A Journey to Uncertainty: Towards the October 1972 Marawi Uprising and Beyond

23 September 1972. It was a bright Sunday morning. The sun was already up and biting at 6:30 am. Yet everyone was still wallowing in the comfort of a deep weekend slumber. I decided to stroll solo from the MSU Bongao campus down the stretch of Datu Halun beach to a distance of some 2 km away. The beach was cool and a little dark as it was tightly wrapped by the ubiquitous shadows of huge Bitaog and Talisay trees that dotted its shoreline. The sea was also exceedingly calm and was almost foreboding in its silence. I waded to the waters outside the shadows of trees and, at chest deep, allowed myself to float, to relax, and to meditate on the pristine, enchanting beauty of my marine surrounding.

A lazy humming sound of a DC plane from a distance interrupted my reflection. The plane was apparently approaching Sanga-Sanga Airport in another island some 12 km from the Bongao campus of MSU Sulu College of Technology and Oceanography (SCTO).

At around 9 am, I traced my way back to the MSU Panel Locks faculty dormitory on campus. What I saw when I reached the place distressed me: fully-armed Philippine Air Force personnel in their grey overall were everywhere. Although they maintained a decent distance from the dormitory and staff houses, their presence was definitely threatening.

The scene in my room was equally disturbing. My locker was in chaos; all my books, reading materials and notes were gone. No one was in the dorm to explain the situation. I looked around outside the building and saw the dorm tenants in a nearby staff cottage, apprehensive and sullen, all ears to the radio set. As I approached them, the baritone voice of President Ferdinand Marcos cracked the air: he was justifying the declaration of Martial Law throughout the country made two days earlier. I supposed it was a replay of an earlier announcement.

So that was it. The dorm occupants were alerted by the neighbours on the declaration of Martial Law before the arrival of the Air Force assault personnel. The lady faculty members rushed to my room, force-opened my locker, hauled all my books and reading materials and buried them to a location that even to date has never been disclosed to me. The little red book of Mao, the nationalist essays of Renato Constantino, the speeches of Recto and Tañada, including the relatively harmless but provocative Atlas Shrugged of Ayn Rand, the Little Prince of de Exupery, and the history, sociology and English textbooks I borrowed from the campus library were put to rest under the ground inside a tall tin biscuit can. My disappearance early that morning alarmed the ladies. They thought the military had kidnapped and detained me. Thus, they had to hide the “evidences” against my person.

Mass Resignation. By Monday, the campus was bereft of students as classes were suspended indefinitely. The suspension of classes added to the uncertainties and anxieties of everyone. The rumour mill began grinding and circulating information about the termination of teachers and closure of some state colleges and universities that had served as the breeding ground of political activists and communists. The tense atmosphere on campus somehow relaxed when, with nothing to do because of the suspension of classes, we started engaging in small talks the Air Force personnel who kept watch on us. They were surprised to know that we spoke Cebuano, Tagalog and Ilongo and soon became friendly to us. In a short while, they reduced in number and eventually faded without our notice.

Classes resumed after a week of suspension. The spirit of the faculty and staff soared up as a result, only to dive on a tailspin when after a few days talks circulated that all employees of the government were directed by Malacañang to resign. By the second week of October 1972, the information from the rumour mill turned out to be true: Following instruction from Malacañang, then MSU President Tamano issued a memorandum order enjoining everyone in the University to file or submit his/her courtesy resignation. MSU-SCTO Dir. Santiago, who flew to Marawi some few days after the declaration of Martial Law, instructed me to bring all the resignation papers from MSU-SCTO to MSU Marawi.

From Bongao to Marawi. With the resignation letters of MSU-SCTO personnel towed inside a milk carton, I took the boat JK Bab from Bongao to Zamboanga on 16 October evening. I checked in at old Astoria, a wooden hotel near Plaza Pershing, Zamboanga City on the 18^th and bought my ticket for a one-way plane ride to Iligan (Baloi Airport) via Cotabato City (Awang Airport).

On the 19^th, the military personnel at the Zamboanga City airport held me up for questioning for over an hour. I was then sporting a long hair, almost shoulder length and was unshaved. The interrogators asked so many questions about the box of resignation papers. I had my Travel Order with me but my school ID and my residence certificate did not have my photo. (There was no photo shop in Bongao at that time). My identity was at question. At any rate, my name did not seem to appear in their Order of Battle (OB). The public address system was already advising me to board the plane. The military let me go on the condition that I have to shave and have my hair cut in Cotabato before taking the flight to Iligan. I was also directed to show them a university ID upon my return to Zamboanga City.

