Ka-Blog!

I go by two names (and about four other besides).  I am Raymund to family, friends and acquaintance outside of the movement and the media.  To most comrades however I am Bukaneg.

       Not a few asked me my real name.  I often just smile.  Some even assume Bukaneg is my real name or, at least, it’s Raymund Bukaneg.  A lot thought Raymund and Bukaneg were different persons.

       For a nickname acquired so late in my life (I was about 22 then), Bukaneg stuck to me like the oil spill on Guimaras’ mangroves and beaches.  When it was given to me coincided with the time when I took that turn, leftwards, in my life.

       Poet and international development worker Gilbert ‘Gibo’ Sape is to be blamed.  He took to giving new CEGP recruits archaic/funny-sounding names.  I remember Anakpawis Partylist secretary general Cherry Clemente was ‘Pokwang’; ABC 5 reporter, compadre and Raymund Villanueva Fans Club president Erelson Cabatbat was ‘Procopio’; women’s right advocate Carla Mortel was ‘Pruki’; and writer Pia Saavedra was ‘Prek-Prek’.

       I do not know if Gibo had a hand in giving names to others.  But there were others in the CEGP then who had queer-sounding names too.  Joshua was ‘Tibor’, Cecille was ‘Pekpek’, Randy was ‘Poyeyo’, and Nigel was ‘Ateng’. 

      This name giving was in line with Gibo’s christening of grouplets in the CEGP national office.  Those who came from the national bourgeoisie and the landlord class were the Pamilyang Maharlika like Teddy Casiño and Cherry Thelmo.  The asthmatic-looking ones were the Pamilyang TB (tuberculars) like Joshua and Lorelei Sanchez.  The poor-looking ones, such as myself, were Pamilya Labandera. The head of our family is named, totoo ito, Vilma Santos—the star for no reason.  We even gave the house rat a name: Rat-bu (it was huge and unafraid).  There were also two sorry-looking houseplants named Bukaneg and Pekpek (because Cecille had a crush on me).

       Name-calling is just one of the things I remember most when the CEGP had its national headquarters on Pepin Street in Sampaloc, Manila.  The house, owned by the Thelmo family, was condemned even then.  Its rotten wooden floors sagged so badly we had to prop it up with a piece of wood at the center of the receiving area.  Its sofa was so beat-up not even a stray dog would sleep on it.  Two other chairs were kept from collapsing with generous knots of plastic straw strings.  Its door only had a single bisagra working so it sagged to the left and creaked like an old man’s arthritic bones.  Floodwater would come in whenever it rained hard.    But it was our home.

       I remember when Lei and Vilma were conned and gave away our gas stove to a smooth talking stranger.  I remember clambering up the walls to try to restore electricity to the house (and being reported by neighbors).  I remember the neighbors throwing empty bottles at our door at three o’clock in the morning to shut us up.  I remember sleeping and sharing space with ten people in a room meant for only four.  I remember Ateng’s laundry soaked in the tub for ten days and polluting the office air with their stench.  I remember receiving dagger looks from Aling Ine because the list of our debts from her store was longer than the street itself.  When we didn’t have money to school hop, which was often, we joked about letting the sewage canal do the job of delivering our letters to the student publications instead.  But I do not remember any other time when instant noodles and sardines tasted just as good.

      Yes, that house had character.  It was so only because it was peopled by characters.

       Poet Camilo Villanueva would wake up, don his suit jacket over his walking shorts, grab his grass basket and rush to his La Salle morning classes without even brushing his teeth of washing his face.  (He once slept on a vegetable stall at the Tagaytay Market after getting lost going to a National Council Meeting.  He was seen curled up among cabbages by Guilders out on an early morning jog.)

       Ateng Rances loved to perform a sultry wall dance on top of the stairs landing.  He would wake up at ten when he had an eight o’clock meeting, resume his slumber on top of the stairs, then navigate the stairs while sleeping on every step for five minutes and end the morning sleeping on the worn sofa.  By the time he is fully awake, the day has gone.  (He once won the Miss Gay Pageant at the Polytechnic wearing a gown hand-stitched by his CEGP ‘handlers’.

