Panorama

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Title: Panorama
Issue Date: Volume XV (Issue No.4) April 1963
Language: English
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extracted text: Tell your friends about the Panorama, the Philippines * most versatile, most significant magazine today. (jive them a year’s subscription — NOW! they will appreciate it. Subscription Form ............... 1 year for F8.50 ...............2 years for F16.00 ...............Foreign subscription: one year $6.00 U.S. Name .............................................................................................. Street .............................................................................................. City or Town ................................. Province ................................ Enclosed is o check/money order for the amount specified above. Please address all checks or money orders in favor of: COMMUNITY PUBLISHERS, INC. Vol. XV MANILA, PHILIPPINES 'A NO. 4 WHY LEGALIZE GAMBLING? The move to make gambling legal in the Philippines raises several questions not the least among which are those concerning the Filipino moral fiber. While it may be justi fiably denied that Filipinos are inherently gamblers, such a move seems to underscore a weakness in the national char acter. For one thing, the bill would be consistent with what has been observed as a lack of patience and strong will among our people to rid themselves of unhealthy and waste ful activities. For another, it encourages distaste for hard productive work. At a time when the country is in need of workers who can really devote their talents and energies to the task of acce lerating national growth, a law which virtually sanctions lazi ness is oddly out of place. In effect, it would convert what to some is still merely an activity to be indulged in during their leisure hours into a full-time livelihood. Besides event ually making them shirk clean, healthy work for endless ses sions at gambling houses, the gambling law would consequent ly channel much of the nation’s needed manpower into activities which have little to do — or to add — to national progress. Finally, this question may be asked: what do we really want to do with ourselves? If instead of investing in new and necessary industries, cooperating with governmental prog rams for national development and otherwise working for a better life for ourselves and succeeding generations, we con struct, under the protective aegis of the law, mammoth gam bling houses and later spend time and money in these places, then we deserve the kind of life we are living now. ■ “I feel that the human race may well become ex tinct before the end of the present century * '. QUOTING BERTRAND RUSSELL “He is all flame and no ash,” observed a reporter after a talk with Bertrand RusselL “He has a brain that burns when * you come near it.” This was the same feeling expressed by an editor of the American magazine Playboy when he interviewed Lord Russell on his last birthday, the 90th, in his secluded home in the mountains of North Wales. The venerable philoso pher who played a decisive role as an intermediary be tween East and West in the recent Cuban crisis had a lot to say on a lot of subjects. Hereunder are some of the more pertinent, and compel ling quotes: Risk of war: Speaking as a mathematician, I should say that the odds are about three to one. against survival. The risk of war by accident — an unintended war trig gered by an explosive sit uation such as that in Cuba — remains and indeed grows greater all the time, x x Just as it is a wicked thing for one man to murder an other, it is 10 times as wicked to murder 10 others, and 1,000,000 times more wicked to be resposible for the death of 1,000,000' men. x x x Today we face the prospect of total obliteration in a single day. If mankind is to survive at all, intelligent people must learn to think and act in a less provocative manner than in former times, xxx The essential thing to understand is that no con ceivable solution to any pro blem is worse than a nuclear war. It is necessary to realize before it is too late that any act — whatever its motive or rationale — is to be consi dered wicked if the conse quence is an atomic holo caust. xxx What is most likely in Berlin or elsewhere (Cuba) is simply war by mis interpretation. You may get a meteor on a radar screen, Panorama and someone will press the button. There is no time to consider. It could so easi ly happen, in a day, in a mo ment. Price of war: I could give (you) a minimum estimate (of destructive consequences of a disastrous “misinterpre tation”). I believe you must generally estimate that, at the very least, the price of nu clear war would be that half the population of both Am erica and Russia, plus the whole of the population of Western Europe and Britain, would be wiped out. Cuba and Berlin: I believe that if a blockade is defen sible when applied to Cuba, then the precedent can be ap plied also to Berlin and even to Britain, which is an ad vanced American nuclear base. America should remem ber the War in 1812 when the United States would not to lerate a British blockade. This is the very heart of what I have, been saying for years: If nuclear bases are intoler able in Cuba, then they are intolerable anywhere in the world. Nuclear bases threat en the survival of mankind and the Cuban crisis has shown us how very close we are to annihilation. Disarmament: Fear is very much a part of the incentive for armaments. If the fear were removed, each side would be more reasonable. I think that if the West were to voluntarily divest itself of nuclear weapons as a token of its peaceful intentions — this would greatly impress the Russians. They would then feel that they had nothing to fear and that they could enor mously reduce their own ex penditure on armaments. One side says that America is to blame for the stalemate (in disarmament talks) and the other says Russia is res ponsible . . . That has been the excuse for not reaching agreement. But I think the true explanation lies deeper than that. Neither side wants agreements and they have something plausible to dis agree about. On both sides (are) people with interest in armaments and all the appa ratus of preparation for war. Civil defense: I am oppos ed to civil defense prepara tions. They are diabolical inventions calculated to tell lies and to deceive. Everyone who knows anything knows April 1963 3 that. People may think them selves safe in their deep sheltrs — but they will roast. Governments must be made to-give-up the habil of_ lying jn order to persuade people to die quietly. Russia or America? — I would strongly recommend an agreement on both sides not to teach that the other side is wicked. For Americans, communism is the Devil; for the Russians, capitalism is the Devil. The truth is that nei ther is wickeder—thaiy. the other. Theyjire_both wicked. > xxx They are both abomi nable systems. I am inclinetj to prefer the American sys tems, but only because it is more allied with what I am used to. But if I had been born in Russia, probably I should prefer the Russian sys tem, xxx The Americans will tell you they stand for freedom: What rhpy hip an i$-'thaustQu_musL be quite- willing to perish in order-to be free in hell. In Russia, they punish you if you espouse ca pitalism; in America they pu nish you if you espouse com munism. What is the differ ence? And the UN?: The only important matter is to find some wav of compromise be tween them (US and USSR) which will avoid war. xxx It can’t be done through the UN as it is now, because the UN does not embrace China. Its exclusion is a colossal stu pidity. The veto is also an absurdity. World government: Neith er of these conflicting inter ests will be arbitrated equi tably and amicably until we have a truly representative and authoritative world gov ernment. In the absence of one, it will be a tug-of-war, a question of who is stronger. Foreign aid: It would be better if such aid were given cooperatively by both sides, but I don’t think that this is practicarpolitics at the mo ment. In either case it should be given not on cold war grounds, but simply because these people need help. Appeal to the two K's: You seem anxious to destroy the world, to create vast misery and total destruction. All this preparation for war is childish — and suicidal'. If you only begin to tolerate each other, you would be perpectly happy. Faith in man: It would not be difficult to build a peace 4 Panorama ful world if people really wanted it. It is certainly worthwhile to live and act and do what one can to bring it about x x x I have lived in pursuit of a vision, both personal and social: personal, to care for what is noble, for what is beautiful, for what is gentle, to allow moments of insight to impart wisdom in mundane times; social, to en vision in imagination an at tainable society in which the individual can grow freely, in which hate and greed and envy will die because there is nothing to nourish them. These things I still believe. So vou can see that the world for all its horrors, has left me unshaken. Not Really ? In the case of the Philippines, we recall that only a few years after their annexation, Theodore Roosevelt was already disillusioned, was already re penting his initiative and wishing we could be rid of them. Finally, let us remember, in the thirties we decided to set them free, and we recently did so, but not really primarily for their sake — not pri marily because we were sorry for them or thought them prepared for freedom and felt that we had an obligation to concede it to them — but rather be cause we found them a minor inconvenience to our selves; because the economic intimacy that their existence under our flag implied prove uncomfort able to powerful private interests in this country; be cause, in other words, we were not ourselves prepared to endure for long even those rudimentary sacrifices implied in the term “the white man's burden.” — George Kennan in American Diplomacy. April 1963 6 ■ Former enemy is inclined to the establishment of a working economic bloc, an Asian Common Market JAPAN'S TRADE WITH THE SOVIET UNION AND RED CHINA Year in and year out over the past decade, Japan has been second only to Canada as the United States’ biggest world customer, and every year, with the exception of 1959, the balance of trade has favored the US by about £200 million annually — in 1961, by nearly £300 million. The same year US imports from Japan reached a record $ 1,126,527,000. Thus while Japan is naturally striving to exploit still further the Am erican market and erase the unfavorable balance-of-trade, most Japanese industrialists feel today that Japan has sat urated the US market. The economic inter-dependence of the two nations, growing out of the American occu pation of Japan, has been in valuable and contributed more than any single factor to the resurgence of Japan as an economically powerful country — but if, in fact, a plateau, perhaps permanent, in US-Japan trade has been reached,' then Japan must necessarily turn elsewhere. Geographically speaking, the Soviet Union and Com munist China represent the best hopes. But trade with the Soviet Union is, of course, as much, if not more, a po litical issue as an economic issue.. Japan’s conservative government has progressed most cautiously along the path of increased trade with Russia, for fear of treading on American toes. Even so, the Soviet Union has become Japan’s No. 2 customer and Premier Ikeda, boltered by his re-election as LiberalDemocratic Party leader and thus as Japan’s Prime Minis ter for another two years, has in his recent public pro nouncements been more as 6 Panorama sertive of Japan’s right to establish stronger economic links with Soviet Union, al though he has not gone so far as the country’s major oppo sition parties — the Japan So cialist Party and Democratic^ Socialists — which in the last election campaign came out foursquare for trade with both Russia and mainland China. But after the election campaign Mr. Ikeda did go so far as to say that Japan’s so-called import liberalization "would be applied in princi ple to Communist nations on an equal footing with free nations”, an indication per haps of his recognition of the need for even more trade with Russia and Communist China should Japan be iso lated by the anti-Communistic EEC bloc. A Japanese economic mis sion composed of leading businessmen visited the So viet Unio^r sometime last year, in response to the tour of Japan by Deputy Premier Anastas * Mikoyan. Later, Mr. Mikoyan told Ichiro Kono, Japanese Agriculutre and Forestry Minister, then visit ing Moscow, that he was "stunned” by Japan’s indus trial power, and he asked for Japanese assistance in dev eloping the USSR’s Far East ern territories — a project most appealing to Japanese industrialists and one which the Japanese government may soon feel compelled to under take, in view of the EEC. While a further increase in the trading pattern with the Soviet Union raises political problems, the question of trade with Communist China is politically even more ex plosive. Mr. Ikeda stirred up a political storm in Japan with his announcement that Japan would continue to ac celerate its trade with main land China even if the US raised objections. He said simply that trade was neces sary, for Japan must expand her export markets, and that Japan was losing out to West European countries in Com munist China. Much of Mr. Ikeda’s bold pronouncement, observes in Tokyo felt, stem med from pressures brought by Japanese trading firms who have long urged the gov ernment to approve a defer red payment formula for Communist China trade. Much of his pronouncement, it was also felt, was purely political and that, in fact, he April 1963 7 has no real intention of vi gorously advancing trade with Communist China. The ruling Liberal-Demo crats did, however, send a de legation of politicians and economists to Peking late in 1962, an action which report edly caused American offi cials in Tokyo to fear a rap prochement in not only eco nomic but political matters between Tokyo and Peking. Whether the delegation is in dicative of a dramatic change in Japan’s trading pattern with Communist China, which at the moment am ounts to a scanty 0.5 per cent of her total overseas business, remains to be seen. Political considerations, at least so long as a conservative govern ment rules in Japan, will pro bably eliminate any drastic increase in trade with Ja pan’s Communist neighbors. Japan may, then, turn more and more to\the south. While Japan has a recent history of enmity with Bri tain difficult to forget, the Commonwealth nations of Asia have histories, both real and sentimental, of deep friendship and cooperation with Britain. Yet if Britain goes into Europe on terms that severely damage Com monwealth economic ties, then Asian Commonwealth countries will share with Japan, in varying degrees, the dreaded state of economic isolation and, history or no, there seems no^nore obvious course than closer economic cooperation with Japan. Japan is a very promising market for Commonwealth countries — and, one might add, vice-versa. The trend in accelerated trade between Japan and Australia, for in stance, has been apparent for some time, and a consider able section of the Japanese press has long urged the gov ernment to approach at least Australia and New Zealand more earnestly. Apart from Australia, New Zealand and Hongkong (which, in many areas such as textiles, is too direct a competitior for Japan), how- - ever, Japan encounters the formidable problem of econo mic underdevelopment when she looks to the south. Southeast Asia’s markets are, generally not sufficiently dev eloped to accept many of Japan’s capital-intensive in dustrial goods; at the same Panorama time, they are themselves developing the labor-inten sive light industrial goods which, heretofore, have been the mainstay of Japan’s ex ports to the region. Leaders have warned that Japan “should not let the present strong competitive position its light industry goods overshadow its future needs” — i.e. Japan must strive to change its exports composi tion to Southeast Asia in fa vor of heavy and chemical industry goods centering around heavy machinery, a trend already initiated by highly industrialized western nations, West Germany in particular, in their trade and technical cooperation with Southeast Asia. Certainly, Japan, as a high ly industrialized nation, is capable of supplying the capital goods required by Southeast Asian nations. But the fact is that Japan’s post war schemes for greater eco nomic involvement with Southeast Asia have not ma tured as fully as was hoped. Quite apart from the bad name Japan has in Southeast Asia, from the war years of “the mutual co-prosperity sphere”, Japan has talked more than acted on the mat ter of economic cooperation with Southeast Asia. Loans have been most modest, espe cially in view of Japan’s boom ing economy; reparations pay ments to Burma and South Vietnam have been made on ly after prolonged tough bar gaining; and the best record in the sphere of technical as sistance. Japan is conscious of the need to expand fur ther her economic partner ship with the Asian Common wealth countries and with the developing nations of South east Asia. If, then, as is apparent, Asian Commonwealth coun tries and Southeast Asia stand to gain so much from economic partnership with Japan, the logical step ap pears to be the establishment of a working regional econo mic bloc, an Asian Common Market. April 1963 HOW EDUCATED ARE THE AMERICANS? In the decade from 1950 to I960, with Americans spending more time in school, the median number of years passed in formal training by adults who, in 1950, were 25 years or more had risen from 9.3 to 10.6 in 1960. This general up grading reflected the rising educational attainments of the United States’ younger generation. While only 18 per cent of the population aged 75 or more in 1960 had completed secondary schooling, 61 per cent of those aged 25 to 29 had finished high school and 23 per cent had had some university training. On a re gional basis, - the median level of schooling was high est in the West and lowest in the South — reflecting in part the continued lag in the education of Negroes. Comparative figures on the percentage of adults 25 years or over, among whites and non-whites, whose edu cation was finished after the following categories (4 years university or more, secondary school or more, primary school or more, and less than 8 years) are revealing. First category (4 years university or more): Whites — 6 per cent (1950); 8 per cent (1960) Non-whites — 2 per cent (1950): 4 per cent (1960) Second category (secondary school or more): Whites — 29 per cent (1950); 35 per cent (1960) Non-whites — 11 per cent (1950): 19 per cent (I960) Third category (primary school or more): Whites — 39 per cent (1950); 37 per cent (1960) Non-whites — 25 per cent (1950); 32 per cent (1960) Fourth category (less than 8 years): Whites — 26 per cent (1950); 20 per cent (I960)' Non-whites—62 per cent (1950); 45 per cent (1960) 10 Panorama ■ How much can an intelligent man know, and how much should he try to know, of previous or current human learning? ON SELECTIVE READING John R. Platt From our present vantage point we see that the number of books a man can digest in a lifetime is very small. A vigorous editor or book critic may scan four books in day, or perhaps 1,000 a year. But to read and digest art icles or books worth reading, the rate is much lower, and the average literate adult pro bably cannot absorb more than two to four books per week, even including those in his own specialty. If