu: Stories of Life and Struggle During the Marcos Dictatorship (2022) edited and published by Atty. Democrito C. Barcenas [hereinafter “MLC”] and the much earlier Oh Susana! Untold Stories of Martial Law in Davao (2016) edited by Dr. Macario D. Tiu and published by the Ateneo de Davao University [hereinafter “MLD”]. We were not yet aware then of the Northern Luzon book Panaglagip: The North remembers, Martial Law stories of struggle and survival (2022) edited by Joanna Cariño and Luchie Maranan and published by the progressive Gantala Press. Much less were we aware then of the work on “Ang Kasaysayang Pampook ng Rehiyong Bangsamoro sa Panahon ng Batas Militar” by Lorenzo Jose C. Martinez presented before me.

The general rationale of this book MLB, to paraphrase a famous George Santayana historical quote, is to “remember the past [so as not to be] condemned to repeat it,” largely addressed to the younger generations who did not experience at a discerning age martial law and the Marcos dictatorship. While remembering the past is historically important, it will never be fully understood and appreciated without reflecting on the “remembered events” associated with martial law. Thus, through the various stories carefully laid out, the book intends to give a sense of continuity to “remembered past” which is an invaluable lesson for future collective action by the people for economic amelioration and social justice. This book also complements that period’s provincial pictures of Cebu in the Visayas and Davao in Mindanao with a picture of Kabikolan, the southernmost region of Luzon. This is in the spirit of having regional histories that would help complete the national history that is often Manila/National Capital Region-centric like the numerous books on martial law and the Marcos dictatorship.

Like the four other aforesaid provincial and regional histories of martial law, MLB also features previously “untold stories of martial law” as well as “stories of life and struggle during the Marcos dictatorship.” Stories from various persons rather than a definitive, comprehensive, or academic-like history of martial law in the Bikol region. We asked for simple personal stories in the form of narratives and creative non-fiction, basically of what martial law was truly like from those who lived and experienced it and of what they did for the good fight against the Marcos dictatorship and for the restoration of democracy.

We used some selected worthy past pieces from out-of-print publications and by those who have already passed away, such as those by the 2023 Bantayog ng mga Bayani-enshrined heroes J. Antonio M. Carpio and Luis General, Jr. and by poet-community organizer Francia Clavecillas. There are a few more such past “real time” pieces written by others for certain occasions or shortly after certain events, with the piece dates and the previous publication sources indicated as much as we could, so as to temporally guide the reader. But the majority of pieces were only in 2024 specially solicited from and written by their authors for MLB, with a few of the stories as told to our literature professor-editor Doods who did the nitty-gritty editorial work.

A multi-generational (though mostly senior citizen) collaboration and in Bikol, Filipino, and English, some of the new articles are mainly personal recollections in the genre of creative nonfiction, flash memoir, and poetry, such as Niles Jordan Breis’ piece on his student days in Tabaco, Albay; Dr. Allan Popa’s dagli (vignettes) about his childhood in Catanduanes; Vic Nierva’s six-year old’s memories of corpses and trains; children’s research on their own parents’ activism and death; and Dr. Ramon Felipe Sarmiento’s sweep of Catandunganon history during martial law. In the genre of oral history and memory studies, we include interview-based articles for contributors who are more of the “oral tradition” such as the story of a rebel child-soldier who survived an ambush in Buhi, Camarines Sur and the remembrance of kind peasants who carried an ailing woman in a hammock in the hills of Albay.  We wanted more stories from and about the simple people, “Those who have no place in the books and poems of the apolitical intellectuals,” although by no means were our contributors apolitical. We have a few, such as those about “Ka Balite” and “Ka Vernon,” and only wish we had more.

