Category: independence day

Alab ng Puso

A short history of Filipino nationalism from the Cavite Mutiny 1872 to the Declarations of Independence from Spain 1898 and America 1946.  Mapagpalayang Araw ng Kasarinlan!

By AMELIA H.C. YLAGAN  

The first stanzas of the Philippine National Anthem speak of the fervor and passion, “Alab ng Puso,” in the heart of the country to protect and hold its independence from invaders and aggressors: “Sa manlulupig, di ka pasisiil.”

Today, June 12, 2023, is Independence Day, one century and a quarter (125 years) after the self-proclaimed Philippine Independence from Spain by the fragmented Filipino revolutionists led by Emilio Aguinaldo of the Magdalo faction of the Katipunan revolutionary movement founded by Andres Bonifacio.

The Cavite Mutiny of Jan. 20, 1872 is believed by historians to have been the beginning of Filipino nationalism that would eventually lead to the Philippine Revolution of 1896 (Chandler, David P. In search of Southeast Asia: a modern history. University of Hawaii Press). Some 200 Filipino military personnel of the Fort San Felipe arsenal in Cavite were angered by the withdrawal of their special tax-free status on wages and exemption from forced-labor duty at various camps. Eleven Spanish officers were killed by the mutineers.

Three Filipino secular Catholic priests — Mariano Gomez, Jose Burgos and Jacinto Zamora (collectively called “Gomburza”) — were implicated by Francisco Zaldua, a traitor-mutineer, who testified that the priests urged Filipino parishioners to raise nationalist protests. The three priests were executed by garrote (strangulation by torniquet) at the Luneta field, also known in Tagalog as Bagumbayan, on Feb. 17, 1872. Zaldua, the traitor-false witness was executed with them. The military court also sentenced 41 mutineers to death and the rest to life imprisonment or to exile to the Marianas (now Guam). Finally, a decree was made stating there were to be no further ordinations/appointments of Filipinos as Roman Catholic parish priests.

Jose Rizal’s brother Paciano was a close friend of Fr. Burgos. When in March 1882, Rizal, then 21 years old, left the Philippines to continue his medical studies in Spain at the Universidad Central de Madrid, he was afire with the passionate determination to hoist his country, Bayang Magiliw, from the injustice and unfairness of the colonial hold. He poured out his angst in his first novel, Noli Me Tangere (“Touch Me Not”), published in 1884. It quickly caught the attention and following of the expat Filipino intelligentsia and even the locals in Europe — social and political rights were the focus in Europe at that time, and with floundering of the monarchic systems came the clamor for participative and democratic governments.

Filipino expatriates in Spain, among them Jose Rizal, Marcelo del Pilar, Antonio Luna, and Mariano Ponce, established the organization La Solidaridad in December 1888, not really to push for Philippine independence, but to foster closer relationships between Spain and the Philippines. Through a newspaper of the same name, reforms and improvements were suggested, including the representation by direct participation of Filipinos in the new Spanish congress. Rizal might have become impatient for reactions to their cause, and so he wrote a more hard-hitting sequel to his Noli, El Filibusterismo (a.k.a. “Social Cancer” and “The Reign of Greed”) which chastised and parodied the abuses, corruption and manipulations of the establishment, juxtaposing the elitism and pretentions of some social-climbing nouveau-riche Filipinos who subserviently fed the colonial greed.

Rizal returned to his beloved country, “Lupang Hinirang,” in June 1892 and immediately established the reformist society, La Liga Filipina. Barely a month after his arrival, Spanish authorities arrested Rizal for subversion and inciting to rebellion, and exiled him to Dapitan where he languished for four years.

Revolutionary documents from Archivo General Militar de Madrid rediscovered in the 21st century suggest that the secret revolutionary society, Kataastaasang, Kagalanggalangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan (KKK or Katipunan), had been organized by Andres Bonfacio et al. as early as January 1892 but may not have become active until July 7 of the same year; that was the date Jose Rizal was to be banished to Dapitan (Tempo. Feb. 5, 2015). Rizal set the revolutionary fires ablaze.

When Cuba revolted against Spain in February 1895, dictatorial control tightened even more over the colonized Philippines. Movements and activities were closely monitored, focusing on the Katipunan. Perhaps to keep Rizal even more apart from the growing revolutionary fever, he was required by the Governor-General to serve as a physician for the Spanish army in Cuba. But just as Rizal returned to Manila to go to Cuba, the Katipunan, which was secretly stirring protests in the provinces, was discovered when whistle-blower Teodoro Patiño revealed it to Fr. Mariano Gil, an Augustinian priest.