we say' 160' books per year for 50 years, or 8,000 books, we will be describing a very bookish lifetime. What it adds up to is four of the microprinted sheets of the 10,000 in our Univer sal Library. We realize suddenly that even the men most famous in history for their learning could not have known from their own reading more than a microscopic fraction of the lore of their times. The sup position that there was a time when a man could “know everything” is one of those Great Man myths that wor shipers use to make their con temporaries seem small and themselves seem excusable. Most of us today are omnivo rous readers — or scanners — of newspapers, magazines, current books, and even encyclopedias. We were brought up to think it is good, and it is. I suspect that millions of us read more than any of the great men of the past. But do we profit more from it? . The trouble is that we were not brought up selecting. This is the wisdom of the wise men, not that they knew but that they chose. It is a wisdom anyone can practice. We are harassed and hypno tized by print. But it is time to stop being passive about how we spend our minds. April 1963 11 Are you not frightened by the thought of that long path of newsprint unrolling ahead of you down the years? Put some other kind of print be side your coffee cup. After you have read some of the newspapers, like an intelli gent citizen, read something that touches your real inte rests more closely, like an in telligent human being. There is no need to be all grim and serious about this, of course. We all have differ ent jobs to do, and different intellectual hungers, and we all need different kinds of things to read at different times, from whodunits to his tory, from Pogo to the Peren nial Philosophy. Often no thing will restore our sanity like gales of laughter. Never theless it is salutary to ask yourself when you next reach for a book, is this one of the 8,000 — or the 4,000 or the 2,000 — I really want to build into my life? It cla rifies your choices wonder fully. And why not 4,000 or 2,000? Since the most a man can read is trivial anyway in comparison with the total human library, why not en rich yourself by spending more time and thought on just the 40 per year or the 20 per year that are most rele vant to your own condition and purposes? The original! references, not the texts. (You could think, in between.) The original authors, not the critical reviews. (You could live, in between.) The ori ginal poets, not the discus* sions of poetry. (You could write, in between.) All this is a considerable oversimplication, of course. How does a man know what he would profit most from when choosing his reading? He must get advice and read reviews and decide whose judgment he trusts. How does he know where to find it? By looking it up in the indexing systems and hoping they are accurate and com plete. How does he know what his own interests really are? Ah, there’s the problem. By self-exploration, in the light of the challenges he gets from being interested in what; he reads. It is all a cumu lative problem, with another step in self-development after every round. A man who has well-edu-. cated himself knows how the different parts of the body 12 Panorama of knowledge fit together, even though he cannot know all the details except in one or two tiny corners. He knows which parts are gen erally relevant to his interests. He decides for himself when to read the Gee-Whiz report ers or the digesters and when to leave their tidbits untouch ed. He knows what he wants to explore more carefully or contribute to, and what he does not. But when in areas outside his own competence, where he must to some de gree trust the experts and evaluators — as Socrates and Aristotle and every other phi losopher or synthesizer has had to trust them — he can still tell sloppy reasoning from sound, and to some de gree judge these various ex perts for himself. Those universal men who were supposed to know some thin about every science are not really celebrated for the completeness of their inform ation but for this kind of se lection and comparison, judg ment and insight. Their learning was microscopic, compared to all human learn ing, as it always will be; their judgment was large, as it always can be. The reason we do not have such men in our time is that we lack confidence in our choice and judgment. As scholars and scientists and philosophers and teachers, we get started in one specialty and often go on all our lives without ever looking around. We feel surrounded and small, and we may talk about being overwhelmed by the sweep and complexity of mo dern knowledge. I have of ten heard scientists say, “There is just too muchl” But we need not feel this way any more than the scholars of old; what one man can know is not significantly smaller now than it was then, compared to' the vast un known total. As soon as we begin to put facts in their place and to reason about larger relationships, we can begin to recover, the universal attitude. A universal man is simply a man who refuses to be overwhelmed. —American Scholar. April 1963 13 ■ Herefore our history has been seen through foreign eyes; it is time we read it with our own eyes. CHALLENGE TO FILIPINO HISTORIANS Jeremias U. Montemayor One striking fact about Philippine history is that it has never been written by Fil ipinos. It is true, some Fil ipino names appear on the covers of a few Philippine books. But practically all of these Filipinos merely rely upon, summarize or compile not only the works but also the viewpoints of foreign writers. Perhaps this is in evitable, considering that it was foreigners, not Filipinos, who until recently had been making Philippine history. This fact of foreigners mak ing Philipine history for Fil ipinos has very interesting ef fects even to this day. For instance, we have always been told that it was Magellan, not Filipinos, who discovered the Philippines. Str deeply has this been ingraind in the Fil ipino mind that sixteen years after independence, Filipinos still almost completely rely on foreigners to discover and ca talogue the bones and neck laces of their ancestors. Of course, Filipinos are not necessarily better historians than Spaniards, Americans or Englishmen. And history is supposed to be an objective science. But since all men without exception cannot help being subjective in one sense or another, it seems that objectivity can be attain ed only by hearing views from all sides. To get the whole truth, one must hear not only the shouts of the victors but also the cries of the van quished. Take the case of the great Magellan. It is written that when he stopped at one of the small islands in the West ern Pacific, some of the na tives stole a small boat be longing to his fleet. Imme diately he called them thiev es, and named their land “Ladrones Islands.” Shortly thereafter, he reached our 14 Panorama shores and without the slight est “by your leave” he start ed to claim the whole archi pelago by force. Quite na turally, he did not call him self any special name. Nor did any Filipino chieftaifti, historian or commentator. And to this day our children are taught that Magellan was simply a brave soldier and one of the greatest naviga tors of all time. Indeed, we teach our chil dren that the Spaniards came to the Philippines for three reasons: evangelization, poli tical aggrandizement and commercialism. Cross, scept er and money. To the colon izer, perhaps, it was a happy and most fortunate combina tion. And even the most res pected thinkers today do not see anything grievously wrong with the idea. In fact, they write and talk about the “ro mantic saga of the Sword and the Cross.” How would Christ have looked if He had come to this world in the company of Roman generals and Jewish businessmen? There is no record of such a question being asked either in Philippine history or in commentaries thereon. What is recorded is that the Fili pinos are a very impression able people. Exactly one week after Ma gellan landed in Cebu, 800 Filipino-pagans were baptiz ed. History does norrecord how many times Magellan fired the cannons of his ships before that — just to greet the Filipinos or to satisfy their curiosity. But it looked as if the Spaniards were at the point of discovering a method more effective than Christ’s: redemption without too much crucifixion. Unfortun ately, a few days later, Ma gellan happened to be killed in battle and some of his men became fresh with Cebuana girls. The newly baptized Filipinos lost no time in in viting the Spaniards to a rare version of Filipino hospital ity from which very few Spa niards came out alive. Up to this day, commentators, on Philippine history appear . to be unaware of any impracticality in the partnership be tween the Sword and the Cross. Our history books are fill ed with accounts of how co lonizers like Martin de Goiti would ask Filipino rulers to give up their thrones, swear allegiance and pay tribute to April 1963 15 the king of Spain, in a man ner almost as simple and na tural as though the colonizers were just asking them to abate a minor nuisance. When some of the Filipino rulers refused, they were na turally wiped out — just as one would naturally wipe out a plague that stood in the way of human progress and happiness. No one re corded the reactions, the as tonishment, the conflict, the pathos and the human dra ma that happened in the souls, the families and the people of the local chiefs. This man was a great Spa nish conquistador — that a great colonizer — that, a great Governor-General. He “paci fied” various regions, he commanded naval fleets, he built the city walls, he contructed churches. To this day we and our children con sider them as the greatest men of that period. But who took the pains to record the number of Filipinos killed, how they were forced to build the ships, how they were wrested from their families, how they and their children were impoverished, how they were forced to carry the stones and build the walls and churches? Philippine history pointed ly records in a number of places how costly it was for the Spanish Crown to keep the Philippines. Of course, no one should begrudge the Spaniards that credit. But no mention is made of how costly it was for the Filipi nos! Finally, historians make a summation of judgment on Spanish colonization in the Philippines. Eminent schol ars, scientists and writers are consulted and quoted. They come from various parts of the world: Reinsch, Jagor, La Perouse, Bourne, LeRoy, etc. The majority opinion seems to be that Spain was a remarkable success. Who is to quarrel with such a judg: ment? But the interesting fact is that the man most con cerned and most affected in the issue—the Filipino— was not asked to render his opi nion. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Filipinos finally decided to make their own history and perhaps write it, too. But unfortu nately (or fortunately?) the 16 Panorama Filipinos found themselves tossed from the lap of a Christian civilizer to that of a Democrat teacher. So, again, the Filipinos were not able to make or write their own history. Again, it was to be made and written by somebody else for them. Then came the third in truder. What blunders made the intrusion possible—so that the invaders were more surprised at their own suc cess than the self-appointed defenders—to the untold mi sery of those who were sup posed to be defended? Who was responsible for those blunders? Why bother about these things—in the light of the glorious liberation? The Japanese were over-ambi tious, too many Filipinos were incompetent (although they redeemed themselves in Ba taan)—but did not the great General return as he promis ed and settle all scores? Why dwell on the darker aspects of our histosy? What good can come of it? Are we not well enough off, with out discovering or reopening old wounds? Indeed, we are not with out some rewards. For the gift of Christianity, no suf fering would have been too great. And in many respects America enriched dur dem ocracy and humanity. Un fortunately this faith and this enrichment were implanted among us with congenital de fects. Perhaps it would have been too much to expect more. But unless we realize these defects by tracing their historical roots, we might still lose what we have gain ed at so dear a price. The historical defect of our Christianity arose from the fact that it was in one way or another imposed upon us by force and fear. Our very churches were bulit by forc ed labor. To a great extent, then, Christianity becomes for us a set of external ritu als, or an alternative to so cial ostracism, or a haven of opportunity, or at best an anting-anting against eternal fire. It has not quite become, as it should, an all-possessing, super-charging way of life that ignites the mind with conviction and consumes the heart with a passion which enslaves only because it lib erates. We should, therefore, take a second, careful look at this priceless heritage. What was April 1963 17 previously thrust into our hands by force, we should now reach out to in freedom in our own fashion. What was ^impressed upoh as by the power of external rite and ceremony we should re absorb with the warm em brace of understanding, con viction and self-possession. In that way Christian Filipi nos will not only be firmly rooted deep in this universal faith but they may also hope to blossom in it with their own distinctive flower. And this they can hope to do only if, under a regime of free dom, they learn to look at truth, past and present, squarely in the face. The Philippines and Am erica have embairked on a partnership of freedom and human equality. Today this partnership is by no means free of irritants and anoma lies. Many of these problems grew out of the hypocrisies, weaknesses, and misappre hensions of the past. Our present social, econo mic and political problems arose directly or indirectly from American policies and actions during the American regime. It is the grave ob ligation of America, then, under justice to help the Fi lipinos solve these problems. Such problems, therefore, as those on war damage or for eign aid are not “lovers’ quarrels” as some Filipino officials might want to des cribe them. They are prob lems of justice and conflict of interest. To solve our problems with America, we must grow out of that adol escent mentality characteris tic of our outlook on our co lonial past. Nor can we really presume with certitude that we are now more free and more de mocratic than we would have been if America had never intervened in our people’s revolution against foreign domination. This is so, if only because of the contradic tion inherent in American colonial policy:, to teach the Filipinos freedom by taking it away from them. On the other hand, in certain res pects American influence has enriched our democracy. Ex actly where, how, to what ex tent—it is terribly important for us to determine. For while in some tespects we have undoubtedly improved, in others we have degenerat ed or will degenate, because 18 Panorama of American influence. Hence, certain adaptations and modifications have to be made, if American influence is really to enrich and not deform Philippine democra cy. But we cannot find the true answers, if we go on viewing our past like rah-rah boys or colonial apologists or starry-eyed lovers or wistful maidens. This is the great challenge to Filipino historians today. And if it might prove too late for Filipinos to write their past history, they could at least learn now to read it with their own eyes. — The Manila Times. THE TRUTH HURT! An old reporter inherited a sizable sum of money and promptly set out to realize his life’s ambition— to own a newspaper. He purchased a weekly and used it as a medium to reform the town. His policy was “The truth—even if it hurts,’’ and he had it put under the masthead. Because of his almost fanatical dissemination of the truth he encountered a few dif ficulties with the advertisers. Soon he was forced to study his masthead policy again. He ordered a new line: “The truth—all that is necessary to print.” April 1963 19 ■ Here's the truth about Bataan at last. A well-known Filipino journalist explodes the fancy myths about the ‘sorriest moment in our history * . WHAT REALLY HAPPENED IN BATAAN Quijano de Manila Bataan may be said to have fallen, not on April 9, 1942, but on December 8, 1941, the very first day of the Pacific war, for on that day the Phil ippines was, to put it blunt ly, abandoned by the United States, at least for the time being. While we waited for milelong convoys and a skyful of airplanes, while the Ameri can authorities in Manila as sured us that help was on the way, no help was being even even contemplated in Was hington. On the contrary, what help was already on the way was snatched back: a con voy and three troopships al ready bound for Manila bear ing arms and planes were, on that first day of the war — December 8, 1941 — ordered to turn back. The convoy was diverted to the Fiji Is lands; the troopships return ed to San Francisco. All this was kept secret from the Phil ippines, even from MacAr thur. The order to turn back may have been prompted by Washington’s fear of losing more men and shijps right after Pearl Harbor. Panic stayed the Americans from a bold risk. Yet the Pacific was still American water and might have been kept so for some time with a little dis play of nerve. Wake had not yet fallen; Guam still stood; the Japanese could not pos sibly have established already a. blockade line across the South Pacific. MacArthur in deed doubted that the Japa nese ever established such a line — or, if they did, wheth er such a long, long line could be held so strongly at 2G Panorama every point it couldn’t be broken by a determined push. If the convoy and the troop ships that were turned back had been allowed to continue and had succeeded in reading Manila, the feat might have set a precedent for the first months of the war. Not only Philippine but American mo rale would certainly have be nefited, and the result could have been a determination, an effort to keep the Pacific open and supplies pouring into the Philippines and Allied bas tion in the Far East, in the same way that the Atlantic, despite zealous German Uboats, was kept open through out the war. But Washing ton refused to take the risk, made no effort to send sup plies, simply gave up the Pa cific on the very first day of the war. So, Bataan fell. The chief reason was the secret pact between Roose velt and Churchill (Filipinos should have no fondness for either) that if the United States joined the war it would be Britain’s war against Hit ler: the colonies in Asia could wait. There thus arose the paradox that the Americans declared war because they had been attacked by the Ja panese, but instantly began fighting the Germans. The resistance in Bataan was used to inflame the American war spirit against the Nazis. Fi lipino boys died so American boys could fight Britain’s war more fiercely. The blood spilled in Ba taan was merely color for a propaganda poster. The fight there served no other purpose. We boast that the USAFFE, by holding out in Bataan for three months, fatally upset Japan’s war timetable. If any timetable was upset it was the Allies’, not the Japs’. Homma ex pected to take Bataan in six months; he did it in three months. And during those three months, the Japanese advanced, according to sched ule, all over Southeast Asia, had spilled over its extremest limits into the shores of Aus tralia by the first week of May, 1942, barely five months after Pearl Harbor. They had swept up the whole East In dies and had annihilated the Allies’ Pacific fleets in the process. There’s