While certain articles deal with what martial law was truly like, some of these also deal with what their authors or subject persons did for the good fight against it. While many articles focus on specific events, phases, or aspects of martial law and the struggle against it, some of these and others contain a broad historical sweep of sorts of the nearly 14-year martial law or Marcos dictatorship period from 1972 to 1986. In fact, several go back to the pre-martial law student activism marked by the First Quarter Storm of 1970. And a few also go well fast-forward beyond EDSA 1986 to the recent successive Duterte and Marcos Jr. administrations, which portend(ed) another dark phase. Rather than try to fit our articles into neat dividing sections, we decided to, not without difficulty, sequence them in some kind of natural flow, including keeping somehow the more closely related articles close together or to each other, while maintaining some kind of crescendo in the flow—somewhat but not strictly chronological—from the first article of “never again” to the last article in full circle of “never again.” The penultimate article by Victor Barnuevo Velasco of Catanduanes in fact even proposes a different way of looking at the past—“the past is in front of us (because it was something we have already seen) and the future is behind us (because it is unseen)”—and so, “We walk backwards into the future; our eyes focused on the horizon of history.”

It was a challenge to find contributors for MLB. Many of those who were active during martial law suffer from ailments and memory loss in their senior years. A lawyer said all the stories had already been told and there was nothing more to tell. An activist priest denigrated his own contribution as “minor” and begged off due to his many ailments, while a septuagenarian educator showed signs of early dementia. “I’m dead-brained,” said a woman ex-detainee who surely had many stories to share. The past is a haze, said another. Two were in the hospital, and in fact, two passed away just as we were preparing the manuscript, while one more passed away just four days after the book came off the UP Press in September 2025. A number suffered lingering trauma, the effects of physical and psychological torture, and refused to remember. We apologized to them for dredging up dreadful and painful memories. Many still live in constant fear of the military in light of activists still being arrested, disappeared, and killed, decades after martial law was lifted.

Anxious to save the stories while the actors were still around, we persisted. We wanted stories to pass down to our children and grandchildren about what happened to our generation and what we did in response. We had ourselves heard only bits and pieces about the World War II Japanese Occupation from grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. Regret in not being more interested in what happened to them was admittedly a factor in getting our generation to tell our own stories about Marcos martial law dictatorship, so that our children and grandchildren would know and learn from them. 

This we must do in ways better understandable to Millennials, Zillennials and other new Gens for their own critical filtering of mis/disinformation and post-truth[1] about contemporary history. And in this, we “Boomer” activists of the 1970s ought to be critical about own experiences, as in “We have to admit we were wrong about some things.”[2]

Among those who did submit articles, not a few shed tears as they looked back and wrote, just as we did when we read their stories. Two writers in their early 80s and not as mobile as they used to be, were keen to share their experiences. One contributor said his children and even his closest friends had not heard his story before and it was the first time he actually sat down to write it. Another thanked us for “forcing” her to do this before she forgets these very important parts of her past. The act of writing can serve not only as a memory-keeper but also as a form of catharsis and closure in the twilight of our lives.

So no, not all the stories have already been told. Not all about ML has been said – that discourse may never end, as long as we never forget.  Like books that we read with a different type of appreciation at different points in our lives, there is always something new and enriching with each telling. Each story has a different set of perceptions and memories. Each story reveals how every storyteller was affected one way or another, especially by the trauma or “survivor guilt,” and how they dealt with it, through other types of activism such as in social entrepreneurship, education, literature, peace and justice, spirituality, ecology, community service, “humor therapy,” as well as understanding and forgiveness.

All told, from these stories of ML, even just in Bikol, there is still much to plumb from what is a rich wellspring not only for history but also for other cognate academic disciplines, notably psychology, both personal and social, including trauma studies.