       Among all of us, poet Poyeyo would go without a bath the longest.

       Gibo wore shiny boxer shorts to his UP classes, the same boxer shorts he wore to his gym sessions.

       Dennis Torrecampo would often shock all of us by doing a pirouette in front of everybody.

       Miss Philippines pageant semifinalist Charmaigne always wore the skimpiest blouses with her ample boobs threatening to pop out.

       Jazminda Lumang would wear the shortest ‘pekpek’ shorts after squirming out of her prim St. Paul’s uniform.

       I remember Cherry Clemente and Clara Garabiles doing a duet one time.  It was AWFUL!

       I remember Rosalie ‘Lahlee’ Taguba exhausting the Ms Saigon repertoire before finishing her bath.  (She passed the auditions but wasn’t allowed by her dad to postpone her studies for London’s West End.)

       Former Starbrighter Hazel Garcia cracked all sorts of jokes about her vagina but once intimated to us she only lost her virginity in 1998, well into her 20s.

        Those that have yet to be mentioned were ‘Manay’ Esit, ‘Tatay’ John, Mila, Lionel, Robert, Red-G Salas, Randy M., Tina Toupee,  the late Sammy Tiu, the late Chris ‘Bading’ and others. There were so many others but I only remember the names of those who frequented Pepin.

       On Friday nights, we had poetry reading.  There were lots of good poets in that house—Gibo, Poyeyo, Bobby, Camilo, Teacher Roland.  Even Gary Granada joined us one time.  The others, including myself, braved to read some of our first efforts as well.  My sonnets never earned a good response.  My modern poems were fine with them.  Our poetry nights would often go well into the night, fuelled by booze.  We often did not have money to eat but we always had beer money for our poetry nights.

       It wasn’t the house nor the street.  We were a group of pimply kids enjoying our first families outside of our own families.  Outside, we would still be riotous.  We used to walk all the way to SM Centerpoint to see a high-brow movie.  We once were chided when we went skinny-dipping in Batangas.  (Erel kept close to the edge of the pool, deathly afraid of water that goes higher than his beloved crotch.)  We found to our delight that the cottage we stayed in was the location of a porn movie shot in that same resort in Tanauan.  We were stranded once in a Baguio convent for five days with hundreds of hungry and horny teenagers as wards.  We had to wait for our delegates to leave some food before we could eat at San Fabian, Pangasinan.  One regional Guilder had to pawn his car so we could settle some of our bills in Initao, Misamis Oriental.  We had to break off a riot between the RAs and the RJs in Boracay in 1993.

       There were dramatic moments, of course, especially on matters of the heart.  Digmaang rosas, we called it.  I could not even begin how to explain it; it was so convoluted.  Just take these names—Charmaigne, Dennis, Cherry C., Teddy, Robert, Lorelai, Vilma, Erel, Randy M, Maita, Tina, Pia, Carla, and a few other names besides—and put them all in a blender.  There. You get the idea.

       Every CEGP batch has its own stories to tell.  These are just some of mine.  When prodded by beer and the presence of those mentioned here, I could write a book about our misadventures.  We were college seniors or new grads or dropouts who had grand dreams about helping our country unshackle itself from poverty and subservience from the imperialists.  We managed what could be the biggest student organization of its kind in the world at the time and managed it well.  For most of us, this was our first stab at life and struggle.  Some moved on, some dropped out.  But I am sure we all look back to our days on Pepin Street sometimes.

       As for me, I entered Pepin Street as Raymund and left it as Bukaneg.  I go by two names (and four other besides).

 

= = = = = =

The most famous Bukaneg is, of course, Pedro Bukaneg, the foremost Iloko poet.  I heard village mate Jeffrey Dolatre called Bukaneg sometimes.

The College Editors’ Guild of the Philippines observed its 75th Anniversary last month. Last August 8, the Guild kicked off its celebrations with an exhibit at the National Press Club.

       It was weird. In this country, we rarely become part of something as old. Very few organizations have got the longevity to stand firm against the country’s ever-changing tides. Tumingin ka sa isang bahagi ng kwarto, nandun ang thunders. Lingon ka sa kabila, andun ang mga bata. Everyone called me “sir.” Shet! Matanda na ako sa tingin nila!