no evidence that Bataan’s defenders threw any kind of monkey wrench into the Jap’s war machine, or April 1963 21 that the Battle of Bataan in any way proved a hitch to the Japanese drive across the South Pacific. That myth is but a consuelo de bobo. As far as.the Japs were con cerned, Bataan had no milita ry importance whatsover. For them, too, its value was mere ly a propaganda value; and its conquest, merely a matter of pride, of not losing face. It was certainly not they who lost face in Bataan. We console ourselves with the belief that the Battle of Bataan tied up choice Japan ese troops and a top Japanese war leader urgently needed elsewhere. Nothing is farther from the truth. An elite Japanese division, the 48th, handled the first part of the Philippine cam paign, but this division, af ter taking Manila, moved on to Java, for further conquest and glory. What was thrown into Bataan, for a moppingup campaign, were Japanese army second-stringers: the 65th Summer Bridge, mostly composed of over-age soldiers who were going into battle for the first time in their lives, their middle-aged lives. When the Battle of Bataan began, this neophyte brigade had a strength of only 7,500 troops; and against it were arrayed mountains it had never explored, jungles it had no maps of, and the USAFFE forces of 15,000 Americans and 65,000 Filipinos, at least 10,000 of these troops being professional soldiers, either U.S. army, Philippine .Scout or Philippine Constabulary. But even the USAFFE's citi zen soldiers had had more war experience than the foe’s 65th Brigade. So, there goes that myth of the Japs’ "superior forces” in Bataan. Nor was Homma, though his name had such resonance locally, really top drawer as a general. He be longed to the anti-war, pro West faction in Japan, and was therefore suspect to the party; in fact, he was a bitter enemy of Tojo, Japan’s war wartime premier. Far from de siring a quick victory in Ba taan, Premier Tojo, it seems, couldn’t have cared less. He wanted no glory for his ene my. Homma was fed poor maps, poor intelligence re ports, and as little reinforce ment as possible, but was con tinually being taunted for the delay in the mopping-up 22 PAnor&ma operation, which was all the Battle of Bataan was to th’e Japs. It’s evident now that poor Homma was fighting not on ly the USAFFEE but Tokyo too. His arch-enemy Tojo wanted Homma to fail in Ba taan, but Homma chose to win in the foolish, futile, frustrating fight, though he and his officers saw no need for it, except to save face, and could have, if Tokyo were only willing, more easi ly disposed of the USAFFE just by keeping it holed up in the peninsula with dwindling rations and the malaria. Of the executions of war crimi nals, that of Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma seems the most vengeful, the most spiteful, the most unjustified. It’s natural that Filipinos and Americans should nurse the strongest feelings against him, because he showed them up, because he won over them against all odds; but it now seems rather petty to hang a man for proving himself a better general than MacArthur. Who should have faced. trial after the war are all the brilliant military geniuses who led the USAFFE into the virtual slaughterhouse of Ba taan, to perish in horror on the chopping block of funk, ineptitude and stupidity. Who should at least have smelled the rope are all the brave strategists who fought the Battle of Bataan in Washington, and who, while the USAFFE writhed in its last agony, still adamantly re fused to permit even the thought of surrender and or dered that the peninsula be defended to the last man. Bataan was to be a symbol of the free man’s readiness to fight for his liberties to the bitter end — but it might n’t be much of a symbol if it were to be surrendered when thousands of its defend ers were still alive, or even half-alive. And so, on the very week Bataan fell, the order from Washington was still: No Surrender 1 It’s too bad Wash ington couldn’t send over at least some of that valor. The defense of a fort, a pass, even a town, to the last man can become glorious le gend, not senseless carnage, because only a limited num ber of people are involved. But to forbid surrender in Bataan was to ask for the im Aprel 1963 molation of an entire nation al army. If there had been the slightest hope that help was coming, the resistance could have had some mean ing: a strategic part of the country must be kept open for the coming reinforce ments; the army must be kept intact to resume the war. But the leaders in Bataan knew that no help was com ing; the leaders in Washing ton knew there no intention at all of relieving the be leaguered peninsula. Yet a futile resistance was demand ed, though there would have been no loss of honor, since no help was coming, to end the labors of the USAFFE with the fall of Manila. The Filipio boys held out in Bataan because they so firmly believed that any day now the sea would darken with mile-long convoys, the skies would darken with swarms of ariplanes. They didn’t know they were hold ing out just so the Free World could have one more symbol of the free man’s readiness to fight for his, etcetera. They didn’t know help was so long in coming because it wasn’t coming, had never been sent, had even been withdrawn. But we were our own deluders. The mile-long convoy myth was of our making, not Washington’s. For whatever Washington may have said, before the war, about defend ing us instantaneously, there was suddenly, it has not been noted enough, a prudent vagueness about us in Wash ington statements after the war had broken out. Davao, Baguio, Aparri and Tuguegarao were bombed on the first day of the war, and in a single raid on Clark Field the ’ Japs disposed of the American air force in the Philippines. Yet from Wash ington came no angry pledge to restock our naked skies, left defenseless because of pa nic and futility in Clark Field. One winces to recall the slogan there in those days: Keep ’em flying! We did not know it, but even our shores had been left naked; for on the' night of December 8 the U.S. navy sneaked out of Manila Bay and sailed away, abandoning the Philippines to the Japs’ invasion fleets. We were thus, right from the beginning of the war, un 24 Panorama defended in the air, unde fended on sea — but did we feel any alarm? No, we took it for granted our protectors would do their duty by us. We read "mile-long convoys on the way” into every Am erican statement. But what, actually, was Washington say ing about us in those days? Mightily little — and that lit tle vaporous. On December 11, when a great battle was supposed to be raging in Lingayen (it was another myth, that battle) President Roosevelt sent short messages to MacArthur and Quezon. “All of you are constantly in my thoughts,” said the American president to MacArthur. “Keep up the good work!” And to Quezon he said: “Magnificent de fense against wanton inva sion. Continue your splendid work!” Not a word about convoys planes, reinforcements, aid. The messages didn’t even come directly from Roosevelt but were released by the Washington office of inform ation. The Japs landed on Phil ippine soil, in Lingayen, with the greatest of ease, having encountered more opposition from the rough surf than from defenders, and started their blitz down Luzon, crushing the 11th and 71st Division of the USAFFE and driving back the 21st. By the end of Christmas week, 1941, nine days after they had landed, the Japs were ap proaching Manila. With the capital city of the Philippines about to fall, what was Washington saying? Roosevelt had been very busy that Christmas week having a “tayo-tayo lang” confer ence with Chur’chill, during which they decided that Eu ropeans in peril from Hit ler hr<, of course, * the prior ity over Orientals in peril from Tojo. A pact with a friend outweighed, of course, the duty to a ward. But Roosevelt did find time to send a message to Manila, which still did not know it was about to fall, which still believed that the Japs were being repulsed far away in the north and that American convoys were speeding to the rescue. Said Roosevelt to the Fili pinos, on December 30, 1941: “The resources of the United States, of the British Empire, of the Netherlands April 1963 25 East Indies, and of the Chi nese Republic have been de dicated by their peoples to the utter and complete de feat of the Japanese war lords. I give to the people of the Philippines my solemn pledge that their freedom will be redeemed and their independence e s t ablished. The entire resources, in men and material; of the United States, stand behind that pledge.” That pledge should have struck a chill in us, for if Roosevelt was pledging to redeem our freedom he must have assumed it was already lost. In other toords, we had already been written off. But that wasn’t how we read the message. Headlined the Tribune'. “Positive Aid To P.I. Pledg ed By Roosevelt.” And the same paper joyfully editorial ized that the message was “all the Filipino people could hope for; the Filipinos can not ask for more.” In a grim .way, the Tribune was right: the message was all we could hope for. But some people saw no thing positive^ about the mes sage because they had, since the first day of the war, been expecting more specific state ments from Washington, like how much aid was coming, and how soon — or, even, if no aid was coming at all. All they wanted was a little more honesty and less double talk. Filipinos had never wa vered in their faith that Am erica would “not let us down”; but the vague messages we got from Washington could not but arouse a feeling that we were being duped. So, the U.S. commissioner’s office felt obliged, right after the release of the Roosevelt message, to issue this state ment: “Help is surely coming — help of such adequacy and power that the invader will be driven from • our midst and he will be rendered powerless ever to threaten us again. It is our duty to re frain from giving currency to depressing rumors. Obvious ly, we are all hungry for news, but details cannot be disclosed.” Instead of telling us the truth, the commissioner’s of fice fortified our hopes by hinting at great news the de tails of which could not be disclosed. 26 Panorama They couldn’t be disclosed because they didn’t exist. The commissioner’s office must have known full well that there was no news "from Washington that could make Filipinos happy at that hour; yet it chose not to refrain from giving currency to illu sive, delusive rumors. And in fact the Japanese had already come, were already at the gates of Manila; and the USAFFE was retreating into Bataan. IVPO-Z The retreat was decided on two days before Christmas, after MacArthur learned that the USAFFE’s 11th and 71st Divisions had been routed by the advancing Japs. The invader could no longer be stopped. So, the order went forth putting into effect WPO-3: War Plan Orange-3. The U.S. army in the Phil ippines had long ago devised that plan as a desperate, last resort measure in case of a successful enemy invasion. The army was. to retreat to Bataan and Corregidor and would from there keep Ma nila Bay open for the com ing of reinforcements. Ac cording to the plan, it was possible for the army to hold out in Bataan for at least six months, during which period, it was hoped, the U.S. navy could arrive with sup plies and troops. What should be noted here is that WPO-3 was con ceived with a definite pur pose in mind: to create a fortress that could stand un til the arrival of the U.S. navy. The whole point of the plan, the only reason for it, the primary assumption, is the coming of reinforce ments. Bataan was chosen precisely for that reason: to keep Manila Bay open. . If the plan had so specific a purpose, it follows that, it couldn’t just be applied sim ply because the country had been invaded and the defend ers were in a losing, a despe rate situation. The army was not to be led into Batman simply to make a heroic stand or to become a “symbol.” It could be led there only if there was a clear expectation — or, at least reasonable hope — that reinforcements were coming, for that’s the plan’s reason for being. You don’t just use a plan because it’s there; you use it to serve the April 1963 27 purpose for which it was de signed. Now the question is: Did the men who put WPO-3 in to effect have any definite word from Washington rein forcements were coming, that the U.S. navy could be expect ed — or, at least, that some ef fort would be made to send reinforcements and the navy within six months? If there was such an assurance, then the resistance in Bataan was justified, was logical, and the villain in its fall was not Homma but Washington. But if there was no such as surance — and all the indi cations are that Washington had been very discreet and coy — then Bataan was a bureaucratic crime: the uti lization of a plan simply be cause it was official and with utter disregard for its inten tion or the conditions it pre supposed. In effect, our boys in Ba taan died for a plan and of a plan: WPO-3. The plan told them to fight until ships came — but no ships came because none had been sent. The retreat had seemed to be orderly, until it was found too late that quantities of vi tal supplies had been left be hind in the army depots. The food supplies carried to Bataan were enough only for a month’s rations; so, the USAFFE was put in half ra tions from the start. By January 9, the troops had dug in. The western half of the peninsula was placed under the command of Wainwright; the eastern half was under Major Gen eral George Parker. Between them ran the thickly forested mountains. The first line of defense stretched from Mount Natib to the sea, just above Abucay town, and was man ned by the 51st Division (under General Jones), the 41st Division (under General Vicente Lim), and the 57th Infantry of the Philippine Scouts. The Filipino troops, who had disgusted their Am erican instructors by running from the Japs during the Central Plan battles, were, in Bataan, deliberately placed in positions where they had to fight because they had nowhere to retreat to. The foe’s 7,000 troops were under Lt. Gen. Akira Nara, who plunged into the jungles of Bataan in pursuit of the USAFFE and prompt 28 Panorama ly mislaid an entire regiment. With what he had left, he at tacked the Abucay Line with no preparation at all, not even a preliminary survey of the terrain and the enemy’s position. His artilery bar rage didn’t hit the USAFFE line because he didn’t even know where exactly it was. The first Japanese assault flopped, but the Japs kept on probing. By January 15, the Abucay Line was disintegrating and had to be reinforced. MacArthur shored up his men’s sagging morale with a message: “Help is on the way from the United States. Thousands of troops and hundreds of planes are being dispatched. No further re treat is possible. We have more troops in Bataan than the Japanese have thrown ag ainst us; our supplies are am ple; a determined defense will defeat the enemy at tack.” But, on Corregidor, Que zon already knew the truth and insisted on sending a sa vage letter to Roosevelt: “This war is not of our making. We decided to fight by your side and we have done the best we could and we are still doing as much as could be expected from us under the circumstances. But how long are we going to be left alone? Has it al ready been decided in Was hington that the Philippine front is of no importance as far as the final result of the war is concerned? If so, I want to know, because I have my own responsibility to my countrymen. I want to de cide in my own mijid wheth er there is justification for allowing all these men to be killed when for the final out come of the war the shedding of their blood may be wholly unnecessary.” The men of the 51st Division guarding the Abu cay Line counter-attacked and found themselves /be tween pincers, for Nara’s mis laid regiment, which had been wandering all over the slopes of Mount Natib, sud denly turned up behind en<?my lines. That was the end of the first phase of the Battle of Bataan. Of General Jones’ 61st Division, only 100 men survived. General Lim’s 41st Division had . casualties of over 1,200. The Philippine Scouts got lost in the jungles. April 1963 29 As the Japs pressed forward, the all-American 31st Infan try (it used to be known as “Manila’s Own Regiment” and accupied barracks on Arroceros and in Inxramuros) was hurriedly sent in to stop the Japs but got stuck in the woods. Meanwhile, 5,000 Japanese troops had been landed on the other half of the penin sula, on the west coast, and had pushed Wainwright out of his headquarters in Moron town. About 1,500 Jap sol diers put ashore on the tip of the peninsula to infiltrate USAFFE lines didn’t get very far from the beach, holed up in caves, and had to be flush ed out in a long, laborious operation. On January 23, MacArthur found he had lost 35 per cent of his forces and ordered a general retreat to a new line of defense fixed on the PilarBagac highway, in the center of Bataan. The upper half ol the peninsula h'ad been relinquished. The Filipinos didn’t understand why they were being ordered to re treat; they thought they had been winning in Abucay. They didn’t know the Japa nese forces had been closing in on the Abucay Line. Homma, ordered an attack on the new USAFFE line on January 26; but, again, Nara; who had lost 2,000 of his 7,500 men, had no idea where the line was and blundered into the main line thinking it was merely an outpost line. It was a costly blunder, and January ended with a Japa nese rout. February began with the Commonwealth officials on Corregidor murmuring about “abandonment” and “sellout” by Washington. Quezon had heard Roosevelt on the radio announcing that thousands of aircraft were on the way— to Europe. Exploded Don Manuel: “For thirty years I have work ed and hoped for my people. Now they burn and die for a flag that could not protect them. Por Dios y todos los santos, I cannot stand this constant reference to Eng land, to Europe! Where are the planes this sinverguenza. is boasting of? Que demonio! How American to writhe in anguish at the fate of a dis tant cousin while a daughter is being raped in the back room!” 30 Panorama Quezon had a plan: to have the Philippines made and then declared neutral, so that the U.S. and Japan could withdraw their armies. Roosevelt rejected the propo sal and declared that "so long as the effective circums tances will permit resistance should be as prolonged as humanly possible.” Poor MacArthur now un derstood what was expected of him: make Bataan a sym bol of resistance. It had no other importance as far as Washington was concerned. The retreat to the PilarBagac highway had resulted in a. stalemate that lasted through most of February, but the USAFFE was now be ing felled by malaria, dysen tery, scurvy and hunger. The Japs tried a propaganda cam paign. during the lull and showered the USAFFE lines with leaflets, facsimiles of Manila restaurant menus, and photos of voluptuous girls in lewd poses. The mes sage all this was intended to convey was: Go home, Fili pino; stop fightirfg the white man’s war. In March, the troops in Bataan knew it had been de finitely written off when they learned MacArthur and Que zon had been flown out of the country to Australia. MacArthur seems to have consent ed to leave only because he had been led to believe that a great army had already been assembled in Australia and was waiting fdr him to lead it to the Philippines. His "I shall return” must therefore have had greater immediacy when he aid it; he didn’t mean “I shall re turn eventually” but “I’m coming back right away.” When he reached Australia and found- no army waitings he almost collapsed. As for Quezon, that agon ized man had to be dragged out of the country. He had left Corregidor three weeks ahead of MacArthur, but, on March 18, he was still in the country and still insisting he had to stay there. He could not bring himself to go. He was finally taken, almost by force, to Mindariao, but there, instead of taking the plane to Australia, he fled to Dansalan. It took Osmena a week to persuade Quezon to go with him to the Del Mon te plantation, where the plane for Australia April 1963 31 waited. But having reached the plantation, Quezon dis appeared again, with all his family, and was found in a house up in the bills. "Every one," he groaned, "gets help from Roosevelt except the Philippines.” On the night of March 26, he was carried at last to the plane, and it seemed to spec tators that the presidente was forcibly pushed into it. Unholy Week Good Friday, 1942, fell on April 3. On the morning of that day, General Nara launched his final offensive. The climatic battlefield of Bataan was at the foot of Mount Samat, where the USAFFE made its last stand. The offensive began with a mighty artillery barrage that ripped the USAFFE boys out of their foxholes and sent them scurrying to the second line of defense. Jap planes dropped incendiary bombs, and under cover of the smoke and flame the Jap troops started the attack, at three in the afternoon of Good Friday, the saddest hour of the year. By nightfall, the Japs had torn a hole three miles wide through the USAFFE lines. The migthy ground and air bombardment continued all day Saturday, all day Sun day, which was Easter Sun day. When the offensive be gan, the USAFFE stood be tween the Japs and Mount Samat. On Easter Sunday, the shattered battalions lay scattered behind the moun tain and the the Japs were climbing the height to plant their flag on the summit. On April 6, the USAFFE launched a counterattack that began in desperation and. ended in chaos. Entire divi sions simply went to pieces, and what was an army turned into a frantic, fleeing mob. However, the USAFFE troops under Major Gen. Ed ward King on the west side of the peninsula were still intact. Should they be sent to try to save the east side? Wainwright thought so, and he ordered King to send out his men. Major General Jones opposed the plan as senseless. The men were too weak from disease and hun ger; and a counterattack was futile: it might delay but would not change the end. Major General Jones and King had finally decided to face the inevitable. 