The revolutionaries tore their cedulas (residence or tribute tax certificate) as a symbol of their determination and defiance at the Cry of Pugad Lawin on Aug. 23, 1886. Andres Bonifacio, Supremo of the Katipunan, issued a manifesto urging the Filipinos to take up arms against the Spaniards. Governor-General Blanco proclaimed a state of war in eight rebel provinces, placing the provinces of Manila, Laguna, Cavite, Batangas, Pampanga, Bulacan, Tarlac, and Nueva Ecija under martial law (reference: Official Gazette of the Republic of the Philippines).

On Dec. 30, 1896, Rizal was executed by firing squad in Bagumbayan, Luneta, on the same field where the three Gomburza priests were executed by the garrote 24 years before.

“Lupang hinirang, duyan ka ng magiting!” (Land dear and holy, cradle of noble heroes.) Perhaps panicking from the loss of the figurative leader of the revolution, the competing and often disagreeing factions of the Magdalo group, led by Emilio Aguinaldo, and the Magdiwang group, led by Andres Bonifacio, met the day after Rizal’s execution to resolve disputes over leadership.

At the Tejeros Convention on March 22, 1897, Aguinaldo and Mariano Trias were elected as President and Vice-President of the revolutionary government. Bonifacio could not believe he lost to Aguinaldo and was not even given a Cabinet post. He declared the popular election null and void and insisted on continuing with his own independent operations under his re-organized Katipunan. Aguinaldo ordered Bonifacio arrested and charged with treason and sedition. He was tried and convicted by his enemies and executed on May 10, 1897 (from the Library of Congress, loc.gov/rr/hspanic/1898/Bonifacio).

Thousands of suspected revolutionists were executed, imprisoned, or exiled. On Dec. 15, 1897, the Pact of Biak-na-bato was signed between Spanish colonial Governor-General Fernando Primo de Rivera and the revolutionary leader Emilio Aguinaldo to end the Philippine Revolution. Aguinaldo and his fellow revolutionaries were given amnesty and indemnity of 800,000 Mexican dollars in return for self-exile to Hong Kong (Mabini, A., 1969, The Philippine Revolution, Republic of the Philippines Department of Education, National Historical Commission).

Meantime, the Spanish-American War over Cuba in April-August 1898 led the US to attack Spain’s Pacific fleet in Manila Bay. Defeated, Spain had surrendered to the US in Cuba, and on Dec. 10, 1898, Spain and the US signed the Treaty of Paris wherein Spain renounced its claim to Cuba, ceded Puerto Rico and Guam to the United States, and gave the United States sovereignty over the Philippines in exchange for $20 million.

Philippine revolutionaries revived the cry for independence. The Philippine-American War raged from 1899-1901, until Aguinaldo was captured by US forces led by General Frederick Funston. American rule over the Philippines started, and in 1916, the US Congress passed the Jones Law, which served as the new organic act, or constitution, for the Philippines. Its preamble stated that the eventual independence of the Philippines would be American policy, subject to the establishment of a stable government. In 1934, Congress passed the Tydings-McDuffie Act to establish the process for the Philippines to become an independent country after a 10-year transition period (Zaide, Philippine History, 1994).

On July 4, 1946, representatives of the United States of America and of the Republic of the Philippines signed the Treaty of General Relations between the two governments. The treaty provided for the recognition of the independence of the Republic of the Philippines as of July 4, 1946, and the relinquishment of American sovereignty over the Philippine Islands.

It actually took 74 years from the awakening of the 1872 Cavite Mutiny for true independence to be benevolently given by a foreign dominator in 1946. But the ardor of our heroes — “Alab ng Puso” — to fight for elusive freedom must not be diminished or less appreciated for the painful tests of fate and circumstance that delayed independence.

Love of country can be best be shown by true concern for the integrity and honor of the country and its people — speaking up in fraternal correction against abuses and wrongdoing of leaders and followers, improving ways and rectifying wrongs within capabilities and reinforcing values for peace and justice by good example to inspire others.

Alab ng puso, sa dibdib mo’y buhay!

Independence Day 2022

By AMELIA HC YLAGAN

It had to be clarified in Memorandum 2022-066 dated May 22, 2022 by the Department of Interior and Local Government (DILG) that directed the Independence Day flag-raising to local government units that it was the 124th Independence Day, reckoning from June 12, 1898 when Emilio Aguinaldo declared from his residence balcony in Kawit, Cavite that Pilipinas was free from the colonizer Spain. The DILG Memo is based on “Republic Act No. 4166 (An Act changing the date of Philippine Independence Day from July 4 to June 12 and declaring July 4 as Philippine Republic Day”).

But here we go again, debating and quarreling about when Filipinos really gained their independence. Perhaps the rise and fall of self-doubt are urged as historical events are celebrated (or generally ignored) such as Independence Day, the most significant marker of nationhood. But history is about concluded events more than emotional assumptions about the whys and wherefores that made it happen. Nor can post-facto emotions or changed principles and values justify any revision of what had already happened in history.

What better written history is there than the Official Gazette to review the events leading to the granting of Philippine Independence:

“The Philippine Revolution of 1896 was led by the Katipunan, a secret society led by Andres Bonifacio, which aimed to attain independence for the Philippines. The Katipunan expanded and affiliated with other revolutionary groups in Manila and other provinces in the Philippines. Due to political and other differences among the leaders, divisions arose in the organization. The Magdalo group headed by Emilio Aguinaldo of Cavite soon controlled the revolutionary movement. In the power play, Andres Bonifacio was accused of treason against the combined organization, and was arrested and sentenced to death in Maragondon, Cavite.”

When the Revolution was failing, “Aguinaldo entered into negotiations with the Spanish government. This resulted in an agreement under which Philippine Revolutionaries would go into exile in Hong Kong and surrender their arms in exchange for financial indemnities and pardons” (Official Gazette, “Araw ng Republikang Filipino, 1899”). That was just about the time that Spain was very busy, besieged and embattled by the United States of America, who came in to assist in the war for Cuban independence from Spain. That was the 10-week Spanish-American War for the colonies, fought in both the Caribbean and the Pacific, including the Philippines.

“The war ended with the 1898 Treaty of Paris (signed Oct. 1, 1898), negotiated on terms favorable to the United States. The treaty ceded ownership of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippine islands from Spain to the United States and granted the United States temporary control of Cuba. The cession of the Philippines involved payment of $20 million to Spain by the US to cover infrastructure owned by Spain” (Benjamin R. Beede, The War of 1898 and US Interventions; 2013).

“Aguinaldo had returned to Manila on May 19, 1898 and declared Philippine independence on June 12. When it became clear that the United States had no interest in the liberation of the islands, Aguinaldo’s forces remained apart from US troops. On Jan. 1, 1899 following the meetings of a constitutional convention, Aguinaldo was proclaimed (by a rebel junta) president of the Philippine Republic. Not surprisingly, the United States refused to recognize Aguinaldo’s authority and on Feb. 4, 1899 he declared war on the US forces in the islands. After his capture on March 23, 1901, Aguinaldo agreed to swear allegiance to the United States, and then left public life. His dream of Philippine independence came true on July 4, 1946. He died in Manila in 1964.” (US Library of Congress: The World of 1898: The Spanish-American War: Emilio Aguinaldo y Famy 1869-1964)

“During the American occupation of the Philippines (1898-1946), the Filipinos were governed by the Commonwealth of the Philippines (since Nov. 15, 1935) and earlier by the Government of the Philippine Islands or PI, both under the Americans” (pna.gov.ph, July 4, 2021). Meantime, World War II broke out, and the Japanese Army overran all of the Philippines during the first half of 1942. “On Oct. 14, 1943, Japan symbolically granted independence to the Philippines by establishing a new government headed by its Filipino president, Jose P. Laurel. The government was branded by historians as a ‘Puppet Government’ because of the tight control that the Japanese wielded over its affairs.” (esquiremag.ph, June 7, 2019).

“The United States and Philippine Commonwealth military forces fought together to liberate the Philippines until the Japanese forces were ordered to surrender by Tokyo on Aug. 15, 1945.

“On July 4, 1946, pursuant to the provisions of the Tydings-McDuffie Law or the Philippine Independence Act, the Commonwealth of the Philippines became the Republic of the Philippines — the Third Republic. It was on this date that the United States of America formally recognized the independence of the Philippines and withdrew its sovereignty over the country.

“The independence of the Philippines — and the inauguration of its Third Republic — was marked by Manuel Roxas, third president of the Commonwealth, re-taking his oath, eliminating the pledge of allegiance to the United States of America which was required prior to independence, this time as the first President of the Republic of the Philippines. The Congress of the Commonwealth then became the First Congress of the Republic, and international recognition was finally achieved as governments entered into treaties with the new republic.” (officialgazette.gov.ph).

Yet despite the tight chronology of events that built up to the sure pinpointing of when is the factual date of Philippine Independence, President Diosdado Macapagal issued Proclamation No. 28 in 1962, moving the anniversary date from July 4 to June 12 — the date independence from Spain was proclaimed in Emilio Aguinaldo’s home in Kawit, Cavite. In his proclamation, President Macapagal cited “the establishment of the Philippine Republic by the Revolutionary Government under General Emilio Aguinaldo on June 12, 1898, marked our people’s declaration and exercise of their right to self-determination, liberty and independence” (Ibid.).

The Official Gazette says it for the record, “the move was made in the context of the rejection of the US House of Representatives on the proposed $73 million additional war reparation bill for the Philippines on May 28, 1962. The rejection, according to President Macapagal, caused ‘indignation among the Filipinos’ and a ‘loss of American good will in the Philippines.’ He explained that he deemed it the right time to push the change of the independence date, a political move he was planning even before his ascent to the presidency.”

There is surely no further protest or even the last whimper to review and possibly change Independence Day back to July 4, or to again consider yet another anniversary date. But it is still important that historical facts and events are accurate so that the remembering of a nation of its history is always in the context of the experiences, good or bad, that have shaped its soul and spirit.

It is thanks to President Corazon C. Aquino, president after the 1986 EDSA People Power Revolution, who by Executive Order No. 200 revived the Official Gazette that was stifled in Ferdinand Marcos’ martial law dictatorship 1972 to 1986. The Official Gazette, which is printed by the National Printing Office (NPO), is the public journal and main publication of the government of the Philippines. Its website only uploads what has been published; it is managed by the Presidential Communications Operations Office [PCOO] (based on the attribution found in the footer of the Official Gazette website).

Look it up, it’s there: “A History of the Philippine Political Protest — Official Gazette.” (www.officialgazette.gov.ph)

The 1898 proclamation of independence

By RANDY DAVID

One hundred twenty-four years after our elders proclaimed the Filipino people’s independence from Spanish colonial rule, we may perhaps view with more understanding, and even admiration, the seemingly strange manner in which they performed that defining act. More specifically, why they invoked “the protection of the Powerful and Humanitarian Nation, the United States of America,” even as they were declaring their emancipation from Spanish subjugation.

Were they merely expressing a readiness to trade one colonial master for another? If so, then it was logical that Spain would cede the country to the new power, the United States of America, in exchange for a few million dollars — instead of acknowledging the freedom that the Filipino people had justly earned.

The situation was clearly far more complex than that. Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo, under whose leadership the June 12, 1898 proclamation of independence was conceived, was certainly no fool when it came to American intentions. He and his companions in the Hong Kong junta anticipated America’s moves in the Pacific region and its wish to take over the possessions of a weakened Spanish empire. They saw in that strategic plan an opening they could use to speed up the revolution against Spain. And for this, they needed to disarm the new conquerors through fawning gestures of flattery.

They were under no illusion that the United States would forgo the opportunity to take possession of the entire archipelago once its ships destroyed the limping Spanish armada in the battle at Manila Bay. Indeed, they saw that they were racing against time to establish the first organs of a new government in as many provinces as the revolutionary forces could cover. By doing so, they aimed to show the American public and the rest of the world that a colonized people that had successfully liberated themselves were equally worthy and capable of self-rule.

The Americans, of course, saw what Aguinaldo was up to, and they played along — until they could bring in enough US troops into the country. They would not be inveigled into supplying arms they might later use against the US itself. Assigned to review the captured documents of the revolution, US Capt. John R.M. Taylor (whom historian Renato Constantino accurately dubbed a “quasi-lobbyist” for annexation) portrayed it thus in his voluminous work, “The Philippine Insurrection Against the United States”:

“The insurgents were not to have American rifles placed in their hands to fight the battles of the United States. The soldiers of the United States were to be charged with that duty, and Aguinaldo saw that he was not to be given the opportunity of employing American rifles against the soldiers of the United States as his friends in the militia were about to employ Spanish rifles against Spain… The arms he received from Hong Kong on May 23 enabled him to begin an insurrection, not as an ally of the United States, but on his own account.”

One week before the proclamation in Kawit, Aguinaldo’s forces had gained enough ground in the surrounding provinces to justify holding a formal ceremony proclaiming the country’s independence from Spain. Invitations to Admiral Dewey and other American officers were sent. But, of course, these were simply ignored. The affair’s organizers had to make do with the presence of “a citizen of the U.S.A., Mr. L.M. Johnson, a Colonel of Artillery.”

Taylor writes about this event with an air of contempt: “From this time on there was no question as to the intentions of Aguinaldo and his followers. There did remain, and continued to remain, a grave doubt whether Aguinaldo really represented the people of the Philippines, and whether he would be able to keep his bit in their mouth…. ‘Colonel’ Johnson, ex-hotel keeper of Shanghai, who was in the Philippines exhibiting a cinematograph, kindly consented to appear on this occasion as Aguinaldo’s chief of artillery and the representative of the North American nation.”

Summoned to serve Aguinaldo as adviser, Apolinario Mabini arrived in Kawit on June 12, just in time to listen to the reading of the Act of Proclamation. The 34-year-old “sublime paralytic” must have at once noted some of the awkwardness and inconsistency in the longwinded document written in Spanish by Ambrosio Rianzares Bautista. In a June 23 proclamation signed by Aguinaldo, Mabini excised all reference to the United States and replaced “Dictatorial Government of the Philippines” with the simpler “Revolutionary Government.” Mabini read America’s moves with great accuracy. But he could neither save the revolution nor the fledgling republic established at Malolos on Jan. 23, 1899. Barely two weeks later, the Philippine-American War began.

It is extremely useful to revisit these crucial events in our nation’s history because, while our founding fathers were flawed individuals, most of them rose to the occasion with all the wisdom and moral strength they could muster — like all great heroes do — when summoned by a purpose larger than them. Aguinaldo, in particular, was at the center of these momentous events. But he had received such a bad rap from history for his role in the murder of the Bonifacio brothers and of Antonio Luna that it took more than 50 years before he could offer an account that tried to express “the purity of my intention.”

Many of our heroes died young; others like Aguinaldo, who died at 95, lived long enough to see the country’s passage through another war — a war that once more tested our leaders’ ability to discern the nation’s true interests at different stages in a rapidly changing world.

What We Know of Darkness

An Independence Day piece by Katrina in reply to Tia Nita Umali Berthelsen’s July 1946 essay Just Where Are We. Both essays published in Roots & Wings, Filipino e-magazine in Europe.

WHAT WE KNOW OF DARKNESS

Is what we know of the certainty of light. As in the impulse to unite on shared battles, the ones so crucial they survive the passage of time, are embraced across generations, as it was brought to bear on that moment 75 years ago, when the Philippine flag flew highest in the air for the first time.

Is what we know of our capacity to create light. Despite, or because of fear. Spreading photocopied stories on the real state of the nation; supporting a free press that bites incessantly, draws blood unfailingly; living off a lush grapevine of narratives passed surreptitiously at gatherings. Until the voices grew louder to the point of paralysis: a boycott of wants, needs, cravings—all sacrifice, maybe rebellion—aimed squarely at the corrupt and wealthy. We practiced and won on civil disobedience 35 years ago, a citizenry discovering its collective power.

Is what we know of carrying a torch. For revolutions that we fashion ourselves. Bright enough to overthrow a dictator, or unseat a President, or take back our freedoms.

Is what we know of waning light. As new generations grew into democracy, with little appreciation for the battles fought and lives sacrificed; as freedom began to be seen as entitlement, with little understanding of what it demands, how it is nurtured, who it must cradle. Here is the decay of the present: where justice and rights are skewed to serve a violently dysfunctional system, now deeply entrenched, borne of the power and wealth that so defined nation and its independence 75 years ago. Bound to it, inextricably. Controlled by it, (in)definitely.

Is what we know of blinding light. In a country preoccupied with the constant search for heroes, we take the next person who will promise the blaze of change, the brilliance of liberation. We are at the mercy of a pendulum that shifts from bad to worse, disinformation to propaganda, falsity to deceit. Because the only way this blinding light can survive is if it keeps us unseeing—deaf and dumb, stupefied and numbed. Kept within the space of the unfulfilled, propped up by the words we want to hear. Here where media is just as blindly fumbling through its own institutional darkness, the loudest voice wins.

Is what we know of light. As love for the shadows that, now familiar, might lend itself to faith. Faith in the fact that knowing the darkness—sharp angles of light included—will allow us to map out our movements in hope. Hope, that despite the discordant voices and political divides, we can build towards a lucid brightness, the kind that allows us to see where we are, given where we come from, towards where we need to go. And we might start with walking on unsteady feet, and we might take our time finding our bearings, but we will forge through.

Because what we know for sure about this darkness is that it will always only promise to deliver the light that will never come.

It does not know of our relationship with the light.