I was finally allowed to board the plane for Cotabato, the last to do after a delay of like eternity. I spent overnight in Cotabato City in a hotel that was overflowing with endlessly moving uniformed men.

20 October 1972. Clean-shaved and sporting a new haircut, I took my flight to Baloi Airport the following morning.

I was at MSU Marawi campus at about 2 pm. I reported immediately to Dir Santiago in the office of President Mauyag Tamano where my return trip to Bongao was facilitated. The MSU Bongao Cashier, Tolentino “Suang” Go, who was with the late Fructuoso Escudero, the Dean of the SCTO College of Fisheries, gave me my travel money. I knew Lito Vizcara, the SCTO Engineer, was with them but was not around at that time. They would leave for Iligan at 6 o’clock the following morning on their return trip to Bongao via Cotabato-Zamboanga

At 4 pm, VP Manaros Boransing arrived in the office from downtown Marawi and was disturbed to see me and Cora-Banno Santiago, the summa cum laude wife SCTO Dir. Fred Santiago. Accordingly, Cora’s name and mine were in the OB of the Military in Lanao – all honour graduates of MSU and known campus activists were in the OB. He reported that Dave Tauli, Fred Apugan, Edwin Bael and some others were rounded up earlier and were already detained at Camp Amai Pakpak. I was advised to hide for the night at the cottage of Fisheries Dean Domiciano Villaluz and would leave the campus for Iligan after breakfast with the Santiagos the following day.

I cosseted myself that night listening to favourite stereo music in the cottage of DK Villaluz whose lone occupant was the late Benjie Ladrera, a faculty of the College of Fisheries. Dean Villaluz had stayed in Naawan doing research and supervising the construction of the laboratories, the shrimp hatchery facilities, the guest house and the fishponds of what would be known later as the Institute of Fisheries Research and Development (IFRD), the forerunner of MSU Naawan.

21 October 1972. Brought my luggage at 6:30 am to the assembly area (the Miravite Residence where the Santiagos were having their coffee) for the early trip to Iligan. I proceeded to the cafeteria to eat my breakfast. I supposed the Santiagos spent the night in the nearby cottage of Engr. Orlando Yu.

At about 7am as I walked back to the Miravites from the cafe, bursts of fire erupted in downtown Marawi. People started rushing near the old gym to get a vantage position in observing what was happening down below. We could, of course, only see light smoke and the scampering fog. The exchange of fire continued. Then a familiar face approached and whispered to me: The revolution against Marcos has begun. The rebels have already assaulted Camp Amai Pakpak and a special force will soon occupy the campus.

I ran to the Miravites and inform them of what the firing was all about. Dr. Quiterio F. Miravite (QFM), the Vice President for Academic Affairs, showed no apprehension. Instead he requested me to accompany him to the growing crowd near the gym. While observing there, a rushing jeepney with MSU security guards stopped in front us. One shouted to the crowd of mostly students to disperse and go back to the dormitory because the rebels were about to attack the campus.

The announcement immediately agitated QFM.

“The Ambassador,” he said. “We need to secure the Ambassador.”

“What Ambassador, Sir?” I asked.

“The Japanese Ambassador, Toshio Urabe. Let’s go to the Summit Inn.”

I collected my luggage from the Miravite’s and deposited it back at the Villaluz cottage which was only some 50 meters away from the Summit Inn. The Summit Inn was the official residence of the MSU President and had a few rooms for visiting dignitaries.

At the Summit Inn VP Manaros Boransing was in huddle with President Mauyag Tamano discussing security and evacuation plan for the Japanese Ambassador. QFM and Fred Santiago joined them. The ambassador was sitting nearby, calm and silent, already informed of the situation. He was totally occupied with his own thoughts. He had only two khaki-uniformed escorts who were always within his sight, each sporting an old M16 rifle. His guards were also deep in their thought. No MSU security guards were deployed in the area apparently to avoid attention and hide the presence of the ambassador that way. Of course, the MSU security guards at that time could only be counted with one’s fingers.