32 Panorama On the afternoon of April 8, King sent his chief of staff, Brig. Gen. Arnold Funk, to Corregidor, to warn Wain wright that the surrender of Bataan might come any mo ment. As Wainwright listened to the message from Bataan, two other messages stared at him. One was from MacArthur: “I am utterly opposed under any circumstances or condi tions to the ultimate capitu lation of this command. If food fails, you will prepare and execute an attack upon the enemy.” In other words: die fight ing. The other message was an order from Roosevelt forbid ding surrender “so long as there remains any possibility of resistance.” At last, Wainwright spoke to Funk: “General, you go back and tell General King he will not surrender. Tell him he will attack. Those are my orders.” Said Funk, tears springing to his eyes: "General, you know, of course, what the si tuation is over there. You know what the outcome will be.” Said Wainwright grimly: “I do.” Doomsday To Edward King fell the grisly choice between annihi lation and capitulation, be tween obeying Wainwright and Washington and saving the lives of 76,000 men. To ward midnight of April 8, he conferred with General Funk and Colonel James Collier, operations officer. Both said no attack could now stop the Japanese from reaching Mariveles, the extremest tip of Bataan, the next day. King, in tears, made his de cision: his punishment might be a court-martial, but he would no immolate the USAFFE’s 76,000 remaining sol diers. At six the next morning, April 9, two American emis saries were sent to the Jap lines under a flag of truce to arrange a meet; if a meet could not be speedily arrang ed, the emissaries were em powered to surrender Bataan themselves. Only .after the emissaries had left did King call up Corregidor to tell Wainwright what he had done. Aghast, Wainwright tried to stop what could no longer be stopped. April 1963 33 In Bataan, the ammunition dumps were being exploded. The ground shook and rum bled all day, and the fearcrazed troops thought the end of the world had come. The formal surrender took place at past nine in the morning, at the Experimental Farm Station in Lamao, with General Nakayama, who re presented Homma, accepting the “unconditional surren der” of thie USAFFE forces in Bataan from General King, who stressed that he represented only himselt not Wainwright. After wards, King and the Americans with him were taken to Balanga. That night, on Corregidor, Wainwright, who had had no word from Bataan all day, and didn’t know what had hap pened, got an odd message from Roosevelt that must have provoked a bitter smile from the suffering defender of Corregidor. Said the American pres ident: “I am modifying my orders to you. My purpose is to leave to your best judg ment any decision affecting the future of the Bataan gar rison. I feel it proper and necessary that you should be assured of complete freedom of action and of my full con fidence in the wisdom of whatever decision you may be forced to make.” Roosevelt thus revoked his order of no surrender on the very day of surrender, when there was no more need to revoke it. He had, as throughout the Philippine campaign, missed the bus. / History had already resolved what his last word on Bataan thought to resolve. When the news reached Australia, General MacAr thur was ready with a flori dity: “The Bataan Force went out as it would have wished, fighting to the end its flick ering, forlorn hope. No army has done so much with so lit tle, and nothing became it more than its last hour of trial and agony. To the weep ing mothers of its dead, I can only say that the sacrifice and halo of Jesus of Narzareth has descended upon their sons, and that God will take them unto himself.” The last hour that so be came the USAFFE saw a fren zy of flight, mass desertions, a confused and discouraged leadership, and one man, Clifford Bluemel, the only 34 Panorama general left on the front lines, trying to organize a last line of defense but unable to get any officers to help him— “although there were at least thirty American officers on the II Corps staff who’d been eating and sleeping regularly, yet not a dammed one could be spared for the fighting ’ine.” The surrender at least re stored some order to the chaos. What followed the fall of Bataan has long been regard ed as a. deliberate torment in flicted by the Japs on their prisoneifc to humiliate them; but there’s no evidence that the horrors of the .Death March were planned by the Japs. The evidence, rather, is that Homma and his staff took some pains to plan a quick and orderly transfer of the prisoners from Bataan to Capas. The prisoners were to be gathered in Balanga, then carried by trucks to San Fernando, then transported by train to Capas. But to the very end Homing had no ex act idea of the size of his foe. He thought that there were only from 25,000 to 35,000 USAFFE soldiers in Bataan at the end of the fighting and preparations for the transfer were therefore tail ored to that number. When the Japs found them selves swamped with over 70,000 prisoners, organiza tion collapsed. How, for in stance, transport over 70,000 men on only 200 trucks? So, when the transportation gave out, the prisoners were marched by Jap soldiers weary from battle, vexed by this post-campaign chore, and brimming with all those pretty qualities developed by the daintiest culture in the Orient. But the USAFFE had been led on a death march for months all over the moun tains and jungles of Bataan, and many of those who fell on the road to Capas were victims, not of Jap brutality, but of the hunger, disease, exhaustion and terror of.that madder march from Mount Natib to Mount Samat. Wherever they died, they died in Bataan. — The Phil ippine Free Press. April 1963 35 ■ The impressive growth of scientific research and educational progress in Japan. JAPANESE SCIENCE TODAY When in 1941, the Japan ese crippled the American Par cific Fleet at its own base at Pearl Harbor, less than a century had gone by since the Japanese warrior fought in a suit of quilted armour. In fact, that century has not passed yet. In a frighten ingly short space of time Ja pan has changed from a feu dal — one might almost say medieval. — state into a mo dern technological power, strong and self-confident enough to attack the mighti est nation in the world. The myth that this miracle had been achieved by nothing but clever imitation of the West was destroyed in 1934 by an event that went almost un noticed. ' In that year a Ja panese physicist by the name of Hideki Yukawa published a scientific paper in which he predicted the existence of a new fundamental particle which, he postulated, is res ponsible for holding the ato mic nucleus together. The mass of this hypothetical par ticle was to be entirely dif ferent from the type of parti cle known at the time, so hardly any notice was taken of Yukawa’s paper—until two years later when such new particles, the mesons, were ac tually discovered. Even then, only a handful of people, the scientists, grasped the significance of Yukawa’s work and still fewer fully understood the farreaching significance of Yuka wa’s success. The Japanese had shown that, far from co pying the achievements of Western science, they had tak en the initiative in funda mental research. And Yuka wa was not alone: in the pre ceding decades, Japanese sci ence had advanced on a broad front. In that time' the Ja panese had established a num ber of universities and re search institutes from which a rapidly increasing output of scientific and technologi cal work began to issue. By 36 Panorama the ‘thirties, they were draw ing abreast with the rest of the world. When the dust had settled over Hiroshima, the Allies, and in particular America, faced a difficult problem. What was to be done with Japanese science and techno logy? The first reaction was strongly influenced by the memory of Pearl Harbor, to which were acj^ed the memo ries of Nanking and Port Arthur. Japan had consist ently used her technological potential for aggression and expansion: therefore this technological potential must be destroyed. It was in this spirit that General MacAr thur’s soldiers descended upon Osaka University, hack ing to bits the research cyclo tron and dumping it into the Pacific, together with all the other scientific apparatus which they could Jay hands on. When this childish ex ploit became known, it gave rise to violent protests by Am erican scientists, who also saw to it that Yukawa was made a Visiting Professor at Princeton and Columbia Uni versities. Even so, the gen eral policy of restricting Ja panese technology went on for a while, until these at tempts to put back the clock of Japanese progress were suddenly reversed. With the rapid rise of Ghinese power, Japan changed from a former enemy to, a future ally. The Japanese factories began to hum again, faster than ever before, and, in less than a de cade, exhausted, and largely destroyed, Japan was trans formed into a booming, af fluent society. My Japanese colleagues had taken up their research work again and they were keen on branching out into new fields. But they had very real difficulties: shortage of equipment, shortage of build ings, shortage of scientific contact—in fact, shortage of money. The most lamentable aspect of this financial short age was the pitiful level of academic salaries. In Eng land or America a good sci entist earns about five to seven times as much as the lowest paid worker. In the Soviet Union this ratio is as high as fifteen or more, but in Japan it is only two or even less. I soon found it embarassing to realize that a meal which a Japanese col league and I ate in a good April 1963 37 Kyoto restaurant cost about as much as he and his family had to live on for a week or two. Sooner or later this state of affairs is bound to act as an effective deterrent for any young Japanese who contem plates an academic career. Recruitment * into the univer sities has so far been kept up by the great social prestige which the Tapanese—in com mon with other Easterners— accord to the position of a teacher. But this kind of ar gument is losing its force in a society where business is booming and where tradi tional values are fast disap pearing. The indifference which Ja panese society shows towards their scientists must appear strange and incongruous in a country that owes her spec tacular progress so patently to scientists and technologists. But here we find, perhaps, one of the reasons for this in difference. Japan’s techno logical progress had resulted in war—a lost war. There is a certain parallel between the post-war attitude to science in Japan and in West Germany. In Germany, too, there has beeen a conspicuous lack of popular support for science. Somehow, instinctively, peo pie feel that science and war have been too closely connect ed in the recent past. Sub consciously, they fear that progress in science may en courage another war, and so what they want is to make money, to live pleasantly and comfortably—and not to be involved. The desire of the Japanese affluent society not to be in volved and its indifference towards science are a direct consequence of the new pros perity by which America hopes to insure Japanese sup port against China. On the other hand, the American at titude to Japan 'is not con fined to the political and mi litary strategists who yester day wanted her to turn back to a state of underdevelop ment and who today want her to be a bulwark against communism. There has been, from the beginning, a strong voice in America advocating a healthy and undisturbed development towards demo cracy, not by coercion but by education. It must indeed seem ludicrous that Japanese science has suffered relatively little from either MacAr 38 Panorama thur’s soldiers or the pro phets of co-prosperity and that her main troubles have been caused by her wellwishers and selfless friends. But that is exactly what has happened. The American idea that ed ucation is best served by a great number of universities has taken root in many parts of the world but nowhere as luxuriantly as in Japan. On the basis of an unjustified principle of similarity, the American educational experts believed that a Japanese Pre fecture should correspond to an American State. They therefore had to have at least one university each. Thus, by one stroke of the pen, the number of Japanese state uni versities was increased from seven to seventy-two. This increase . has been matched by a similar rise in the num ber of private universities and other educational establish ments. That mushroom growth of higher education has promptly resulted in an appalling drop in standards. It is inevitable that this should have happened. Apart from the difficulty of providing suitable buildings and teaching equipment, there is the problem of staff. You cannot have universities without professors and lectu rers. At the shortest possi ble notice the Japanese were suddenly required to recruit a whole army of university teachers, and, in order to fill the almost astronomical num ber of new academic posts, they had to take what they could get. Consequently, many of the new professors have qualifications that are closer to those of schoolmas ter than to a university teach er, and even with the best in tentions and with the hard est work, most of the new universities are far removed from the standard to which the Japanese were accustom ed—and that standard was re markably high. Faced with this educational deluge, the old universities have done -a good job in preventing their own standards from being watered down. The proliferation of uni versities has had another and very serious result. Like most other countries, Japan has its vicious spiral of rising prices and wages, and again, as else where, the salaried occupa tions had the worst of it. Not only have the professors’ in April 1963 comes lagged behind, but to raise them to a reasonable level has become an almost impossible task. Now there are ten times as many univer * sities as before, and to give a substantial increase to all the holders of academic posi tions would require a major financial effort. It is clear ly impossible to single out those few institutions that have a really high standard. A state university is a state university, and differentials in academic achievement can hardly be advanced as an ar gument for salary differen tials. All things considered, the good intentions of the American educationists have not worked out too well for Japanese science. But they suddenly realized that if somebody is going to help Japanese science, they must do it themselves. So they have set to work. The Science Council of Japan, which was established after the war, originally to advise the government, has suddenly taken on a life of its own. It is rather cumbrous, having seven divisions with thirty members each, but it is elect ed by the scientists them selves, and they seem to man age quite well. The Council operates with government funds under the Prime Minister’s Office. By making reasonable and wellplanned proposals, the Coun cil members appear to have impressed the Government. One of their plans will go a long way towards reversing the diffusion of effort caused by the large number -of new universities. The idea is to set up a number of well staff ed and well-equipped central research institutions. An ex ample of these is the new Ins titute of Solid State Physics at Tokyo University which has just come into operation. It is a magnificent five-storey ed building, with a floor space of almost 50,000 square feet, and provision for doubling this area. It is well-equipped laboratory which would do credit to any Western coun try. Besides its permanent staff, it provides physicists from other Japanese universi ties with opportunities for working there on specialized equipment as guest scientists. There is a spirit of confid ence about the place, and a consciousness of past and fu ture achievement. It has im 40 Panorama pressed on the Japanese sci entists that the time may come when Japan will have to look after herself. This desire to be self-reliant is not confined to academic science. Japanese industry, too, is es tablishing new and large re search and development la boratories. For a long time the Japanese industrialists were inclined to take a lead from the West, and especially from . America, where new developments were concerned. Now the trend is reversed. There is no militant note in this new spirit of Japanese independence, and no aggres siveness. The scientists of Ja pan want to play their part in the great adventure of scien tific exploration and techno logical achievement. Soon they will be able to do this again, on equal terms with their colleagues in other countries. — By Kurt Mendel sohn in the The Listener, Jan. 10, 1963. THOSE YANKEES An American tourist was being escorted through Cairo. Since it was a good deal hotter in Cairo than it has been in Vermont, the traveler was soon drip ping with perspiration. “Boy!” he puffed as he mopped his brow, “it’s hotter than Hades here.” “Ah,” breathed the guide in unconcealed admi ration, "you Americans. You go everywhere, don’t you?” April 1963 41 ■ A distinguished British