Punchline
The PUNCH’s martial law issue
By Ermin Garcia Jr.
DATE: September 21, 1972. It was a Thursday and was supposed to be another routine day of writing stories, columns and editorial for The PUNCH’s September 24,1972 issue. On top of my mind then was to do a follow-up story on the aborted surrender of three notorious murder suspects, brothers Marvin and Tito Millora and Tony Munoz, all of San Carlos City that already earned the moniker “Tombstone City” at the time.
(Fast rewind: The three were the subject of a shoot-to-kill order issued by Col. Vicente Eduardo then Philippine Constabulary (PC) Pangasinan Provincial commander. To effect the suspects’ surrender, I was asked by Eduardo’s superiors in Camp Crame to oversee the surrender arrangements to the chagrin of Eduardo).
At 9 a.m. I was getting ready to leave Mente Nava’s residence to proceed to the PUNCH office when I got a call from Pete Quimson, our printing production assistant. He never had to call me for any reason in the past unless we had a problem with the printing of an issue and we were not scheduled to go to press till Saturday, so that puzzled me. He was frantic. He said he was barred by a PC soldier from entering our office on the 3rd floor of the Lozano Bldg on Torres Bugallon Avenue.
I rushed out and on my way to the office, a number of scenes got my adrenaline rushing in no time. I saw a convoy of PC trucks moving in different directions in the city. Standing in front of the Mendoza Printing Press were four uniformed PC soldiers. And as Pete had warned, I was met by two uniformed PC enlisted men. I, too, was barred from entering with no other explanation but that their orders were not to allow anyone to work inside the PUNCH office “until further orders.” I was incredulous. This must be martial law, I told myself. I was finally allowed to enter after explaining to the two that I owned the paper and that since Mendoza Press was already guarded, there was no way I could print my newspaper. Minutes after I got inside my room, the phone rang. The caller said students were being rounded up inside campuses and from their homes and nobody knew where they were being brought. Another caller: “All radio stations are off the air!”. Yet another call: “ Houses are being raided for hidden firearms.”
“It must be martial law,” I kept repeating in my head but nobody could confirm. I decided to call my sisters at home in Quezon City. I got through and they told me much of the same: no radio, no TV, no news. (I later found out that my long distance call that day was one of the last that got through PLDT). “It is martial law,” I advised my family but I still had no confirmation.
With all radio stations off the air, no Manila dailies on the street, I decided there was a story to report to the public. But how? The Mendoza Press was heavily guarded. I had no reporter on hand and no chance of reaching them. (No cellphones or pagers at that time, remember?). Then it dawned on me that a small copying-printer machine that printed the club bulletins of the Rotary Club of Dagupan was in the office. (Those days, Dagupan Rotarians led by Dr. Germy Galvan, as president, worked on the club bulletin every Tuesday night at the office).
As fate would have it, the operator of the machine, came up to clean the machine. When he said, he had enough ink to run two reams, together we put out a 2-paged “Special Issue” of the PUNCH on a legal sized bond paper, back to back printing. I wrote about the rounding up of students, the shutdown of radio stations, the absence of Manila dailies, the raiding of houses and confiscation of firearms and the situation in Manila as narrated by my family in Quezon City. I had no other sources. By 2 p.m., we had 1,000 sheets ready for distribution. I made calls and a few close friends arrived on the pretext of simply visiting me. My Uncle Gilbert came and left with stacks of copies tucked under his shirt and pants. They slipped through the cordon of two and began distributing the “issue” on the street to whoever was willing to take one. Uncle Gilbert said he had a brief chase with one soldier after he handed him a copy. LOL.
I believe it was that chase that led the PC headquarters to send elements to arrest me. They caught me at the JG’s Calesa Bar after I watched President Marcos’ declaration of martial law on TV. I was being charged for violating PD 1081, publishing a newspaper without permission. Fortunately, the arresting PC officer, Major Ernesto Venturina, the assistant provincial commander, agreed not to detain me immediately at the headquarters with my promise that I would present myself to Col. Eduardo at 9 a.m. the following day. Before Major Venturina left me with my unfinished bottle of Coke, he thanked me for citing him in my “Special Issue” as one among those who led the search for firearms in the province on day 1. He said, “Now, I have something to tell my grandchildren if they should ask me what I did on the first day of martial law.” He smiled and left.
I believe that issue was perhaps the only news publication that reached the public on September 21. Unfortunately, I failed to keep one for our file. Would anyone out there still have a copy that we can duplicate for posterity?
* * * * *
September 22, 1972: I was at the headquarters in Lingayen 9 a.m. sharp as promised. I was led to an empty office from where I could see where the hundreds of students who were rounded up the day before were being held incommunicado. Nobody talked to me for 3 hours until I felt bored and I dared ask my guard if I could go out to talk to the detainees. He relayed the request to some officers and after an hour I was informed my request was granted. Friends like Lito Ang, Jun Velasco, Manny Cornel were among them. Even the students who often trooped to my office for consultation about their planned demonstrations contra tuition hike, illegal gambling, etc. were there. After an hour with the detainees, my guard discretely approached me to warn me: “Sir, umalis na kayo dito, may kumuha ng pictures nyo sa loob baka madagdagan and kaso nyo.” With that, I bade my friends goodbye and returned to my detention room. Major Venturina finally came to meet me. He said I was free to go on condition that I help them provide facilities and provisions for basic necessities of the detainees. I agreed and was released early evening.
September 23, 1972: I called friends in civic clubs and described the plight of the detainees in Lingayen. By 2 p.m. I had boxes of toothbrush, toothpaste, soaps, blankets, cots, towels, biscuits, bread, utensils, etc. to deliver to Lingayen. That was my regular routine until all the detainees were eventually transferred to Manila after a week or so.
Those were my first tastes of lost freedom, humiliation and harassment in the hands of the military that lasted through the early 80s.
* * * * *
PLOT THICKENS. Last week, we wrote about the enterprising activity of my friend Dagupan Mayor Benjie Lim in support of the laudable river cruise project of the city.
As it turns out, my suspicions about the irregularities that accompanied the construction of the Daongan ed Dawel were affirmed by Vice Mayor Belen Fernandez.
There was no budget allotted for the construction of the facility, and neither was the public-private partnership revealed by Tourism Officer Rose Teng Mejia discussed and approved by the city council. In sum, Mr. Lim obviously resorted to another short-cut, expecting the city council to be his rubber stamp when he asks for P11 million for the construction as a form of reimbursement.
The legal complications that Mr. Lim created were compounded by a reported claim by one “Mr. Tuazon“ that he owns the land on which the planned restaurant across the Daongan is being constructed and is now accusing the city hall of land-grabbing. Tsk-tsk.
* * * * *
BLAMELESS BSL. Then after blaming former Speaker Joe de Venecia for the “aborted” construction of the new city hall, Mr. Lim now also blames Mayor Al Fernandez for his “aborted” sanitary landfill project. Utterly shameless!
We have the timeline on the Barangay Awai sanitary landfill scam that shows that as early as 2004, before the Al Fernandez administration took over, the Lim administration was already deficient in its claim of ownership after paying Mr. Lim’s friend P16 million. When the Fernandez administration attempted to pursue the claim upon its assumption to office, the case was already decided by the Department of Agrarian Reform Adjudication Board in favor of the farmers. Reason? The Lim administration, not the Fernandez administration, defaulted in making its case.
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