The planning exercise hit snags in the absence of information. The communication line to the outside world (via telegram) was already cut. Even the campus local telephone system was already silenced. No one knew the extent of territory under rebel control. Nor the state of the government forces in the area. After some hours, unconfirmed information started to filter into the Summit Inn: That the Pantar marine detachment was wiped out by the rebels and the bridge was already destroyed and rendered impassable; that the MSU cafeteria vehicle on marketing errand to Iligan was commandeered by the rebels and all passengers, rebels and cafeteria staff alike, were killed in a barrage of fire as it approached Camp Amai Pakpak; and that prominent Christian families in Marawi were witch-hunted, and some were captured and killed by the rebels. These unconfirmed reports only compounded the planning of security and evacuation, not only of the Japanese ambassador but also of the university constituents. No definite plan could be made.

One thing was certain: DXSO, the campus radio station was already taken over by the rebels and was used as the mouthpiece of the rebellion, instigating and encouraging the Maranaos in the lake communities to take up arms against the dictator Marcos regime. The propagandists were prominent Maranao students, Ibz M and Ali L.

10 AM. A squad of armed men were inching towards the Summit Inn. VP Boransing saw them first and asked me:

“Do you know them?”

“About half are familiar. The lead guy was my former classmate in Philosophy 40, Guimba P (GP)”

“Good. Find out what they want. Try any means to stop them from coming here.”

That was my first real mission in life. Obviously the rebels were not aware of a potential hostage in the Summit Inn that would attract international attention. My task was to avoid them from knowing it. I met the rebels some 50 meters away from the Summit Inn. GP was quick to recognize me and called me by my nickname.

“Is this now for real?” I asked him gesturing my hands to their old assorted weapons that included a tummy gun.

GP only smiled and said nothing.

“VP Boransing is in the Summit Inn with President Tamano,” I explained. “He wants me to convey to you that the ladies there are terribly scared and are getting nervous over this uprising. So if you please, don’t go there anymore. If you have any message to the President I am instructed to deliver it to him.”

“We just want to ask permission and clearance from the President to partake of the food at the cafeteria.”

“Please wait.”

The rebels’ act of asking permission to eat at the cafeteria amused me.

I conferred immediately with VP Naro Boransing on the request and was given the go signal.

“The President granted your request. Your men may eat in the cafeteria as long as there is food there for everyone. His request is for you to help maintain order in the place.”

Thus, at lunch time, the fully armed young rebels were in the cafeteria. When some of them broke the line to get their share, the students started to boo them. They retreated with their arms and returned to the queue.

The cafeteria marketing team failed to return and the supply of food in the café dwindled to very low level. The same was also obtaining in all the boarding houses on campus. At dinner time, the food ration was reduced to one small slice of bangus with hardly a cup of rice. At the Villaluz cottage we harvested and cooked banana (sab-a) to supplement our diminishing food intake.

As the day rolled to darkness, uncertainty and fear gripped the residents. But nothing phenomenal happened that evening. There was intermittent firing but nothing more.

Fruc Escudero and company had just crossed Pantar Bridge when they heard a deafening explosion and a barrage of fire behind them. They never looked back and went on full speed down to Iligan City. In Iligan they heard that the rebels had destroyed Pantar Bridge, overrun Camp Amai Pakpak and had taken over the MSU campus. Wild talks started to conflagrate the City of Iligan - of the pillage and destruction of the MSU campus, the rape and killing of students and other residents. Nong Fruc and company were totally devastated. They believed that the Santiagos and I were among the victims of the mayhem. What they thought and what they heard in Iligan they also communicated by wire to Bongao without any validation. There was no opportunity and means to validate anything anyway. Thus, friends and dear ones in Bongao cried and gnashed their teeth over the untimely departure of our souls.

22 October 1972. Food supply was getting so low. The coop was ransacked the evening before by either a group of hungry students or by the equally hungry rebels. I did not anymore go to the café knowing that there was hardly anything to eat. We again cooked sab-a which, with ginamos, served as our breakfast, lunch and dinner in the cottage.

Some older men started strutting in the street with their homemade firearms.

Tension mounted as rumour of reinforcement from Camp Evangelista started to filter into the campus.

At about 10 or so in the evening, the military reinforcement finally arrived. It was like Marawi was celebrating the New Year. The explosions were so loud and in luxurious abandon and the bullets created sparkles and arching lights in the sky. Our view of the panorama from the Villaluz cottage was halted by the approaching rumblings of steel and machine gun fire. We rushed inside the cottage, switched off the lights, and dropped and kissed the floor. There was shouting and running outside. Tsak, tsak, tsak, tsak... That was the sound of the bullets that found their marks in the trunks of the bananas behind the cottage. A deafening silence followed thereafter that lasted through the long dark night.