churchman plugs for radi calism but warns that the besetting sin of the radi cal is self-righteousness, as complacency is of the reformist and ruthlessness of the revolutionary. ON BEING A RADICAL Dr. J.A.T. Robinson Radicalism is not a clearly defined band in the political spectrum so much as an at titude or temper of mind. True, there have been from time to time both in British and French politics specific party groups using the name Radical, located somewhere on the Liberal left. But ra dicalism is more of a peren nial protest than a particular policy. When at certain mo ments of history that protest erupts, it; takes whatever out let is available. Radicalism represents the built-in challenge to any esta blishment; any institutional ism, any orthodoxy: and it is an attitude that is relevant to far more than politics. Indeed, the essence of the radical protest could be sum med up- in the statement of Jesus that 'the Sabbath is made for man, and not man for the Sabbath’. Persons are more important than any principles. He illustrated this by his shocking appro bation of David’s action in placing concern for human need, even his own, above a 11 institutions however sacred. ‘Have you not read what David did, when he was hungry, and those who were with him: how he entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him to eat nor for those who were with him, but only ” for the priest? Yet radicalism is not anar chy. It is not just being ‘bolshy’ or individualistic. It knows well enough that persons can matter, and free dom can flourish, only in a context of order. But, dis satisfied as it is simply with freedom from, it will always be asking: order for what? When the structures of order 42 Panorama take over and persons be come subservient to them, when the movement of the Spirit hardens into the insti tutional Church, then the radical voice will begin to be heard. What the radical stands for can perhaps be more clearly seen by comparing him with the reformist on the one hand and the revolutionary on the other. The reformist — corresponding in political categories to the tory reform er — continues to accept the basic proposition, that man is made for the Sabbath. But, he says the Sabbath re gulations have become too rigid; we must modify them and bring up to’ date. So he steals the whig’s clothes while he is bathing and lifts planks here and there from the Liberal platform. He overhauls the institution and titivates the orthodoxy; and in this way everything is en abled to go on smoothly, and the revolution is averted. The revolutionary, on the other hand — in political terms the Robespierres and Lenins of this world - will have nothing of the Sabbath at all. The institution must be changed if man is to be free. The radical will often be found siding with revolution ary in regarding the reform ist as the real enemy. For the reformist would lull peo ple into supposing no revolu tion is necessary, whereas the radical knows that for man to be made for the Sabbath is ultimately death. But equally he sees that if man is to live — rather than be subjected to a diffemt, and perhaps deadlier^ Sabbath — another revolution is requir ed. The radical’s response is to go to the roots — hence his name. It is to ask what the Sabbath is for, what hu man values it exists to frame, and then to try to see at whatever cost to the insti tution or the orthodoxy, that it does so. Unlike the re formist, the radical is con cerned constantly to subject the Sabbath to man. Yet, un like the revolutionary, he be lieves in the Sabbath — for man. This introduces another important characteristic of the radical, viewpoint. Being a radical means an ‘insider’, an insider to the Sabbath — as Jesus was. The revolution April 1963 43 ary can be an ‘outsider’ to the structure he would see collapse: indeed, he must set himself outside it. But the radical goes to the roots of his own tradition. He must love it: he must weep over Jerusalem, even if he has to pronounce its doom. He must believe that the Sabbath really is made for man. This means that the radi cal must be a man of roots. The revolutionary may be deracine, but not the radical. And that is partly why in our rootless world there are so few genuine radicals. The roots of the radical must go deep enough to pro vide the security from which to question, even to the fun damentals. No one can be a radical who is uncertain of his tenure — intellectually, morally, or culturally. Only the man who knows he can not . lose what the Sabbath stands for can afford to cri ticize it radically. Faith alone can dare to doubt — to the depths. For the same reason a ra dical is necessarily a man of passion. He is jealous for the truth, the root-meaning, of what the institution has corrupted. He cannot be content to snipe from the sidelines. To be a radical means involvement, commit ment. True, it means travel ling light, being prepared to laugh at the institution one loves. And therefore he wel comes genuine satire. For irony is very near to faith — as it was for the Old Test ament prophets. But always underneath there is a certain intensity and controlled fire. He has the salt of humour — but the salt that savours and stings. The radical is an ‘insider’ — yet always a bad party member, an unsafe church man. He is continually questioning the shibboleths, re-examining the orthodox ies, And he will have a dis concerting habit of finding himself closer to those whose integrity he respects than to those whose conclusions he shares. Certainly, I frequent ly feel myself in far more ininstinctive sympathy with ag nostics whose honesty I ad mire than with many of my fellow Christians or even clergy. Let me illustrate this tem per of mind, not from the field of politics or religion, but of morals. For here there 44 Panorama is a bewildering flux of or thodoxies, and the old land marks have disappeared be neath the flood. Amid the many cross-currents, the radi cal will find himself afloat in strange company, and yet he carries an anchor and a compass which belie the im pression that he is merely drifting with the rest. In the sphere of morals, we live in an age in which ‘the Sabbath’ is challenged on all sides. .The law,) the com mandments, the standards of conventional morality, are all under fire. The established orthodoxies creak. The yoke of our fathers is too heavy to be borne. In this situa tion, the reformist advocates that the Sabbath must be brought up to date. The old absolutes still remain valid: certain things are wrong, ‘and nothing can make them right’. But what continue to be sins, like sui cide for instance, need not necessarily be crimes. Man is made for the Sabbath; prin ciples take precedence over persons. The revolutionary, on the other hand, will shed , no tears for the old morality. ‘Objective moral values * and their supernatural supports can happily be swept away. For the Sabbath did nothing for man anyhow, except in hibit him and burden him with feelings of guilt. Abso lutes are out. Ethical re * - lativism is the order of the day. And these modern mo ralities have this in common: they have taken their stand, quite correctly, against any subordination of the con crete individual personal re lationship to some alien uni versal norm. What is right for me in this particular sit uation cannot be prescribed or deduced from some im personal law laid up in hea ven. But in the process all sense of the unconditional is lost in a sea of subjectivism, where everything goes — that is, until the Sabbath reasserts itself under the guise of Big Brother. The radical believes with the revolutionary in ‘the ethic of the situation’, with nothing prescribed — except love, in the New Testament sense of intense personal care and concern. And this is the decisive exception.. For love — utter openness to persons in all their depth and uniqueness — is the ‘root’ of April 1963 45 the Sabbath. What is right is not laid down for always in ‘laws which never shall be broken’: it is what love real ly requires of me in this particular and unrepeatable relationship. Love is the end of law precisely because it does respect persons, abso lutely and unconditionally. Love alone can afford to be utterly open to the situation, or rather to the person in the situation, uniquely and for his own sake, yet without losing its direction. Really love God, really be convinced that persons matter, then, as Augustine said, you can do what you like. Such an attitude to living is, as I have said, dependent upon having roots that reach very deep. For myself, I doubt if I could sustain it unless I were Christian: for God is for me the ‘depth’ of love, indeed of all reality, and it is in Christ that love is given its definition and power. But I have the ut most respect for the integrity of the radical humanist. Or perhaps it would be truer to say that, because I am a Christian, I am a radical hu manist. For that I believe is the quality and direction of life to which Jesus refer red when he said that the Sabbath was made for man, and when he summoned his disciples to be s alt to the world’. But it would not be fair to equate the Christian outlook with the radical, to suggest that all Christians should be radicals any more than all radicals should be Christian. For radicalism is simply an attitude of mind and its re levance is to some extent a matter of degree. The radi cal cannot claim to have the whole truth. To remember that should help to keep him humble, for the besetting sin of the radical is self-right eousness, as complacency is of the reformist and ruthless ness of the revolutionary. Nevertheless, I believe that the radical temper is a uniquely precious element in our cultural inheritance. I have no doubt that the other two are needed — and I find myself embracing each at times. But, if I had to choose, I would rather rest my reputation (for what it is worth) on being a radical. — The Listener. 46 Panorama ■ East Germans have their backs to the Wall with a sagging economy and little prospects of improve ment A LOOK AT EAST GERMANY'S ECONOMY Once or twice a year for eigners are given special faci lities to visit the Leipzig Fair, rt provides a glimpse of Com munism's fairlyland. This spring (1962) extra stocks of potatoes and meat were laid in at hotels and restaurants catering for visitors to the Fair; yet the feeling of gaiety and expectation usual on such occasions seemed to have deserted newcomers and natives alike. The volume of trade concluded and the number of foreign visitors were less than last year. The shadow of the Wall heavily across the land. It had been erected to do away with such problems as the ever-growing stream of refugees to the West; yet, when it had been completed, its architects had created as many problems as they had tried to solve. The pull of the Germany that lies West of the Wall has grown and not vanished, despite the Socialist Unity (Communist) Party’s attempts to counter act it by such devices as the legend spread by its function aries that the Hilton Hotel in West Berlin is empty and lit up every night simply to deceive the million inhabit ants of the walled-in Eastern sector of the town. The pull of the West clearly remains, although it has been out of reach for nine months. When the Wall was erected on, 13 August 1961, a state of suspense which had lasted fifteen years, was finally brought to an end. East Ger mans, on holiday in Czechos lovakia and Soviet Russia, could be overheard saying: ‘We have ceased to be Euro peans; now we are Eastern ers (Ostler).’ In Eastern Eu rope the ‘Iron Curtain’ has never been regarded as the brain-child of Western impe rialists and cold warriors but as a reality, a fact of life. Nevertheless, as long as the traveller from the East could April 1963 47 ascend after a short ride on the underground to a world where no Communist writ could be served, the division of Germany, of Europe, of the world could be inter preted as in interlude. Now it has taken on the comple xion of finality and the im pact of this change cannot yet be grasped to its full ex tent. One thing is certain: the East German Communist leaders did not waste any time in taking advantage of the new situation. At long last their concept of detach ing the ‘German Democratic Republic’ from the rest of Germany and bringing it into line with the Soviet Union and its European empire had come within reach. It may well be a matter of years ra ther than months before this aim can materialize, but the economic steps taken follow ing the erection of the Wall are a clear indication of a new direction of policy. This does not mean, how ever, that it will be easy to sever the country’s ties with the West, to adopt Soviet patterns of industrial produc tion, and to integrate the na tional economy with econo mies as far apart as, say, Cze choslovakia in the west and Bulgaria in the east. The statements made in March (1962) at the Fifteenth ses sion of the Central Committe of the Party left no doubt about the mistakes made in the past and the difficulties expected in the future. Herr Ulbricht, the First Secretary of the Party and Head of State Herr Mewis, the Chief Plan ner, and Herr Rumpf, the Mi nister of Finance, showed no signs of exurberance over a victory gained but presented a programme that aimed at retrenchment and austerity. In fact East Germany’s eco nomy is in a precarious state, and hats been so for some time. It thus came as no sur prise when in the spring of 1961 the quarterly reporting of Plan results was discontin ued. When the economic Plan for 1961 was presented at the Twelfth session of the Central Committee in the spring of that year, it had been known for some time that the economy had pro gressed at a much slower rate than in 1958 and -1959. 1960 had, in fact, been the turn ing point. Since then indus trial output has increased at 48 Panorama a steadily declining rate of growth, namely in 1959 by 13 per cent, in 1960 by 8 per cent, and in 1961 by 6 per cent. These are the official claims for gross industrial production. Even the reduc ed rates might seem high by Western standards, but it must be borne in mind that they are inflated by statisti cal padding and multiple counting at fictitious prices. Although the concept of gross industrial production is known to be faulty, it con tinues to remain in use in East Germany as elsewhere in the Soviet orbit. The gross national product figure, which eliminates some of the statistical errors has not been published for 1961, but an increase of 3.5 per cent is thought to have been achiev ed, compared with rates of growth of 8.5 and 6 per cent in 1959 ail'd 1960 respective ly, again a steadily declin ing rate of progress in the last three years. The output of the metal industry, key sector of the economy, was particularly dis appointing last year; it lagg ed significantly behind both the 1961 target and perform ance in 1960. The supply of fuel and power was equally unsatisfactory. Among the major sectors of the economy, the chemical industry alone did better than planned. Ag ainst this, building stagnat ed and transport continued to be a serious problem. The reasons for the reduced rate of expansion are manifold, but the general uncertainty about the future was un doubtedly one of the most important. It was not sur prising, therefore, that dur ing the seven and a half months before the frontiers were sealed more East Ger mans fled to the * West than during the whole of 1960. After the erection of the Wall the drain of manpower ceas ed, and 50,000 East Berliners formerly employed in West Berlin were added to the East German labour force. This advantage was lost when con scription was introduced early in 1962. When the Wall was erect ed, the East German popula tion suffered its greatest psy chological shock since the war. But the party cadres were giyen little time to en joy their newly gained free dom of action, and when Mr. April 1963 49 Khrushchev announced at the opening of the Twenty-sec ond Congress of the C.P.S.U. that he would no longer in sist on December 1961 as the deadline for the signing of a German peace treaty it was the turn of the East German Party functionaries to suffer their shock. Since then the political confusion has been nation-wide. and has left its mark on the performance of the economy. An important aspect of the ecoonmic situation has been the substantial reduction in capital investment, the growth rate of which declin ed, from over 16 per cent in 1959, to half as much in 1960; it was hoped to maintain this level in 1961 but in fact the increase was only approxi mately 3 per cent. If allow ance is made for rising costs, investment- appears to have become stagnant—an event al most unheared of in a Com munist-planned economy. In these circumstances, it was hot surprising that the appeal to produce more in the same time and for the same wages, which was launched by the Party after sealing the bord er, had only a limited effect. As long as there was a way open to the West, the Party had been forced to use dis cretion in exercising pressure on the wage incomes of the workers. In fact, incomes rose faster than supplies * of consumer goods with the in evitable inflationary result. The subsequent forced sav ings campaign was intended to put this matter right, but by the end of the year had not yielded any tangible re sults. The proclaimed target to raise living standards suffici ently to overtake West Ger many in the supply of im portant consumer goods per head of population has been dropped without explana tion, and comparisons be tween levels of income and consumption in East and West Gemany are no longer made. When the East Ger man Seven-Year Plan, like that of the Soviet Union, was inagurated in 1959, one of its aims was to surpass the Federal German Republic in the same way as the Soviet Union undertook to surpass the. United States. As West Germany has increased her industrial output and nation 50 Panorama al product substantially fast * er than. East Germany in. re cent years, this goal is more remote today than it was when it was set. Working conditions are of supreme importance to the majority of the citizens of the German Democratic Repub lic’, since more than one million East Germans have moved from self-employment to wage-earning, and more than two-thirds of all women between fifteen and sixty of age are employed. In this sphere much remains to be done. The five-day working week, which Herr Ulbritch had promised' in March 1956 for certain industries before the end of the second FiveYear Plan in 1960, is nowhere in sight. Nominal industrial wages are still below those paid for corresponding -cate gories of workers in West Germany, and in terms of purchasing power wages are at least one-quarter lower. The same is true of old-age pensions. The supply of con sumer goods remains unsatis factory. The volume of re tail trade increased by 10 per cent in 1959 but by only 7 per cent in 1960; the plann ed' rise for 1961 was no more than 6 per cent. Price in creases have blurred the pic ture, but, as the output of the food industries has fallen badly behind the Plan, the, 1961 target is unlikely to have been achieved. At the end of the year substantial quantities of food, clothing, and housing had to be transferred from civilian consumption to the armed forces. The year 1961 was more over the worst agricultural season since 1953. Farming seems to be the child of sor row wherever Communists are in control, and in East Germany it is in a particular ly sorry state. As elsewhere in the Soviet orbit the weath er is blamed for low yields, but there can be no doubt that forced collectivization is largely responsible for the magnitude of the crop fail ure. Most agricultural data are withheld nowadays, but