At the national level of history, which was of course reflected in Bikol, the watershed that marked the tipping point between repression and resistance for the martial law period was the Aquino assassination in 1983. In Bikol, the watershed high mark of repression was the Daet Massacre of 1981, just a few months after the earlier formal lifting of martial law. The year 1981 also marked when the anti-Marcos dictatorship mass movement in Bikol started gaining momentum with the formation of the Kilusang Mamamayan para sa Tunay na Demokrasya (KMTD). This was followed by the Bicol Concerned Citizens Alliance (Bicol Alliance) in 1982 until eventually there was the clearly national-democratic Bagong Alyansang Makabayan (BAYAN)-Bikol in 1985. But the nat-dem forces were largely left out of the culminating EDSA 1986 “People Power” Revolution because of an election boycott policy. It is interesting, however, that in MLB, one article towards the end shows that the first “People Power” started at the 1986 snap presidential elections vote canvassing in the Provincial Capitol of Camarines Sur.

At this point, it must be acknowledged that the national democratic narrative has often dominated the critical discourse on martial law and the Marcos dictatorship. But like MLC and MLD, MLB is not a nat-dem project that would present only or mainly the nat-dem perspective on martial law. For that critical discourse, MLB decidedly contributes an independent perspective that is not aligned with any political or ideological persuasion and line. Still, MLB provides some space for the nat-dem perspective, including on the role of the New People’s Army (NPA) in Bikol.

A big, if not overwhelming, majority of this book’s contributors and especially article subject persons were at least nat-dem activists in the 1970s (Dekada Sitenta) aside from a number of them being in their 70s (edad sitenta). As nat-dem activists, their anti-dictatorship stance was, for the most part, consciously part of their adopted “struggle for national democracy.”  For some (to be clear, not all) of them, this was consciously no less than a “people’s democratic revolution” led by the then newly reestablished Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) guided by the ideology of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Tsetung (later Zedong) Thought (even later Maoism). They were freedom fighters opposing the Marcos dictatorship like many others, including the soc-dems and lib-dems, but beyond that they were also nat-dem or communist revolutionaries seeking the overthrow of no less than the ruling “semi-colonial and semi-feudal” social system through a “protracted people’s war” and the establishment of a “national democratic society with a socialist perspective.”

Yes, some of them, especially those killed during martial law, were CPP cadres or NPA commanders or Red fighters. Some articles state this explicitly, others do not, but the same can be gleaned from context or reading between the lines. For some of these subject persons, their joining the armed struggle led by the CPP-NPA was largely due to its then being the most organized and effective resistance (aside from the Moro armed resistance) to the military repression that enforced martial law and the Marcos dictatorship. Whatever one may think of the CPP-NPA, there is some historical credit due it for this role. As there should be historical recognition for those who fought the Marcos dictatorship, especially those who were killed, disappeared, tortured, arrested and detained for doing so, whether or not as nat-dem activists or as communist revolutionaries. All these are also matters of historical honesty and accuracy.

We are quite proud of our contributors. When we asked for their bio-notes, most of these typically humble Bikolnon gave only one-liners such as “a teacher and a freedom fighter,” a “doctor to the barrios,” or “journalist and educator.” We therefore did research on their achievements and awards and saw how they, and the family and friends they paid homage to, excelled in their occupations, but more important than that, continued to serve the people and the country in their chosen fields. In showcasing the caliber of these individuals in the bio-notes, we hope that our readers can ponder on why they, along with thousands of others, did what they did at such great cost, and think of what can still be done for the country.

This is because, as Rebecca C. Torres put it in her second article toward the end of this book on her post-EDSA arrest and detention trauma: “Meanwhile, the legacy of martial law continues, but so does live people’s resolve to fight for their legitimate aspirations for authentic freedom and genuine democracy. This resolve is made alive both by memories of the past and the hopes for the future. Thus, we remember, thus we dream.”

Choosing a title for this collection has a story of its own, as you will read about more in the Introduction. We wanted to use a word that had an element of recall and the shedding of light. What kept coming to mind while we were brainstorming the title was the image of stories as small lights in the darkness. And in the end, we chose Mga Dasô. The dasô in Bikol refers to a native torch made from a slim bamboo pole. “Gaas” or kerosene is poured right into the chamber of the bamboo, often still green, so it does not easily catch fire. The wick, ordinarily a bit of cloth, is inserted into the bamboo. Usually, foil from cigarette packs separates the burning part from the bamboo pole so the whole thing does not burn down or explode. The wick is lit and the dasô instantly becomes a source of light.

