The Philippine-American

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Part of The Philippine-American

Title: The Philippine-American
Issue Date: Volume I (Issue No.2) October 1945
Publisher: Raymond House Publication
Language: English
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Place of publication: Manila
extracted text: 1 PHILIPPINEAMERICAN wpuie H45mL A RAYMOND H REPORT C by Lt. (jg) J. Shestack, USER (Page 8) WHAT OF LAUREL? by M. N. Querol (Page 28) I I PORTRAIT OF A FILIPINO..................................... by Renato Liboro HATED FILIPINOS!...............................by Lt. Pat Ledyard, WAC | JUST WAITING (Story) ...........................by Ligaya Victorio-Reyes 1 JAPAN MUST PAY....................................................by Chris Edwards CITIES ARE FOR PEOPLE..................................... by A. C. Kayanan 'APOSTROPHE TO YAMASHITA (Poem) .... by Godofredo Bunao y JUERRILLA SERENADE (Poem) ..................... by Lydia Arguilla A LETTER TO BILL (Story) ................................... by Remy R. Bullo REHABILITATION AND REFORM............................... by Leo Stine DEADLIER THAN THE MALE.............. by Estrella Alfon-Rivera PLIANT LIKE THE BAMBOO.....................................feij Z. V. Mallari ./PRISONERS FROM CORREGIDOR.....................by Meynardo Nieva ,5 1ST THE KITTLE TOWN OF BAY ... by Daisy Hontiveros-Avellana OF HORSES AND MEN...................................by Renato Constantino DEPARTMENTS HE EAGLE’S EYRIE .... 55 NEWSMONTH......... by Salvador P. Lopez by ‘Toto’ WITH OUR CONTRIBUTORS i I Vol. I No. 2 Manila, Philippines (One Peso) -2-— October 1945 60 Let's all go to EL CAIRO Manila's newest and most elegant NIGHT CLUB Where Manila's elite meet every night Featuring ARMANDO FEDERICO and His Famous TANGO-RHUMBA ORCHESTRA Vocalist—SERAFIN GARCIA Pleasant Atmosphere • The coolest place in town • Bar & Restaurant opens at 10:30 a. m. SANTA MESA BOULEVARD, NEAR BROADWAY, NEW MANILA FIRST PHILIPPINE IMPORT & EXPORT CO. Importer, Exporter & Manufacturer’s Representatives General Merchandise, Groceries Glassware, Printing Inks, Textiles, Utensils, etc. Branch Office: 1331 Rizal Avenue Main Office-. 1956 Juan Luna G U T 1 E R R E Z Pharmaceutical Laboratory Manufacturer & Importer Drugs, Chemicals, Food Colors Essential Oils and Perfume Oils Main Office: Branch Office: 1956 Juan Luna 13.34 Rizal Avenue GO SOC & SONS ‘Z SY GUI HUAT, INC 822 Rizal Ave., Manila, P. I. Dealers on Hardware, Plumbing, Paint, and Electrical. PHILIPPINE GLASS SERVICE MIRROR MANUFACTURER AND GLASS SUPPLIER WE ACCEPT ORDERS ON ALL KINDS OF GLASS WORK MARCIANO YULO, Mgr. & Prop. 892 RIZAL AVENUE, MANILA, P.I. canec INSULATION BOARDS-IS HEAT and SOUND ABSORBER—TERMITE PROOF for ACOUSTICS—CEILINGS—PARTITIONS • PLAIN CHIPBOARDS, for boxes, etc. Limited shipment arriving; for particulars inquire at ORIENTAL TRADING CO. 718 QUEZON BOULEVARD, MANILA PhiHppinr-Ameriran Published monthly by RAYMOND HOUSE, Inc. BENJAMIN SALVOSA Publisher ERIC RAYMOND Editor CHRIS EDWARDS Managing Editor BALDOMERO T. OLIVERA Contributing Editor CONRADO S. FELIX Business Manager E. D. SALVOSA Seer eta ry Treasurer ROSENDO VICENTE Advertising Director ADRIANO GARCIA Circulation Manager Editorial and executive offices in the Philippines. 1050-52 Rizal Avenue. Manila; in America. 1726 Marlton Avenue. Philadelphia. 4 Pa., U.S.A. Printer in America, Majestic Press, 1210 Race Street, Philadelphia. Copyright, 1945 by Ray mond House, Inc. All contributions must follow the pattern of our editorial objectives: the strengthening of Philippine-Amcrican relations, the speedy rehabilitation of agriculture and inippine culture and literature. We entertain no Subon apcorrespondence scription PIO a plication. on rejected manuscripts, year. Advertising rates PHILIPPINE FOREST PRODUCTS COOPERATIVE 605 Quiricada, Sta. Cruz Manila FLORENCIO TAMESIS President With OUR CONTRIBUTORS A FEW days after the first number of Tiie Philippine-American came out, two U.S. Army officers paid us a visit. One of them, holding a copy of the magazine in his hand, said that they had been impressed- by the publishers' pol icy of promoting the greatest possible de gree of friendship and understanding be tween Filipinos and Americans. They were especially struck, they said, by the candor and intelligence with which the causes of misunderstanding and fric tion between American troops and Fili pino civilians were discussed in the "Let ter to GI Joe" by Capt. Salvador P. Lopez. It appears that they were with G-l, Base X, U. S. Army, and requested the publisher of the magazine to prof fer some advice on how the causes of such friction might be minimized and ultimately removed. Advice was duly given, as wall as a pledge to bend our every effort to the fostering of Philip pine-American understanding along the lines indicated by our editorial, “Give Way to the Ndw". Endorsement and praise of the Lopez letter came from Americans and Filipi nos alike. In general, the Filipino atti tude was that the letter had said a num ber of things that greatly needed saying: the author had. concisely summed up cer tain thoughts that everybody‘had been thinking all along, but which were not said for fear of giving offense. Amer icans, on the other hand, appreciated the forthright tone of the letter; though it may have given some of them a jolt, they quite agreed that it was frank without being offensive. The Philippine-American is quite prepared to uphold this reputation for intelligent candor. In this spirit, we offer "I Hated Filipinos!" by Lt. Pat Ledyard, WAC. The verb is, happily, in the past tense, and the article ex(Please turn to page 6J>) THE ARMY STYLE 511 Juan Luna See Our Branch Store at 101 Escolta In front of Philippine National Bank DEALERS ON Insignias, Caps, and other Military Supplies N. FELIX OFFICE EQUIPMENT SERVICE •■SPEED THE NATION’S BUSINESS!” We Repair • Overhaul • Rebuild Typewriters • Adding Machines Calculating Machines Checkwriters • Duplicators 319 LEGARDA MANILA The Satisfaction of Many: OUR MONTHLY MAINTENANCE SERVICE LUMBER -100' r Filipino Capital Lumber of all Linds at reasonable prices Individual builders' and contractors' needs are solicited. House-owners—see us for your repair needs. RIZAL LUMBER SUPPLY SAWMILL (MEMBER, PHILIPPINE FOREST PRODUCTS COOPERATIVE) ISIDORO B. LIAMZON, Proprietor & Manager 950 ESPAnA corner CRAIG MANILA UNIVERSAL SCHOOLS Paco Building Manila OFFERS SECRETARIAL-FASHION-ARTS The only pioneer School south of the Pasig River Founded in 1935 For Further Particulars: Please see or write the Director or the Registrar * * * ACE til*** 1013 Rizal Avenue. MANILA’S LEADING AMERICAN BAR IMPECCABLE CUISINE & SERVICE Dine, Drink and Dance to exquisite music in our beautifully decorated garden. Personal direction, P. T. Tolentino, Manager 7L A RAYMOND HOUSE PUBLICATION • T/iis story of Don Sixto Lopez is the story of a pro-Filipino Portrait of a Filipino by Renato Ltboro THE young officer sat at the bedside of the old patriot. His strong American accent, vibrant with youth, contrasted deeply with the quivering voice of the old Filipino. Two years ago it was, when the young aviator, in the secrecy of a silent night, had bidden a hasty goodbye to the man who had given him a second life, born of the faith of men, as he sweated out three months, hidden deep within the enemy lines. There was no need to bring back the past wherein the brutality and sa vagery of a ruthless enemy mingled with the passive anxiety and hopefulness of a nation awaiting liberation. Bill Harris left that night to join once more the ranks of America’s fight ing men. Behind him, in the hearts of the people who had befriended him when he most needed friendship, he left a pledge—a pledge that someday he would return, not as a fugitive from the sha dow of the Samurai, but as a friend come back to stay. Yet the young American aviator left, knowing as little of his benefactor as Juan de la Cruz knew of Sixto Lopez. Don Sixto was born of well-to-do par ents in the little town of Balayan, in the province of Batangas. It was a typical Filipino town, steeped in the tra ditions of a rich Spanish-Malayan cul ture. The green rice paddies of Cavite stretched to the north; the silent waves of Balayan Bay lapped softly on the beaches to the south; to the west lay the blue waters of the China Sea; and the towering mountains of the Sierra Madre rose sharply to the east. Nature indeed had showered beauty on this sleepy little town. Don Sixto passed the days of his youth like all of us nowadays do—in laughter and in tears, in happiness and in sorrow. Life was not too sweet then. The shadow of the garrote and the rack hovered over the land. The tyrant whip of Spain lashed, biting deep into the freedom-loving spirit of the Fi lipinos. The outbreak of the Revolution found Don Sixto in the ranks of the passive group of patriots with Dr. Jose Rizal as their leader. And when the bullets cut short the life of the great Malayan on the Luneta, Don Sixto lost a comrade and a friend. But tyranny could not long endure in a nation that demanded a place in the concert of the free. The Americans came—for the first time—and they came to stay. The disillusionment among those who had hoped to see in the com ing of the “Americano” a release from 6 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN Spain and complete freedom for them selves, was great. Once more Filipino blood was shed in a vain but glorious fight for liberty. The Stars and Stripes was hoisted in victory and the Sun and Stars was hauled down. But as the years went by the Filipino learned more of the white man from across the seas—why he came, what he stood for; the rights that he affirmed belonged inalienably to all men, the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But to Don Sixto and to a small group of Filipinos, freedom was a big thing, a precious thing—much too big and precious to be exchanged even for one moment for the wealth and the luxury of a new civilization. For them life would not be complete without free dom; life would be a meaningless farce. They were irked by the period of un certain waiting. So he left the coun try, left everything he loved and cher ished—home, family, and friends—to go into exile. He knew what the Ame rican flag stood for; but he also knew that he would never be true to all he had lived for if he stayed subservient under that flag. To him and to others like him, it was not a matter of flags or the words in the oath of allegiance. It was a question of honor and integrity and justice. And until the Sun and Stars would fly once again, alone and free, under the deep blue Philippine sky, Sixto Lopez had to remain in the strange, foreign lands that offered a ha ven for exiles. As the years passed the small group of irreconcilables gradually dwindled in number. Some came back to a country slowly but surely maturing into nation hood. Some remained to die alone and friendless, away from all they had so dearly loved. Three times Don Sixto tried to re-enter the country without having to swear allegiance to the Ameri can flag. Three times he had to turn back without setting foot on Philippine soil. The lines of age were slowly creeping on his tired face. Time and a lonely heart unmistakably showed in the frail form of the old patriot. Still Don Sixto lived in exile. But the American na tion understood too his side of the question. They knew what freedom meant; they too had fought and died for it. And they respected the men who loved and fought for liberty. So finally Don Sixto was allowed to return to his country, to its verdant fields of green, to his home, family, and friends—and he came back to stay. The names of Quezon, Osmeiia, Roxas—patriots all—were on the lips of the masses. Independence was the cry, and towards that goal the leaders of the nation pushed on. Money and the things it bought brought on an era of unprecedented prosperity. But not always does one have everything. War clouds began to form on the hori zon, In December 1941, Japan declared war on the United States of America. Pearl Harbor, Clarke Field, Guam, Mid way, Wake, Nichols Field, Davao, Bata an, Corregidor — all testified to the treachery of the Japanese. Once again, another flag was hauled down^n defeat; once again a foreign flag took the place of another. Arrogantly the Rising Sun waved in the Philippine sky. Once more liberty was proscribed. Once more the name of Fort Santiago became a word to inspire terror in the hearts of a stricken people. For three long years the Samurai cast his long and fearful shadow upon the very hearts of the Filipinos. For three long years the people waited for the re turn of the Big Brother who had gone farther south. The Japanese “benevol ently" gave the Filipinos “independence”, and with the same generosity packed the dungeons of Fort Santiago with men whose only fault was that they dearly* PORTRAIT OF A FILIPINO loved freedom. Thousands of mothers kept lonely vigil for sons that would never come out of the cells of the liv ing dead. And all the while, in the little town of Balayan, Don Sixto, now old in body but still implacably young in spirit, waited—waited for his flag to go up and wave freely once more in the Phil ippine sky. But time is a respecter of nothing; the waiting was long, and per haps it would have been too long had not the young American aviator dropped one day from the skies to leave behind him a pledge of liberation and ultimate freedom. And so, in the town of Balayan, an old man awaits the realization of a life-long dream. His days are numbered. Age is etched deeply in the lines of his gen tle face. But the loneliness is gone; only the expectancy of the future remains. Two years ago it was since the young "Americano” left; two years of waiting for liberation. And now that he has come back, he brings with him his other promise. The Filipino people are a nation of extremes, they say. Today, one has to be pro-American or he is branded a pro Japanese. It does not seem to occur to them that there can be such a person as a pro-Filipino. This story of Don Sixto Lopez is the story of a pro-Filipino. When he risked his life to shelter the young aviator from the long hand of the dreaded Kempeitai, it was not because he was pro-Ameri can, but because he valued the life of an American as a soldier of freedom, because deep inside him he knew what freedom meant and was ready to de fend it even at the cost of his life. And when he shall have gone to join the hall of the forever free, one thing of him shall always live on: he lived for freedom, he fought for freedom, and he died a free man, owing no allegiance to any flag save his own. In the mean time, Sixto Lopez waits . . . waits . . . and waits.............. You may have knitted your brows guessing the exact identity of Bill Har ris in “Portrait of a Filipino", by Renato Liboro. We have been fortunate enough to receive a complete list of the officers and men referred to therein. Here they are: Capt. Ed. Whitcomb, Hayden, Indiana; Capt. William F. Harris, c/o Hg. USMC, Navy Dept.; Lt. Richard C. Chaptberlain, P.O. Box 678, El Cajon, Cal.; Sgt. Teambier Armstrong, Brewton, Alabama; Major Robert Cramer, Florida, USA; Patrick Melody, New York City; Eugene Jorgensen; Harold Guetner. — Editor’s Note. WE REPAIR Typewriters Adding Machines Calculating Machines Phonographs Locks & Safes, Etc. AT YOUR SERVICE ! ! DEALERS IN Rebuilt Typewriters VILLASIN SALES COMPANY TysMrSM" SALES & SERVICE 2278 Acarraga, Manila CheckwTiters, Etc. Our Service 1* For Those Who Want The Best at a Price They Can Afford. REPORT ON TOKYO by Lt. (jg) J. Shestack, USNR THE occupation of Japan is pro gressing smoothly. There are no "incidents.” And so it is decided to declare the cities of Tokyo and Yokohama in-bounds for Allied servicemen—that is, for a limited number each day, just five per cent. Our aircraft carrier* is anchored in Tokyo Bay about eight miles off Yoko hama. After a year of fighting from Leyte to Saigon to Luzon, from Formosa to Iwo, Okinawa, Kyushu, and Honshu, this is our first recreation liberty in foreign territory. So we lose no time. The five per cent are picked; K rations and water canteens are distributed; and American dollars are exchanged for fresh Japanese yen notes. After every one makes the obvious cracks about "who has a ‘yen’ to go ashore” and “does any one have a ‘yen’ for a geisha girl’,” etc., we decide to get ten dollars worth of Jap money. The rate of exchange is 15 to 1; with 150 yen in our pockets plus a few packs of cigarettes for trading pur poses, we feel quite confident of the financial situation. We transfer over to the LCI that is to take us ashore, and a half hour later we puli' up to the oft-bombed Yokohama docks. A Marine guard is standing by the dock and we pump him for directions, points of interest, and so on. He tells us that most of the servicemen granted liberty have been sent to Yokohama, but that if we wanted to, it might be possible to get over to Tokyo. The railroad sta tion is only a few blocks away, and al though he hadn’t tried it, he saw no rea son why we couldn’t take a train to Tokyo. After a hasty conference, five of us decide Yokohama can wait, and Tokyo it is! • The U. a S. Ticonderoga. It is very crowded in the station, and we are the only Americans there. We stand in a close circle, feeling a little leery about the whole project, and won dering what we would do if some Jap suddenly decided that the peace was a huge mistake. The writing over the tick et windows doesn’t look at all inviting to our strictly American lingual prow ess, and prospects of getting a ticket are all but encouraging. The Japs try not to stare at us, but they are very ob viously not used to Americans in their railroad stations, and their glances do not hide the fact. We are getting no where fast when Bill' Butler says: "Tickets be damned; let’s go through the aisle everyone else seems to be picking, and hope for destination Tokyo.” And through the aisle we go; the conductor looks at us, starts to say something, thinks better of it, and turns back to his fare-paying passengers. Everyone in Yokohama seems to be trying to leave it; the platform is packed. A train rolls up very similar to our American subway car, hanging straps, sliding door and all. Our U. S4> subway training stands us in good stead, and we dash for the last car which we cor rectly judge to have a few seats left. Charlie Ruprecht asks the Japanese next to him, "Tokyo?”, pointing vigorously at the same time in the direction that the train is moving. The Jap looks at Char lie from over his spectacles, thinks it over, and says: "Yes, this goes to Tokyo, but it is a local. You can change to the express at the next station. That is a fine pair of shoes. What is the price?” Charlie tells him that the shoes are very definitely not for sale, and gets directions for changing. REPORT ON TOKYO The express is more crowded and this time we stand. Ruprecht provides a constant source of wonder to the Jap anese. They look at his six-foot-five frame, crowding the confines of the nar row car, and sort of half smile to them selves, as if they see it but don’t believe it. The people are all shabbily dressed, mostly in some type of uniform. These uniforms are of a cheap grey or black cloth, of a military academy turtle neck type; even a great many of the children are in uniform. The main distinction between the better dressed and the poor ly dressed, since all the clothes are worn and old, lies in the shoes. Most of the shoes are wooden or of a heavy sandal type ersatz leather, but a few of the seemingly better salaried passengers wear our own type shoes. Our shoes at this stage are still well polished, and bring forth many secretive and admiring glances. Bill Butler is the shortest of our group —about five foot seven — and yet he stands half a head taller than any of the Japanese in the car. We stand there, towering over everyone else and wonder how these puny, mangy-looking charac ters, sitting impassively before us, could ever have been the ferocious, fanatical fighters that sought to rule the world. As Bill Knight said, "Can you imagine these dictating terms from the White House?” "Yes,” says Faus, a Jap-hater from way back, “and can you imagine an American railroad if the Japs had won? I’ll bet next month’s pay that they never would have remained standing while we took the seats. The Nazis or Nips would probably have cleared out the whole darn car. I guess we Ameri cans are just built different.” We notice that none of the riders throw any paper, trash, or whatnot on the floor—quite in contrast to our own railway riders. And though the crowds push and scurry much the same as ours, there is none of the noisy hum and chatter that is part of the American traveler. The scenes on either side of the tracks are a revelation in destruction. We ride for mile after mile, and all we see are piles of rubble, twisted masonry, burned-out buildings, gutted warehouses. Between Yokohama and Tokyo once stood a highly industrialized area, but now it reminds me of that huge junk pile in the Philadelphia Navy Yard where they discard rusty old metal parts —only this one is on a ten-mile scale. We ride and ride and still the ruins flash by. For awhile we gloat to ourselves about how effective we were, and then we begin to feel sorry for them. But then we also think of Pearl Harbor, and Kamikazes, and prisoner-of-war camps, and we get over that sorry feeling; but we don’t gloat anymore either. The re sults of total war, even on enemy soil, do not produce a particularly exhilarat ing feeling. As we enter the suburbs of Tokyo, the train makes frequent stops. Jack Faus calls off each one: “Looks like 110th Street... 