at the Farmers’ Congress held by the Party in Magde burg in March 1961 some of the essential facts became known. Output of grain and sugar-beet can be estimated at 15 per cent less in 1961 than in 1960. Potato yields declin ed by more than one-third. April 1963 51 As the acreage was also re duced, the total potato crop was at least four million tons lower than the year before. The shortfall of grain and potatoes amounted to 2 mil lion tons of grain equivalent, and thus more than doubled East Germany’s traditional grain deficit. Animals went short of fodder, milk and meat production therefore stagnated, and there was pre mature slaughter of livestock. Even in more normal years, East Germany’s farm output is unsatisfactory. Grain yields are usually about 15 per cent below those of West Germany. The difference is even greater in the case of livestock farming where milk yields are one-quarter and slaughter weights one-third lower. An equal quantity of farm output thus requires a greater number of workers and animals than in West Germany. Stern measures are to be applied in future to remedy this situation. First of all grassland is to be brought under the control of the collectives. In this way the private livestock sector is to be deprived of its princi pal source of feeding stuffs and members of collectives are to be denied their pre dominant interest in their private plots, which are their main source of income. At least one-tenth of the collective farm income is to be set aside for investment purposes. At the same time the dual prices system is to be maintained to provide farmers with premiums for deliveries of milk and meat in excess of the compulsory delivery quotas. On the other hand, farmers will be paid for their labour in strict pro portion to the fulfilment of their monthly work plan. Hard times lie ahead for the farming community. In spite of these efforts East Germany will remain de pendent on large-scale Soviet aid. In May 1961, a credit covering the years 1961 to 1965-and equivalent to more than $500 million was made available; this was the largest Soviet credit so far offered to East Germany. As East Ger many’s short-term debts had accumulated by the end of 1961 to at least twice this amount, another credit be came necessary in 1962. This was made available in the Commodity Credit Agree ment signed by Mr. Mikoyan 52 Panorama during his visit to the Spring Fair in Leipzig. It provided for Soviet supplies on credit during 1962 to the equivalent of over $300 million, the largest amount of Soviet as sistance offered to East Ger many in any one year. No convertible foreign exchange appears to be involved. East Germany will thus move still farther in the direction of an ‘economic community’ with the Soviet Union, a target dear to Ulbricht’s heart. Photos, anyone? I took scores of pictures at random of all kinds of people in the Bund gardens and along the water front and in various Shanghai streets. Like the pictures L took everywhere else in China, they show ed people poorly dressed, none of them fan They were all dying but apparently only at about the same rate people are dying everywhere; among them were no diseased beggars, no mangy infants, no policemen beating up anybody, no rice riots. These pictures got the same reception abroad that others taken by foreign visitors have gotten. Editors thought they looked too “posed.” They wanted to see “the real China.” A few months after I left, the Swiss journalist Fernand Gigon photographed some summer-naked infants playing around a pile of coal balls. Time bought that, called it “scavenging child ren,” and its readers got a full page of “the real China” at last. From the same source, N.B.C. picked up some movie film, spliced it in to freshen ancient shots of prerevolutionary China, and presented it under the title “White Paper on China.” Included in it was a remarkable scene of street executions by Kuomintang gendarmes in Shanghai — presented in a context which left the audience with the misappre hension that it had witnessed Communists shooting down the people. — Edgar Snow in The Other Side of the River — Red China Today, p. 533. April 1963 53 ■ The Nacionalistas must create a new image as the party of the future — if it is t<> survive. THE FUTURE OF THE NP Blas F. Ople Reformers who come to power tend to pre-empt a whole field of the available social; moral and’ political causes. Thus President Ma capagal, launching successive reforms on a broad front ranging from decontrol to land reforms, gives the image of an ubiquitous crusader. And the crusader communi cates his own ardor and vi tality. Intentionally or not, the crusading stance of the Ma capagal administration has compelled the opposition to take a defensive-conservative posture. Among the popular causes taken over by the Mar capagal regime was “national ism”; there was no mistaking the assertion of Philippine in dependence on the Malaysia question—the most clear-cut proof that we have begun to steer our own course in the affairs of the world. The Nacionalistas need not won der then, how their sources of moral and intellectual vi tality had so quickly dried up. The NP had been left without a cause, whether to mobilize its own desperate elements, to catch the public imagination, or to furnish the crest on which a new po pular hero can ride to vic tory. The most obvious evidence of this intellectual and mo ral enfeeblement lies in the new NP platform itself. This document, prepared by a com mittee headed by Sen. Jose Roy and ratified at the Nacionalista Convention last March 31 is incredibly inane for an opposition platform. On many a social and econo mic question it takes a weak er position than the actual policies now being carried out by the government. 54 Panorama The party’s rhetoric—the language of its spokesmen— reflects the new conservative orientation of the NP. The conservative rhetoric is pro fuse with words of caution against change. It looks ask ance at such changes as land reforms. It likes to confuse democratic reforms and Com munist-style changes. It is the language of the witch hunter, at its worst. The fact that not so long ago it was Macapagal and his men employing the same rhetoric against some of the Garcia “nationalists”—for ad vocating, among other things, drastic land reforms and an independent foreign policy—is an amusing com mentary on Philippine poli tics, The truth is that Ma capagal’s campaign line did not anticipate the extent of the Liberal reforms he would later carry out as President; it is in this sense that it can be said, he has exceeded some of his own campaign pro mises, in land reform most of all.. The perfervid changes ini tiated by the new adminis tration, one after another, caused’ the first rupture in the cohesion of the' Nacionalista Party. The first to go — not to join any other party but to resume their wonted privacy — were the young men who composed the party’s intellectualliterary fringe. These were the writers anct journalists who had been attracted to the party by its nationalist slogans — and who did yeo man service manning the NP polemical arsenals and giving the party’s cause the’ glow and polish it required. The coming to power of special economic blocs within the party did not augur well for a party of reform or for the loyalties of disinteretsed men. The NP derived much of its intellectual and moral sti mulus from the Filipino First policy — the rhetoric for which was fashioned by the party’s literary supporters. With this support gone, the party lost an invaluable re source. A party of conserv atives cannot serve as a ve hicle for idealist ardor. The NP’s Filipino First policy has ceased to be mean ingful, however, for the sim ple reason that President Ma capagal, rather than repudi ate this policy, has in fact as similated it. The President April 1963 55 has indeed made dramatic use of this policy to enhance his own prestige at the ex pense of his nationalistic critics. The Presidential decision transferring the Independ ence Day from July 4 to June 12; his decision to defer his trip to the US when the war damage bill failed of passage in the American Con gress; his bold action against several alien magnates consi dered untouchable under pre vious regimes, and his show of adamant opposition to Malaysia in the face of a flat Washington endorsement of it — all these add up to an impressive effect of bold and courageous independ ence which gratified the peo ple’s sense of nationalism and racial pride. Accordingly, even when the President decides to press for the amendment of the retail trade nationalization law, to make it more liberal to aliens in certain cases, his motives would be less suspect. Even on the Filipino First issue, the President has there fore placed the Nacionalista opposition on the defensive. It is not pleasant to be re minded that it took the op ponent of Filpino First to discipline the big alien ty coons .some of whom conspir ed to bring apout the Sept ember 1961 rice crisis which was perhaps decisive in pre cipitating the defeat of the NP in that election. What is then the NP to do in order to revitalize itself? What causes can it appropri ate which can give it a new intellectual and moral vital ity? The following alter natives exist: 1. The NP can ignore the value of ideas and carry on a sporadic, uncoordinated guerrilla war against the ad ministration. This is what the party is now doing. 2. It can put up a grogram of reforms rivalling the Ma capagal program itself. 3. It can adopt a conscious ly conservative program de signed' to put the brakes on the Macapagal reforms. If the party persists in the first alternative, it will hard ly recover from its strategic ally subvervient position visa-vis the Liberal Party. It will be most of the time re acting to Malacanang initiat ives. It will be fighting its battles on grounds chosen by Malacanang’ 56 Panorama The second alternative is unfeasible because of the do minant sway over the party at present of economic oligar chies whose interests cannot be reconciled to meaningful social and economic reforms. The third alternative is per haps the most feasible course. It is highly suitable to the temperament of those who wield real power within the party. If the NP hierarchical inte rests were more permissive, the party should not hesitate to take the second alternat ive; meaning, to put up a pro gram of reforms rivalling Ma capagal’s. These proposed re forms should be oriented pre cisely to correct the economic hardships of the people, not at some remote Utopian age, but within a forseeable time. The NP can denounce the rise in priced — but does it have any solution to offer? Should the party propose a radical increase of the mini mum wage, by legislation, it succeeds in dramatizing concrete relief to increasingly unbearable high prices and at the same time offers a burden for the lowest-income groups. The NP in the same manner can take an advanced posi tion in the question of tax ation. In a country where up to 70 per cent of taxes are borne by the poorest citizens, in the form of indirect levies, a just cause exists for radical and far-reaching tax reforms. To raise the cedula tax from the present P.50 to P2.50, as proposed by the administra tion, is truly a backward step. But it is on the question of land reforms that the NP, under the alternative we are considering, would probably feel stumped. For Macapa gal’s program is nearly fault less as a plan to carry out a peaceful and democratic rev olution in land tenure. This program looks upon land re form properly as a complex of factors, involving credit, irrigation, extension work, marketing, feeder roads, vo luntary organization, and-the services of dedicated and highly trained personnel. The NP should enter freely into the spirit of this “peace ful revolution”; rather than obstruct its realization, the party should wholeheartedly support the program, and at the same time require of the administration the scrupu lous fulfillment of the pro gram at the local levels. April 1963 57 The Nacionalista. Party can emphasize such a shift in or ientation through a coalition with the Labor Party of the Philippines, which is the po litical articulation of nearly a million-strong organized wage-earners in the country. The truth of . the matter is that it is easier to persuade the Laborites to coalesce with the LP than with the NP. Notwithstanding that a ma jority of the labor federation heads supported the NP in 1961, a great many had dev eloped private sympathies for the Macapagal administra tion on account of the social reforms initiated by the re gime. With the launching of the land reform program, this trend has grown strong er. Still, a Nacionalista Party under a progressive-minded leadership should find com mon cause with the party of workers. If they moved too late, they might find the La bor Party fully aligned with the Liberal Party right in these coming elections. The Nacionalista Party should find its way back to the masses, from which it has been increasingly alienat ed since the death of Ramon Magsaysay. This way back lies not in thwarting social reforms for the masses, but in espousing them. If the present leadership of the par ty finds its economic interests canno't permit a bolder cham pionship of reforms, it can better preserve itself by giv ing way to others who, not— being burdened by wealth, are capable of more flexible action. The momentum of the Ma capagal “revolution” is at full tide. But every revolution has its Thermidore, the point of internal cleavage and the beginning o f dissipation. The NP, to be ready, must cease looking and sounding like the party of the past. It must strive to gain a new image — as the party of the future. No party can g£in such an image by anchoring its prin ciples to the status quo at a time when the people cry for change, amidst a revolution ary world. A party of the future is one that provides an ample vision of a better life and true human dignity — certainly a life beyond serf dom. The alternative is for the NP to languish in its present 58 Panorama mediocrity, unworthy of its great past. Some time ago, a group of young Nacionalistas, now jobless, were speculating on the future of their party over cups of coffee. One of them said: “We are now called the young Turks; by the time we return to power, we shall probably be called the Old Guard of the party.” The lament turned into a laugh. “Right now I feel like be- • ing a rebel without a cause,” said another. “If Macapagal does a Franco — well that will at least give us a cause ta fight for.” The levity of the young men in fact concealed a serious message. If the NP insists on being the party of the status quo and therefore of the past, it may wait for its turn at power long enough for the young men of the party to become old fogies. — Sunday Times Magazine. A NATION IN ITSELF Of all armies, those most ardently desirous of war are democratic armies, and of all nations, those most fond of peace are democratic nations, xxx Among democratic nations it often happens that an officer has no property but his pay and no dis tinction but that of military honors; consequently, as often as his duties change, his fortune changes and he becomes, as it were, a new man . . . war makes va cancies and warrants the violation of the law of sen iority which is the sole privilege natural to democra cy .. . Moreover, as among democratic nations, the wealthiest, best-educated, and ablest men seldom adopt the military profession, the army, taken collec tively, eventually forms a small nation itself . . . Now, this small uncivilized nation has arms in its posses sion and alone knows how to use them; for, indeed, the pacific temper of the community increases the danger to which a democratic people is esposed from the'military and turbulent spirit of the army. — Alexis de Tocqueville. April, 1963 ■ We are not justified in expecting too radical a change in the language, particularly in its soundand-gramtnar structure, provided the present trends continue. ENGLISH IN 2061: A FORECAST Mario Pei* * Mario Pei is an American linguist. If a modern-day Rip Van Winkle went to sleep and didn’t wake up for 100 years, how well would he be able to understand an American •of 2061? It does not take a linguist to know that language changes. Educated laymen know that the language they speak was once Elizabethan English (a little difficult to follow today, especially in the pronunciation of Shake spearian actors), and before that the half-incomprehen sible language of Chaucer, and before that the AngloSaxon that no one today can read, let alone speak, unless he has had a graduate course in it. Yet many people fail to realize that language is also going to change in the future. The English of 1,000 years from now (granted that English is still a living tongue by the year 2961 A. D.). will probably be as different from the language of Saturday Re view as the latter is from the spoken tongue of the Vener able Bede. The big difference between the past and the future is that we know, or can recon struct with some degree of accuracy, what has happened in the; past, while we have no way of knowing — or so it sometimes seems — what course the future will take. But is the last propostion altogether true? We know that governments, business organizations, even private individuals make projections into the future, based on present tendencies and trends. These forecasts do not, of course, have the same value as recorded history, since they may be thrown - completely out of kilter by the unex pected or accidental. Never Panorama theless, barring the unexpect ed, it is quite possible for our government experts to say: “We anticipate that the po pulation of the United States, growing at an average yearly rate of about 2,000,000, will reach the 200-million mark, more or less, by 1970.” In like manner, a business firm may say: “Our profits have grown about $1,000,000 a year over the past ten years. Barring a major depression, we estimate that by 1965 they will be about $5,000,000 high er than they are today.” When you estimate your in come tax for a year that is just beginning, as the Trea sury Department somewhat unreasonably asks you to do, you go through this process of reasoning: “My income over the past five years has benn about $10,000. As of this moment, I cannot anti cipate any sizable change. Therefore, I am putting down the same figures for 1961 that appear in my 1960 declaration.” It is quite possible to do the same thing with lan guage, always with the under standing that some outside factor may come along to knock the calculation into a cocked hat. One such factor in the development of the English language, for in stance, was the Danish in vasions of England that antedated the Norman Conquest. One effect of them is that today we say, “Take the knife and cut the steak” in stead of “Nim the metter and sned the oxflesh,” which is the logical development of the Anglo-Saxon of King Al fred without Scandinavian interference. Another factor was 1066 itself, by reason of which we say, “The army pays out large sums of mo ney” instead of “The here tells out great tales of gild.” A projection of the Eng lish language into the future on the basis of present-day indications is something like the predictions of an IBM machine on election night when only the first 2,000,000 votes are in. It can be fas cinating, though many things may come along to upset our predictions. Nevertheless, des pite the hazards, the ques tions can legitimately be ask ed: What can we prophesy at thip moment about the English of 100 years hence? How will our descendants of 2061 A.D. speak and write.. April 1963 61 By looking at the changes that have taken place in