        CEGP’s third and first woman national president, former Senator Helena Benitez was there. She must be more than 90 years old! She represents the era when the Guild was more of a social club than anything resembling what the organization has become decades later. Congressman Satur Ocampo was there. (He lost by a mere vote to Senator Benitez’ son Jolly in a 1960s CEGP congress.) Ka Satur represents the era when the Guild metamorphosed into a politically active student organization. Then there were Rowena Carranza Paraan and Victor Rey Fumar representing that time long ago when the Guild was newly reestablished after Martial Law. At yung panahon na namin nina Congressman Teddy Casiño (and gang) and Prestoline Suyat. Younger presidents were there—Ruth Cervantes, Ronalyn Olea, and the incumbent Jose Cosido. Rey Asis was in the country but was convalescing. Vince Borneo must be busy playing would-be dad. Guest and LFS alumnus Xavier Buncan asked whether JV Benedicto and Erelson Cabatbat were coming and I said, di naman kumbensyon ng mga animal yun kaya ako lang yata ang Bedista run.

       (Two nights ago, Vince, Bencyrus Ellorin and I had our picture taken in front of the House of Representatives right after gloria’s paid hacks virtually killed the impeachment complaint. Vince was VP for the Visayas, BenCy was VP for Mindanao while I was VP for Luzon in 1994-1996. BenCy was fishing for some bottle time but it was no go. Vince was expected by Ima and I was bushed!)

       I had to write this. I had a direct hand in tracking down founder Ernesto Rodriguez Jr.’s survivors here in the Philippines. I delivered! I racked my brain trying to remember the old house where we once visited him on the year he died. There were no longer living there. I did some sleuthing and managed to get hold of an answering machine number. I got to talk to Rodriguez III that night and passed him on to the incumbents. (They were sufficiently grateful that night, Pom and I were not asked to pay the registration fee. Hehehehe.)

       This is an interesting twist. Rodriguez’s son-in-law was a former High School Editors’ Guild member who had the good fortune of having been one of my students at a lecture at La Salle-Greenhills. I was the only familiar face in the room, he told me. And while we were talking, my wife recognized him as her instructor in a screenwriting seminar some years back. Tingnan mo nga naman. 

       Siyempre pa, I was among the first to partake of the food—kahit di kami nagbayad. It was prepared by Beng Hernandez’ mom. Beng was, of course, one of the Guild’s latest martyrs. She was murdered by AFP’s goons in Mindanao in 2001. Masarap ang pagkain so second helpings were in order.

       It can’t be helped, but there were lots of reminiscing that night. I saw old copies of The National Guilder issues I helped put to bed. Old posters that used to adorn our office walls were displayed. May mga pictures ako sa exhibit. Ampayat ko pa noon! (I will write about what I remember during our Pepin, Santol, Basilio and Timog days sometime. It should be fun!)

       A grander affair is being planned for December. I am very excited.

       But it will be bittersweet. I’d be missing friends who left and were never heard from again. I’d be missing friends who now are called by different names. Most of all, I’d be missing friends who are names etched on cold graveyards. Wherever they may be and whatever they may have become, we have all been part of Asia’s first, oldest, largest and most prestigious student organization of its kind. At least, once in our lives when we were young, we contributed to the great struggle of the Filipino youth and people.

       Mabuhay ang Guild!

In my previous blog, I wrote about Biuag and Malana, the Ybanags’ legendary heroes. I resolved to dig deeper into their histories to find out if they were indeed historical figures. My preliminary research told me they were. But the more I read into what people have said and wrote about them, the more I am confused.