The image of fire is appropriate for storytelling, as stories are traditionally told around a community bonfire or candles or lamps, sometimes daramlagan, from dusk to dawn. The warmth of the shared firelight rather than harsh bright lights is a perfect setting for storytelling in family or community, enough to dispel the darkness but still providing the light and shadows that tickle the imagination and inspire insights.  On the most important symbolic level, like the dasô that gives light, the book hopes to shed some light about martial law in Kabikolan half a century hence. This is of utmost importance now that the Marcoses, who are back in power, are distorting the truth about the martial law years. It hopes to illuminate the path of those who are still in the dark and afraid. 

Dasô also because its “flaming red” is a symbol of the burning desire of the Filipinos during martial law to reveal that the problems during martial law are still our problems today. There is a need for Filipinos to open their eyes once more to what is happening. And there is a need for the people’s martial law stories to be passed down through the generations to enlighten, to educate, to inspire, to convey a message of resistance, to give hope and eventually instill in the minds of the younger readers the importance of social progress through informed and virtuous—stated otherwise, illuminated and illumined—collective action.

The vision of a dasô or Mga Dasô has already been well articulated by the late Susan F. Quimpo in her last words of the “Aftermath” section of the 2012 Anvil book Subversive Lives: A Family Memoir of the Marcos Years by her Quimpo siblings, which words we adopt and quote for MLB: “… to light the flame[s] of remembrance and tribute to those who served the people, and served them well.”   

We come now to…

Part II – Approaches to Historical Work

This part is based on my work on and reading of a good number of books on activism, insurgency and martial law in the Philippines.  Three most relevant books that I had worked on myself are <1> Militant But Groovy: Stories of Samahang Demokratiko ng Kabataan (2008) co-edited with Doods and published by Anvil [herein after “MBG”], <2> Tigaon 1969:  Untold Stories of the CPP-NPA, KM, and SDK (2023)[3] by me and published by the Ateneo de Manila University Press [hereinafter “Tigaon 1969”]; and <3> Mga Dasô or MLB.   

In the early part of my Concluding Reflections to Tigaon 1969, I said, to start with, history matters (not just historical materialism) in the same way that truth, fairness and justice matter. I pointed to historical honesty as a necessary virtue – beyond even historical methodology and accuracy — by quoting from the conservative Chancellor of the University of Oxford (and last British governor of Hong Kong) Chris Patten, who was as critical of Britain’s historical role in Ireland as he was about the Communist Party of China’s erasure of events from its history such as the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre.  He recently wrote on “The power of historical honesty”[4] as follows:  “This can, of course, make history a cleansing, if sometimes insurrectionary, subject.  That is one reason why authoritarian states want to impose their own fictive but politically expedient narratives.  But open, democratic societies that value freedom need to be brave and honest about their own histories as well…. There is a strong relationship between freedom of speech and propaganda-free education on one hand, and honesty about history on the other…. When it comes to examining history, the truth can sometimes be painful, but honesty is the best policy.”  Stated otherwise, a “warts and all”[5] history is truer, thus better, than a sanitized history.

The additional point about this made in Tigaon 1969 is that not only “open, democratic societies” but also revolutionary movements “need to be brave and honest about their own histories as well.”  After all, revolutionary movements  purport to represent a better alternative to the status quo. Unfortunately, revolutionary movements, and most sadly those of the Marxist-Leninist or most radical sort notably in Russia/ the Soviet Union and China/ the People’s Republic of, have some track record of no less than literally erasing or airbrushing former revolutionary leaders from historical photographs after they had fallen from the revolutionary party leadership’s grace.[6]  This is not only a matter of historical honesty (and truth, fairness and justice) but also one of moral ascendancy.