the past, and at the way the language is changing now, I think we can make some rea sonable predictions. Let us first of all recall that language consists of sounds (or phonemes, which are sounds that are distinctly significant to the speakers); of grammatical forms (like love, loves, loved, or see, sees, saw, seen or child, children); of word arrangements, like the characteristics "John loves Mary,” which indicates that John, coming before the verb, is the doer of the act ion, and Mary, coming after the verb, the recipient; and of individual words, laden with their distinctive mean ings. Language change may and does occur in any of these four divisions: phono logy, morphology, syntax, and vocabulary. But the changes do not oc cur at the same rate or to the same extent in all four. In times of trouble and stress, when communities become isolated, or when an alien tongue comes in direct con tact with the native language of an area, changes in sound and grammatical structure seem favoured; when condi tions are stable, sounds and grammar change moderately, but vocabulary grows quickly. For this reason, the big sound-and-grammar changes in the English tongue took place primarily in the days of the Anglo-Saxons, the Danes, and the Normans, then again through the trou blous times that preceded the stabilization of English so ciety down to the days of Queen Elizabeth I. There were numerous vocabulary changes in those days, too, but the most dramatic voca bulary accretions have come since the dawn of the scien tific era. Our projection for the next hundred years, assuming there will be no major cata clysm (such as an atomic war that plunges us back into me diaeval conditions), therefore involves a very limited amount of sound changes, a very moderate amount of grammatical transformation, and extensive vocabulary changes, mainly along the lines of accretion. In the sounds of our lan guage, the omens point to a process of stabilization and standardization, with local 62 Panorama dialectal variants tending to be replaced by a uniform style -of pronunciation. In deed, it is likely that even the cleavage between British and American Engilsh will tend to be effaced. There are many reasons for this. Large, centralized govern ment units, easy communi cation between speakers of different areas, widespread trade and travel, and wide spread education all favour unification and standardiz ation. This was proved in the days of the Roman Em pire, when a strong central government, good roads, un restricted trade among the provinces and a fairly good educational system (at least for that period) led to the use of a standardized Latin throughout the western part of lhe Empire and a stand ardized Greek in the eastern regions. Today we have not only the American Union and the British Common wealth, with their highly cen tralized features; we also have, highways, railroads, swift ships, and jet planes bringing the speakers of the various English-speaking areas into fast and easy con tact with one another; we have public schooling for all social classes, with illiteracy practically eliminated; above all, we have the ubiquitous printing presses, radio, TV, and spoken films, bringing a standard King’s English and a standard General Am erican to all readers, viewers, and listeners. The local dia lects will probably never quite disappear; but they will be driven more and more un derground, particularly with the new generations of speak ers. Only those mispronun* ciations that have spread throughout the country, like margerine for margarine and Febuary for February, will come out on top. As for the cleavage between British and American English, the ten dency has been towards re unification since the First World War. Spoken British films were almost incompre hensible to American audi ences when they first appear ed, while American plays presented in England qften were accompanied by printed glossaries in the programs (or should we spell iu program mes?). Today, a British ac cent barely causes us to strain our ears, while the British have grown quite accustomed April 1963 to the Midwestern voice. Ac tually, we are slowly and in sensibly modifying some of our forms of pronunciation to conform with the British, and they are doing the same with regard to ours. The pronunciation of the year 2061 will probably not differ very widely from the General American of our best radio and TV announcers to day. There will be an elimi nation of marked vulgarisms and localisms, which will be looked upon as old-fashioned (Cicero, writing in the first century B.S., used such ex pressions as rustici dicebant, “the rustics used to say,” and rustic o sermone significabat, “in rustic speech used to mean”; his use of the imper fect past in this connection is a dead giveaway that these local forms of speech had gone out of fashion by his day). In the matter of grammati cal forms and arrangements, our language today is far too standardized to permit of much change. It is possible that a. few stray levelings may take place (oxes and deers for oxen and deer, for instance; or I beared him in the place of I heard him). But despite the widespread rantings of the apostles of “usage” (however that muchbelaboured word may be de fined), it is not likely that substandard forms will make much headway. The primary reason for this is that such substandard forms are nor mally in the nature of lacalisms. Such rank atrocities as “Then dogs are us’ns,” “I seen the both’n of 'em,” and “I’ll call you up, without I can’t” are too localized to survive the impact of schools and TV. The only gramma tical changes that have a real chance of becoming part of the standard language are those that have nation-wide currency, such as "Its me,” "Who did you see?” and “ain’t.” Judgment may be suspended for some ignorant uses in sentences like. “I should of done it” and “I seen him.” One historical factor that may blast our calculations to smithereens, however, is the possible growth of a pidginized form of English for in ternational use, and its in fluence upon the native speakers. If this happens, it is possible that we may get such analogical standardiza 64 Panorama tions as childs, mouses, goos es, foots (so that all nouns may form their plurals the same very without exception, and I did see, I did go for I saw, I went (so that the ba sically simple English verb may be further simplified by having a universally regular past). The really big changes will come in vocabulary. It will be the multiplicity of new words that will really make the English of 2061 a start lingly different language from that of today. Here there are several fac tors at work. As man’s ac tivities become increasingly complex and multiform, new words have to be coined, com bined, borrowed, or other wise created to take care of such activities. All we have to do is to go over the list of vocabulary accretions since 1900 to realize what is in store for the language in the next hundred years. Think of futurama, micromatic, jitter bug, genocide, corny, snafu, gremlin, smog, zoot suit—all words that would have been meaningless to Dickens or Edgar Allan Poe. Add to these the words of specialized fields of activity (megavolt and psychosomatic, electronic and morphophonemics, iso tope and positron, kodak and latex), and consider also the words that pre-existed the turn of the century, but which are now used in a va riety of new acceptances (ato mic fission, integration, feath erbed, release, etc.). It is easy to see that the language of the future will be only partly comprehensible to the speak er of present-day English, even if the basic, sounds, forms, sentence structures, and connecting words remain largely unchanged. The future tongue will sound from the point of view of present-day speakers, some what like doubletalk or, bet ter yet, those nonesense sen tences that linguists often construct when they want to get away from meaning and concentrate on form—senten ces in which the sounds, the grammatical forms, the word order, and the connecting words are all standard En glish, but in which the vo cabulary is imaginary: some thing like “Foring mests larry no granning sunners in the rones.” Yet this vocabulary will of course be easily under April 1963 65 stood by speakers who have grown up with it. How many of our present, current, everyday words will be altogether obsolete, or even archaic, by 2061? A good many, no doubt. All we have to do is to look close ly at the vocabulary of 100 years ago and notice how ma ny words were in current use that we can still recognize, but would not think of using ourselves, words like drawing room and trencher, conscript and sparking light, eximious and mansuetude, or, to go a little further, vocular and viduous, gossipaceous and dan diacal. If we care to go, a few centuries further back, we can find deruncinate and suppeditate, whirlicote and begeck, yuke and pringle, toom and mizzle, jarkmen and priggers, assation and clancular, dignotion and exolution. Since the language of ra dio and TV, in the Englishspeaking countries, is largely a matter of commercial pro motion, a special word may be in order for the future ra mification of the Madison Avenue tongue. In the field of sounds, the promotional language tends to avoid, save for accasional picturesque effect, localisms and special accents. It is a powerful, perhaps the most powerful, factor in the stand ardization we anticipate. It is only occasionally that we get a deliberate distortion of pronunciation, like halo for hello. This laudable conser vatism does not, by the way, extend to spelling. Forms like nite, kool, Duz, and chaise lounge are there to plague us and to confuse the foreigners and even the na tive learner of English. In grammar and syntax, the language of promotion tends towards those vulgar isms that are nation-wide (like a cigarette should” is a good example), but not to wards local or extreme forms. In the advertising vocabu lary, two distinct and contra dictory trends are noticeable. One is the tendency to stress the short, pithy, monosylla bic elements of vocabulary, as when an earlier “If headaches persist or recur frequently” was replaced by "if head aches hang on too long or keep coming back.” But side by side with this, we have droves of commercialized sci entific and pseudoscientific long words, like hydramatic Panorama and irradiated, homogenized and naugahyde, chlorophyl and duridium, even oldsmobility and beaverette. One grammatical peculiar ity of the language of com mercialism is the avoidance of the personal pronouns it and they, replaced with endless and annoying repetitions of the name of the sponsor or product. This may eventual ly lead an as yet unborn chronicler of the English lan guage to say in the year 2061: “Personal pronouns, still quite alive in British English, are obsolescent in American. This is particularly true of t$<e third person neuter pro noun it, which only the old er generation of American English speakers occasionally use today. Instead, Ameri cans prefer to repeat the noun over and , over again, often with ludicrous effects.” But all in all, despite the multiplying of human activi ty; the advances of science and its nomenclature, the ravages of commercialism, it seems to this writer that we are not justified in ex pecting too radical a change in the language, particularly in its sound-and-grammar structure, provided the pres ent trends continue. Remember, though, that this picture may be violent ly changed by the unexpected and unforseable. A histori cal upset, a political upheav al, a military disastser may place the English language in swift motion once more, so that a century or two could bring on the same differences that appear between the An glo-Saxon of Aelfric and the Middle English of Chaucer. The chief lesson I have learned in a long life is that the only way you can make a man trustworthy is to trust him; and the surest way to make him un trustworthy is to distrust him and show your distrust. — Henry L. Stimson. April 1963 67 ■ From birth to death, the typical westernized Fili pino lives a life closer to the Babbitts and the Smiths than to the Negritoes. THE VANISHING TRIBES From the moment the school child learns to sing the tune Negritos of the mountain What kind of food do you eat? he mentally exiles his fore bears. With each succeeding year his fund of knowledge of the world beyond the seas increases, and before he knows it his life is condition ed by pauses that refresh, cigarets that satisfy and dreams that wander Ground in girdles. When on his door comes knocking what appears a strangely dressed group — stripped tapis, loose blouses, long bead necklaces, G-string and colored head bands, who for ten centavos will circle, dip and curtsy in a dance swayed to the music of two tinny instruments that give out a monotonous tune, or to their own monotonous chant — our young native is even more surprised at the novelty than he would be were he regaled with the American boogie, or the Eng lish boomps-a-daisy. For the small ethnogra phic tribes in the Philippines have no way of letting their blood brothers know of their existence. With no news papers or telephones, no re presentation in congress and no beauties in thrones, they are known only in the places where they wander, if they wander. And while white travelers come to the Philip pines in search of these trib al groups, the Filipino tra veler prefers to cross the seas and look at the Egyptian mummies in the Metropoli tan Museum (New York). From birth to death, the typical westernized Filipino who comprises the major portion of the country’s po pulation lives a life closer to the Babbitts and the Smiths than to the Negritoes. . When Mark Twain wrote his famuous To the People Sitting in Panorama Darkness, satirizing the Am erican desire to bring civili zation to an "uncivilized” country, he was also pointing up the fact that wherever for eigners go it is the quaint and the primitive that they perceive and magnify by their one-sided reports. However, it is still these reports wmch to a large ex tent ha A helped in the compilationxjf data on Philip pine tribes, and besides the names of such well known scholars on the subject as Otley Beyer, there are those of Laurence Wilson and Tage Ellinger. and a group of Fi lipinos mostly in search of indigenous art, music, and language. It is now generally accept ed that the first inhabitants of the Philippines were the Negritos Of these there is still an estimated 30,000 ex isting. Aptly enough, . the Negrito, in appearance is a diminutive negro, black skinned, curly haired. His face tapers to a narrow chin while his jaw protrudes. His nose is broad, at times its width measuring more than its length. There is no Neg rito over five feet tall, which is perhaps the reason why a decade ago, when Filipino six footers went abroad foreign ers usually remarked, "you can’t be a Filipino. You’re so tall.” In a civilization which treasures the ’ remnants of a figurative dinosaur, living ancestors still hold no special significance. It is perhaps be cause the ancestry might be merely geographical, blood relationship hardly existing. Whatever the reason, the Negrito now hardly holds any place in the Filipino scheme of things. In fact they have been showed aside as the tribe with the most primitive way of life, their homes hardly more than crude lean-tos, beyond the bow and arrow. In the last years they have turned into nomads, wander ing in bands from town to town, walking in single file down the barrio’s narrow footpaths hardly ever enter ing the capitals. Their mountain homes, whence they were driven after the influx of the Malays are no longer as secure as they used to be before the war. Others have discovered that their April 1963 mountains hold both food and refuge, and have turned the Negrito into a virtual wandering Jew. The fact that he speaks no language of his own, but a local patois of the dialect native to the re gion, has not Jielped in the unification of this tribe which is represented even aS far as the East Indies, the in terior of the Malay Peninsu la and in the Andaman Is lands of the Indian Ocean. Still, the Negrito aesthete who decorates his face by sharpening his teeth to tiny points, has a very advanced sense of music. The guitar, nose flute, bamboo violin, and an instrument similar to the jew Is harp is the Neg rito’s superior answer to ma ny a Manila combo. This musicality extends to the other tribes which may be found from Aparri to Jolo. The largest concentra tion of their population, which was roughly estimated before the war at 700,000 are around northern Luzon, Pa lawan and Mindanao. Ther$ are around twenty of thesfe tribes, some of them virtual ly alien to most lowlanders others mixing quite freely with the latter whan they leave their mountain or val ley abodes to go to town. There are two schools of. thought with regards to them. The first, composed mostly of foreigners, - and a few Filipinos, believe in the preservation of this culture, without, however, forcing it down people’s throats. Then, there is a third group, com posed of Filipinos, who are no school ap<dl since they don’t thipK anything about the nmtfer, are perhaps hard ly adware that people are born, marry, and die in a manner so different from them. While most Filipino babies wail their way out in hospi tals or , in their mother’s homes, with doctors or mid wives ministering to them, the Ilongot mother instead looks for nothing but a tree with a comfortable looking horizontal bark to lean on. This is supposed to aid de livery. The Ilongot mother nurses her baby, too, but af ter a week she feeds the in fant the same food she her self eats, after properly mas ticating it first for the tooth less one. And while the city father probably busily hunts an appropriate box of choco 70 Panorama lates for the new mother, the Ilongot father might easily be imagined triumphantly lug ging a head home, a valuable *rophy to bring good luck to his family. If the Ilongot mother is as modern as the newest pedia trician in the feeding of her baby, the Bontoc youth goes back to the ultra-modern Plato when it comes to woo ing. The olog, dormitory for unwed girls, is many a young man's dream of what court ship should include and does not. The Bontoc version of Manila's own boarding hous es, its quarters are definitely more cramped and crude, its practical morality, certainly more frank and refreshing. A young man attracted to an olog girl slips quietly into the dormitory at night, and searches for his lass among the rows of females that lie side by side on the floor, each with a blanket of her own. When he finds her, he slips between her and the girl next to her, facing the one he fav ors. He woos her with verses whispered softly into her ear, partly for effect, partly for privacy. This goes on for some nights. If the girl is won, she will allow him to love her, and share with him her blanket, which is to her what the chastity belt is to her foreign sisters. But marriage does not come until the girl is preg nant, sometimes not even un til she has given birth. For to the Bontocs, as to the Ifugaos and Christians, the prime purpose of marriage is procreation, and a woman’s chief function is child-birth. With the Ilongots, this courtship is made more ex citing by various tests of bra very which the wooer has to undergo. One of them savors of the saga of William Tell: the suitor with bow and ar row has to shoot through the hollow of a bamboo tube held under the armpits of the girl he loves, and woe to him should he harm a single hair on her body! The girls fafimly stand behind him as he shoots, ready to chop, him down at the slighest mistake. If the Bontocs are practical with their