       I googled both their names and came out with about thirty entries. The following is a summation of what I have:

a. It was not just the northern Isabela Ybanags who revere them as legendary heroes. The southern Cagayan Ybanags believe them to have been born in one of their towns and have fought their great battle somewhere in Cagayan and not in San Pablo. Northern Cagayan Ybanags also regard them as their own. This is pretty understandable because much of the area had been Ybanag country, broken here and there by Itawis villages. There were no provinces, towns, Ilokanos and other peoples there then.

b. There are two towns that claim to be Biuag’s birthplace. The first is Maquila (Cabagan—which then included San Pablo and Sta Maria) and the second is Enrile. Before Cabagan was broken down into three towns, Cabagan and Enrile were neighboring towns. I personally believe that Biuag was born in the first because my source identified a specific barrio where he was born—Tallag. Enrile’s claim only comes from a written epic that I am sure has utilized substantial literary license to weave its story. In the end, though, it does not really matter much. In my research, the early inhabitants of Enrile town have the same surnames as the families who are our neighbors and relatives in San Pablo—Pagulayan, Palattao, Guzman, and others.

c. Malana is said to have been a native of Malaueg, now Rizal town in Western Cagayan. I have found no other written source contradicting this, so I leave it at that.

d. There are even two towns that claim to be the two’s battlefield. One is Rizal (Malaueg) and the other is Enrile. Reportedly, there are two sites along the Cagayan River where there were many coconut trees on both banks. The stories say that the two Supermen hurled coco trees against each other.

e. Nobody knew the name of the lady Biuag and Malana fought over. A source says she was a river goddess, another says she was the daughter of one. Still another says that she was a lady from Tuao who possessed unsurpassed beauty. A newspaper account says that she had lips like those of the Pacific Salmon, or lurung in Ybanag—our most prized fish from the river, now endangered.

f. The epic of Biuag and Malana were first written on barks of trees and bamboo, depicting the two’s heroic deeds. These tales were used as songs by bards during victories in wars, on weddings and other important events and were therefore handed down from generation to generation.

      I found a written epic of the two heroes in the internet. I am not sure if this is really the popular version among Ybanags. For one, it had Malana winning over Biuag. When I get to visit San Pablo again, I will ask the old folks if they have other versions. But, again, the most historical version I’ve heard was that, and I quote: “Biuag is believed to have been born in barrio Tallag. He protected the Christianized Cabagueños from the head hunting Kalingas by using amulets and his reputed superhuman strength. Malana succeeded Biuag following the death of the latter. It was Malana who initiated the first revolt in Cagayan Valley.”

       But everyone loves a good yarn. So here they are, si Biuag anni Malana:

       Biuag was from Enrile, the southern most part of Cagayan. When he was born, his mother was visited by an exceptionally beautiful woman who silently admired the baby. When it dawned on the child’s mother that her visitor was a goddess, she knelt and implored her child with long life. The goddess made no reply. Instead, she placed three small stones around the neck of the baby where one stone protected him from any bodily harm. When he was big enough to swim across the wide river, the crocodiles created a path for him. The other two stones gave him supernatural powers and prowess. He could go faster than the wind. He could throw easily a carabao across the hills when he was only at the age of twelve. He could uproot a big beetle nut as if it were a wood. On account of this display of extraordinary strength, people from far and wide places came to see him.

       Despite all these powers, Biuag seemed troubled and unhappy. In the town of Tuao, he fell in love with a young lady with unsurpassed beauty. No one could tell where this lady came from nor could anyone say who this lady was. Biuag wanted to find her. His waking hours were thoughts of her.

       There was another young man from Malaueg, called Malana who was gifted with powers similar to that of Biuag.  When Malana was eighteen, a devastating typhoon destroyed all the crops of Malaueg. The people were in grip of appalling famine.

       Their only hope of starving off came from a very distant place, Sto. Niño. It was very difficult and dangerous to journey the place, because the river to cross was wide and full of crocodiles. Malana understood the hazards of the journey but finally volunteered to take the journey. He loaded cavans of palay to seven bamboo rafts.

       The people eagerly waited Malana’s return. Prayers were offered for his safety. When they saw him back, everyone was overjoyed. He distributed the rice to the people and went home.

       Upon reaching his home, he found a bow and arrow on the bench. He presumed these were made for him by his father who knew how fond he was of them. Fitting the arrows, he found two tiny stones just like those around Biuag’s neck.