In working on books on activism, insurgency and ML, I had to grapple with several tensions of historical work.  One was the tension between going for official/ collective/ comprehensive history vs. unofficial/ individual/ anecdotal histories. Parallel or akin to this is the tension between academic/ professional vs. practitioner-activist/ amateur history work.  Historical works by academic and professional historians tend to be comprehensive, in-depth and/or definitive in nature, often deservingly so due to the academic rigor put into their works.  On the other hand, those by practitioner-activist and amateur historians (like myself) tend to be of the genre of oral history, memory studies and radical memoirs.  This small-part writing is from the heart, from memory of experience, in contrast to big-picture writing from the mind, from research of references.  Both kinds of historical writing would best complement each other in completing the historical picture.

In fine, there is a role for academic/professional historical work that is comprehensive, in-depth and/or definitive, as there is also a role for oral history, memory studies and radical memoirs. And usually, it is the latter kind of works that later serve as among the references for the former kind of works.  For example, Militant But Groovy or MBG was a major reference on SDK in history academic Joseph Paul Scalice’s University of California, Berkeley Ph.D. dissertation on the Communist Parties of the Philippines, 1959-1974,[7] which was subsequently published by Cornell University and by the Ateneo de Manila University Press as a book on ML and the two communist parties in the Philippines.[8]  No one among us authors and editors of MBG ever thought that its stories of SDK would be of reference value for such high-level academic historical work.  Imagine, we not only did our small parts in making history; we later also did our further small parts in writing history.[9] 

To illustrate the different historical genres we have been talking about, Tigaon 1969 was a National Book Awards 2024 Finalist for Best in History, while UP Press has nominated Mga Dasô or MLB for a National Book Awards 2026 in the category of “Literary-Nonfiction Prose.” The History category appears to “involve a nonliterary or academic approach” and “have a more continuous or full-length approach as opposed to being a collection of narratives.”[10]   Be that as it may, the “Literary-Nonfiction Prose” of oral history, memory studies and radical memoirs is still a form or level of writing history, even if with a small “h” rather than a big “H.” 

When it comes to histories, whether of movements or of countries, it is not always the official histories[11] which are the best or better works, some of which are the unofficial ones.[12] What the unofficial histories may lack in terms of the insider view (including CPP Founding Chairman Jose Maria Sison “The Leader’s View”[13]) and of insider information of the official ones, is often made up for by an independent perspective and research rigor. In the final analysis, there are many or different versions of history, since this involves not only fact-gathering but also analysis and interpretation.  It is usually a combination of the objective (e.g. facts) and subjective (e.g. interpretation). And not everything which is different from official or near-official accounts of CPP history is necessarily “written… to distort the history of the CPP.” The CPP might itself learn something from good unofficial histories of the CPP, also to help complete the picture, on the premise that there is no monopoly of the truth or of wisdom.

Working on Tigaon 1969 became an occasion for doing more history from below, to complement the of course still important, if not indispensable, history from above or the top, as in “The Leader’s View” of Sison.  But while Sison had initially contested my account of “How the CPP-NPA Started in Bicol” in 1969 with an unheralded all-Bicolano five-person expansion team – the “First Five” — that took root in rural Tigaon, Camarines Sur, it was also Sison’s own then No. 2 at the top, CPP Secretary General Nilo Tayag, who basically corroborated my account. Tayag was then the main field “man of action” to Sison being the main headquarters “man of thought.”[14]  The view from the headquarters can be very different from the view from the field.