72nd coming up next..We finally come to a stop where most of the passengers get off, and which seems to be the equivalent of Times Square (Faus held out for Pennsylvania Station), so off we go. The Tokyo station was a huge red brick edifice that might at one time have compared favorably with some of our large Union Stations, but it was now a bomb-wracked, broken-down sham bles. As we walk through, a wooden beam crashes some twenty feet away. As soon as he can stop stuttering Butler says: "I sure hope that all did’nt hap pen on purpose.” As souvenir-hungry Americans our first concern is the shopping store dis trict A passing MP gives us general directions and we head for the depart ment stores some four or five blocks away. 10 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN There are as yet few Americans in Tokyo; in three blocks we pass only five or six soldiers carrying rifles. Surely if anyone had told us a month ago that in September we’d be walking unarmed around in Tokyo he would have walked away with tall story honors, and yet here we were. We got a terrific kick out of it and kept saying to each other again and again, “Who would have thought that one week we’d be fighting them and the next....” From a distance downtown Tokyo seems to have survived the destruction, unless of course you are looking on it from the air. But it’s not until you reach a building, any building, that you realize that what you have seen from afar is mere facade. Most of the large buildings are hollow shells of their for mer selves. Gutted by fire, disem boweled, blackened, they present a more gruesome spectacle than even the leveled rubble. Few buildings have remained untouched. This is downtown Tokyo, once proud of its modern architecture, its burned out concrete structures now a grim and scarred sepulchre of Japanese imperialIt is remarkable how undamaged the streets are. Most of the damage seems to be the result of fire bombs, and though the buildings suffered tremendously, the driveways are noticeably clean. We took pictures of some of the damage; in prewar days this would have thrown us in prison, but now passing Japanese only stare, giggle, and walk on. We reach the first department store, which has fared fairly well. There are no display windows that characterize the American stores and we are unable to recognize it as a store until we pass close by. There is a fair sprinkling of Ameri can soldiers inside and we make our tour of the store. Takashuma department store is one of Tokyo’s finest and compares in size to Gimbels. But it is utterly devoid of suits, dresses, underwear, shoes, furni ture and the numerous items that make up our own inventories. There is a complete shortage of clothing, foodstuff, and household items. Vases, chinaware, art prints, cheap utensils, and small drugstore items compose the majority of goods. Their stocks are low and we find little that is unique or that we would consider buying in the States, except perhaps a few dolls and engraved trays or tea pots. Prices are very high. Ja pan is well on the road to inflation. A tea set sells for perhaps 150 yen or $10.00; its value by American standards is probably $2.00. Some bargains are found in silks, incense burners, dolls and these go quickly. We come to a shelf and point to a teacup that we de sire. The salesgirl giggles and backs away. We point again using more ap propriate gestures that include flashing our yen notes. This brings results, and the teacup is brought forth. We ask how much, but our English fails to register. We hold out our yen notes; the girl picks out a few, and giggles happily. Our purchase is wrapped in a little sandalwood box; the Japanese seem to put everything they sell in these sweet-smelling boxes, even when the box appears to be more valuable than the purchase. A number of salesgirls speak English, and are kept quite busy explaining the working qualities of the incense burner to curi ous soldier shoppers. Large as the store is in size, we find very little to buy, and move on to others. Goods are scarce everywhere, and the Japanese buy much in the black market. Large as this black market is already, it will probably grow even larger in the coming weeks through purchases by our troops. American cigarettes are espe cially in demand, nor do we wonder why, after we have once glimpsed the foul smelling weed that is the native prod uct. Near the department store a Navy REPORT ON TOKYO 11 lieutenant has seven or eight packs of cigarettes which he is trying to sell; we pause to watch. He approaches a well-dressed Japanese, holds out a pack of cigarettes in one hand, and thirty yen ($2.00) in the other. Then he pockets the yen and waves the cigarettes around flashingly. The Jap stares blankly for a moment; then it dawns on him and he backs away, shaking his head vigorously. The lieutenant shrugs, turns away and walks a few steps. Im mediately the Jap follows and taps him on the shoulder. The American turns, and the little Japanese hold up two fin gers, signifying his willingness to pay twenty yen, and smiling broadly all the while. By this time a crowd of some twenty or thirty Japanese have quickly gathered around. But the lieutenant holds out; he waves the pack of cigar ettes and holds up three fingers. This is a sign for much subdued laughter among the crowd, and a great deal of whispering and shaking of heads, though whether in rejection of the American’s high price or admiration of his shrewd bargaining, is difficult to determine. Finally one of the Japanese sneaks out three ten yen notes, and surreptitiously holds it out for a pack of cigarettes. After him— the deluge; for, as if by signal, the whole crowd is holding up yen notes and begging to be recognized. The lieutenant’s stock is depleted in a few moments, but still the crowd mills around, a few of the linguists waving their money and shouting, "Me, me, me”. Even after the American walks off, some follow after him. The sale of cig arettes in this manner is common prac tice, and in many instances a pack will fetch as high as fifty yen, or approxi mately 66 times what they cost. Though we are only furthering the black mar ket with such sales, our philosophy seems to be that Jap prices are so high it all goes back anyway, and besides, the pre servation of the Jap economy be damned. Restriction, however, will probably soon be in effect, for tempting as this line of reasoning is, its unsoundness is all too obvious. Jack Faus and I have separated from the others; for, in souvenir-hunting the fewer the better. Besides, by now we have gotten used to the idea of seeing so many Japs that we are no longer quite as concerned about sticking close ly together. We walk boldly down the streets, stopping wherever curiosity prompts us —buildings, banks, bookstores, small burned-out shops. The conqueror feel ing is a gripping one. It asserts itself almost in spite of one’s better nature. Somehow there is the inclination to talk louder, and to walk down the street with "lordly mien", stepping aside for no one, no matter what the age or sex. This feeling of being the conqueror, and thus entitled to the fruits of conquest, is hard to explain to someone who has not undergone the hard, bitter, and weary struggle of the bloody campaigns that paved the waterways to this very spot. But the ingrained training of American principles holds good in most cases, and the well-known Jap and Nazi habits of conquest are not adopted, now the tables are turned. It is difficult to understand the Jap anese attitude, or rather, we cannot un derstand it. They seem to show a com plete indifference to us as an army of occupation. They till their meagre little gardens, crowd their movie houses, in dulge in the national pastime of riding the railroads, al! as if we weren’t there. Very little resentment, few menacing glances, no angry mutters; we are ac cepted as naturally as the weather. We place ourselves in their boots, try to pic ture their psychology, but it is of no use. If the Japs had won, we know we would have bristled with hate, secluded ourselves as much as possible, created “incidents” aplenty. But not the Jap anese. Gone is their die-hard spirit, 12 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN gone their fanatical fury, gone the cruel arrogance. Instead, we see almost an eagerness to cooperate and to please. Advance as many explanations and theories as you wish; to the American mind it is still unnatural. In one store I see a huge yew bow that attracts my archer’s fancy, especially at only 35 yen. The store is crowded, and fifteen minutes later we are still unable to snare a salesgirl. Our time is grow ing short, but my intentions are still set on the bow. Finally, Faus points to the bow, and says: "Jerry, young fellow my lad, what is this thing?” “Now what do you think it is?” I reply in a very unappreciative sort of way. “Well,” says Faus, with a gleam in his eye, "it looks like a weapon to me.” “A weapon?”, says I, "why YES, a WEAPON!” “And what,” continues Jack, "do the regulations say?” "Suh, I do firmly believe that they are against it.” "Correct, Mr. Bones, let me quote: ‘THEY SHALL BE CONFISCATED.’” "Gung Ho!” “Gung Ho!” Forthwith we confiscate. Faus slings the bow over his shoulder, and off we go. We get to the entrance, and I start back. “Where are you going now?” says Jack. “Well, the least I can do is pay for the arrow...” But my good intentions are of no avail —the counter is still mobbed—anyway we tried... The Japanese seem to get a huge kick out of seeing me traipse along with a seven foot “weapon” slung over my shoulder, but we don't give a hoot. As far as we are concerned they can think the-bow is what we beat them with. The Imperial Palace is out of bounds. With more time on our hands, we might have given it a try even so; but as it is, we are content to walk on past the untouched and magnificently kept grounds. It is in the trees and gardens that Japan reminds us of home. Never a palm lover, the sight of the good old sycamore tree, which is so common here, brought on that homesick feeling again. But even in the sycamore tree, the Jap anese version is only a scrawny, under grown affair, compared to the tall, spreading button balls that took on American citizenship. We stop at the Imperial Hotel, once the hangout of Tokyo’s tourist elite. The hotel has definitely been hit, but has not sufferred too badly. Its guests are now members of the Allied staffs, most ly of the gold-braid variety. Inside it seems little different from any first class hotel in the States, except perhaps that the coffee room shows a marked preference for the native tea. Service is reputed to be excellent, and business is good. We get directions from the Oxford-accented desk clerk who seems to be a pre-war figure glad to be back at his old job. It is almost four o’clock now, and time to take a return train. 'Ten sen buys us a local newspaper which we can’t read (but whoever heard of a train ride without a newspaper), and we are set. The train is more crowded than ever and the odor that accompanies it makes me yearn heartily for an oldfashioned nose-clogging cold. There are two stops at Yokohama; we decide to get off at the second one which is closer to the docks. However, the conductor forgets to slow down at the second stop, and we have to ride on to Yokosuka. The havoc between Yokohama and Yokosuka is not nearly as great. The landscape is green and hilly, reminiscent of the Pennsylvania Poconos. The viP lages are mostly small wooden shacks REPORT ON TOKYO 13 built almost on top of each other. These are the squalid tinder-box variety that we had erroneously believed compose most of Tokyo. The Japanese are in dustrious farmers, and now at five o’clock we still see them busily working their tiny plots. This rural' area has seen few occupation troops, and at each local stop children stare at us curiously through the window. I had become separated from Jack at the crowded station, and we had taken different sections of the train. But at Yokosuka I ran into several of the ship’s officers who had spent the day there; there was still almost an hour before our boat would be ready to take us back to the Ticonderoga, so we walked around the outskirts of the town. Very few stores are open in Yokosuka, but judging from the accumulation of odds and ends, these fellows have picked up; trading has been most successful. The method consists of going through the residential district, stopping by an open door (they are all open), pointing to an article that attracts your fancy, and then using candy, gum, and cigarrettes, to persuade the Japanese to give up the article in exchange. The Japan ese are a hungry people, and a candy bar has an allure that is worth a China doll or even a silk kimono. In this man ner several of the soldiers have picked up some excellent siik, engraved teak wood boxes, and in some cases the muchdesired hara-kiri daggers. Fraternization does not seem to be an issue in Japan. We have been told not to abuse the Japanese, and Admiral Halsey had barred the use of invectives in referring to them, but at the same time we have been warned to refrain gestures of friendship and keep in mind that it was this same people that conceived Pearl Harbor. Nor does the warning seem particularly necessary. We are not very inclined to become friendly with the Japanese—at least not just yet. Trade with them, ask them questions, talk to them, yes—it’s part of American curiosity; but fraterniza tion, no. These soldiers and sailors have been fighting the Japs too long, and the fighting is too fresh in their minds. As far as the women go, that is ano ther story. Geisha houses hold a fas cination for Americans (a good many of them anyway) that is currently being explored. True the geisha district is out of bounds, but our military police as yet have little knowledge of where all the geisha houses are, and other duties are more important right now than standing by geisha houses, so... We pass one geisha house that has kept up with the times through a crudely printed sign "Welcome Americans”. The sign fur ther tells us that this particular house is reserved for petty officers, first and second class. Other houses cater to of ficers, seamen, etc., as the case may be. Business hours begin at five or six o’clock, and like any well-run establish ment they are very punctual in opening up exactly on time. The geisha girl has a very special place in Japanese society and stands far higher on the social lad der than her American colleague. We can see kimono-clad girls looking at us from the windows, but the house is not yet open, and we do not feel justified in intruding merely for the purpose of satisfying our curiosity. Yokosuka has been open to Americans for several days, and one of the Marines tells us that geisha parties are quite intriguing— purely from a sociological perspective, I imagine. We stopped by one Japanese hovel that had been erected amidst the ruins out of torn metal and scrap wood. The owner, his wife, and daughter are sit ting cross-legged on a long mat serving as divan, table, and probably bed. The two-room dwelling is clean, but almost entirely devoid of furniture; what there 14 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN is, is bare and of cheap quality. Only the delicately painted tea pots and sake jugs have aught of beauty. I have prac tised a few Japanese phrases, so I nod to the staring occupants and say, “Konichiwa” (good day). This produces only blank looks for a few moments, and then it dawns. The woman smiles brightly, and says, not “Konichiwa”, but “Good day”. As a matter of fact most of the Japanese know little English, but are not too eager to reveal their knowledge. The man says in a pigdin sort of way, “Chewing gum?” I point to a little sake cup, and hold up a pack of gum. He makes the trade, and I say, “Arigato” (thank you). He seems to get a huge kick out of this, and re peats in a sing-song tone, “Arigato, arigato”, as if he was amazed at an American saying thank you. One of the others tries to buy a little carved tray, but cannot make out the price the Jap is asking. I try one of my remain ing phrases and say: "Suije o kaite kudasai” (write out the number, please). This convinces them that I am a true linguist, and brings forth a stream of Japanese talk. Totally engulfed, I manage a feeble "Wakari masen” (I do not understand). This, however, only seems to be added proof of my language ability, and the flow continues. The higher economics is finally abandoned, and a simple trade is effected by virtue of a candy bar. The girl goes over to a nearby pile of rubble, and digs out a few teacups for sale. They had evident ly been secreted away, for fear that the Americans would pillage and loot. I imagine the Jap hid most of their va luables, and in a few days stores as well as individuals would have better articles to sell. My teacup drops and breaks. The Jap gives me another one and re fuses to accept payment. They are very polite, and in all fairness we must admit that this politeness which we have mocked as hypocritical and treacherous, really seems to have some sincere qual ities. Perhaps the basis will yet be found for this people to take their place among the brotherhood of nations. Per haps. ... It is sunset when we finally embark on the LCI that is to return us to the “T". In the distance white-capped Fuji has taken on a reddish hue; a few min utes later it is no longer discernible— the Japanese sun has set. Come and Enjoy . . . Good Time For Your DATE AT SAN MIGUEL HOTEL Restaurant & Bar 21-29 Aviles Street, Manila In front San Miguel Brewery Near Malacaiian Palace Ventilated Rooms Courteous Service ESMRIE DENTIL""!" DR. CEFERINO ESCARTE DR. P. ESCARTE-DE JOYA DENTISTS By Appointment only Guison Bldg., Rooms 303 & 304, 3rd Floor 755 Rizal Avenue Next to Central Hotel Jfytu’lillo cJkt ^PhotO gkotoqtapU-Qe-Juxt 1050 RIZAL AVENUE MANILA • Proof of the old adage that knowledge is the mother of understanding I Hated Filipinos! by Lt. Pat Ledyard, WAC BACK in Port Moresby in the sum mer of 1944 we talked of Manila and of the day when ‘‘we would return”. Weary of crowded barracks, we envi sioned being back in a city where we could rent a little apartment—or, fail ing that, look forward to weekends in a hotel. We made endless dates for cocktails at the Army-Navy Club and dancing at the Manila Hotel. We dreamed of plays and concerts and de partment stores and soda fountains. Above all, we looked on our entry into Manila as a moment of high triumph. And then the long months passed. Americans landed in Leyte, they landed in Lingayen. At last they took Manila and General MacArthur was able to tell the people of the Philippines and the world that he had made good his pro mise to return. We took Manila, but it was not so simple as all that. There were casualty lists and stories of Jap anese atrocities and pictures of bomb lacerated buildings. Engineer officers flew to the shattered city to try to res tore the plumbing system, signal officers worried about communications, the me dics feared epidemics and the QM worked overtime sending supplies to the occu pying troops. All that we knew and were aware of—yet we did not believe it, for the old vision of Manila, the beautiful Pearl of the Orient, persisted. Reports of ruin—even pictures of the twisted rubble of war did not convince us. Perhaps, we would tell ourselves, some of it is like that, but there will still be a great deal of the city left. There will be places to go and things to do. Then, in the spring of 1945, I came to Manila. Driving into the city from Nichols Field I had my first real sight of the effects of war. We were going, I was told, through what had been Ma nila’s finest residential section. Look ing at it then it was only a mass of broken plaster and twisted iron. The wall that swayed dizzily against the sky had been the home of a wealthy sugarman. There in the distance was a mass of destruction—all that was left of the Army-Navy Club. The rest of the city looked much the same. Disillusion was fleeting. The more lasting reaction was one of despair and horror. The sudden realization that there is no strength in stone and steel, that bombs and artillery fire can destroy walls that must have seemed eternal to the thousands they once sheltered, gave me a cheerless sort of nostalgia that was compounded of fear. Nothing in the world seemed sta ble. My own city which seemed to me to belong to time could be shattered as Manila had been. I wanted to go home while it was still there. I wanted to know that it was all right. My mind is not big enough to hold horror for long. Soon the despair I had felt at the sight of so much ruin and destruction gave way to the thou sand irritations of GI life in Manila. The heat and noise of the city oppressed me and my mind seemed lost in the waves of dust that filled our eyes whenever we went outside. I was frustrated by laundry girls who never returned my shirts and Filipino drivers to whom the streets of Manila and the manipulation of a jeep were equally mysterious. Tele phones with their tangled exchanges and endless assortment of wrong num bers reduced me to a state of frenzy. I hated all the standard things that GIs 15 16 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN hate—mess, clothes, quarters, superior officers—and over and above all I hated Manila and the Filipinos. I cannot tell the moment at which I began to change. I only know that one day I awoke to the realization that I could no longer hold so much hate. I, who had always believed in toleration for all peoples, was being very unfair. One did not condemn a city because it had been bombed, nor a people because a maid was stupid. I decided I must make a definite attempt to change my attitude. Falling back on the old pla titude that to know is to like, I decided to learn something about the Filipinos and their history and to see something of their country. My next day off found my roommate and me hitch-hiking to Lake Taal. Leaving behind us the dust of the city, we came into the rice paddy country. The little dyked squares seemed a part of my childhood, for I remembered pictures of them in my school books, but the books had not shown the unbelievable bright green of young rice, nor had they caught the awkward humor of a cara bao buried up to his neck in a muddy pool of water. Rising above the rice paddies into the hill country, we rev elled in the cool fresh air. Lake Taal itself reminded me of home—not that it was precisely like any of our Amer ican lakes, for nature is too generous to repeat herself, but because it gave me the same feeling of peace and free dom that I’ve felt sitting by the shores of my own California lakes. The Fili pinos who came up to sell bananas and papayas seemed friendly people and it was easy to respond to their pride in the lake and in their little town of Tagaytay that clung to the ridge above it. Aside from seeing the country. I wanted to learn about it, so I enrolled in a course in Filipino history and cus toms at the Philippine Institute. Nev er-did a more unwilling student push himself to school. I was convinced I would hate the course, but I was de termined to take it. From the first moment Dr. Maria Lanzar-Carpio, the slight, handsome Filipino woman who is a professor of political science at the University of the Philippines, stood before the class, my dislike of Filipinos dissolved. Her low gentle voice charmed me and I found myself being secretly pleased at the ra pidity with which she could turn her wit to steel against the occasional out bursts of GI intolerance. There is no need to go into detail about the things I learned in the class. The important thing about it for me was not so much that it opened my eyes to the actual political and econo mic problems confronting the Common wealth of the Philippines as that it opened my sympathies and understand ing to the Filipino people. Lake Taal was the first place I found to delight me in Luzon. That trip was followed by others—to Batangas, to Baguio, to the Marikina dam until, lit tle by little, I built up in my mind pic tures of many beautiful places to which my memory will return me at odd mo ments throughout all my life. Dr. Carpio was the first' Filipino whom I wished I could have for a friend. Since then I have met many other peo ple who have made me cease to think as I first did of the Filipinos. These days I only hope that their reactions to me will be favorable enough so that they will be willing to think of me, and other Americans, as someone they would like to know. Now, even the desolation of Manila has lost its old power to dismay me. The destruction was great, but not so great as the words of a Filipino busi nessman whose entire property was destroyed by the Japanese. "It was bad,” he said shrugging his shoulders, “but what of that? Now 1 will start again.” • I know the way his heart is, but it has been so long .... Just Waiting by Ligaya Victorio-Keyes CAPTAIN, I’ll say, something new has been added. You have become a MAN. There are bars on your collar. And there is a certain look in your eyes... Nice eyes Brown, like mine. But I don’t like your uniform. That’s nothing to hold against it; I just stopped liking uniforms. Lost the taste for them as one loses the taste for green guavas and sour mangoes after ado lescence. There was a time when I adored uni forms. Remember? I felt so proud when I went around with a man in uniform. I was happy when I married a man in uniform. But now I know why they put a man in uniform. In uniform, a man ceases to be a peaceful individual and be comes part of an ideology. He becomes a destructive and a constructive force, an active cog of war. For him, no longer the neutral colors of ordinary living, the dull and the bright spots of peace. He takes on the protective coloring of insects and other forms of animal life which must combat nature. For war is nature in its most violent form, more violent than a sea in tempest or the earth in a quake because it conforms to no set na tural laws and cannot be kept within bounds. In uniform, his not to reason why, his but to do and die. Not that dying is confined to uniforms. It is easy to die in civilian clothes, too. You were not in Manila, but I was, and I know. At one moment a woman was sweating over a cook stove, concerned with the more elemental demands of exis tence. The next moment, she was blown to kingdom come. Then there were those who engaged in the bitter day to day fighting to exist, hiding in sewers, pre tending death. When suddenly death was no pretense. But why think of death while waiting for you. There is all eternity to ponder upon it. Think, rather, of life. Life that began for us in 1941. I was in uniform then, but a uniform symbolic of something entirely different. It was joy to feel the bright wings of sleeves hedging me in, the exquisite swish of satin against my limbs. And the flowers. An