        Meanwhile, Biuag was unmindful of the people’s open admiration for Malana. The lovely lady occupied his thoughts. One day, he paid her a visit and found out that Malana was also there. Biuag became furious. He told the lady he will prove to her that Malana was unworthy of her love. He grabbed his famous spear and hurried to the window towards Malana. Malana recognized Biuag’s spear and read it as a challenge. He hurled it back with the message that his powers were not meant for such feats. Biuag laughed decisively and interpreted Malana’s message in a different manner. He said to the lady: "Your suitor is very strong but he is a coward."

       One afternoon, Biuag was taking lift of the young woman when he heard sounds of a thousand bamboo tubes. He saw approaching from a distance great number of people from Malaueg. Leading the group was Malana - tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, Biuag quivered at the sight of Malana. The latter spoke first: "Now I know why you challenged me. You covet the woman I love."

       The gods forbid anyone from taking anything that belongs to the other, but I am ready to give you a chance. If the lady would allow us, we shall fight for her hand.

        The day of the duel was controversial. The news spread fast and by mid-afternoon, the two mountains and the outlaying hills were blanketed with men, women and children who had come to witness their heroes fight each other. Biuag arrived accompanied by the people of Enrile. He climbed the mountain on the eastern part of the river, carrying a big coconut tree and a sharp spear. Upon reaching the peak, he heard the natives cheering Malana. He felt like barking a command to his followers to kill Malana’s people. Malana went up the opposite mountain. From their position, they saw some rafts being pulled up. As these drew near, Biuag and Malana saw the beautiful lady on one of the rafts. Sadness was clearly etched on her face but this only heightened her ethereal beauty. When she was near, Biuag shouted at Malana, "the woman we both cherish is before us. If you are as brave as you claim to be then, receive this gift of mine from Enrile." Without thinking, he hurled the coconut tree at Malana. Everyone held his breath. The river stood still. The coconut tree flew like an arrow into the air. Malana caught it and unlike Biuag, he hurled it at the direction of Yeluru. Today, thick coconut grooves abound in that place. Biuag became more insane. He plucked the spear from the ground where he thrust it. He aimed it at Malana’s heart. The people were troubled. They knew too well the accurate deadliness of this terrible spear. Malana’s chest was hit but his heart was not pierced. Instead the spear broke into two when it reached the bottom of the river. Malana shouted: "There you are, Biuag, with no weapons whatsoever. It is now my turn!"

       Before Malana would finish uttering the warning, Biuag leaped into the river. Gigantic waves dashed against the rocks and shook the mountain where Malana stood. Biuag emerged with the biggest crocodile under his arm. The crocodile opened wide its jaws. Malana accepted the challenges as he leaped from the mountain.

       The hundreds of people watching the fight suddenly fell on their knees. They saw a dazzling light that sparkled. She rose into the air and checked Malana’s fall upon meeting him in mid-air. The woman looked down at Biuag and said: "You have shown yourself a coward by getting the help of a crocodile. I am the daughter of the goddess who gave you your supernatural powers. You do not deserve the gift."

       With the magic wand, the beautiful woman gave her blessings to the people below and then flew with Malana in the kingdom of the air and the clouds where she reigned.

Related to our volunteer placement work, I give Philippine history lectures.  Being a proud son of the North, I inevitably touch up on the history of the region I came from—Ybanag country.

       Ybanags were named after our word for river: Bannag.  This means, like the Taga-Ilogs or Tagalogs, we are river people.  Our homes are along the mighty Cagayan River; our farms, other livelihood and hearts are never far away from it or from its many tributaries.

       According to my uncle Humberto Guzman Bauza, who has written the most definitive study of our language I know, there are three Ybanag groups.  There are the Ybanags who live in Northern Cagayan, then those who live in Southern Cagayan around Tuguegarao City and, lastly, those who live in Northern Isabela.  I belong to the last.  (See Bauza’s graduate thesis at the Filipiniana section of Ateneo de Manila’s Rizal Library.)

       Before the creation of the Province of Isabela in 1 May 1856 by virtue of a Spanish Royal Decree, the towns of Cabagan and Tumauini belonged to the Province of Cagayan. There are now more towns than just these two in northern Isabela, but the story how these two old towns came to be is very interesting.  But let me just focus on Cabagan-San Pablo here.