wooing, the Kalingas are logical with their reasoning. Betrothals are ar ranged at birth or early youth, a feast or cando given by the girl’s parents to celebrate the event. But should another wooer cbme along and win April 1963 71 the fair lady’s hand, the illfated fiance has to give back al the money spent by the girl at the cafiao, Kalinga logic judging the man who was not able to hold his fiancee’s affection guilty. This practical turn of mind becomes even more ap parent in their custom of keeping their many wives in separate villages, instead of allowing them to see each other, let alone live together. The first wife, however, en joys Number One privileges, and the others are called dagdagas, which though sound ing very much like the Taga log word dagdag really means stop-over: in sailor’s language, a girl in every port. Among all the customs of our tribes, what seems to throw their brother Filipinos are their head-hunting acti vities. To the lowlanders culture dictates that death by a gunshot is definitely more civilized than by beheading. It seems all the more gruessome to the average mind when the heads are preserv ed and kept in special places in the home as trophies. The simple logic of these people though, gives a clear reason from the fact that the Ilongots, for example, believe the head to be the center of life, and thus to be treated with the greatest respect. To get an enemy’s head is a triumph, to have one’s head touched by an enemy is an insult. Unlike the South Ameri can headhunters, the Ilongots as well as Apayaos and Ifugaos do not shrink them, but first cut the meat, remove the brain, then smoke the skull till it is dry. For a time it was supposed that the heads of Pittman and Conklin, American explorers who brav ed the wilds of Bontoc, reach ed such an end. Later, how ever, it was rumored that they were killed for their blood, which was used to irrigate the rice lands which were suffering from drought. The general conception of a tribesman is that he is small and black. However, of the around twenty various groups in the Philippines may * be found the red-skinned, the Caucasian, and some brown skins. Among the last are the Abenlens of Zambales, claim ed to have been just discov ered by the Danish. Tage Ellinger, some time in 1954. No taller than Negritos, they 72 Panorama and a half feet, have long straight hear, light skin, and light brown eyes. According to Prof. Beyer, the descrip tion fits the typical proto Malayan. There were only twelve families of about 150 people in the village where they stayed. Friendly enough, drinking cups wrere still made out of enemy’s skulls. Once in a while, aside from feature articles which appear in local magazines, and cloth bound books which are sold in the better bookstores in the States, the ordinary read er gets a glimpse of tribal life through the newspapers. Small items which recount headhunters committing mur der to win their girls, differ ent tribes warring with each other for possession of land, and groups seeking protec tion from the encroachment of the civilized, break into print. In 1954 the Social Welfare Administration launched a probe of the Mangyan’s state in Mindoro. Reports had reached the administrator that the tribe was being ex ploited, and made to work like slaves by public officials, that the Mangyan women were being abused by Chris tians, and that their land was being squatted upon by peo ple who had the backing of provincial authorities. Besides the probe, which yielded conferences between the SWA representative and the town officials, public as semblies were organized for discussing the problems of non-Christians, i n c 1 u d i ng their rights and duties as ci tizens of the country which had hardly seen a tribesman’s vote since the polling booth was invented. 'Considering that there must be around 100,000 po tential voters running around loose among these tribes, one may think that some politi cian will eventually think up a bill to provide for teaching these people how to read and write, even the Tagbanuas who already do but whose li terature are written in verti cal columns reading from top to bottom and from right to left. And while they are at it, our lawmakers might even think of tossing in a few hun dred thousands for land re servations and housing for these Filipinos — Saturday Mirror Magazine. April 1963 73 ■ A moving short story by a many time winner of national literary awards for fiction writing. THE BEGGAR Estrella Alfon There could be no mistake. The beggar in the huge en larged photogarph on exhibit in the window was himself. So he looked like that, that man with the baleful express ion: eyes sharp with suspcion, the mouth sneering, the mous tache on the upper lip dirtier deeper etchings than the ma ny lines that crisscrossed his face. Unconsciously, as he looked at himself, he took on the very expression of the beggar in the photograph. The photograher had caught him in a moment of especial malevolence, a displeasure at his fellow men, a cunning against them displayed so patently on the face caught by the click of soul stealing camera. This beggar in the photo graph —looking at himself, he was nevertheless • of the feeling that he was looking at another man. Someone else. A man whose secrets somehow he knew, yet never as fully, as completely as now, face to face with a pic ture blown larger than life, the face of a man whose jour ney through all the days since he was born, he the man looking into the window, knew. Traveled, detoured, not arrived. He looked down at the rags that clothed him. Ex cept for the shoulders, the photograph did not take any more of him than his face. Yet it was as though he were there, displayed, in the rai ment he usually used to pro claim his lack of estate. Any one looking at the photo graph would have known that his hands at the moment when that shutter clicked to picture him forever in his beggar state, were extended like claws. That his feet with rags, were ready to shuf fle after some adamant pass erby. 74 Panorama He put up a hand to his chin, where no beard grew because when there were no people passing by his chosen stand, he liked to pull out the hairs that grew on his lower face, dirty nails effi cient and sure, each abrupt rewarded gesture sometimes agn of his very vindictive ness when people would not respond to his whine. Even iow as he contemplated his >wn picture, he picked at the oarse growth on his chin, nd he tried to remember when this photograph had been taken. He had been on the over pass over Quezon Boulevard. Kight in the middle of the wooden structure in the very stream of the people hurry ing in the noonday heat. He had been holding out his hand, his left held to his chest in a manner to suggest that it was defective, useless, and therefore — he had learned to curse the people who did not respond to his own malevolent kind of ha rassment with a stream of low mouthed words that they never fully heard but they understood. Nevertheless, for men, looking so well pressed his meanings would be un mistakable in the flash of his eyes, in the curl of his foul lips. He especially liked to hold out his hand to the better dressed men, although it was n’t they who really liked to be generous. The generous ones were actually the wo men, not the richly "clad either, nor the successful looking, but the ones who were dowdy, who looked as though they themselves found it hard to feed their families. This kind of wo men he didn’t whine at, for them he reserved a look of dull-eyed apathy, a shake of his head as though it sat heavily on his head, a licking of his lips as though the heat and hunger had parched him near to desperation. Then the housewives sometimes staggering under heavy mar ket baskets, or perhaps hurry ing to catch a contraband morning tagalog movie in spite of all the housework, would fish hurriedly in their dress pockets, or in their market bags, one saying per haps, sounding almost annoy ed, Well, don’t stay in the sun! and the other perhaps in tones of compassion, I still April 1963 75 have a. five left me, and hand him a ragged five-centavo note. But the better dressed men, they looked at him with a contempt they did not bo ther to disguise, when in quick method to get rid of him they gave him a bill they carefully separated from neatly folded bills in their pocket, or perhaps from a wallet, they did not like to meet his £yes, and they brush ed aside from his person, dis daining contact with his rags. He had a method of passing in front of men like that, so that he obstructed them, and in the crowds that daily used the overpass, there was no thing better he liked than to know he had annoyed these men, looking so well pressed, and in such a hurry to reach their offices wherever their business took them. Then he had noticed this photographer stand still. It had been a favorite past ime of his, looking at the young girls against the sun, so that their legs showed through their clothes, reveal ed to him by sun’s glare. He kept his eyes lowered but his pleasure showed on his face, and it was therefore with some kind of guilty shock that he noticed this camera man looking at him. He had his camera slung over his shoulders but as he watched the beggar, he began to hold it, to open it, to look inside it, walking slowly, glancing around him up at the sky, playing with gadget^ he got out of his pocket, with which he fiddled as he tried his best not to let the beggar know that he had noticed the beggar’s little game of sun against the girls * legs. They had kept at it for a little while more, the man with camera pretending it wasn’t the beggar he was in terested in, and the beggar pretending to go about his business of making the world pay him alms. But after he had almost reached the other end of the overpass, he came back to where the beggar was plying his trade, sat on the wooden rail, perched there like a giant bird, and nodded at the beggar as if to say Ge ahead don’t let me bother you. But he kept aiming his camera at people and things: the church spire, the heads, of the crowds down in the square, the rushing traf fic. Only * now and then. 76 Panorama when he thought the beggar was not watching, aiming it at the ragged mendicant. It was the beggar who .had finally placed the game out in the open, when he sidled to the cameraman and sneer ed, You’re taking pictures of me but don’t want to let me know. The cameraman grinned at him, saying You have any objections? The beggar looked at the rowd and the clock advertisng a soft drink, calculating in his mind how much he would make that day, temper of the crowd and heat of the day taken into account. He looked at the cameraman .nd boldly proposed, What is m it for me? Coirectly guessing at his own thoughts, the camera man asked him, Up to you. Shrewdly the beggar said You. The cameraman eased him self off the guard rail, push ed a free hand into a pocket, housed his camera back in its case, used both hands to look into all his pockets and came out with all the money he had on him. A count under the hot sun, as diligently attended to by the beggar as the owner of camera, made it some seventy centavos over three pesos. The beggar said, Five. The cameraman pocketed the seventy cents, slapped the three pesos into the old man’s, outstretched hand and said You’re lucky I have that much on met They went into the churchyard and in a corner attended by almost all the other mendicants and pedlers and vagrants who notic ed them, had a session of it. But he knew he had not posed for this picture on ex hibit at the window. This picture had been taken when he wasn’t looking, he had been told to look weary, to look old, to look hot, to look beggarly,but he had not re membered having been made to pose like the man in the window. Depraved, malicious, sly, by heaven abandoned to sin and sinning — How long had he stood there? He knew some time must have paus ed by when he felt a hand give him a tap on the shoul der and a voice say, You like yourself? April 1963 77 He looked up. The man who had come out of the shop with the window dis playing- the beggar picture was the very cameraman who had taken it. He looked at the young man, not knowing how to feel, or how to an swer the question he had just asked. He looked at the picture again. Had this young man then seen in him what the picture showed clearly? There was no apology in the young man’s manner. There was no hint that he was sorry or that he felt he should not have done this thing to him. You have no right, the beggar said, and although he tried to make his voice ar rogant and angry, he could n’t., He could only say, dis pleased, he should not have done this thing to him. Today the young man was jaunty and flaunty. Special ly when other young men came out of the shop and re cognizing him for the beggar in the picture, grouped around them, interested in their conversation. The young man said, so that the others heard him, You don’t like yourself, huh? Picture tells the truth too much, huh? Something in him told the beggar he should keep quiet, but something in the manner of the young man, an arro gance he recognized because he had it himself, a lack of feeling for others, a wish to hurt and to be admired for something cruel, made the beggar angry. He was so angry he was shaking. He said, You are a thiefl The words surprised his own self. What had the young man stolen from him? The young man threw back This head and laughed. Thief? He shoved the other young men away, and rashly put his hands on the beggar’s arms so he could turn the mendicant around and face himself, enlarged, looming like something unnatural in the blown up proportions of the print. Look at you. Thief. Ra pist. Glutton! Everything else! Look! He looked. At that man whose secrets he knew, but never as fully, as completely as now. That man there,that beggar in the photo graph, he. 78 Panorama He tore from the young man’s grasp. He had to say something, yet he who had so many words to throw and mutter at the people from whom he had cadged and bamboozled the pennies with which he had managed to live, he could only say, with out the vehemence he so wanted, Thiefl The young men laughed insensately. He turned his eyes on them and their laughter became louder, near to screaming. Look, they said. Look at the old soand-so imitate himself. He no longer knew how to control his shaking. He was sick to his stomach to realize that indeed, at this very moment, he probably looked every line, every ex pression, like that old repro bate, that lecherous beggar in the picture that so-and-so who was better off dead! Then one of the young men stopped laughing long enough to point at him say ing Look! he, is crying. The beggar put up a shak ing hand, and touched his cheeks and was shocked to find them wet. He was cry ing. Why was he crying? But they all started to laugh again, and now they crowded around him and slapped him on the back and gave him playful nudges. Tljey fished inside their poc kets and pooled some money together. They got a paper bag from somewhere and put the money in it and they gave the bag to him, clinking and bulging. You don’t miss a trick, do you? The man who had taken his picture said to him. Even tears! They turned him away, as they all went into the shop. They said to him, For the tears, there! Nakasupot pa ang pera mo. Ang galing mo, talaga! And as he held on to the money in the bag, he still looked at his picture. There in the terrible quiet from the absence of their laughter. They could not see that he had not yet stopped crying. —Sunday Times Magazine. April 1963 79 Department of Public Works and Communications BUREAU OF POSTS Manila SWORN STATEMENT (Required'by Act 2580) The undersigned, LEONARDO CANOY, Circulation Manager, PA NORAMA (title of publication), published monthly (frequency of is sue), in English (language in which printed), at Invernes cor. A de las Alas, Sta. Ana (office of publication), after having been duly sworn in accordance with law, hereby - submits the following statement of ownership, management, circulation, etc., which is required by Act 2580, as amended by Commonwealth Act No. 201: Name Address Editor LUIS TEODORO, JR. ..... Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila Managing Editor ............................... Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila Business Manager MRS. C. A. .MARAMAG .... Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila Owner Community Publishers, Inc. Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila Publisher C. P. I........................'.............Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila Printer C. P. I...........................................Invernes cor. A. de las Alas? Manila Office of Publication C. P. I..............Invernes cor. A. de las Alas, Manila If publication is owned by a corporation, stockholders owning one per cent or more of the total amount of stocks: SOFIA S. SINCO LEANDRO G. SINCO ARTURO G. SINCO SYLVIA G. SINCO Bondholders, mortgages, or other security holders owning one per cent or more of total amount of security: In case of daily publication, average number of copies printed and circulated of each issue during the preceding month of ............... 19..; 1. Sent to paid-subscribers ........................... ........................ 3. Sent to others than paid subscribers ........................... > T o t a 1 ................................................... ............ In case of publication other than daily, total number of copies printed and circulated of the last issue dated February 1963; 1. Sent to paid subscribers ....................................... 1,000 cps. 2. Sent to others than paid subscribers ............... 100 fcpo. Total ....................................... 1,190 cpa. (Signature) (Title of designation) SUBSCRIBED AND SWORN to before me this 22n<| day of April, 1963, at Manila, the affiant exhibiting his Residence Certificate No. A-0393208 issued at Manila, on April 20, 1963. M. B. MIRANDA Postal Inspector NOTE: This form is exempt from the payment of documentary stamp tax. ACT 2580 REQUIRES THAT THIS SWORN STATEMENT BE FILED WITH THE BUREAU OF POSTS ON APRIL 1 AN0 OCTOBER 1 OF EACH YEAR Mlantions All organization hoods and members! Help your duh raise funds painlessly... Join the Panorama “Fund-Raising by Subscriptions” plan today! The Panorama Fund-Raising by Subscriptions plan vill get you, your friends, and your relatives a year’s subcription to Panorama. The Panorama is easy to sell. It practically sells itself, which means more money for your organization. The terms of the Panorama Fund-Raising by Sub-------- DT AN are follows: irganization in the Philippines can _an. Um, ___ n will us scriptions to Panorama. (3) For every subscription s< get Pl.00. The more subscriptions the organization sells, the more money it gets. CONTENTS Why Legalize Gambling? .................................................................. | Quoting Bertrand Russell .................................................................. J Japan's trade with the Soviet Union and Red China .... 6 On Selective Reading John R. Platt.......................................................... 11 Challenge to Filipino Historians Jeremias U. Montemayor..................................... 14 What Really Happened in .Bataan Quijano de Manila............................................... 20 Japanese Science Today .................................................................... 36 On Being A Radical J.A.T. Robinson A Look at East Germany's Economy The Future of the NP Blas F. Ople............ English in 2061: A Forecast Mario Pei ................ The Vanishing Tribes .......... TS" Beggar (A Short Story) Alfon..........