offering to life that must blossom and fruit if it is to be fulfilled. But the bombs came, and this life was interrupted. No longer the new home in Camp Murphy, the par ties for the bride, the perfection of a new routine. The gifts, still unwrapped, which crashed to smithereens, were in fragments not any more broken or scat tered than this life of happiness and peace that we had planned to live for ever and ever. But that was yesterday. Today you are coming. You will come through that door, a stranger bearing the semblance of the man I have loved through all these years. What will you say? Remember me? I’m the man you married. And the small talk, What have you been doing?.. I’ve been waiting, I’ll say brightly. I like waiting. It brings out the martyr in a woman. It sends her walking miles in a three-room flat, counting the ticks of a clock. It makes her talk to her self because she likes the sound of the dreams she never stops dreaming. It squeezes the heart out of her and nicks it in the vital places, so it will break more easily—just in case. I’m used to waiting, I’ll say still more brightly. Remember the time I waited fifteen days for you? And you stayed ten minutes. Just time enough for one 17 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN hurried, tear-stained kiss, and a confu sion of words that made no sense. And all I wanted to say was Take me with you. I knew it was foolish, so I said in stead, Take care of yourself. Yes, mother, you said tenderly and jokingly, your face pale with the effort not to feel good bye. And I was in your arms one short eternity, hoarding the moments of closeness, trying to engrave in memory the feel of your heart against mine. There were so many things I wanted to tell you, so much more I longed to say, for I knew that there must be si lence between us for ages to come. But all I could say over and over again was, Take care of yourself and come back to The centuries of waiting before your letter camel Sleepless nights straining for the sound of a courier’s steps. Days of agony ferreting out driblets of news about you. And those Bataan days. The peaks of hope, and the long, dull stretches of just plain waiting. Afterwards I haunted the gates of the Capas prison. I would stand near the gates watching the boxes coming out, measuring the length of them with my memory of your tallness. It was stupid and soul-tear ing, but there was nothing else to do. I had not heard of you. There was no one who knew about you. There was no way of knowing if you were left on the fields of Bataan or languishing with in the prison camp. How could I guess that you had es caped to Australia? Your letter came so very late. But it came, and that was enough for a time. I can hear you saying, Let's have no more of that. Tell me about the life you led. It was a most interesting life, I’ll say, again conversationally. One never knew what was coming next. First, rice was ten pesos. Then it was thirty, fifty, a hundred pesos. In what seemed a mere twinkling, it had soared into the thou sands. And I was just like ary bewil dered civilian, trying to hold on to the slippery grains. The silver combs that I wore in my hair when we were mar ried went for ten gantas of rice. And the sapphires that were my godfather’s gift went for half a sack of rice and half a sack of corn. I put up a small store for my kid sister. Bananas and man goes to begin with, then soap, dried fish, beans. Not very romantic, is it? But one had to live. And I worked. First for a politician. Then as manager of a fashion school. I don’t like men. They cannot under stand why a woman must be faithful. They’ll ask, half curiously, half insinua tingly, And how do you spend your eve nings? And one invents all sorts of silly answers because they cannot under stand the most important answer of all—that one was waiting. Men cannot understand why waiting should be an oc cupation. But that is not living! they’ll exclaim when one speaks of quiet eve nings spent at home. You ore so young. There is no law against having a good time once in a while. There is no sense in living the dull life of a spinster day after day. No. Men cannot understand why women must be faithful—the wo men who did not belong to them. So I changed jobs. And I sat home nights, dreaming over sheets of figures, sketching future clothes. I’d dream of the time when you at last must come and life can resume. We’d see things together, do things together. How did we live before? Movies two times a week, a night club once a month. Pic nics, bathing parties, just driving. And quiet evenings at home, sprawled on wicker chairs, talking, being comfortable. We would turn on the radio and listen to the music. Then perhaps, if the mu sic was slow and sweet, we’d get up and dance. I’d relax in your arms while my steps followed yours, obediently, rememberingly. There was sweet delight. JUST WAITING 19 in moving to music, snug in the circle of your embrace. Time stood still, and there we were together, a picture com plete. I’d look up at you and you’d look down on me, and there was the feel and the touch of the words we did not have to say. There was exquisite pain and joy in the thought that though this moment must pass, it would come again. These I’d dream about while I figured ways and means of making the school pay. Sometimes I’d get up and peer in to my wardrobe to see if the bluo dress and the red were untroubled by bugs— they must be intact for your coming. For years of hanging in an aparador must take their toll on the sturdiest fab ric, and the blue and the red were never very sturdy. If no one was around, I’d try them on, to find out just how thin I had got. If they hang wearily upon me, it was an indication that I could do with more avocadoes—they can build up weight so quickly. And I’d pass my hand carefully over my arms, test ing their smoothness, and gaze at my face in the mirror to see if it had al tered. For you were coming home to a memory which the harshness of living must not touch. I must stop thinking all these. Only, it is not easy to stop talking to you in my mind—I’ve had so much practice. Soon, very soon, I must talk to you in fact. And I do not know what to say! How shall I begin? Captain .... But it is not easy after a silence of years. This waiting has bred a quietness in my mind which you might find very much like dullness. I have forgotten how to be bright. What does one say to a hus band who is also a stranger? How does one begin renewing acquaintanceship then? How does one renew love? I must sit very still and rehearse. Think of some bright sallies, the small talk that one indulges in when one is em barrassed. But why must I be embar rassed? This is the man I have loved, in substance and in shadow, and for whom I have waited these many centuries. I have never really stopped being with him. I know the way his mind works, I know the way his heart is—he is all that I understand. But it’s been so long . . . Captain, something . . . Those are his steps now. Heavens, what shall I do? Cap ... I must open the door. Wait a minute, wait just one minute. Here, I shall open the door. Oh, please, what can I say? "Darling, oh darling!" • The stern justice of crime and punishment clearly demands that— Japan Must Pay THE world breathed a sigh of relief as the 11th Airborne stowed away battle gear that had not been needed and the occupation of Japan proceeded with out disturbance. The enemy had been vanquished; there was no fight left in him. In the Philippines and in other sec tions of the East, that sigh of relief was accompanied by anxiety. The com ing of peace was joyously hailed, but no immediate solution appeared to the nu merous and pressing problems that pre sented themselves. In the twisted streets, charred wood en beams, and jagged fragments of glass that were once boulevards, homes, and office sites, we can see the shattered remains of Philippine economy. Re nowned as the most beautiful, health iest, and cleanest capital in the Far East, Manila was declared an open city in December 1941 to save it from des truction by the invading Japanese. In February 1945, when U.S. liberation forces entered Manila, the retreating Japanese demolished and set afire many buildings that had no military value whatever. Those whose industry and foresight in prewar days should now en able them to enjoy peace and security have been cast into instability and pe nury. Economic disorganization during the Japanese occupation was characterized by an almost total absence of foreign commerce, a chaotic domestic trade, the hoarding of foodstuffs, and sky-rocket ing inflation. Millions of pesos worth of Mickey Mouse notes brought on a di sastrous economic situation. But the body blow came when the Japanese deby Chris Edwards parted, destroying everything he could lay his hands on, indiscriminately. Only the grim reminders of war’s cyclonic fe rocity remain, but they are enough. They speak of his wanton cruelty, of his violent attempt to dominate all of Eastern Asia. They forcibly impress upon us the power of his determination to obliterate free Philippine culture from the face of the earth. They are tangible evidence of a sinister attempt to destroy the mind and heart of a peo ple who, through three long years, clung tenaciously to their ideals of democracy and freedom. Even when he knew that his lust for conquest had proved disastrous, he was unrelenting. Depart ing in ignominy he sought to burn, dy namite, and kill, in an attempt to as suage the bitterness of his failure to impose his doctrines upon a free people. There is only one way to secure jus tice: the Japanese must pay for the will ful destruction he has caused. Exaction of reparations is perhaps the only way this payment can be secured. The clamor for reparations is not aroused by purely vindictive considera tions. It is based upon justice, the stern justice of the ancient law of crime and punishment, of reward and retribution. The enemy cannot call back to life those whom he brutally murdered, but he can help restore the homes, schools, facto ries, wharves, public buildings, etc., which he destroyed. The Filipinos have been left utterly destitute because of the wanton aggres sion of the Japanese. Clearly, it is not vindictiveness but simple justice to de mand that the perpetrators of this be compelled to pay. The Commonwealth JAPAN MUST PAY 21 government is without the resources to finance reconstruction projects on the large scale required. Individuals are without the means to carry on their nor mal business activities. From what source, then, must aid come? From the United States? Yes, perhaps. But we are not willing to cry forever on the shoulders of another na tion. It is Japan that should rightfully pay for the bricks and mortar of re construction. And when independence comes, as it is bound to come soon, it will be advisable for the Philippines to assume a sovereign status as free from the burden of foreign debt as possible. Supported wholly in our rehabilitation program by U.S. funds, we shall be crip pled from our birth as an independent nation by a load that, but for the des truction wrought by Japan, we would not have to bear. And while aid in the form of foreign investments is helpful from one standpoint, it is also true that its principal profits are usually not shared by the Filipino masses. Into the international policies of World War II was injected the idea that the responsible individuals and groups within the aggressor nations should be made to answer for their crimes. No doubt exists as to the correctness of this policy. Yet, little attention has been directed towards the equally cor rect contention that Japan, as an ag gressor nation, should help finance the rehabilitation program of the Philip pines. There are two possible reasons why public attention has been diverted from reparations. They are: first, the un expected surrender of Japan which caught the United Nations without a de finite plan of diplomatic action; and se cond, the absence of unity among the Filipinos themselves which has prevented them from undertaking concerted action in the interest of their country. It is now well known that the United Nations had not hoped for such an early surrender. They were caught with no definite plan of action beyond the Potsdam Declaration, and this dealt only with surrender, not with the more intricate details of a long-range peace policy which must needs follow, if we are to be spared another war. Sand wiched between German capitulation and occupation, the explosive nature of the Balkan question, partial demobilization, and the Japanese surrender, it is no wonder that little attention was given to the claims and needs of the Philip pines. The Commonwealth government, by a determined effort to establish the va lidity of its claim for reparations, might have accomplished much. Instead, petty name-calling and internal friction prevailed. In contrast, the Chinese Government has already given this prob lem serious consideration as is evidenced by the statement of Wang Shih-chieh, China’s foreign minister, that China would seek reparations by confiscation of Japanese industrial plants in China and Manchuria. The Philippines do not now possess an effective club with which to enforce their demands. Only the scattered de bris and ashes of a stricken nation re main to support the logic and justice of their claim. Having exhibited such fortitude and courage during the Jap anese occupation, the Filipinos cannot fail to grasp the enormity of the task before them, and the need for continued unity. Perhaps another reason for the delay is furnished by a glance at the last World War. Defining an economically logical reparations policy and proceed ing judiciously with such a plan seemed all but impossible. Rarely has a nation obtained the satisfaction from the re parations to which it was entitled. Since it is such a difficult subject, it becomes 22 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN even more necessary that it be studied and pressed by a united people. The following should be embodied in any such plan of reparations for the Philippines: first, shipment of industrial machinery; second, transfer of ships from the Japanese merchant fleet to ours; third, immediate shipment of consumer commodities that are critically needed; and fourth, establishment of a definite time limit for the fulfillment of these obligations. A time limit is a prerequisite for the success of this program. As the years pass and a new generation takes its place in Japan and the Philippines, me mory of war will tend to fade. The new Japanese generation will resent having to pay for damage inflicted by a past generation. They will feel no guilt, no obligation to comply. Nor will the rising Philippine generation, not having directly suffered physically and spirit ually, be anxious to press the matter. Even though convinced of Japan’s guilt as an aggressor, they would be apt to grant merciful release from terms spread out over many years. Continued reparations would seem anomalous in the more amicable relations of the fu ture. However, we must not overlook the fact that our life will be influenced economically even then by the extent of the burden which the government now bears. It should be added that Japan has so disguised her surrender with skillfully worded phrases that the people do not seem even now to acknowledge their na tional guilt Japan’s leaders have used weasel words to imply that Japan was not beaten at all, that she "came to an understanding*’ with the victors "to set the Emperor’s mind at ease.” They in sist that the Army’s honor remains un blemished, argue that the Allies thwarted Japan’s “noble” designs to free Asia from the western yoke, and openly chal lenge Allied Occupation Forces by sub versive editorial interpretation of policy calculated to instigate hate and con tempt. A campaign to present to the Japan ese people the evil of the militarist pol icies of their discredited rulers and their responsibility in precipitating war should be accompanied by effective means of exacting admission. Repara tions is one way. Forced to pay repa rations, they must question why they are paying them. There is only one explanation—and they will see it—and that is, that the responsibility for the war is wholly theirs. The Philippine government must take the lead in bringing this issue to the United Nations. We have a valu able friend in General MacArthur. Long a friend of the Filipinos and a resident of the Philippines for many years before the war, he has witnessed the tragic change and must realize the need for immediate steps to rebuild this stricken nation. His appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Occupa tion Forces is eloquent recognition of his exceptional talents both as a diplo mat and as a military strategist. Never has he been given such an opportunity for statesmanship. Satisfaction of the claims of the Philippines will be but a small part of his enormous job; but this country and its people have a warm place in his heart, and he will not for get The Japanese are unable to wage war because of the overwhelming might which surrounds them. They will be able to win the respect of their neigh bors only if they change their ideas and their ways. Acknowledgment of their share of responsibility in creating the ruin of World War II and willing ness to make amends by complying with the terms of a just reparations program should contribute much towards winning the friendship of the Filipinos and of the rest of the world. This time "so sorry’ is not enough. • A city of magnificent boulevards or a healthful, organic city ? Cities Are for People MANILA is more than just a city; it is a living organism. Especially does it so strike the beholder now as it tries to get up from the ruins, as it bravely makes an effort to lick its ugly wounds. Yes, it wants to stand on its feet again, and you and the rest of us must lend a hand. We shall rebuild this our city from the shambles and the ashes. And we shall do it right by planning together and working together—you and the rest of us. But have you ever asked yourself what you want Manila to be? What do you want to have in place of the ruins, in stead of the Manila that is? Let us be realistic. Let us not take things for granted. What really is our goal? A beauti ful city with magnificent boulevards and ornamental parks? A showplace of the Pacific—a Mecca for tourists? A rich —perhaps the richest—trade center of the Far East with ships at the harbor bringing in treasures from foreign lands in exchange for the produce of our fields and factories? Each is a goal, but are they what we want? Shouldn’t we be concerned rather with the thing that really matters? Cities are not just for eyes to see. Cities are not just for the pleasure of tourists and the curious. Neither are cities just for the making of money and then more money, nor just for the de velopment of machines and factories and what is often mistaken for progress. Cities are for people. So when we plan for the rebuilding of Manila, we plan for the people. And by A. C. Kayanan plan with them, too. We want it to be a better place in which to live and to make a living. We want it to be a city where we may live fully and in peace, where we may work in comfort and with out fear of want or fear of fear, where we may raise our children in decent surroundings so that they can study and play in safety and grow up to be healthy and responsible citizens of to morrow. We want a city of which all of us may be proud—a city where everybody belongs and is happy about It. In planning Manila, therefore, we will do more than plan for the things that will please the senses—the plazas and boulevards, the stores and factories and public buildings, important though these may be. In planning Manila we certainly will do more than draw and color these things on paper, as some think we do or should do. The physical fea tures of a city are merely the outward manifestations of the urban substance, which is the people. It is the people that really matter. Let us be concerned less with doing things merely for their own sake and more with serving people. With this in mind, we shall plan Manila so that its land may be used in the right way and at the right time for the people that live in it. The amenities will come natural, and stay. How shall we go about, then, in at taining our goal? Some well-meaning people have told us how. They would streamline the Escolta so it will run somewhere, spout a fifty-foot memo rial jet that would drip with the li quid pariotism of those who died for die living, copy foreign structures that 23 24 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN will cater to the whims of so-called cos mopolites! We have known helpful friends pre scribe palliative ointment for a neigh bor’s sores. Only an academic doctor would take the trouble of asking silly questions about diets and habits so that he may be able to eliminate the cause of the sores. Besides, it takes a long time. History tell us that wide, imposing avenues were constructed over the dens est slums of Paris, Vienna, and Berlin. The avenues were for cavalcades and processions. Monumental arches were built on these avenues for display and in memory of those who fought and died for glory. And thousands of the living whom those avenues displaced were crowded yet more densely into the dingy back streets of the Icity. The slums spread further, for the problems of the people were not tackled, and it was enough that the avenues and arches were planned for show though not for living. A woman cannot keep a good com plexion merely by using powder and the other expensive items commonly re ferred to as cosmetics. First impres sions may deceive, but the truth will out eventually. A good complexion re quires a healthy body. So it is in the case of a city like Manila. To be con cerned alone with the arrangement and design of streets, with the ornamenta tion of parks, with the style of buildings and reflecting pools in the planning of a city, and to forget all about its inhabi tants and their basic human, social, and economic needs is just as wise as to be concerned only with the external make up but not with the physiology of the body. The face of Manila can be prettified with powder and rouge and yet its body would be rotting. For we need not take tourists to the slums of Tondo and San Nicolas and Paco; or if we do we merely try to point to them how quaint the slums are. We need not bother to improve the lot of the four-fifths of our people who belong to the “lower third’’. We need not remedy the situation that threefourths of Greater Manila live in onetenth of its area. We need not provide our children with playgrounds for we have large and expensive penal institu tions to take care of them should they go wrong. Or need we? Of course, we need to. This is what we mean when we said that the people should be considered in planning a city. This is what we mean by planning for these people. We should know them and the homes in which they live and the land on which their homes stand. Let us examine Manila. The developed urban area is almost three times as large as that of the city proper. In 1940 the population of this area which follows the main roads like the tentacles of an octo pus was over 900,000. There were about 166,000 families, and the average size of the family was well above five. About 70 per cent of the population were in the city proper. More than 80 per cent of those in gainful occupations earned less than P60 a month and about 15 per cent between P60 and P200. There was, therefore, a large mass of pbor peo ple and a small middle class. Those earning more than P200 per month were just a mere two per cent of the whole, but they owned a relatively larger por tion of the wealth of the city than all the others combined! And we have to plan for all these people. In planning for them, we have as a goal an Organic City—a living city that is made up of well-knit, self-contained neighborhood units that are functionally integrated with each other. A neighbor hood unit is a group of homes bound by common interest. It is a complete cell in the social and physical structure of the city. Its area and population are CITIES ARE FOR PEOPLE 25 of such size as to make possible the smooth