Another book by a former propaganda cadre of the CPP, the late UP Literature Prof. Dolores Stephens Feria, which was mainly a journal of her more than two years of political detention from 1974 to 1976, spoke in this way about such field cadres of the CPP, usually of middle or lower rather than top level, some of whose stories she had told:  “We were the obscure, little people who were not heroic leaders of   exemplary stature, the kind who would publish their books and invoke ideology. For a brief time, we had been a counterfoil to the sweep of the ultimate bird of prey, that swoops from Chile to Soweto to the camps of Shatila.  Indeed, that was sufficient.”[15]

In Tigaon 1969, Estrella Cayaban, the widow of Ibarra Tubianosa, a CPP Politburo member who was the highest ranking CPP cadre in the Tigaon “First Five,” had this relevant insight about his inner-Party antagonist Sison who would often call or refer to lesser comrades as “molecule lang” (just a molecule). In his “grand narrative” or overall scheme of things as the master “alchemist” of this revolution, the Tigaon “First Five” could have just been “molecules” to him.  This brings to mind modern historian John Lewis Gaddis’ notion of a role for “molecules with a mind of their own” in the making of history.[16]  Or as Russian theater director Constantin Stanislavski (1863-1938) put it, “there are no small parts, only small actors,” in driving home the point that all roles, even small ones, are important and must be performed well.[17]  This brings to the fore the idea of history as seen from those at the ground level of the time, those who were below, like the rank and file when it comes to the history of revolutionary movements, and not only “The Leader’s View.”  The views of history, including of revolutionary movements, are not only along the vertical axis (from above and from below) but also along the horizontal axis (from the regions, from the sectors, and from the margins).

There must be a conscious effort to redress the absence of small voices from the margins in the grand master narratives of history writing, lest their stories be forever shut out.  For “They too have their story.”[18]  Their individual memories, failing or not, as seniors in their 60s and 70s (a few in their 80s), with some earned wisdom, if not the 20-20 clarity and benefit of hindsight, have a contribution to make to social memory. 

In working on Tigaon 1969, though mainly reliant on personal interviews and papers as its primary Sources and References, I found among just as valuable secondary sources the relevant news stories from November 1970 to September 1972 in the excellently edited local weekly newspaper Naga Times.  For example, for want of living participant-eyewitnesses to me, Naga Times was my best reference on the crucial December 18, 1971 Tinawagan (Tigaon) spillway encounter between the NPA and the Philippine Constabulary (PC).  The Naga Times news stories[19] provided a much more honest and credible account of the encounter than that of the CPP publication Ang Bayan Special Release thereon.[20]  Too often, propaganda[21] has gotten in the way of the truth, whether of current events or of history.  The good journalism of local newspapers or media plays an important role here in getting the facts right, as the starting point of history.

It has been said that journalism is the “first rough draft of history.”[22]  If so, we can similarly say that oral history, memory studies and radical memoirs are “the second draft,” while comprehensive, in-depth and definitive histories by academic or professional historians are “the third or final draft” in a certain scheme of progression or iteration in the writing of history.[23] 

But then, is the writing of history ever really final, finished and complete?   For example, take just two August 21 unresolved mastermind questions:  Will the real masterminds of the 1983 Aquino Assassination and the 1971 Plaza Miranda Bombing please stand up?[24]

Having worked on and read books on activism, insurgency and martial law in the Philippines, and finding ourselves now in the new Marcos era, the writing of Philippine and revolutionary history must continue on a more grounded and rounded basis.  But there is also a need for new and better trajectories of the generic and organic movement for progressive or even radical change, premised on “better Filipino virtue”[25] and political consciousness, and addressed to today’s youth or younger generations whose own time has come in making new history. Thank you.

The header photo shows Judge Soliman M. Santos Jr. (Ret.), Dr. Paz Verdades “Doods” M. Santos, and Lorenzo Jose C. Martinez with representatives of UP LIKAS. (credit: UP Lipunang Pangkasaysayan (UP LIKAS) 

About the author

SOLIMAN M. SANTOS, JR. is a retired Judge of the RTC of Naga City, Camarines Sur.  He is a long-time human rights and international humanitarian lawyer; legislative consultant and legal scholar; peace advocate, researcher and writer; and author of a number of books, including on the local communist armed conflict and peace process, and on his court work and practice. He was the main drafter of Republic Act No. 9851, the “Philippine Act on Crimes Against International Humanitarian Law, Genocide, and Other Crimes Against Humanity.”

Footnotes: