Bataan province old folks born in the 40’s swear by their forebears that come nights, it is impossible to tread the grounds where once walked thousands of tired, bloodied and dying men and not feel their unseen presence, or the lingering tenancy of intrepid and unseen spirits who battled it out there to death – Filipinos, Americans and Japanese, in 1942.
Some nights, they hear faint voices borne by whispering winds, pleading for water and food. Other nights, they seem to listen to shuffling of feet, or plodding of thousand combat boots too heavy with inconsolable fatigue slogging north of Bataan, and they swear further anyone doesn’t need a third eye (perception beyond ordinary sight) to feel all of these.
Such persisting feelings are, perhaps, reasons why some nights, Bataan old folks say they hear history stumbling along in the wall of darkness outside of their abodes.
This wall of darkness talked about by Bataan old folks was consecrated so long ago to the cause of Philippine freedom, now proclaimed Araw ng Kagitingan, of the champions of the great cause where courageous men marched, stumbled, rose and fallen. It is right that the solemnity of April 9 be thus.
They were talking about the infamous “Bataan Death March,” a forced march, mercilessly imposed eighty-one years ago on allied Filipino-American forces, which stretched 145 kilometers towards the then Camp O’ Donnel in San Fernando, Pampanga which, presently is now the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) Army Officer Candidate School.
It’s also now the location of the Capas National Shrine, built by the Philippine government as a memorial to Filipino and American soldiers who perished there.
It was dawn of April 9, 1942 that marked the infamous death march in World War 11 annals. About 76,000 (66,000 Filipinos and 10,00 Americans) allied soldiers surrendered and were forced-marched from Marivelis, Southern tip of Bataan Peninsula to San Fernando, and taken by rail north to Capas, Tarlac.
From there, they trekked for another eleven kilometers to Camp O’Donnell, weak, hungry and emaciated. During the forced march, they were beaten, bayoneted, shot and in many cases, beheaded. Some 2,500 Filipinos and 500 Americans perished during the death march. No exact official figures state how many exactly were slain along the dreaded route.
Of the 54, 000 prisoners that made it to Camp O’ Donnel, 26, 000 Filipinos and 1,500 Americans succumbed to diseases and starvation.
All of these are painful memories, memories of old folks – who lived along the route – or their children and children’s children who tell and retell the stoic soldiers of Bataan, as if they were reciting from sacred documents. The route of drenched blood, sweat and tears of war prisoners and lost hope.
The battle of Bataan was lead-up to Fall of Corregidor and culmination of the death march have become emblems, the former a heroic resistance against impossible odds, a heartbreaking last stand, and the latter a crucible of bravery, and the further courage to continue on to a walk – to the grave.
So much suffering that has left Bataan and Corregidor grounds, ghostly.
Little wonder, then, why old folks along the route where the death march occurred, hear pleading voices of brave souls and probably, if there are still survivors today of those battles and the death march, these venerable old men now, would rather keep company with the ghosts of their comrades.
Sometimes, too much suffering leaves any piece of ground – like the route of the death march – eerie. One reason why we pay tribute to Araw ng Kagitingan, for the Bataan Death March is a treasure house of the Philippines wherein monuments thereof, are kept and preserved.
All that is past now. Past, yes, but sacred, still. The visions have passed from us, of having seen one soldier’s graveyard to another and white markers bearing remembered names. And these are all what’s been left for us to see. But it’s there where we learn something from the marked graves, treasured away from memory’s sacred pages.
Their lives, as we stand reviewing their tombstones through the mist of bygone years, speak of a stern reality. Peacefully asleep in their mouldering grounds, they are not wanting any more battles. Yet, the breeze that soothes over their tombstones whisper something contemplating, of history’s pages bound in three words: their undying valor.
The lives of the death marchers who died, and the honors that we pay them, give us hope that the Republic of the Philippines, itself, may be immortal.
It is therefore fit, by the April 9 public assembly, and solemn observance, by anthem and by eulogy, we commemorate the services of our national benefactors, extol their virtues and render thanks for the imminent blessings, early given and long continued, to our favored country.
The function of homage for our WWII soldiers performed in public as well as private is in remembrance of their glory, rather than the horrors of the war, its purposefulness, rather than its tragedy.
The aim of the April 9 homage to our dead soldiers is to make an inherently unpalatable past acceptable, very important not just for the purpose of remembering but above all, for the justification of why they gave their lives for this nation in whose name they fought in the war.
The Philippines was finally liberated in 1945. The freedom was worth defending. But World War II has eclipsed generations. If, for the “Araw ng Kagitingan,” history yammers at us to at least revisit its aftermath, that any study extracted from it be shared to the young who, eventually, will mature as future leaders of the Philippines.
We have received from our WWII soldiers, our worthy ancestors, a magnificent inheritance; they bought it for us most expensively with their toil, sweat and lives. It is incumbent upon us to take good care of it with diligence.
That in taking care of the valor, we hold the candle aflame that if possible, no conflicts happen outside and within our shores. That no more will a “Battle of Marawi” recur neither will another be a heart-rending tragedy of “The Fallen 44,” the highest fatalities of government forces in peacetime operation.
If, only for our soldiers who died in the Battle of Marawi, the Fallen 44, other soldiers and police officers as well, who gave their lives in the conduct of duty, those concerned with the image and development of the Philippines must truly work at constructing a meaning that would draw away the sting of their deaths and emphasize the meaningfulness of their fighting and sacrifice.
We hold the WWII soldiers candle aflame to guarantee that no miscarried morality and Punic politics underlie every appeal to arms, a bad leadership, the empty promises that resulted to the Fallen 44 going to the grave.
National newspapers revealed that as the nation grieved and solemnly watched while a Philippine Air Force (PAF) plane brought remains of the elite 44 to Manila, former President Benigno Aquino, instead of huddling with the generals at the war room, in the first place being Commander-in-Chief) was on the grounds of a motor vehicle plant, mouthing a speech, adjudged by many Filipinos as “inappropriate” for a leader to do so at such critical time.
Talk about Punic politics. When dross of dogma and myth are skimmed off history’s surface, what’s left is an example of ruinous morality and perfidious politics that crush the very souls of men.
Maybe, our own Baguio City Mayor, Benjamin B. Magalong, former Philippine National Police (PNP) general and who previously headed a board inquiry into the demise of the Fallen 44 can enlighten us more if the 44’s deaths could have been averted.
If we cannot hold the WWII soldiers’ candle aflame, it will descend upon us a perpetual thunderbolt of disrepute on members of the present generation, knowledgeable as they are, if we suffer to be wrested from us the WWII veterans’ valor they bequeathed, by artifices of false and designing men, we will be imperiled.
Let us, therefore, always be aware of the soldiers’ patriotism. Let us reflect upon our forebears and our succeeding generations and account to preserve the rights entrusted to us by our forebears.
Perhaps, instead of disregarding lessons of WWII, by moping, satisfied with efforts we think are enough for the present, we should be aware it’s the wish of those who want to do harm to the country.
The signs of the times, like our nautical sovereignty presently being threatened, calls for our utmost circumspection, perseverance and fortitude. Let us dwell on a lesson that if we suffer tame less, a lawless onslaught on our sovereignty, we encourage our ultimate doom.
Seriously, a consideration, because our soldier forebears would be turning over in their graves if we do so. Always should we let the Philippine flag unfurl freely from shore to shore. For the Philippine flag is the fruit of our heroes’ martyrdom. They took on the sacred task of defending the nation.
The Philippine flag isn’t just cloth and color. It’s the embodiment of our nation, drenched by the blood of those who defended it. It’s the inspiration of the national anthem, the end lyric solemnly averring, “Ang mamatay ng dahil sa iyo.”
Our heroes died, doing just that. But, nay, on the other hand, they are still living within us. For as a certain song says, “Old soldiers never die, never die, never die; old soldiers never die, they just fade away!”