       In 1622, Fr Pedro de Sto Tomas established a Catholic mission in Balasig, now a barangay of Cabagan. Some accounts also say that the place was originally called "maquila" which means “sparkling”.  What exactly was sparkling there then, I have no idea. In November 30, 1646, the mission was made into a town and Sto Tomas was named the founder. (Others say that his name was Fr Pedro de Santos but I am inclined to believe the former because the nearby town of Sto Tomas may have been named after him.) 

       My research has given me two plausible etymological explanations on how Cabagan got its name. 

       The first was based from the term “abbag” which means “from the other side of the river”. By this we mean not just the Cagayan River because a Pinacanauan River (there are several Pinacanauans) dissects the area from East to West.  Thus, families who lived at the other side were called “taga-abbag”, which later evolved to Cabagan.

       The second version comes from the word “cabaguang” or “young carabao” which is yet to be hitched to a plow. Because of ideal pasture lands, wild and young carabaos abounded in the area, which were then caught and sold, thus giving the place its name.

       There are two other versions.  One, that it came from the word “ba-ag” or “g-strings” that the natives wore.  And, two, that Cabagan came from the word “cabaguang”, which also means “new” underscoring the fact that it was a new town then.

       The Cabagan of old was a trade center, aided by the riverine traffic nearby. It was so prosperous that it was like two towns in one.  What is now Cabagan was Cabagan Nuevo while San Pablo was called Cabagan Viejo. In 1861, a new Spanish Royal Decree formally separated the two.  In the early 1900s, another town was created at the west bank of the river called Sta Maria.  Although the three towns have separated they remain intrinsically connected.  They share the same marketplace, the same district hospital, the Pancit Cabagan, the longganiza, and the same history.

      

       As an aside, Sta Maria was where my father and mother first met.  Mama was then a new teacher transferee from Balanga, Bataan to Mozzozzin Elementary School. “Mozzozzin” means “reddish” after the color of the barangay’s clayish soil that remains as the main material of the town’s famous pottery industry.  Papa was a new Presidential Agency for Community Development (precursor of the Department of Interior and Local Government) officer.  In 1986, Papa briefly served as the town’s officer-in-charge after the first People Power uprising. 

      What distinguishes Cabagan and its neighboring town Tumauini is their old churches.  They are destinations in themselves.  They were the centers of evangelization in the old Ybanag country.  The San Pablo de Guerrero church prides itself for having the tallest bell tower in the entire region.  Tumauini’s St Matthias Church has the country’s only circular bell tower, now painted white making it look like a bridal cake.  Both are grand edifices and must have been very imposing to the natives then as now. (See their pictures in my "Isabela, a home" blog.)

      One of my recent discoveries is that, as early as 1763, Cabagan had been a center of rebellion against the Spanish colonizers. The revolts were led by Dabo and Juan Marayag who were influenced by Diego Silang’s rebellion in Ilocos. To this day, Dabo and Marayag are thriving families in the many barangays of the three towns.  I promise to dig in deeper into this.  This is something I feel proud about already.

       The area also became the site of a historical event at the turn of the last century. From Tirad Pass, General Emilio Aguinaldo, the country’s first (some say second) President, arrived at Aggub, Cabagan on May 29, 1900 and ordered the attack of the Americans stationed in the town and the neighboring towns. It was during the American regime that the town came to be known simply as Cabagan.

       All these research have given answers to three nagging questions in my mind.  First, why do we use as a derogatory adjective the word “kalinga” to refer to a person who has bad attitude? Two, were our bedtime stories about Biuag and Malana historical?  And three, what was the story behind the Ybanag folk dance Sambali?  The answer to all three was intrinsically connected as well.

       Cabagan was the hunting ground of the mountain-dwelling Kalingas in the earlier days.  They are the tribes that live in what is now Kalinga Province to the northwest of Isabela and they wore colorful attire.  The women wore multi-colored “tapi” and the men carried multi-colored bags with red as the dominant color. Both sexes had long hair. The men always carried hunting weapons, bows and arrows and sharp knives. They wore layers of bead necklaces of different materials stones, shell, seeds, glass, and metals like bronze, copper, and silver. Each bead stands for a certain property like carabaos, land, houses, and others.   Then, as now, the Kalingas are fierce people.  They were headhunters.  This must be one of the reasons why our language reflects this hatred—we Ybanags were usually their victims.      