and efficient working of its own elementary school which, by the way, may be considered with the adjacent playground as the nucleus of the cell. This neighborhood nucleus or center can be reached without crossing major streets, thus insuring the safety of chil dren as they walk to and from their schools and playgrounds. At the center may be the local dispensary, a branch library, and other neighborhood facili ties. Local stores are conveniently lo cated within walking distance from the homes. Let us examine the neighborhood more closely. We see that the houses are just like those which we used to see, only these ones are cleaner, in better condition, well spaced, and harmoniously arranged with respect to one another and to the land on which they stand. Here each building is not just a house by it self. It is one of many which make up a neighborhood. Each resident takes an active interest, not only in his home, but also in the neighborhood in which it be longs. In other words, the residents live beyond the limit of their walls—they live as neighbors among neighbors. This is what was wrong with old Manila. During a period which others associate with progress, it grew willynilly into a large city, into something outrunning the human scale. It used to be that neighbors knew each other. Now a home is just a house with a lot, if any. Yet everybody knows that a home is more than simply a house and a lot— specially if you have children. Your children need many facilities to enable them to live in a pleasant family atmos phere—facilities like schools, play grounds, churches, and social centers. There are, during complex times, certain highly desirable ends which people can achieve only by sharing these facilities with each other, and these could be had in a neighborhood. People will get more out of life by living interdependently with each other rather than in dependently of one another. We have learned this lesson in this war. In a neighborhood unit every family will have privacy within the home and opportunity for group work outside it. Here is planning that is down to earth. Here is planning for the people that make up the city, and therefore it is the sort of planning that really matters. At the beginning and at the end of every transaction is a person. Manila and every town and city in the Philip pines are first men and women before they are affairs of bamboo and nipa and lumber and concrete and stone. These men and women should be considered first; the city’s organic soundness should be our primary goal if the city is to ac quire a healthy urban complexion. Unless this is done, we might as well deal exclusively in cosmetics and such other devices as are intended to conceal the blemishes of the human race. IT'S UP TO YOU!!! Always a good time at the PACIFIC BAR (The Biggest Little Bar in the World —Where you can enjoy yourself to you heart’s desire— 249 Zurbaran cor. Rizal Ave. Manila Apostrophe to Yamashita by Godofredo Bunao Once—just once—you stood triumphant where your footfalls echoed inland from the surging seas. On every surf upon those seas and on the sand upon their shores and in the winds that blew through the leafless trees all dry and dead, you left the stench of corpse and cadaver and blood. Such was your sinister pleasure through the days that made the months— through the months that formed the years of stolen joy. Such was your sordid ambition— to glory in the anguish of others less favored by Fate, to scatter famine upon your left and death upon your right because within your heart was perfidy and pride and lust. .. .and when you hoisted the flag of your empire and brandished the sword of your ancestors over the devastation of my land— the burning pile of ripening grain and the mouldering heap of gold— the light of peace was quenched and the peace of our homes was trampled upon and darkness descended on Truth, for threats endeavoured to muffle the voice that was bom and nurtured in freedom— the voice that was loud and clear and defiant. You lived in higheouled dreams of conquest but your dreams were vain, for we, the sons of freedom, nourished on the tenets of liberty and thus unused to servitude, bowed—but never in reverence, 26 APOSTROPHE TO YAMASHITA 27 obeyed—but never with respect, and we seemed obsequious— but never in our hearts. And thus the days rolled on and on within the borders of my land where every sunset added life to inarticulate resentment clandestine but fierce. And thus the months rolled on and on as torment was on torment piled, as hatred was with hatred intertwined until that same resentment, rising from roots of its ferocity, gave up its soul to bold defiance daring and frank and firm. .. .until your dreams of earthly conquest were entombed in shadows of defeat and you were chased by waves that you had stirred into turbulence. And you tried to flee from Justice and in your precipitate flight you left once more the stench of corpse and cadaver and blood all strewn upon the debris and the dust of city and town laid waste. But the fleet hounds of Justice overtook you and you fell— fell destitute of power and of strength, fell prostrate without your pride. What you had sown you had to reap, for like the sun that must perforce give up the zenith for the west at noon and like rebellious waves whose fury must subside into the calm at ebb the fierce must be outfought as the haughty must be humbled— as all must end that trace their vain existence to hate and the lust for power and pride. • Laurel, patriot or traitor? is now the question uppermost in people’s minds WHAT OF LAUREL? AT the Japanese resort city of Nara, in mid-September, Jose Paciano Laurel woke up to a dreadful fact: his old friend Douglas MacArthur considers him as a war criminal. From his headquarters in Tokyo, the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers had thrown a dragnet over the beaten Empire to apprehend the war makers, and the President of the pup pet Republic was caught at the com modious Hotel Nara, where he and his entourage were lodged. Laurel was flown to the industrial city of Yoko hama, a few miles southeast of the Jap anese capital. The arrest was no surprise to Lau rel. He knew it was coming. He had seen the fable of Japanese military in vincibility shattered in the field, and had quickly dissolved his Republic when the Japanese Emperor, deciding that enough was enough, accepted the terms set forth at Potsdam. When Japan formally bent the knee aboard the USS Missouri iin Tokyo Bay, Laurel hied himself to the seclusion of Nara’s gar dens and sought the consolation of his God. Laurel, more than ever before, needs his God now. In the eyes of many Filipinos, he has committed the un speakable crime of compromising with the hated enemy. In the eyes of their American allies, he is, absolutely and unpardonably, a traitor. No less than divine guidance can enable him to ex plain the tangled story of Filipino-Jap anese collaboration that had its begin nings in December 1941. The Mikado’s armies were, at that time, sweeping like a forest fire over by M. N. Querol most of East Asia. One by one the Allied citadels fell: Guam, Hongkong, Singapore. As the new year dawned upon the country, Lieutenant General Masaharu Homma’s Imperial troops were at the gates of Manila. Before the lightning advance of Jap anese infantry and armor, MacArthur had coolly withdrawn his ill-equipped USAFFE divisions to the natural bas tion of Bataan whose rear and flanks were protected by the guns of Corregidor. President Manuel L. Quezon had transferred the seat of his government to the field, leaving Jorge B. Vargas and Laurel to deal with the invader. That was the beginning of collabora tion—of the farce that began with a shining blueprint for the rapproche ment and "co-prosperity” of all Asia tic peoples and ended with slaughter and ruin in a hundred towns and cities. Vargas, Mayor of Greater Manila, was ordered by Homma to establish an Executive Commission for the govern ment of the people. Laws that yjere in consistent with the “New Order” were abolished. On October 14. 1943, with Laurel as President, the puppet Republic was inaugurated. Then event piled upon mighty event with astonishing rapidity. Laurel, af firming his belief in the reality of his Republic, concluded a Pact of Alliance with Japan. He made it plain that acts of sabotage upon the transportation and communication systems of the Imperial Army would draw heavy penalties; he exhorted the people to supply materials to the Japanese procurement offices, and granted amnesty to guerrillas who vol untarily laid down their arms. CollabWHAT OF LAUREL? 29 The result was natural. The Filipino, hungry and depressed in spirit, momen tarily lost his sense of values. He saw his own kind begin to rob and kill, his womenfolk to sell their honor for the cost of a dinner, and found himself un moved. The profiteer displayed his fat earnings, or the opportunist his gaudy finery in streets where beggars died by the hundreds, but he regarded it all with calloused indifference. He had become a primitive in search of food. Food to eat today so that he may be alive tomorrow. Against this horrible backdrop, Lau rel moved as the chief protagonist in a gigantic farce. The Japanese conqueror, mouthing beautiful platitudes on bro therly love, distributed largesse with his left hand and murdered with his right. Even as he parroted the mighty conqueror, Laurel promised the advent of a shining dawn after a night of common trial. He coined a slogan: “Live and help live.” He sought to give the people renewed courage and hope. He pleaded for a return to the simple life, “under the principle of each a brother to all, and all brothers together.” By precept and by example Laurel tried to inspire. He showed the people that he was suffering with them. He prescribed a one-course menu for Malacahan; his rice was mixed with corn. "In these times,” he said, “one should not have a full stomach. To eat a little is enough.” Then he proposed to restore equili brium to a hopelessly unbalanced econ omy. He devoted his government to the production of more food and more farm implements, to the execution of control measures designed to pull prices down. He encouraged scientific re search on food substitutes. He estab lished “community kitchens” for the starving poor. oration reached its highwater mark on September 22, 1944, when he proclaimed the Philippines in a state of war against America and Britain. Laurel’s Tokyo-manufactured “hindependence”* found little support among the people. His Republic became a huge joke. "Philippine Republic, did you say? But where is it?” The Sun and Stars flew alone from flagstaffs all over the land, but it had ceased to be a symbol of Filipino aspiration; it had come to re present the smart of the Japanese palm on the Filipino cheek, the mass arrests engineered by the dreaded Kempei at midnight, the tearing of raw flesh from shattered bone in Japanese torture chambers. Laurel knew all this—and quite prob ably much more—vet never for once did he fail to reaffirm his faith in his Re public. The situation was ludicrous: a man of undoubted intelligence prating about an independent Philippines when the heavy hand of the Japanese oppres sor was felt everywhere. There were those who saw reason in that madness, who thought they under stood what Laurel was doing when the pattern was at last pieced together. They saw the implications and considered them plain: Laurel wanted the people to be lieve that his Republic was real so that its President could be a “rallying cen ter”—a symbol from which to draw strength in a day of common suffering. The Japanese conqueror did his looting systematically—did it in the guise of legi timate business—and thereby unleashed mighty economic forces that drove the country to the rocks of immorality and hunger. His worthless greenbacks, flooding the markets at a terrific rate, raised prices to fantastic levels. He controlled all factories and all means of transport; through his power to out bid native buyers, he owned all the crops. •"Hinder 1« * Tagalog word rel's Republic. meaning no. barb leveled at Lan30 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN As Laurel played upon that 6tage, the bewildered nation saw another Qui xote hacking away at a bigger and stronger windmill. But it also caught the picture of a man who refused to be crushed by the odds against him. When he spoke at the Luneta during a cele bration of the Fall of Corregidor, and pointed a bold forefinger at the con queror and told his hearers that he was not afraid of him, many people thought they saw a brave man moving in a troubled time. His Republic died on the day that MacArthur’s armor rolled into Manila; but even as the people rejoiced at Osmena’s coming, Laurel was remembered. Now their thoughts are turned on him, a prisoner at Yokohama, even as their hearts were turned on Quezon when the shadow of the Japanese bayonet fell on every street corner. What of Laurel? What is going to happen to him? Could it be that he is really a traitor? Laurel declares that he is not. Inter national law, he says, contain a humani tarian concept: the conquered owes “tem porary obedience” to the conqueror. They may not fight actively on the side of the enemy, but they may to a certain extent collaborate for their own protection. On the very day his Republic proclaimed the existence of a state of war, he announced that Filipinos would not be conscripted into the Japanese forces. This, he maintains, was what his Re public had done. He claims that when Quezon left him in Manila in December 1941, instead of taking him to Washing ton as first planned, he was given blan ket authority to do all in his power to . protect the people, save that of taking ’ the oath of allegiance. He believes that Quezon’s final instructions had MacArthur’s approval. He swears that he never took the oath, that he was faithful to Quezon’s orders. He. asserts that he endeavored to protect the people, that he made their interest his main concern. Laurel is a topflight lawyer, and this defense sounds coldly legalistic. It ig nores the larger hopes and ideals of the Resistance which today enable the Fili pinos to hold up their heads in pride and dignity among the nations of the world. And yet on Leyte, last November, was President Osmena thinking of Laurel when he reaffirmed his belief in the principles of government by law? "Our nation Is justly proud of the guerrillas,” said Sergio Osmefia. "But in our praise of the guerrillas, we should not be forgetful of the loyal civilian po pulation that was left behind to face the ire of the invader and support the guer rillas. This has given rise to different attitudes and actions in relation to the Japanese rule, causing some misunder standing among our people . . . [But] we cannot close our eyes to the realities of the Japanese occupation. They were cruel and harsh. An arbitrary govern ment had been imposed on the Filipino people by the sword, and the initial mis fortune of American and Filipino arms left the majority of eighteen million Fili pinos no other recourse than to submit to a despotic regime if they were to sur vive. Some had to remain at their posts to maintain a semblance of government, to protect the population from the op pressor to the extent possible by human ingenuity, and to comfort them in their misery. Had their service not been available, the Japanese would either have themselves governed directly or utilized unscrupulous Filipino followers capable of any treason to their people." Osmena, a man of imagination, anti cipated division among the people as a consequences of Japanese rule. Events have proved him right: they could not agree about Laurel. Those who are in clined to probe into the motives that im pelled Laurel to collaborate with the Jap anese look upon him as a patriot. Others WHAT OF LAUREL? 31 believe that he is a traitor and should suffer the fate of traitors. In characteristic fashion, Laurel has expressed his readiness to face trial. At Nara he said: "Mine should be the test case. I should be tried first and solely. The leaders who served under me should be set free, as they merely fol lowed the policies, opportunities, and li mitations of my government. And if our people should decide that I am guilty of disloyalty and treason, I am ready to be shot . . ." Laurel secs himself as a victim of cir cumstances. He swears that he did not want to be the President of his Republic; the position was thrust upon him. He did not want to go to Japan when Mac Arthur’s forces landed; he told the Jap anese commander, General Tomoyuki Yamashita, that he preferred to stay. But what had to happen happened in exorably, and he was there. Now he says that he wants peace: “We don’t ask for anything but justice and peace. Our people know what we have done.” They do, and shall judge accordingly. Guerrilla Serenade (Tune of “In My Merry Oldsmobile”) by Lydia tArguilla Hours are slipping fast and soon, Sun will rise when sets the moon Shy dalaga, come, oh haste! Love or time there's none to waste, For at dawn again we roll Over bank and bush and knoll, While you may, come, give me your heart, My love, for we part at break of day. Brown dalaga, fare you well, On I roll and who can tell When we’ll meet again or where, Whether here again, or there........ Keep my love within your heart Gentle dove, though we're apart, Ever I’ll be true, lovely maid, to you Near or far, ’neath cloud or blue. • The war is over, but who will end the war between those of different skin? A Letter to Bill I DREAMED last night a terrible dream. 1 I was in darkness, a darkness that was enveloping, that was maddening. ' I groped around in the solidness of that darkness, trying to push it from me. In my helplessness I cried for help, but 1 my voice floated away, and from the deep deep dark there was no answer. 1 Terror bade me run, and on frenzied 1 feet I fled, hoping with flight to escape the abysmal gloom. But, as the dark- 1 ness would not free me, into worlds of 1 space I ran, into depths of increasing 1 terror. And then, I stumbled on a rock. 1 The rock was slimy, cold, and on its ' surface were sharp projections as though 1 razor shells clung to it. The solidness 1 of that rock, after the first terror had ' worn away, seemed a comfort, seemed ' something to cling to. And so I clung to it, thankful because it was something 1 tangible in the intangible dark. J Then I heard the soft murmur of deep waters lapping at some far-away shore. , I raised my head to listen. It was there, j it was not just madness beginning to , purr in my brain. Gentle as a whisper, soothing as a lullaby. That soft slap- i slap of water now advancing, now reced- , ing on some peaceful shore. The terror ] tore its clutching arms reluctantly off my mind; before the tender insistence of s those waters my fear slipped away. I | stood up from my cowering on the rock, [ for now there was, in the skies to which j I raised my eyes, the hope of a moon. , But even as I laved my soul in the s peace of that sound, even as I welcomed t the coming of a moon in the sky above j me, the water rose. The murmur became j by Remy R. Bullo a roar. The moonlight brightened for one brief moment into a harsh unmerci ful glare that emphasized the loneliness of my solitude, the absolute horror of being alone in the wicked night. This then was what I had thought would comfort me. This treacherous sea that at every pulsing second rose higher and higher, that in its relentless surge thun dered into my ears the din of worlds and worlds of water rushing toward me, to engulf me, to drown me, to sweep me away. 0 crash and roar and shatter! 0 terror and helplessness and despair! I screamed. I wept. The sound of my voice but added to the thunder, was tossed upon the foam of the madly flow ing waters, was echoed upon the crests of the dark waves noisily rushing upon each other, and then was thrown back to me in echo a thousand times magnified, to show me how near to madness T was getting, to flaunt me with the emptiness of the world I was in, to mock me with the loneliness of my futile screaming. I woke up sobbing. I woke up sobbing to find the world bright, the glare of the morning sun contrasting with the dim moonlight of my dreams. Dark waters—it was you who once told me of dark waters, Bill. That they were like a premonition, a reflection of life, an indication of moods and passions. You will be waiting tonight at the same place where we used to meet, there by the sea, with the sound of the surf beating implacably against the rocks, beating like words against the minds of men, against the walls of reason, against the defences of time. I'won’t be there, Bill. Never again will I meet you at night, never again will I see your face light up at sight of me. 32 A LETTER TO BILL 33 I will be here. Here in my room with the walls around me, to reason with myself. I will be here, and in my mind I shall picture you running your hand impatiently through your dark curly hair, your right eyebrow raised in that jesting manner you have, that manner that you know is a beautiful trick, you knowing rascal. Your eyes are green, Bill, and they turn yellow in anger, and it makes you look like a wicked tiger. In memory I will go back to the first time I met you. Remember? You picked us up, another girl and I, as we stood on a curb, in the rain. It went on after that. Our conversations that at first were so polite, so banal, changed to the subject of you and me. I fell in love with you quite shamelessly. It sounds strange, Bill, but nothing was ever sensible between us. For you are a soldier, with a soldier’s lust for ex citement and the hectic life. You treat the world as though it were your pri vate backyard. And I am just a girl whose heart holds a woman’s normal desires. Back in my girlhood, Bill, there were timid fears, there were se cret frustrations. There were also se cret hopes. And you became, for me, shield against fear, protection against frustration. You became fulfillment of hope. For me at last, the world had direction, life a purpose, dreams an end. We had fun, remember? How we loved to argue—about everything, about nothing. And it seemed to us that our love passed all arguments. We watched the sunsets, remember? Say it will hurt you too to remember. Say it will wrench your heart too to recall that golden sun sinking down, leaving behind it a trail of glory, throw ing the magic of golden light and crim son across a slowly darkening sky. Will you weep as I weep, to recall mist on mountains in the distance, the billowy clouds scudding low across the sky, like a procession of endless thoughts? And the waters, Bill. So dark. So calm. Until the winds come, rising like a fury from some vengeful distance, fanning the waters until they churn, leaping in wicked anger. The rains, Bill. The rains we loved. The rides we had during the nights wild with rain, running through the needles swiftly dropping down, piercing through the curtain gently ^obscuring all the world around us. Racing with the wind howling in the ears, whipping the rain around so that it wets us, so that it curls the hair on your head and makes you look like a happy little boy. Oh I love your hair. And I love the rain. The harsh storm, and the gentle drizzle afterwards. Bill, I love the rain. If I say that I keep a faded corsage you once gave me; if I tell you that I finger it often with loving touch, and in its essence, faint now, there is held a thousand memories of my happiness with you, will you call me mushy, Bill? If I say the rain is like tears, am I sentimental? And if I say you are to me the future, that for you and me there should be no past, do I dream? If I wish that I could go back to child hood, and my world with me, and you with that world, am I being a coward? There was one night I remember. We were riding in the jeep and rushing through the night. I had on a dress you like very much. Somehow I had angered you, and we rode mostly in si lence. And I was sulking because you were angry. When we parked near the bay, you turned to me and called me a spoiled brat. You told me that I was a child who refused to grow up. You said a lot of things that night, Bill. Then, afterwards, you turned me over on your knee and gave me a spanking that you said somebody should have given me long ago. I cried. I was 34 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN outraged, and I was insulted. And yet I could feel no resentment. That was the night you taught me how to live. About that night I will remember these: that the dama-de-noche was pungent in the evening mist, sweeter than the sweetest smelling roses. There was a wind, soft and cool, smelling and tasting of the sea. And there was the voice of the waves, like song softly sung, like incantation insidiously mur mured. My senses were drugged by wind and scent and sound, and over whelmed into thinking there was in this world no room for saneness, for rea soning. My heart cried out to beg me to accept you as answer to all the lonely past. You loved me. Your eyes when you looked at me like candles burning at a shrine in my heart. Your lips with the gentleness of the wind blowing on my hair. I shared your mind, I plumbed your soul, and word never had need to be uttered between us. You suffered as much as I suffered, the times we quar reled. The memories ached so, the hours were like days, the days like years. And yet how often have I looked at you, your beautiful lips curling as though in pain at some secret thought And how many times have I, with as much pain as the pain you must have felt, torn myself out of your arms? And my thoughts that knew you as the man I loved, those thoughts nevertheless were anguished by the certainty that I could never really call you my own. Bill, those nights that were without Teason and without number, do they sear as deeply into your soul as they do into mine? It was Sunday when you told me that you were leaving for the States. What words that you could ever use could have softened that blow? The blow that I had long anticipated, and yet which caught me defenseless with the shock of it when it did come. I sat stiff. The tears I could feel inside me I tried to withhold. But I looked at you and saw that in your eyes, too, there was the glistening of tears try ing not to fall. That broke the dam. There are women who can make tears supremely becoming to them. I know I must have looked a sorry sight, the tears blotching my face, rimming my eyes red and swollen. You could still crack about my freckles playing hide and seek on my face. I do not love the sea. The smell of It, the tang of it, the sound of it will remind me of you. For always, for al ways. But its voice really is the voice of pain. Its voice is the voice of pas sion. Its voice is the voice of treach ery. That calm murmur which it utters when it is smooth is not the murmur of peace, it is the soft sob of mourning. It is the sullen whimper of ebb tides gathering to mass their fury. And when it thunders in waves breaking on the shore, its sound is the screaming of grief that cannot be pent, its din is the agony of sorrow that must give loud vent to anguish too great to be borne. That surf forever beating, that sea forever many-tongued—it does not soothe one’s emotions, it but underlines one’s hidden griefs. You have said that I cry too easily. Should I have checked my tears? Could I have checked my tears? Then why did you not stop your own grief from mir roring in your eyes? You have your own unhappiness, Bill. You told me all about it My memories of you will have the fragrance of scents long remembered, associated with all the moments tender with our love. They will have thd col or of various sunsets, and changing skies; they will have the sound of surf beating relentlessly, unendingly on passive beaches; the sigh of the raip driving against the windows, the whis A LETTER TO BILL 35 per of wet wind rushing to catch up with us as we sped through the night. And to console me, I will also remem ber that there were tears glistening in your eyes, that night when you told me you had to go. You will be going home in maybe less than a week. I can steel myself against the future that seems so bleak be cause it will be without you. But what is to protect me from the torture of the vision that my imagination conjures be fore me: Your wife, standing at the door, all the ache of the years of separation in her eyes; all the pain of the years of denial in her outstretched arms. Your feet crunching deeply into the soft cool snow, and your steps are long and eager. And you are leaping at last the short distance into her waiting arms— For you are white, Bill, and I am brown. If we were the same color, would things have been different? You said once that color is not a barrier. If it is not the pigments in our skins, then what is it? I am small, and dark. My eyes are sloe eyes. My hair is black, my skin almost bronze. Would there not be contrast if I stood beside a golden blonde? If by chance, one improbable day, I should walk up your main street and you should see me, would you say, Hello? Not Hello, friend, but Hello, love. And your friends will see the shining in your eyes, they will notice the remem bering curve of your arms that have possessed me, and they will not “hear your voice, but it will throb as you speak to me. Hello, love. And then whom will they hurt more, you or I? When they will smile knowingly, when they will nudge each other familiarly, and their lips will frame words that they will not utter, but will neverthe less sound in our ears like a concerted shout? If it is not color, Bill, what is it? It is no barrier to loving, then what is the barrier that interposes itself un spoken, insidious, implacable? That makes you go, and leaves me cry? Convention? Civilization? I will ask you, and my questions will sound in my ears like little futile blows against un feeling walls. The slightest hesitation in your voice, the slightest evasiveness about your eyes, and I will bury my face in my hands, and know the bat tle lost that I should not even have dared begin. The respect of friends, the home ties that bind one to a way of life, no matter how wrong—before the threat of the loss of these, what can my love for you offer, what the courage that I must have htO to have dared to love you at all? Remember that last time I kissed you? Boldly, not caring if I let you see into the hunger and the need that I would have to deny myself the rest of my life. And when you said good night, the last time we were together, there were tears in your eyes; they were not shed for goodbye, but for laughter remembered, for happiness shared. The war has ended, Bill, and so goodbye. And so thanks for all the me mories. But who will end the war that must go on forever between those of different skin, between East and West, between all who will meet at night but may not go together by day? Between those who will dream of a future built on happiness, but unshared for lack of courage? Not you, and not I. For us, Bill, the final, craven goodbye. At least one man—a chemistry professor at Harvard—kept his promise to "eat” his shirt when he was proved to be wrong. He dissolved the shirt in acid, neutralized the acid with a base, filtered out the precipitated material, spread it on a slice of bread and ate it—Freling Foster, Collier's. • The need for social reform, must dictate the pattern of our economic rehabilitation Rehabilitation and Reform by Leo Stine TQDK'i the Philippines stands on the threshold of a long cherished dream of independence. But war has left its mark. Doubts and fears of the future have marred what otherwise would be unmixed jubilation and optim ism. Two divergent and difficult problems — economic rehabilitation and social reform — stand out among many which have arisen to plague the ef forts of those who are launching forth the new Republic to take its place among the free nations of the world. The nation is devastated and nearly bankrupt. Industries have been razed, farm animals slaughtered, mines des troyed, rice paddies laid waste, homes burned. So complete has been the des truction that one Filipino leader has declared the Islands are in a more pi tiful commercial condition after libe ration from Japan than they were forty-five years ago after liberation from Spain. Neither the problem of reform nor of rehabilitation is unique in the Is lands. They exist wherever war has ravaged a nation and the poor have caught the indestructible vision of new opportunities. Russia has found it to her advantage in Europe to support the demands of the peasant class for land confiscation. Estates of the mighty feudal barons have been either redistri buted among the tenants or made pub lic property. The success of the policy cannot be gauged as yet, and whether it would work here is a separate sub ject. A more conservative program will probably be undertaken by the Com monwealth government. The United States is not likely to sanction revolu tionary action. Conditions among Filipino peasants and workers have grown steadily worse under inflated prices and wrecked sources of income. This has added immeasurably to their suffering and driven them to make increasingly aggressive demands for social reform. The spirit of liberation generated by the war has added fuel to the fire which has long burned in their hearts and minds: the consuming desire for land reform. It has brought them to gether in a united program, evidence of which came recently in the march of 16,000 peasants and workers on Malacanan to present their demands to the Osmena government against established property holders. The Commonwealth, moreover, dif fers from European countries in an other vital respect, for it contains vast untapped natural resources. Gold pro duction in 1940 exceeded P76 million. Iron ore reserves total over half .a bil lion tons of relatively high-grade depos its. One of the greatest chrome ore deposits, estimated from 10 to 16 mil lion tons, exists almost unexplored. Important reserves of copper, manga nese, and lead ‘are available in this storehouse of minerals. Under Phil ippine law, all natural wealth is prop erty of the State. Development of these deposits would lead to the growth of manufacturing in the Islands. Commonwealth indus try would supply an extensive home market plus the almost inexhaustible market of other Far Eastern countries which are just now awakening to the REHABILITATION AND REFORM 37 potentialities of raising the living standards of the masses. Diversified agriculture; dairying; the manufac ture of glass products, furniture and building materials; the assembly of radio and electrical appliances; Ithe smelting of ore; and the machine tool requirements for this industrial ad vancement would lure great pools of idle American capital. This capital can be obtained only if investors are certain that their inte rests will be protected by a stable, in telligent government. Revolutionary tac tics by some Latin American govern ments have taught U.S. investors a bitter lesson. Foreign investments will be difficult to attract if the Philippine government patterns its reforms too closely on the Balkan examples. Land and social reforms must follow a more orderly procedure and should parallel industrial development. The most pressing problem the Com monwealth government must solve is how to raise an income sufficient to meet operating expenses. The estimated total government income this year will not exceed nine per cent of the pre-war lev el of P100 million. That income did not meet operational costs of the govern ment, which were estimated in 1942 to exceed P113 million. The proposed bud get for that year allocated 34 per cent for education, excluding the Univer sity of the Philippines. This large share was insufficient to afford schools even for the children anxious to attend them. Unable to supply the demand for public education facilities, the Commonwealth never passed a com pulsory education law. Salaries of school teachers and public employees were frequently below the minimum re quired for bare subsistence. Such a budget, obviously, has small resources with which to buy landed estates for redistribution among the peasants. Roads must be built, public and private buildings replaced, schools constructed, housing projects started—all largely at the expense of the Common wealth. A government in such straits cannot expect to borrow large sums from pri vate sources. Its hope for immediate relief is that U. S. loans will keep it solvent until the national economy is rebuilt. The government would then have a tax base which could supply the necessary income. An American grant would permit Filipinos to strengthen and stabilize their government sufficiently to attract for eign capital. These investments would underwrite the industrial expansion that alone can forge Philippine economy into the potent one its resources warrant. Industrial development, in turn, will make possible the orderly conduct of reforms for which the peasants are clam oring. The rise of an industrial econ omy has always been accompanied by the growth of a large, politically active middle class, whose aspirations are not easily ignored. Labor unions gain strength under such conditions. National improvements are possible because of augmented taxable income. An industrial economy is the rock foun dation not only for land reform but for Schools, roads, communications, housing, public health activities, and all enter prises which elevate the standard of living of the people. MANILA EAC • Excellent Liquors • Soft Drinks • Courteous Service • 79 Escolta Manila 880-882-Avenida Rizal • Thousands of ordinary, unglamorous Filipino women contributed to our national survival Deadlier Than the Male by Estrella Alfon-Rivera THERE is one thing about the war the women are glad about. The men will deny it, but it is the truth: they learned to respect the women a little more during the three years that the Japanese were here. The men learned to curb a little their supercilious atti> tude towards women in business, and recognized that they too could with com petence earn the family’s daily bread, and sometimes even outdo him in in geniousness in the matter of keeping the wolf away from the door. There will be men who will be facetious and say that it was easy for the women— and collaboration, and a pretty face, and giving comfort to the enemy will be what they mean, but that is not what I mean at all. For every one of those women who did cooperate, who sold out their country and their countrymen to realize personal ambitions of power and wealth, there were a thousand or dinary, unglamorous, unambitious other women who, if they worked, and if they labored, did so only in order to keep their families alive. Children now sell Mickey Mouse mon ey in the streets, as souvenirs, to GIs who are probably amused to think that so much of it cannot even buy a little drink. And yet only less than a year ago that money meant life. Being with out it meant hunger, having too little of it meant misery that seems unbeliev able now that the Americans are here. Living, just plain ordinary living, cost money that in these times seems hard to realize. The men earned too little; the few who earned much had to sell war materials to the enemy, and the major ity balked at that. So the problem of existence rested largely with the women and they met the challenge with real courage and wit. Women sold jewels. The jewels they owned, that they had kept to hand down to their children. Regretfully but with out any sentimental qualms, they un fastened them from their ears, their necks, their fingers, and took them to the Fed eration of Filipino Retailers where women clustered and traded. Who bought the jewels? I think most of them finally went to the wives or mistresses of the Japanese, for only they could have af forded the steep prices that the women slapped on their baubles. Second-hand clothes. All the unneces sary garments that lie around houses attracting silver fish that most house wives never get up the gumption to throw away or give away because they are al ways telling themselves they may yet be able to use them someway. There never was a spring-cleaning as thorough as that which descended on each house hold when it was learned that there were people in the provinces who would wil lingly barter rice for old clothes. Ward robes were pared down to the barest es sentials of a dress and a change. There was the ever present fear that if we indulged in the business too extensively, there would come a time when there would not even be a stitch on our backs, but there was always the optimism of the Filipino, the general attitude that when things were almost at zero, that is when “they” would arrive. Things to read were at such a pre mium there was lucrative inducement to sell books, any kind of books at all. It is pathetic to recall how only a year 40 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN ago the mind was starved for things to read, for up-to-date news that wasn’t distorted. Housewives bundled up pa pers that were lying around, the books that were no longer used, and sold them. Books never fetched prices as attrac tive as they did then, and although it was Mickey Mouse money, the soup and the beans the money bought warmed the stomach, maintained the bone. These were the things men held in contempt, too petty to attend to, and indeed, the women wanted their men to have no part in it; for sure as the money was and lucrative the trade, there was heartache behind the blitheness of such transactions. For it is one thing to give old clothes away to people you know; for then somehow you are bestowing charity. It is quite another thing to sell clothes to strangers who turn the garments inside out and criticize them with a view to getting a good bargain (nothing personal in it, you know) till you seem somehow to be a tree from which the leaves are being stripped. And although no offense is meant, it hurts having clothes you have worn next to your skin and to which you have imparted a “personality” slighted by impersonal, business-like criticism. In transactions like this, a sensitive soul can often feel as though Bhe were selling her own body. As with clothes, so it was with the books and the jewels. So it was also with the furniture that housewives sold away. The pianos, the tables, the chairs into whose polish many a family mem ber had contributed the sweat of his toil, on whose surface had been im printed many a souvenir of the family’s doings. These were things, then, the women could very well apply themselves to. There was, for instance, the making cf toys out of scraps, to gladden the hearts of children. We will stop making them again, and I don’t see why we should. For they were cute. Toys, cuddly little dolls with funny eyes, and little animals with saucy tails. They were home-made, woman-made, practi cal, and they fetched good prices. Just as the handbags that came out during the Japanese times were also home-made, expensive looking, and woman-practical because also woman-made. One won ders why the handbags now being sold in the stores are so cheap looking when the women made such snazzy stuff dur ing the period of the unappreciative Jap anese. But these were activities aimed at keeping the family alive and the home fires burning. What about the women in the underground? I use the phrase though I am sure they never gave them selves so romantic an appellation. They were just women, working to protect their men. In these days too much dis tinction is being drawn between actual guerrillas and those women who just worked for a cause which they under stood but did not bother to define. Glory is showered on one, and too little thanks given to the other. I say that not all were heroines, if heroism meant going into the hills, and actually engaging the enemy in combat. But if it meant an undying flame in the heart, a’ certain knowledge that the life of freedom was best, then I say that most of the women were heroines. They knew that almost all the men were engaged in some un derground activity or other, either in tensely active or passively resistant. The women knew that discovery or mere suspicion of such activity brought im mediate reprisal, and it was a brave woman who did not shudder at such a thought; it was a rare woman, then, who did not in some way, help foster the belief in the foolish Japanese that we were all loyal to the rule of the Sun, when we were in truth anxiously waiting for the return of America—< and freedom. DEADLIER THAN THE MALE 41 In the province of Cebu there was a man connected very intimately with the guerrilla movement who was a very unreasonable man. He was Provost Marshall in the hills, and in such capa city acted also as executioner of all those whom the guerrilla "kangaroo” courts condemned to death. That man hated the Japanese so, he would have quickly done to death any Filipino who had in any way helped the Japanese. And that man’s definition of helping the Japanese just about embraced everything, from giving a Japanese a drink of water to giving him a live coal to light his cigar ette with. You could not give him any such excuse as being forced do a thing. If a Japanese entered your house and asked you for a drink of water, you would have had to lead him to your water jar and ask him to pour the drink out himself. Or if for a coal, you would have had to lead the Japanese to your 6tove and make him get the coal himself. Only then could you say that you never helped the Japanese at all. That man, I say, was unreasonable. Here, for example, where short-wave sets were banned, where the penalty for being caught hearing Allied broadcasts was death, it would have been pure fool hardiness to have asked the Japanese to go to your kitchen and poke around there. For near the fire was often the safest place for your set, so that in case of danger of detection you could quickly throw the set into the fire and get a merry blaze. As for that water jar, I know many a water jar that has housed a cache of coins, genuine silver coins of the realm, guarded against the day when "they” would come back. So, you see how foolish it would have been not to give a Japanese a match, or a drink, and answer his "arigato" with a smil ing curse? Many a housewife has carried, in her turn, one of those sheets of onion skin on which were closely typewritten the latest war news, hiding it in her bosom, passing it to another. War news, news different from the lies the Tribune told, telling the men that help was coming near, keeping hopes and dreams, by such little ways, unfalteringly bright. In guerrilla country I have seen a housewife “cook” a revolver. The Jap anese came up her house and searched it for arms. She smiled at them, and told one of her sons to accompany them and suggest places in her house where they might find the objects of their search. And they probably never even wondered why the fire took so long to build under the big black pot in which she had put a .38 caliber automatic pis tol and many rounds of ammunition. But all that is past. It seems now like a dream, a bad dream that one wishes to forget. And yet it could not have been a dream—the hordes of beggars roaming the streets, lying about in the churchyards, their feet festering with sores, smelling of that penetrating smell of decay in the sun. The children in the city markets, waiting to be given a spoonful of soup or to gather the left over crumbs from a plate. The children in the churches wailing loudly to be heard over the din=of prayers, prodding at you with sharp fingers, looking at you with the accusation of hunger in their eyes, daring you to look at the loose bones of their bodies, daring you to look at the swelling of their legs, daring you to look and turn away. Where are those children now? Those children at the sight of whom many a housewife’s heart, daunted at last by the seemingly unending struggle for daily sustenance, has taken courage again, to keep such a fate away from her own. So the city lies ravaged and desolated. Proof of the end of the rule of a beast. Proof of the return of democracy. Proof of the end of a nightmare. But are the housewife’s troubles over? 42 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN Now at least there is no longer the thrill and the threat of disaster ever im minent. Now at least there is no longer the looking into the skies and won dering, "How long, Lord, how long?” Because "they” are here. The beloved, the long-awaited. And now the house wife’s problems seem to concentrate on how to disguise salmon so that it will still be salmon and yet not smell like it. Or how to make up sardines so that they will still be sardines and yet not taste like it. But is there any way to disguise chili con came at all? Inflation is still with us. If you com pare the value of money to what it was the days immediately preceding libera tion, you’ll find that things cost now more than they ever did. With this dif ference: that whereas during the occu pation, we earned by the hundred thou sands and spent by the thousand, now we earn by the centavos and spend by the pesos. Call back the Japanese? God forbid such a foreign answer to a domestic question. Elsewhere in the world the women are marching, elsewhere in every part of the world the women are taking a hand in vital affairs. Here, as elsewhere, the Filipino housewife will soon realize that things cannot return to normal until she really takes a hand. She will rea lize that there are things men can pro pose, but that will take women to dis pose. The cost of living, the education of her children, the need for adequate housing, the maintenance of adequate wages, the keeping of the peace—these are things that the women must rea lize are in great part up to them. For men will say that women nag, yet women never nagged more uselessly than the men rant. Now, in politics, while the men quarrel and vie with each other for power, the Filipino woman is, I hope, listening and looking with a view to benefiting from the lessons that men discover but will not profit by. That must be soon too. How soon? That, again, is up to the women. DR. FAUSTO G. TAPIADOR DENTAL SURGEON 707 Espana cor. Trabajo Manila DR.FRANCISCOG.ORTEGA MtiDICO-CIRUJANO 407 Sancho Panza, Sampaloc, Manila TRUCK FOR SALE OR FOR HIHE Chevrolet Truck, 4 tons gross, with license and gasoline ration. New tires. Inquire at 1050 Rizal avenue, Manila • How the Filipino has survived alien domgtaiian and oppression by being— Pliant Like the Bamboo by I. V. Mallari THERE is a story in Philippine folk lore about a mango tree and a bam boo tree. Not being able to agree as to which was the stronger of the two, they called upon the wind to make the decision. The wind blew its hardest. The mango tree stood fast. It would not yield. It knew it was strong and sturdy. It would not sway. It was too proud. It was too sure of itself. But finally its roots gave way, and it tumbled down. The bamboo tree was wiser. It knew it was not so robust as the mango tree. And so every time the wind blew, it bent its head gracefully. It made loud protestations, but it let the wind have its way. When finally the wind got tired blowing, the bamboo tree still stood in all its beauty and grace. The Filipino is like the bamboo tree. He knows that he is not strong enough to withstand the onslaughts of superior forces. And so he yields. He bends his head gracefully with many loud protes tations. And he has survived. The Spaniards came and dominated him for more than three hundred years. And, when the Spaniards left, the Filipinos still stood —only much richer in experience and culture. The Americans took the place of the Spaniards. They used more subtle means of winning over the Filipinos to their mode of living and thinking. The Filipino embraced the American way of life more readily than the Spaniard’s vague promise in the hereafter. Then the Japanese came like a storm, like a plague of locusts, like a pestilence —rude, relentless, cruel. The Filipino learned to bow his head low, to "coope rate” with the Japanese in their "holy mission of establishing the Co-Prosperity Sphere.” The Filipino had only hate and contempt for the Japanese, but he learned to smile sweetly at them and to thank them graciously for their "benevolence and magnanimity." And now that the Americans have come back and driven away the Japan ese, those Filipinos who profited most from cooperating with the Japanese have been loudest in their protestations of in nocence. Everything is as if the Jap anese had never been in the Philippines. For the Filipino would welcome any kind of life that the gods would offer him. That is why he is contented and happy and at peace, The sad plight of the other peoples of the world is not his. To him, as to that ancient Oriental poet, “the past is already a dream, and tomor row is only a vision; but today, well-lived, makes every yesterday a dream of hap piness and every tomorrow a vision of hope." This may give you the idea that the Filipino is a philosopher. Well, he is. He has not evolved a body of philosophi cal doctrines. Much less has he put them down into a book, like Kant, for example, or Santayana or Confucius. But he does have a philosophical outlook on life. He has a saying that life is like a wheel. Sometimes it is up, sometimes it is down. The monsoon season comes, and he has to go under cover. But then the sun comes out again. The flowers bloom, and the birds sing in the trees. You cut off the branches of a tree, and, while the marks of the bolo are still upon it, it begins to shoot forth new branches— 43 44 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN branches that are the promise of new color, new fragrance, new life. Everywhere about him is a lesson in patience and forbearance that he does not have to learn with difficulty. For the Filipino lives in a country on which the gods have lavished their gifts aplenty. He does not have to worry about the morrow. Tomorrow will be only another day—no winter of dis content. If he loses his possessions, there is the land and there is the sea, with all the riches that one can desire. There is plenty and to spare — for friends, for neighbors, and for everyone else. No wonder that the Filipino can af ford to laugh. For the Filipino is en dowed with the saving grace of humor. This humor is earthy as befits one who has not indulged in deep contemplation. But it has enabled the Filipino to shrug his shoulders in times of adversity and say to himself, "Bahala na,.”* The Filipino has often been accused of being indolent and of lacking in initia tive. And he has answered back that no one can help being indolent and lacking in initiative who lives under the torrid sun which saps the vitality. This seeming lack of vitality is, how ever, only one of his means of survival. He does not allow the world to be too much with him. Like the bamboo tree, he lets the winds of chance and circum stance blow all about him; and he is unperturbed and serene. The Filipino, in fact, has a way of escaping from the rigorous problems of life. Most of his literature and most of his art is escapist in nature. His forefathers wallowed in the moromoro,** the awit and the corrido. They loved to identify themselves with the gal lant knights battling for the favors of fair ladies or for the possession of a hal lowed place. And now he himself loves to be lost in the throes of modern ro mance and adventure. His gallantry towards women—espe cially comely women—is a manifesta tion of his romantic turn of mind. Con sequently, in no other place in the Orient are women so respected, so adu lated, and so pampered. For his wo men have enabled the Filipinos to look upon the vicissitudes of fortune as the bamboo tree regards the angry blasts of the blustering wind. The Filipino is eminently suited to his romantic role. He is slender and wiry. He is nimble and graceful in his move ments. His voice is soft, and he has the gift of language. In what other place in the world can you find a people who can carry on a fluent conversation in at least three languages? This gift is another means by which the Filipino has managed to survive. There is no insurmountable barrier be tween him and any of the people who have come to live with him—Spanish, American, Japanese. The foreigners do not have to learn his language. He easily manages to ihaster theirs. Verily, the Filipino is like the bam boo tree. In its grace, in its ability to adjust itself to the peculiar and inex plicable whims of fate, the bamboo tree is expressive and symbolic of the Fili pino national character. If we ever choose a national tree, it will have to be, not the molave nor yet the norra***, but the bamboo. incidents. Awit, a romantic sone. Corrido, a ballad. •••Molars, Narra—native hardwood trees noted for great strength and durability. • Two American POWs pay tribute to Filipino loyalty during the Occupation Prisoners From Corregidor by Meynardo Nieva THE waitress said, somewhat impa tiently, "What will it be, sir? “Yes, that’s right,” said the shorter of the two, smiling shyly. “What’s it gon na be, Jim?” “I guess,” Jim said, grinning broadly at the waitress, “I guess if you’ll bring us two coffees and maybe a couple of chicken sandwiches, everything will be just jake.” Nobody noticed them when they en tered the restaurant, those two. They lacked the obvious self-assurance of the other GIs who this very minute were filling the room with exuberant talk and trying to flirt with the pretty waitresses. They seemed shy and unsure of them selves and they didn't do anything to provoke attention. They just sat beside an empty table and waited. But you could 6ee that they were glad to be alive. You could feel it from the way they glanced at the pictures on the walls and studied the menu. They spoke in low tones when they talked. Now and then they looked at the busy street out side with eyes filled with wonder. Perhaps it was the distinguished unit badge on my right chest that caught their attention. Different badges mean dif ferent things; and this one indicates that I participated in the first Philippine campaign. Anyway I found the taller one looking full at me, his face shining with a wide grin. “Hi, campaigner,” he said. “Hello,” I said. “The coffee here any good?” “Sure!” I couldn’t think of anything more to say, so I turned my eyes away and kept on sipping my coffee. But they seemed so friendly and so eager to make conver sation and I smiled on them again. “What’s your outfit, Joe?” I asked. “We’re with a replacement camp now,” the shorter one said. “Pretty soon we’ll be on our way to the States. And, please,” he added, “don’t call me Joe. My name is Bill Kaplan. My buddy here is Jim Clay.” “Both of you from New Guinea?” “Hell, no,” Jim said. “Corregidor— that’s where we’re from. We’ve both been prisoners of war.” So that’s why they acted that way! I had two comrades-in-arms, not quite two yards from where I sat, and I didn’t know it! I edged toward their table as the waitress appeared with the coffee. “You were interned here all the time?” “No,” Bill said. “In Japan. We had a hell of a time.” “Two prisoners of war. Two exciting stories. Fellows,” I said, “I’m all ears.” “Except for some unimportant details, my story is practically that of Jim here,” Bill said. “And he can tell it better.” “Okay, Jim,” I said. “Let’s have it.” “I was captured in Fort Hughes (Jim said). That was on May 6, 1942. I was ill when they got me, so they shipped me to Corregidor. After about two weeks I was sent to Camp Three in Cabanatuan. They told me to stay there until camp was broken around November and was moved to Camp One, also in that town. 46 46 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN “Then the Japs started shuffling us as though we were a pack of cards. In December they sept me and my buddies to Lipa, where we worked on an airfield. Then about September 1943, they made us work on runways at Nielson Field and at Zablan Field, in Camp Murphy. Af ter that, we fixed up two more runways, one at Marikina Valley and another at Wack Wack. We were still working on the Wack Wack airfield in September 1944 when it happened. “American planes came over for the first time and bombed the Manila area. Believe me, that was the most thrilling moment of my life. "That afternoon the planes returned and bombed the barracks we were living in. We were moved quickly to Bilibid Prison and were kept there until Oct ober. Then I was thrown into the hold of a freighter with 1200 other men. “The convoy was torpedoed at the Gulf of Lingayen, and two ships were sank. Ours was not hit, though, and we made a first run for Hongkong. As it turned out, we arrived in Hongkong just in time to see it bombed. The Americans sank a tanker 60 yards from our ship. “We were torpedoed once more, on our way to Formosa, but we finally arrived safely in the harbor of Takao. I was sent to a camp near a town called Toroku after having spent 39 days in the hold of a ship. But I wasn’t to stay there for long. “As a result of fierce American bomb ing in the vicinity of Toroku, we were loaded on another freighter and sent to Japan. We arrived at Moji after 23 days. I was sent to a camp in Kobe. “Out there I was made to work in a steel mill. The work detail to which I was assigned was soon broken up, and I was transferred to a camp known as Kobe House. On June 6 American bombers raided Kobe and completely de molished our building with incendiary bombs. Upwards of 600 men were in that building when it was hit, but no one got killed. “That night we were sent to Kawashiki, about six miles outside Kobe. I was there until June 19. Then I was trans ferred to a new camp at Nomacbi, a small town near the harbor of Fushiki. There I worked as a stevedore until I was liberated by the Americans. “It’s funny, now, but when I was in formed that I was no longer a prisoner of war, I didn’t think of home right away. My thoughts went back to the days immediately after the surrender, to the hell I went through in the prison camps in Luzon, and to the Filipinos who risked their lives almost daily in their efforts to get food, money and clothing to us. “At one spot at Nielson Field, there is a great big puddle. Whenever we got the chance, we would sneak out to the puddle and put notes into a bottle. Later on a Filipino, whom I know only as Eddy, would pick up these notes. He in turn would leave notes for us and, in many cases, money which he had secured from friends in Manila. “At Camp Murphy, the same proce dure was followed, only the notes were hidden in the bushes. “A Filipino woman and her daughter were given permission to run a little store at Nielson Field. We were al lowed to go to this store and buy food and other fruits. Although the Japs did not know it, this woman was also picking up notes and money and deliver ing them to us at this point Sometimes the men did not have the money to pay for the food which they bought and thia woman gave them credit far in ex cess of what they were earning even .though she knew she could not be paid. She is responsible for many men staying healthy and not coming down with beri beri or some other form of vitamin defi ciency. PRISONERS FROM CORREGIDOR 47 “At times we were made to work at the bodegas of the Tabacalera, a Span ish firm in Manila, and there many Fi lipino boys helped us in many ways. “We loaded freight cars with cement at the Tabacalera, and when the cars were full we pushed them up the rail track. In doing this we would pass one bodega and the freight car would obscure the door of this bodega from the vision of the Japs. Quickly the Filipino boys would hand over notes, food and money to us. “About three or four times a week, we worked at the railroad station in Tondo. The natives who worked here also helped us in a lot of ways. Newspapers were given us on the sly, enabling us to keep up with what was going on in the outside world. In most cases this kind of help came to us from girls we had known in Manila before the war. "I never fully realized what sacrifice these girls were making until we worked in Pandacan. One of these girls wanted to send money to one of us. To make sure that he would get the money, she made contact with him by working as a laborer, pushing gasoline drums around. “Some of the Filipino boys who picked up our messages to friends and delivered them for us were uncanny in their abil ity to find out where we were working. When we were moved from Nielson Field to Camp Murphy, it took less than one week for one of these boys to get a job there. No matter where we were, they stayed with us as best they could and continued daily to put their lives in jeopardy in order to help us. “Bill here has a similar experience. While doing general clean-up and sal vage work in Corregidor as a war pri soner, he developed the friendship of a Filipino named Rosario, who procured for him (and for the Americans he “buddied” up with) fresh fish and cig arettes from Manila and also meat, bread and medicine. At this time he had no money, and when he mentioned this to Rosario, the Filipino 6tated that it did not make any difference whether Bill had money or not; the Americans were his comrades-in-arms before the surrender and he was willing to do any thing to help them. “Rosario did no small thing for Bill and his buddies; had he been caught bringing food and medicine to the POWs, the Japs would have shot him. The risks he took were not inspired by mon etary gain but by a spirit of brother hood. He always said that Filipino sol diers and American soldiers were bro thers in arms. “There were many Filipinos who were civilian employees of the Japs in Correg idor. The boats that ran to and from Manila were manned by Filipino crews. These people did much in carrying mes sages, smuggling food, medicine and money to the Americans in a spirit of comradeship. They undoubtedly saved many lives. “Bill later developed cerebral malaria and was removed to the Bilibid Prison for treatment. In Bilibid, which was under the complete control of the Japs, he found that American POWs were supplied with illicit war news by the Fi lipinos who did such tasks as garbage removal, repairing and carpentering. Large amounts of money and foodstuffs were smuggled by Filipinos into this prison hospital. It is no exaggeration to say that every month, in cash alone, at least PIOO.OOO was brought in. “As a matter of fact, in Bilibid, the steady stream of communication with the ouside world through Filipinos was almost unbelievable. Notes containing money and medicine were thrown over the walls. Packages were smuggled in working clothes and lunch boxes. It helped bolster our morale. “At Cabanatuan, it was much the same story, except that it was on a very 48 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN much larger scale. There they had what was known as the carabao detail. Carabao carts were driven by Filipinos who brought various supplies to the camp. Large amounts of cash, in one month totaling P100,000 to my best knowledge and belief, and much medicine and various items of food were surrepti tiously given to the prisoners. These acts were punishable by death. “To summarize it all, I feel that those who survived are greatly indebted to the Filipinos who helped us. In many cas es they owe their very lives to these people, because if they had not been se cretly given food and the much-needed money with which to buy food, many of us would have died. "There was a Filipino doctor who sent all the drugs he could secure to Cabanatuan, where we had practically no medicine at all. While we were at Nielson Field, we received medicine from Filipinos in Manila who probably needed the medicine as badly as we did. “Every American prisoner of war who was confined in the Philippines, whether in hospital, prison camp or detail, has, in my opinion, a debt he owes to the Filipino people which he can never re pay. He can only hope that they, the Filipino people, realize how grateful each and everyone of the American prison ers really are.” ZERO-HOUR TRADING Watch Store and Repairing AU Works Guaranteed PHOTO SERVICE Developing and Printing 407 Rizal Avenue Enemy No. of ITCHES FUNGIL It's highly efficient cure of all itches caused by fungus—athlete’s foot, ringworn (bunl), white spots, excema, etc. LEXAL PURE DRUG LABORATORIES 1121-1123 Rizal Avenue FILIPINO TRADE STORE 874 Rizal Avenue SOUVENIRS OF HIGHEST QUALITY Assorted Articles SkiUed Workmanship DR.ELENAP.SANTOS-ROQUE LADY PHYSICIAN Children & Women’s Diseases 798 Espana Manila Story of an Englishman who led Chinese guerrillas in the Philippines against Japs In the Little Town of Bay by Daisy Hontiveros-Avellana HE wended his way swiftly and effi. ciently through the maze of small tables that dotted the crowded night-club, and finally reached us—Bert, my brother Lenny, and me—without so much as a single mishap. He stood there, faded uniform scrupulously clean, his hair neatly in place except for one rebellious blond lock that kept falling out of place. “Greetings, comrade,” he gravely salu ted Lenny. “Greetings and salutations.” Lenny glanced up at the boyish, clean shaven face, did a second take, and yelled, “Peter!” “Dr. Livingstone, I presume,” Bert murmured. My brother said, "What the hell are you doing here?” “I have come,” answered his friend, “to bid you a fond adieu. I leave for England on the morrow.” “You’re pie-eyed,” came Lenny’s rude retort. “So I am, so I am,” Peter replied amiably. “The truth is, I leave within three days, but the statement on the mor row is more fraught with drama than three days." Introductions were effected, and Pe ter sat down with us. He smiled, easi ly, revealing a row of even teeth. “Have I ever,” he asked Bert, “told you the story of my life?” Lenny raised his eyes ceilingward. “Oh, good Lord!” he exclaimed. "I’ve heard nothing but that in the three months I’ve known you.” “My friend,” Peter informed him with great dignity. "You do not have to lend an ear if you choose not to. I have audience enough,” and with an airy wave of his hand he indicated Bert and me, "for my tale.” Lenny shrugged his shoulders philoso phically, focused attention on his drink. “The first nineteen years of my life,” began Peter, “I shall delete from my narrative. Suffice it to say that I, on the authority of my fond parents, was a precocious child.” “At nineteen,” he said, “I ran away. To sea." Peter went on. “I joined the British Merchant Marine at that tender age, and our ship set sail for lands unknown. We docked in this fair city of Manila in December, 1941. “That date,” Bert said, “sounds vague ly familiar.” "In January, 1942,” said Peter, “I woke up to find my slightly bewildered gaze focused on a slant-eyed, grinning yellow face. What was I doing, thought I, in Tokyo?” “I was duly informed that I was now considered a prisoner of war. The Jap anese,” he said wryly, "had no love lost for Englishmen in general, and myself in particular. Together with a few others—” “Yeah,” Lenny said. "Some few thousands.” "I languished away,” Peter went on, “in forced seclusion at Los Banos. Then one fine day in October, 1944—” "You sound like an almanac,” grum bled Lenny. "In October,” said Peter, “I fled the premises. With a fellow prisoner, an American, I slipped over the enclosure and away, before the Sons of Heaven had noticed anything amiss.” "Luck certainly was with you,” I told him. 49 60 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN “Luck?” Peter exclaimed. “Yes. Luck took me to the guerrilla headquarters on Mount Cristobal, Laguna, where I struck up my undying friendship with your bro ther.” He and Lenny exchanged deep bows. "And from those mountain fastnesses,” declared Peter, “I sallied forth into bat tle, leading my own loyal little band of Chinese guerrillas.” “Your band of what?” Bert exclaimed. “Chinese guerrillas,” Peter explained patiently. “I am a major,” he told us, with justifiable pride. We looked towards Lenny for confirm ation of this amazing statement. “That’s the truth,” said that worthy. "Wonders will never cease,” Bert de clared. “An Englishman leading Chi nese guerrillas in the Philippines, ag ainst the Japanese.” “Why don’t you tell them,” Lenny muttered resignedly, “about Bay.” Peter froze him with a look of superb hauteur. “I was coming to that.” He leaned forward. “In the little town of Bay,” he began, “was where I encoun tered the first attempt at sabotage.” “Sabotage?” I murmured, dazedly. “No less," Peter answered. “Sabo tage. And by our allies. By the Amer icans.” “But that couldn’t be possible,” Bert exclaimed. “It could,” said Peter. “Our guerrilla forces entered the town of Bay, and found no Japanese. The Americans, re ceiving erroneous information to the ef fect that Japanese troops were occupy ing the town, came a little later and let loose with their artillery. Unfortunate ly for the guerrilla forces, we were right in the path of the deadly missiles our American brothers were playing