       This now brings us to Biuag and Malana.  When I was a little boy, I was regaled with stories of their incredible feats. I was told that they were giants; that they were the ones who built our imposing church carrying huge stones with bare hands; that both were fierce rivals over a pretty maid; that they settled this with arm wrestling on top of the bell tower which explains deep indentions on its floors where their elbows rested; and that the church’s waterspouts were modeled from their faces.  Historically though, Biuag is believed to have been born in barrio Tallag. He protected the Christianized Cabagueños from the head hunting Kalingas by using amulets and his reputed superhuman strength. Malana succeeded Biuag following the death of the latter. It was Malana who initiated the first revolt in Cagayan Valley.

       The war between Christianized Ybanags and Kalingas is depicted in the “Sambali”. This hour-long dance is still performed today particularly in Casibarag, Cubag and other barangays of Cabagan and San Pablo.  Only old residents still dance it though.  I have yet to see a young Ybanag perform it or our schools teach it among the kids.  I will dance it if I am taught how to.  

       Among our generation, however, “sambali” has taken to mean “to prance about with no particular order or rhythm.”   

       How ignorant we have become.

Last Wednesday, my officemates were a little bit alarmed when a formal-looking document arrived bearing my name as addressee.  In these troubled times, it could mean anything.

       The document came from Office of the City Prosecutor of Manila.  This is regarding the criminal case filed against me and a host of others for alleged violation of BP 880, direct assault against police officers, and causing a traffic jam in connection with the violent dispersal of the rally of 21 October 2005.  Named as respondents to the case were Ka Satur, Ka Bel, Teddy Casiño, Liza Masa, Nato Reyes, Carol Araullo, Nat Santiago, Tonchi Tinio, Ka Paeng, Bunny Cambronero, Armand Albarillo, Obet De Castro, Tinay Palabay, Ronald Lumbao and myself.  I believe I was impleaded because I used to be secretary general of the Alliance of Concerned Teachers.  But I was at the said rally as a media person.

       The Manila Police District alleged that we led the thousands towards Mendiola when the so-called permit issued was only for Liwasang Bonifacio.  They also alleged that the rally was unruly and we struck at the police offices with poles and stones causing injury to some of them.

        The document is remarkable considering it was penned by government prosecutors.  It clearly argues several points that bear retelling.

       First, that the KMP applied for a permit as early as October 4 and that it was deemed granted because hizzoner jose “vandolph” atienza and his lazy representatives failed to act on the application two days after it was submitted.

       Second, that even if city hall issued an alleged permit on October 21, it does not cure the fact that vandolph had been inexcusably negligent.  The mayor even had the gall to modify the application in his effort to deny the people Mendiola Bridge and protect gloria.  He thus tried to impose prior restraint, showed bad faith against the people’s right to peaceably assemble and “gravely abused his discretion…”

       Third, that we the respondents successfully argued the police failed to show proof any law was violated.  In my case, the document said that I “was present in the rally as broadcaster of DZRJ-AM 810 khz.” 

       Fourth, that “At the time of the attack, the police were not acting in the performance of their official duties.  Marchers were pushed backwards by policemen.  Marchers held their line but scuffles took place resulting to injuries on both sides.”

       The fiscals really had no choice but to believe us as we were only telling the truth.  They ended by recommending “…that the charges against all the respondents be dismissed.”

        The order was signed by Maria Gene Z. Julianda-Sarmiento, Jessica C. Junsay-Ong and Annabel Dollaga-Magabilin.  It was approved for the City Prosecutor by Marlina M. Manuel.

       Needless to say, I thank the three prosecutors for correctly interpreting the cited laws and our arguments as against the lies of the police and the mayor.  In this case, not just the laws but justice prevailed.

        And to you gma, atienza and the police, heto ang sa inyo, ‘tang-a_ _ nyo!