with, and by then it was far too late to tell the Yankees that. The situation called for quick thinking. We retreated.” “And how we retreated!” Lenny put in his two cents’ worth. “There was nothing subtle about those 155’s." “Yes,” agreed Peter sadly. “I am afraid American guns bear me an un called-for dislike. Nobody loves me. Now the British authorities are urging me to go back to Merrie England. With in three days I depart. Ah, me.” "Parting,” quoth Bert, "is such sweet sorrow.” "Okay, Shakespeare,” Lenny said. “How about us going home?” Before we left, however, Peter talked Bert and Lenny into meeting him the next evening at a bar about a stone’s throw from the house where he was staying temporarily. This was to be a fond farewell. I had a last glimpse of Peter seated at a table, surrounded by two highly intrigued Wacs and an amused lieuten ant. As we passed by them, Peter was saying, “Now, in the little town of Bay—” The following evening Lenny and Bert waited at the designated bar for Peter. When he did show up, it was to the accompaniment of a mild flurry of excitement, since he walked in sporting a particularly lurid pair of lavender pa jamas topped by an ancient dressing gown, and wearing slippers. “What’s happened to your clothes?” Bert asked. Lenny didn’t look surprised. “Strip poker, probably,” he said. “No,” said Peter. “My clothes are in the wash. And naturally I couldn’t break my appointment with you. “Naturally,” agreed Lenny. Peter downed his drinks in quick suc cession. “Promise me,” he told Lenny several glasses later, “that you will get me on that boat for England, no matter how strenuously I may object.” “It’s not leaving," Lenny said patient ly, "till day after.” IN THE LITTLE TOWN OF BAY 51 “I may still be slightly high,” was the understatement, “the day after." “Okay,” Lenny promised. “I’ll get you on board. Don’t worry.” Peter then turned to Bert. “Have I ever told you,” he asked, “the story of my life?” “You have.” Wet blanket. “Oh.” Peter looked disappointed. Then his gaze wandered over the next table. He brightened, then stood up, and approachd the party of four. “Gentle men,” he said, “let me a tale unfold. In the little town of Bay—” Bert and Lenny collected Peter be tween them and marched him to the house where he was staying. Some where along their route an MP, sta tioned at a street corner, shied away, startled, when Peter shakily wended his way up to him and demanded, “Arrest me, arrest me! Go ahead! I dare you to arrest me!” The MP shook his head. “Go on home, Mac,” he said. Despite the combined efforts of his two companions, Peter buttonholed the MP and clung precariously to him. “Aha!” he said, triumphantly. “You’re afraid, and rightly. I’ll tell you some thing,” he confided. With his free hand he gesticulated skywards. “There’ll always be,” he de claimed in ringing tones, “there’ll al ways be an England!” And added as an afterthought, “As long as there is a U.S.A.” Peter has just showed up here at home to say good-bye. It seems there’s a boat leaving for England within three days. A Step ahead in Style DAMES TAILORING & DRY CLEANING • Gentlemen’s Shop • Free Collection & Delivery ANGE/LES A. DAMES • CUTTER-MANAGER • 404 CARRIEDO MANILA Dr. Arturo Alvarez Doctor of Dental Medicine 760 ESPANA MANILA CDEDEN STATE (Formerly Golden Gate) Recently enlarged & improved to give our customers the maximum entertainment Assisted by two excellent Orchestras playing alternately 430-432 Rizal Avenue Manila • Being a horse has its advantages that poor homo sapiens might well envy Of Horses and Men rpHE horse is an animal—and so is J. man. But there is a great difference between these two animals aside from their obvious physical and sometimes not so obvious mental disparity. It is the general tendency among peo ple seeing cocheros continually beating their horses to sigh with relief and thank God they are not in the poor animal’s shoes. Little do they know that the equine family has a distinct edge in some respects over homo sapiens. For exam ple, in a recent statistical survey it was found that an overwhelming majority of the horse population of Manila was gain fully employed, the remaining few being on short maternity leave but assured of return to employment after Nature has had her way. Man’s unemployment problems are too flagrant to need more than mere passing mention. And speaking of Nature, horse na ture has remained in many ways more sensible and intelligent than human na ture. Man has progressed remarkably, it is said, but in this process of develop ment he has evolved side by side with his crowning achievements the most use less inhibitions and the most ridiculous customs. But look at the sensible horse. He will readily mate much below his class—all blood is just plain red to him and class distinctions do not exist. Thus a mare avoids the tragedy of having to jump into the Pasig because her rich fu ture-in-laws want their son to marry a thoroughbred. Female horses, further more, possess none of the inhibitions that so often mar our coy females’ lives. They do not have to wait for leap year which after all comes only once every four years. Any day, anytime they are by Renato Constantino free to disport their charms before the object or objects of their affections, and this without incurring the envious wrath of the neighborhood gossips. Even granting that jealousy enters the pic ture, what does the female horse care? She has no sacred reputation to uphold. And when two horses decide they were meant for each other (for the time be ing at least) there are no banns to wait impatiently for, no wedding dress, no church fee, no wedding breakfast to dep lete the bridegroom’s pocketbook, and in cidentally his happiness. After the "wed ding” there are no family problems be cause there are no mothers-in-law. Furthermore, nothing can mar this beautiful happiness, for the bridegroom does not have to worry about support ing his family. That is the cochero’s job. He can have babies anytime be cause he does not have to worry about the price of tiki-tiJci or Bear Brand milk. Neither does he have to pay hospital bills. And speaking of bills, he knows nothing of man’s graveyard and burial fees, man’s licenses, cedulas, income tax es, inheritance taxes, etc. True, he miss es the pleasure of being bribed for his vote on election time, and of course he cannot run for office and then read about himself or see his pictures in the pa pers. And worst of all, he cannot enrich himself at the government’s expense. But then what does the horse care? He is wise enough not to seek insincere adu lation, and as for wealth—he has no use for this root of all man’s ills. With regard to the primary necessi ties of animals, horses have proved them selves more sensible than men. For them, clothing and cosmetics are super52 OF HORSES AND MEN 53 fluities; and consequently, they are not at the mercy of hoarders and profiteers. Their womenfolk do not have to teeter uncomfortably on French heels or gasp for breath inside whalebone corsets. They know that Nature adjusts herself to cir cumstances and so when the rainy sea son comes and raincoat and umbrella prices soar, the horses can watch man’s chagrin with amused condescension and without fear of catching pneumonia or any of man’s myriad ills. The shoe problem is no problem at all to them; shoe styles don’t interest any horse be cause one iron shoe is just like another. And think of the worry that the lady horses do not have to share with our debutantes—that soul-racking question, do my shoes match with the rest of my accessories? The cocheros are sure to provide their horses with shelter. They don’t require much. Salas and bathrooms are super fluous, and mattresses even more so be cause horses sleep on their feet. There is no pretension or sham about them; therefore, they do not suffer from false pride when another horse finds out the stable they call home is in Tondo. They make no lame excuses such as men of ten make when they are living far from the fashionable quarters of the city. They do not have to say that they like homes to be small and cozy when the truth is that they cannot afford a mansion. And not needing more than standing space, they do not have to spend their last peso on a sumptuous living room set for their friends to admire, while the family sleeps on the floor in a bedroom permanently closed to visitors. The matter of food does not bother them at all. Prices may rise to un heard of heights, and housewives may grow a few white hairs trying to make both ends meet, but Mr. Horse is obli vious to all these. After all, he is in telligent enough to know that whatever happens he will have food to eat. For the cochero, though he may have to tighten his belt, cannot afford to let his horse go unfed. If the horse had a li terary or musical bent, think what gems he might by now have produced while our talented men have to rot for years on end doing work distasteful to them, all because they have no cochero to feed them. That fact alone, of not having to worry over tomorrow’s meals, would make the horse state one devoutly to be envied. Even outside of mere physical exist ence horses still possess a few advan tages over men. We are puffed up with foolish self-esteem and suffer terribly when reprimanded or abused in front of people. Horses do not suffer from hurt pride. When they are whipped in public they take it philosophically as part of the day’s routine. Men pride themselves on their long and accurate memories but the horse’s short memo ry has its points, too. The sorrows that gnaw at men’s hearts, the bitter me mories of past frustrations make his life more miserable than it should be. Yiie horse cannot remember history dates but he is also saved from the har rowing memory of past sorrows. And having such a short memory it is useless for him to go to school. However, that is not so much of a setback as one might think—for consider all the trash he is mercifully saved from hearing. If the common horse has all these ad vantages, surely the race-horse is the most fortunate of all animals. He eats the best food, has the best care, and works only once a week. What work ing man wouldn’t jump at the chance of living such a life? Furthermore, he can rightfully be proud of the fact that on him depends the future, nay—the next meal of a lot of people—a beauti ful thought for the egocentric human being, but one which very few of his species can truthfully indulge in. THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN There is only one serious drawback that we can see in the favored horse’s existence, and that is the threat of com petition offered by too many Fords. In the event he outlives his usefulness in the city, the poor horse will have to leave the bright lights and the exciting life of the metropolis and content himself with a boring existence in the farm. Faced with this terrible alternative we sigh with relief—it is perhaps better to be a man after all, for chorus girls and hos tesses and nightclubs don’t thrive amid the rice fields. TONY'S BAR (A FIRST- CLASS BAR) WHERE YOU GET A SQUARE DEAL ON DRINK... THE FI NEST BRANDS AVAILABLE! IN TOWN... ALL THESE PLUS TONY’S HOSPITALITY! TONY ARNALDO 1656 Rizal Ave. Manager AZUCENA VACIADOR 220 Legarda, Sampaloc MANILA Sharpens all kinds of keen-edged tools & instruments, such as, scissors, knives, razors, hair clippers, etc. Quality Work Guaranteed P. C. TEMPRA Mgr. & Prop. Your Tailor— J. DELURIA’S FASHION For Elegance and Comfort. 1092 R. Hidalgo, Quiapo THE EAGLE’S EYRIE by S. P. Lopez Picture in Focus THE appointment of U. S. High Conisioner Paul V. McNutt and the sudden departure for the United States of President Osmena underline the en couraging fact that, after the uncer tainty and confusion that have prevailed since the liberation, the whole picture of Philippine-American relations is fast being brought to a sharp focus at last. Ironical though it may seem, in view of Mr. McNutt’s frank advocacy of a re examination of the Philippine question, it is now abundantly clear that those relations will hinge entirely on the grant of independence to the Philippines on July 4, 1946, or earlier as circumstances may warrant. The misgivings of the fainthearted among the Filipinos and of the mistakenly solicitous among the Americans may thus be set at rest. The two peoples are now free to work out the pattern of theii- future relations on the basis of this accepted fact. It is only fair to say that Mr. McNutt’s stand in favor of continued political re lations between the Philippines and the United States has been inspired mainly by a sincere belief that the best interests of both countries would be safeguarded and promoted by such means. The de cision to grant independence to the Phil ippines would suggest that Mr. McNutt may have been mistaken in his choice of means, but it would not disprove the wisdom of the end he seeks to achieve. Indeed, his appointment to the Philippine position constitutes an endorsement of the policy of maintaining the closest possible relations between the Philip pines and the United States for their mutual benefit. It will be Mr. McNutt’s task to help work out the pattern of those beneficial relations within the frame work of independence. The presence of President Osmena in Washington provides a further encou raging note in that it places the ques tion of American aid to this stricken country squarely in the middle of the stage. The war is over and President Truman can attend more closely to the problems of the Philippines; he has had time to study reports on conditions here prepared by responsible American and Filipino officials; and he can consider measures of relief and material assist ance on the plane of civilian adminis tration rather than military necessity. In his eyes and in the eyes of Congress and the American people the Philip pines now assumes its true importance, no longer as a spacious staging area for the invasion of Japan or even as a stra tegic outpost for the maintenance of American power, but as a stricken ally vastly in need of help, a vital outpost of freedom and democracy in Asia. By the time Mr. McNutt has arrived to assume his position, and President Os mena has returned from his mission to Washington, the entire field of Philip pine-American relations shall have cleared up sufficiently to permit the enormous task of reconstruction to pro ceed in earnest. The reconstruction pro gram should be planned so well that it shall not suffer any interruption when the Philippines assumes its new status as an independent state. ★ They Want Freedom SPEAKING of the role of the Philip pines as an important outpost of free65 56 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN dom and democracy in East Asia, it is interesting to speculate on the probable effect which the American policy in the Philippines will have on the colonial policies of Great Britain, France, and The Netherlands. Already the setting up of the Indonesian Nationalist Govern ment in Java and the violent Annamese outbreak in Indo-China have clearly in dicated that powerful nationalist and pro-independence forces have been un leashed there which render any plans of restoring the old order in those colonies completely inadvisable. America’s example in the Philippines will only add fuel to the fire. When, with the blessings of the United States, the Philippines becomes independent at last, the still subject peoples of Asia will certainly wonder all the more why they should continue to be denied the right to govern themselves and to direct their national destinies. And it will be a fair question to ask—a question, moreover, which the United States shall be called upon to answer, in part if not in whole. Britain, France, and The Netherlands may be expected to answer that the Ma lays, Burmese, Annamese, and Indone sians are not prepared to govern them eelves. And they would be partly right, because fortunately for them though un fortunately for the subject peoples, it was never in the interest of their impe rial tenure and profits to widen the op portunities for education, economic ad vancement, and political training of the natives. All this has got to change. More truly perhaps than at any other time in the history of the world, the Old Order has passed, giving way to the New. And if the European powers should be un willing—as in all likelihood they will prove unwilling—to initiate reforms in these colonies in order to prepare them for independence, then it will be up to the United States, with the certain sup port of the Soviet Union and China, to insist upon such reforms in accordance with the provisions and the spirit of the Charter of the United Nations. Some hope of voluntary reforms may lie in the fact that the Labor govern ment of England and the Leftist De Gaulle government of France are, ideo logically at least, hospitable to the prin ciple of enlarging the scope of freedom throughout the world. But imperialism as a habit of mind is a hardy perennial likely to outlast transient fashion in po litical ideology. Mr. Attlee and General De Gaulle, however just and sound their intentions may be, are not likely to make a clean break with imperial tradition. They will need constant pushing and prodding all along the way. One thing is clear: we cannot turn back the clock of history or hold it still. Liberty and the rumors of liberty have gotten around and all but the most back ward peoples have heard something of them. The colonizing powers had better get used to the idea that someday soon they must relinquish the delightful lu xuries of empire. For the subject peoples here and everywhere else are increasingly restive under dominion; they are tired of being hewers of wood and drawers of water. They are convinced that they are fit for and entitled to ‘Something better, and they know what it is. They want freedom. ★ The Emperor Must Go THE more closely you examine the re sults of the first month of the Allied Occupation of Japan, the more inesca pable becomes the conclusion that the en tire imperial institution must be done away with if the democratization of Japan is to make any headway at all. The Emperor must go because he stands as a mountainous barrier to the re-order ing of the Japanese mind and to the re construction of the social, economic and political life of the Japanese people. THE EAGLE’S EYRIE 57 The abject subservience of the in dividual to the state, the samurai tradi tion which glorifies war as man’s noblest profession and as the supreme instru ment of national policy, the Shinto reli gion which centers on and is built up around the Emperor as God, the belief in Japan’s God-given destiny to conquer the world—none of these can co-exist with democracy, and all of them are im plicit in the imperial institution. What Japan needs more than anything else is a Revolution, something quite as thorough as that of France under the Bourbons and that of Russia under the Czar. But this means disorder and blood shed, and that is the reason why it seems undesirable now that the Allied troops are there. And yet only a few months ago, while Japan was still fighting hard, it was the fond hope and expectation of the Allies that the Japanese people would rise against their rulers and over throw the political system that was bringing them to ruin. Is it no longer practical to wish for such an internal revolution, or even pas sively to encourage the spirit of radical change among the Japanese people? We think not. If the Allies had hoped for it before the occupation, they should not hope for it now that their troops are on the spot to give direction to the movement and to curb its possible excesses. Japanese history shows that the people can be quite cavalier in the treatment of their rulers. They only need to be un deceived about the omnipotence, the un erring righteousness, and the divinity of the Emperor; the rest will follow. Though something has already been done along this line, it has not been enough. The Japanese people are still under the illusion that their country surrendered only in obedience to the will of the Emperor, not to the will of the victorious Allies. To the Japanese, the Emperor is still incontestably right: not he is to blame but they, for he is God, and he knows best. It is for them to do better by the Emperor—next time. It is true, of course, that the demo cratization of Japan will require other measures. It will require the dismantl ing of the war industries, the breaking up of the vast landed estates for the benefit of the poverty-ridden peasants, the disestablishment of the business mo nopolies and holding companies (Mitsui, Mitsubishi, Sumimoto, etc.), the oblitera tion of the militarist clique, the introduc tion of a democratic system of educa tion, and the setting up of a genuinely representative form of government. But the evils which such measures seek to correct are deeply involved in the impe rial institution. The Emperor is not only the biggest landowner and stockholder in Japan; he is also, in much more than a spiritual sense, the hub of the social, religious cultural and political life of the Japanese people. You cannot re order that life while the Emperor re mains. In the case of Japan, the choice is not between a soft or a hard peace, or be tween a just and a vindictive peace. The choice is rather between a transcient and an enduring peace. We cannot ex pect Japan to live in enduring peace with the rest of the world while the foun tainhead of that country’s warrior in stincts, behaviour, and philosophy re mains undisturbed. That fountainhead happens to be the Emperor. ★ The “Crazy” Sergeant IN a recent issue of the Daily Pacifican, the U. S. Army newspaper here, there appeared an interesting letter to the editor written by one Sgt. Paul F. Nyerges, APO 75. He related a hitch hiking incident as follows: “This guy (an army truck driver) stopped his 6 x 6 to pick up a group of five GIs, two of whom were Filipino GIs, and exclaimed that ‘only American GIs would get on,* 58 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN saying ‘orders from my company’. I refused to get on, just standing there, and he graciously said ‘you could get on’. I sweetly thanked him and said, ‘No, I’d rather walk than ride with any one too GI proud to pick up a Filipino.’ He in sisted that it was an order from his com pany. Well, I terminated our delightful conversation by walking away, mum bling to myself, ‘that’s what I like about the Army’.” And he concluded, “Maybe, I’m nuts to let that guy get under my skin, but I have a healthy respect for what some of these ‘non-American’ GIs have done for the war effort. That goes for the first phase of the war when I was not here, as well as for the second phase when we returned and I was here.” Yes, Sergeant, you’re nuts, if your action were to be judged according to the behavior pattern of some of your fellow American GIs. But not if it is to be measured with the yardstick of true Americanism—the sort of Americanism that has come to mean in the minds of millions of oppressed people throughout the world: freedom, equality, fraternity, as well as plain everyday decency in hu man relations. It is highly comforting to know that there are men like Paul Nyerges in the U. S. Army. Knowing men like him and hearing what they have to say about the un-American lapses of their com panions somehow restores one’s faith in the practicability of the great American ideals of universal brotherhood and mu tual respect among all the races of man kind. One is inclined to overlook the petty irritations brought about by the misconduct of the ill-bred, and to hope fervently that Americans are not so soon forgetting for what wholesome demo cratic ideals and against what mons trous fascist principles they are sup posed to have gone to war. Dear Sgt. Nyerges, if you should ever see this, we give you our hand in warm est appreciation. What About the Chinese? THE hope, of course, goes two ways. It goes, too, for the equally thoughtless Filipinos who are trying their evil best to arouse anti-Chinese hysteria among the people here. For it is certainly lu dicrous for the Filipinos to resent dis crimination at the hands of Americans or Europeans while they are themselves guilty of discrimination against other races. It ill becomes the Filipino to tell the American, "I’m as good as you are, and I’m not going to let you con descend to me, patronize me, or dis criminate against me socially or other wise,” and in the same breath tell the Chinese, “You’re not as good as I am, and you better keep out of my way in trade and in business.” Or, the truth is perhaps that the Filipino really thinks of the Chinese in reverse and in his heart fears the lat ter as his superior in capacity for hon est labor and in business acumen. In that case, he should really tell the Chinese, “You’re too good for me, I can’t compete with you, I’m sorry but I have to place you under every pos sible disadvantage in business in order to survive at all.” And for that, the Filipino should hon estly feel ashamed of himself. He should feel ashamed of himself because he is content to stand upon the prin ciple of equality while failing miserably to observe it in his relations with other peoples, in the everyday affair of liv ing and making a living. He worships the principle of the equality and fra ternity of all races but refuses to live by it In a sense he is worse than the Nazi who brazenly disbelieves in race equality and as brazenly acts according to his belief. At least the Nazi is con sistent; he is no hypocrite. The Chinese in the Philippines are not entirely blameless, of course. They have their own black sheep, even as we have ours, and other nationalities as THE EAGLE’S EYRIE 59 well. By their ultra-exclusive tong-like tactics in business, as tight as that of any masonic brotherhood, they tend to arouse the antagonism of these Fili pino elements that, believing themselves with their backs against the wall, seek to break up their powerful combinations by nationalistic campaigns or protec tionist legislation of one sort or another. But whatever the faults of individual Chinese may be, no Filipino is justified in stirring up hatred against the Chinese as a class or as a race. No more were those Americans justified who learned to look down upon all Fili pinos on account of the misbehaviour of some Filipinos in California. It would be tragic, indeed, if the Americans, Filipinos, and Chinese—al lies all in the war against the mon strous race doctrines of fascism—should now fail, in their relations with one another, to live up to the faith that brought them together. They cannot af ford to lose the peace so soon after win ning the war. —S. P. L. Jlovelties &. Cuiios 1001 Rizal Ave. cor. Lope de Vega Manila For DEPENDABLE SUPPLIES— Consult: "MOPHARCO” THE MODERN PHARMACAL PRODUCTS CO. “A NAME THAT CAN BE TRUSTED IN DRUGS” 886-888-890 Rizal Ave., Manila IMPORTERS AND WHOLESALERS of ★ DRUGS AND CHEMICALS ★ INDUSTRIAL CHEMICALS AND REAGENTS ★ LABORATORY APPARRATUS AND GLASSWARE ★ SURGICAL AND DENTAL INSTRUMENTS ★ HOSPITAL EQUIPMENT AND SUPPLIES Our prescription Department will fill your physician’s pres cription promptly with accuracy and reliable drugs. NEWSMONTH by 'Toto' THE FAR EAST DOUGLAS MacArthur, supreme com mander of the Allied forces for the occupation of Japan, hopped from is land to island on the long MelbourneTokyo trail according to plan. But when he entered the Japanese capital in triumph early last month, his troubles began. Landing aboard his silvery C-54 air liner “Bataan II” with a handful of 11th Airborne men, General MacArthur bided his time, permitted the Japanese to move around more or less just as they pleased. The press at home in the United States at once protested. The Japan ese news broadcasts pictured how the Imperial Diet convened, heard Hirohito, announced plans for reconstruction as if they didn’t get licked in the war. “Kid-glove tactics,” roared the State side press. “Put the Japs where they belong.” Replied the five-star commander: "Hold your horses, folks; we are here, we can see things. We’ll get around to it when we have the occupation forces we need.” In rapid succession, the commander then: 1. Issued a list of 47 suspected war criminals; promptly rounded them up. 2. Suspended Domei, Asahi, Nippon Times for violating his directives. 3. Announced by month’s end that he’d need no more than 200,000 men against the previously-planned 1,500,000. 4. Sent the bulk of "Bull” Halsey’s mighty Third Fleet home to fake part in Navy Day celebrations this month. 5. Announced Japan was washed out, was now a member of the Order of Minor Powers, Fourth Class. In China, victory erased the Japan ese menaced but brought to a head the long-standing conflict between the Kuo mintang and the Chinese Communists. Armed to the teeth, Red troops at surrender time demanded equal footing with Chungking in accepting Japanese surrender, threatened for a while to split Old China wide open. Mao Tze-tung, leader of the Yenan Communists, opened verbal broadsides against Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek; accused the Chungking regime of muf fling Chinese democracy, demanded of ficial recognition of the Communist party as a bona fide political entity at par with Chungking’s Kuomintang. Then something happened. Out of the Kremlin came the announcement that China’s roving Premier Dr. T. V. Soong and Foreign Commissar Viacheslav Molotov had concluded a Sino-Russian treaty of amity and friendship pro viding, among others for: (a) Russian recognition of. China’s sovereignty over Manchuria. (b) China’s recognition of the inde pendence of Outer Mongolia—appar ently under Russian influence. (c) China’s permission for the Red Fleet to have base facilities in Port Ar thur. In no time, Mao Tze-tung piped down, was whisked to Chungking by U.S. Ambassador Patrick Hurley for a “peace” confab with the now diploma tically-rejuvenated Chiang. At press time, Mao was teased, toast ed, wined regally in Chungking as Kuo mintang and Communist leaders threshed out their differences in what NEWSMONTH 61 was regarded as the prelude to internal peace in China for the first time since the death of the Republic’s founder, Dr. Sun Yat-sen. Further south in Indo-China, the weakened French, never popular with the native Annamese, had to be aided by the British to maintain order in the southern part of the colony; the northern end, under Allied agreement, was temporarily occupied by Chinese troops. At month’s end, the native national ists were getting unruly. Colony-wise Britons at once proclaimed martial law. Further west, the Thailanders, cheery after a generous Washington edict re storing them to Allied good graces, an nounced the outside world may again call their country by the age-old name Siam. The Siamese will still call their country Thai. Mother India toward the end of last month came back to the headlines when Viceroy Lord Wavell announced at New Delhi that Labor government’s new plan “to hasten the establishment of self-rule” in the colony. The new India program, patterned with light modification after the plan profferred in 1942 by Sir Stafford Cripps calls for: 1. Election of a constitutional con vention. 2. Option of any Indian province to stay out of the autonomous state if it so desires. 3. A quasi-commonwealth status for India with full responsibility, but in ef fect, to function within the framework of the British Commonwealth of Na tions. Perky as a result of Britain’s debts incurred during the death grip with the Nazis, London Indians reviewed the la test Wavell plan icily, declared: “Abso lute complete independence or nothing.” At presstimc, neither leaders of the All-India Congress nor the Moslem League had officially defined their views. EUROPE Beneath a superficial peace ran an un dercurrent of power politics all over the rubbled Old World last month. Between the No. 1 continental power, Soviet Rus sia, and the Western Allies the grab for spheres of influence unofficially but nev ertheless markedly raged at a merry pace. But where, as in the case of hapless Spain under the Axis-born Franco re gime, the Allied-Russian policies jibed, the effect was swift and staggering. Last month, the Big Four—U.S., Brit ain, France, Russia—told Franco to move out of Tangier, the Moorish city at the tip of North Africa across the straits guarding the entrance to the Me diterranean. The victor powers said Tangier hence forth will revert to its prewar interna tional status. Harassed Franco said yes, kicked out his Axiphile Falangist ministers, abo lished the Nazi salute. At month’s end, there were rumblings of the Republicans coming back to Ma drid on a wave of Allied pressure. The Republicans exiled in Mexico quickly re organized, proclaimed a "government” hoped for Allied recognition. In Lausanne, meanwhile, up the Swiss Alps, Don Juan, pretender to the Span ish throne, set Europe agog with hints he has more than passing interest in the throne. Dopesters said another bloodshed was in the offing in the sunny Iberian pen insula. In London, top-level diplomats set to work on the blueprint of the world to come. Within the historic confines of Lan caster House, the foreign ministers of the Big Five met for the first time since 62 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN the council was created at Potsdam the previous month. No. 1 on the agenda was the treaty of peace with revamped Italy, but Molo tov jumped the gun by claiming Rus sia’s right to sole trusteeship over any Italian colony in the Mediterranean. Bargainer Molotov offered in exchanged his withdrawal of Russian support for Yugoslavia’s claim to the Italian-popula ted port city of Trieste. The Balkans, meanwhile, seethed with intrigue, with the Allies scoring a clean beat when Bulgaria, under Soviet sha dow, called off a scheduled election last month on Allied insistence that condi tions did not warrant a free and unfet tered vote. Rumania, Greece and Hungary, like wise groaned under the cumulative ef fect of postwar domestic problems and international diplomatic jockeying. Back in London, the preparatory com mission for the United Nations opened its first session the middle of last month to lay the groundwork for the formal opening of the World Security Organ ization’s Assembly, scheduled for the spring, when, it was hoped, all the Al lied nations shall have ratified the Char ter. THE AMERICAS Peace found the United States of America almost as off balance as when the Japanese sneaked in from nowhere for the Pearl Harbor stab which began the war. Congress, originally scheduled to re convene the first week of this month, hurriedly went into a huddle to take up the problems of peace which it found as baffling as the problems of war. According to custom, President Tru man sent a voluminous message up Ca pitol Hill outlining his "must” program for America at peace. He urged, among others, (1) gradual withdrawal of his emergency powers; (2) a $25 weekly unemployment compensa tion to cushion the abrupt loss of jobs due to peacetime cutbacks; (3) indefi nite continuation of the draft; (4) em phasis on further conversion of natural power along lines of the successful TV A under the late President Roosevelt. In another directive, the president ordered immediate cessation of lendlease to Allied powers. Thoroughly up set, London immediately dispatched an economic mission to Washington headed by the noted economist, Lord Keynes, to wangle a long-term credit arrangement to supplant lend-lease. The country meanwhile staggered un der the first full impact of mass unem ployment, estimated the middle of Sep tember at approximately 10,000,000. But as private industry, now retooling fullblast for mass production of civilian goods, absorbed the laid-off war workers piecemeal, Labor Unions, particularly those engaged in automobile manufacture around Detroit, opened what promised to be a long-drawn-out battle for higher wa ges. At month’s end, strikes Btalked across the land, but general temper was bright ened by the knowledge that strikes or no strikes, Christmas will see a goodly num ber of warring sons at homo; that pre war comforts, from stockings to limou sines, will soon be available without ra tion coupons. THE PHILIPPINES When Douglas MacArthur returned to Leyte last year, he announced those who gave aid and comfort to the enemy would be placed under custody, and turned over at war’s end to the Commonwealth for judgment. Last month, shortly after Japan’s formal surrender, General MacArthur began transfering "collabora tion” cases to the Philippine government. President Osmena issued a dictum in effect permitting those confined to bail themselves out. By presstime Solicitor General Lorenzo M. Tanada was workNEWSMONTH 63 ing overtime reviewing cases, making price bail tags, denying bail to others. Congress meanwhile passed the Peo ple’s Court Bill after a lengthy skirmish with Malacanan, often colored—accord ing to impartial press comments—by po litical bickerings. In the midst of the squabble, Interior Secretary Harold Ickes dropped a bomb shell from Washington, warned in a message to President Osmena that un less "collaborators” were firmly dealt with, relief aid from the United States might be withheld, suggested clarifica tion of this issue before general elec tions are held. The Philippine Congress, thoroughly taken aback, moved to postpone the pro jected elections, awaited crystallization of U.S. policy through the newly ap pointed High Commissioner, Paul V. McNutt, who said the President soon would clarify Washington’s views on the Philippines before he emplanes for Ma nila this month. At presstime, Congress was in its third special session wtih specific requests from Malacanan to act on the pending appropriations bill, the public works bill, and the proposal to increase the number of judges of the court of first instance. Relief ships crammed with consumer goods meanwhile arrived last month and prices for the first time since liberation took a decided dive. At presstime, the black market appeared to have been bro ken. F. Dizon Andres Abogado y Notario Publico 308 ESPANA MANILA Business As Usual - - - Manila Auto Supply Motorists Headquarters Since 1926 1054-56 Rizal Avenue Manila 64 THE PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN (Continued from, page J,) plains how and why. Lt. Ledyard has been one year and a half overseas and expects to return home soon. It is a relief to think that she is going home with such kind thoughts (fortunately re vised!) of this country and its people. Our leading article, "Portrait of a Fi lipino” by Renato Liboro, is a subtly spoken piece which provides welcome relief amid the angry claims and denials of being pro-American or pro-Japanese. The author takes a leaf out of the bio graphy of a respected Filipino citizen of the old generation to prove that it is quite possible to be a sincere patriot by remaining strictly pro-Filipino. Mr. Liboro, who is nineteen years old, stu died in the Ateneo de Manila. He works part time for the OWI and goes to law school at the University of Santo Tomas. The question now uppermost in the minds of many people is dispassionately discussed in "What of Laurel?” by M. N. Querol. With the treason trials about to begin, the article points up the crucial question: At what precise point does cooperation with an occupying ar my shade off into treason? Mr. Querol, until recently an artillery officer in the Philippine Army, saw action in Minda nao during the Japanese invasion. Lt. (jg) J. Shestack, USNR, who writes the interesting on-the-spot ac count of Tokyo under occupation, "Report on Tokyo,” graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. He is Junior Damage Control Officer on board the USS Ticonderoga, far-famed aircraft carrier that survived two Kami kaze attacks. Lt. Shestack himself sur vived both, the last one because he doesn’t eat salmon. Salmon was served that day and he was not on the chow line when the Jap plane struck. All those who were on the line were killed. When they speak of the economic re habilitation of the Philippines, a great many people ignore the fact that the job is much more than one of restoring shattered industries, of bringing back the pre-war world we knew so well and so often criticized. In "Rehabiliation and Reform” by Leo Stine, we are reminded that the crying need for social reforms that will improve not only the national finances but the living conditions of the Filipino masses must dictate the pat tern of our economic reconstruction. The author, who is deeply interested in Phil ippine and Far Eastern affairs, studied political science and political economy in the University of Illinois. A. C. Kayanan studied civil engineer ing in the University of the Philippines, stinted for a while in the Bureau of Pub lic Works, and then, a year or so before the war, was sent as a government pensionado to the Massachusetts Institute of Techonology where he specialized in City and Regional Planning. Before re turning to the Philippines last February, he had the distinction of serving on the City Planning Board of Cleveland, Ohio. His deeply humanistic views on the building of a city are explained in broad yet positive outlines in his article, "Cities Are for People”. He is on the City Plan ning Board in charge of the reconstruc tion of the devastated capital city of the Commonwealth. •. Whatever did our women do during the Japanese occupation? What credit shall we give them for the survival of the nation? What were their contri butions to the resistance movement? A forthright answer to the second ques tion and an oblique one to the third is given in "Deadlier Than the Male” by Estrella Alfon Rivera, short-story writer and editor of The People’s Ma gazine. In "Pliant Like the Bamboo,” I. V. Ma llari explains, more obliquely, the se cret of Filipino survival. Mr. Mallari, who studied in the University of Wis consin and later became professor of WITH OUR CONTRIBUTORS 65 library science in the University of the Philippines, is now with the Depart ment of Public Instruction. Our fiction this month is an exclu sively women's affair and distinguished, too. "Just Waiting" comes from the pen of Ligaya Victorio Reyes, unquestionably one of the most accomused to be on the staff of the Graphic the Philippine Weekly, is now with the Manila Times. As companion-piece to the work of an accomplished literary artist like Mrs. Reyes, we are pleased to present "A Letter to Bill" by Remy R. Bullo, a new comer bearing ewry rich, promise of future achievement. Miss Bullo studied in the University of the Philippines and, before the war, taught American his tory in the Far Eastern University, in the same room where she now works for the U.S. Army. Daisy Hontiveros Avellana returns this month with a delightful little epi sode, "In the Little Town of Bay", to show that even the war, with all its grim tragedy and horror, had its light, laugh ter-provoking side. And war or no war, life definitely has its sardonic aspects, one of which Renato Constantino exploits in "Of Horses and Men". Mr. Constantino, who once edited the Philippine Collegian, campus paper of the University of the Philippines, saw service in Bataan, is now with Mala canan. Our poetry this month is provided by GodOfredo Bunao in "Apostrophe to Yamasliita," the Japanese ex-commander in-chief in the Philippines who is now on trial for his life before an American military commission in Manila; and by Lydia Arguilla, well-known essayist and short-story writer who, in "Guerrilla Serenade", who acquires new distinction as guerrilla fighter and laureate. Two regular fea tures appear for the first time in this issue; "Newsmonth," a concise review of the significant news developments here and abroad during the preceding month; and "The Eagle's Eyrie" by S. P. L. New departments will appear as we get to know just what our readers want. Why don’t you write us with sugges tions for improving the magazine? This, after all, is your magazine, and you are our fellow editors. What will please you, we shall be most pleased to give— provided it is within our means and our power to do so.—The Editors. The most famous catacombs in existence are those under Rome and its suburbs. There are more than 500 miles of these underground passageways — one upon another and sometimes seven levels deep—containing a total of about 6,000,000 tombs. Nose rubbing is more widely used by mankind as a greeting than are handshak ing and kissing combined—Freling Foster, Collier’s. PROVINCIAL DISTRIBUTORS Magazine distributors of The PHILIPPINE-AMERICAN may call on this Office on or before the 20th of each month to get their quota at any time during office hours. ADRIANO GARCIA Circulation Manager 1050 Rizal Avenue STUDEBAKER DELIVERS THE GOODS ANOTHER STUDEBAKER DELIVERY IS MADE Mr. Enrique Monserrat, President of Monserrat Enterprises, Co. Ltd., Pasay Transportation Co., and Yellow Taxi Cab. Co., is congratulated by Mr. Colir. McCulloch, President of Bataan Motor Corporation, as he takes delive'y of the first ten of his Studebaker trucks. Bataan Motor Corporation announces that Studebaker trucks are arriving in Manila daily. We are doing everything possible to expedite assembly of these units so that our customers will receive delivery of their trucks as soon as possible. BATAAN MOTOR CORPORATIONStudebaker Distributors Sales Divisior 802 Wilson Bl< Tel. 2-63-17 Parts s & Service Division dg. 13th & Atlan-a Sts. Port Area Philippine Air Lines, Inc. FOR PASSENGERS, MAIL AND FREIGHT (Chartered trips on application) Making Air Travel convenient for YOU all over the Philippines, comes naturally to P A L. In 1941, when Philippine Air Lines started opera tions. "FLY WITH PAL FOR A FRIENDLY SERVICE" became a regular slogan for the traveling public. Today, taking advantage of all the improvements in Aviation, ? 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Our first issue consists of 52 pages; this issue consists of 72. Increase in the number of pages and improvement in editorial con tent, at the same price, is our goal. Philippine Jurisprudence 1938-1945 A digest of decisions of the Philippine Supreme Court and Court of Appeals. Printed in America; approximately 1,000 pages; pre-publication price — F70.00. of Philippine Jurisprudence Nam. Addrew Our library is available for u be taken out. The Philippine-American Writers' Library se of all contributors. No books or magaiine, however, may The Philippine-American Amateur tennis Tournament To strengthen Philippine-American relations, we are sponsoring an amateur tennis tourna ment and a series of exhibitions by four of our ranking tennis players: Ampon, Sanches, Carmona, and Diy. P200 A MONTH JOBS! Come and get it if your quali fications will satisfy our re quirements. Law & Business Forms approximately 600 pages to be printed in America. Pre-publication price................... 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The garnet jpposed to endow its wearer with constancy; the amethyst in dicates sincerity; the emerald, happiness; the diamond, in nocence; the bloodstone or aquamarine, courage; the opal, hope: the sardonyi. felicity; the turquoise or lapis lazuli, prosperity; the ruby, contentment of mind; the sapphire, Precious stones are used as birthstones, as follows: For January, the stone is garnet; February, amethyst, March, bloodstone, sanguinaria; April, diamond, zircon; May, eme rald, tourmaline; June, agate, pearl; July, ruby, sunstone; August, sardonyi, moonstone; September, sapphire; October, opal, alexandrite; November, topaz: December, turquoise, If you are in the market for Ceylon precious stones, Darley is the jeweler to see. Before the war, at least ninety per cent of the clientele of Darley consisted of American Army and Navy officers and enlisted men and civilians. Darley has become an institution in a world of precious stones and jewelry. Darley has been in the business since 1919 and has made a name for thirty-three years of honest, dependable and reliable advice and service to his customers. Darley cannot make a claim for continuous service. When the Japanese occupied Manila, he closed his doors and during the entire period of enemy occupation, refused to open for business. It was only when the American forces of liberation drove the invaders from Manila that Darley resumed a business he has steadily builded for more than three decades of faithful service. 25 Exporter & Importer 110 Plaza Goiti READY-MADE DRESSES at: Dr. Ricardo A. Francisco DENTIST Clinic: 1909 J. Luna, Tondo ..ear North Bay Blvd. Attention................ 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