23 October 1972. The military made a clearing operation on campus early in the morning. DXSO was silent and dead. At the Summit Inn, some women helped us in camouflaging Ambassador Urabe. He was wrapped in a malong and other decorative Meranao clothing, and was secured inside an armoured military vehicle. The Santiagos and I took the Ford pickup of the College of Fisheries Naawan Marine Laboratory. At about 10:00 am, the exodus began. The long line of public and private conveyances and military trucks started snaking down the road to Iligan City. All were filled to the brim with a hodgepodge of anxious campus passengers. The movement was rather slow as the military had to continuously clear the path ahead.

We arrived in Iligan at past 12 noon. The atmosphere was in tumultuous joy of thanksgiving. People lined the streets clapping, shouting and crying. I learned that many parents from all over Mindanao had assembled in Iligan to get information on the plight of their children. It was a grand happy reunion of sort of parents and students. The city park teemed with joyful mankind. Relief food materialized from nowhere at no time at all.

Meanwhile, we proceeded to Naawan. Dean D.K. Villaluz, with teary eyes, hugged each one of us tightly praising God for our survival. He immediately ordered his men to prepare lechon and cook for early dinner to celebrate our new life.

Postlude. I was back in Bongao in about a week’s time. I was welcomed like a hero, like a war survivor, by acquaintances and friends. Everybody wanted to hear my story. My girlfriend burst into a muted cry when we were finally left alone in the evening of my arrival. She pinched me hard (apparently to assure herself that I was not really a ghost of myself) to a point that I almost screamed in excruciating pain. Then she hugged, kissed and hugged and kissed me to no end.

In a little while, she became my wife.

The Man from Tugaya

My son failed to put enough pressure on the brake in that crucial moment and our old Isuzu Highlander slammed head-on to the left engine side of a sparkling Isuzu Crosswind that suddenly appeared in that intersection from nowhere. The crashing sound of the impact attracted people in that otherwise traffic-free intersection of Iligan City. They started to hover around the two vehicles like vultures waiting delightfully for unfortunate victims.

The driver of the Crosswind was quick to alight from his vehicle, halted and ushered his passengers to a passing jeepney. By his attire, my son figured that he had hit a car driven by a Maranao. His heart sunk and his feet turned into jelly. He remained on his seat for some eternity contemplating on his next moves. My wife, obviously shocked, started calling me frantically from her cellular phone.

But I was of no immediate help. I was beyond reach at that moment. I was on my mountain bike descending like a waterfall down a rough, steep and winding road carved from the mountainside of Balingtad, Manticao Misamis Oriental, about 46 km away from Iligan City.

My son finally summoned enough courage from within him and climbed down from his perch. He approached the driver who was inspecting the damage on his car and carefully put his left arm on his shoulders.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I tried but failed to avoid you. I am relieved that no one was hurt.”

“Well, it was an accident. I must admit I was a little fast because I did not want my passengers to be left behind by the Supper Ferry 11 a.m. schedule. Yes, we are fortunate that no one was hurt,” the Crosswind’s driver matter-of-factly replied.

My son, greatly consoled and comforted by the calm and friendly demeanor of the driver, introduced himself to him. The guy told him his name and showed him his driver’s license apparently to validate his information. His name was Sharif A from Tugaya, Lanao del Sur. He owned the Crosswind he was driving.

A radio announcer was on the scene just after impact and tried to manage the growing crowd. Using his two-way radio, he informed the City’s Traffic Management Office of the accident. Meanwhile, he requested unnecessarily the two drivers to remain calm and leave their vehicles on their exact location until the arrival of the traffic officers.

A band of Maranaos arrived and started talking excitedly to Sharif. They told him that my son was definitely at fault. Sharif looked at them and said that it was for the traffic investigation team to decide. They gave him their own estimate of the damage. He told them that the matter was for the insurance company to make. One claimed that the destroyed front light bulb alone would cost P7-10k. Sharif patiently told him that he bought it some two months ago in Davao City at P2.5k.

Halfway between Balingtad and Manticao proper my cell phone began beeping like mad. Seven text messages from my wife informed me and provided details of the accident. I immediately called her telling her that I was on my way and advising and assuring her to relax because everything would be all right. I also called my eldest son directing him to rush to Iligan to keep her mom and his younger brother company and to inform our insurer of the accident. Meanwhile, my biking companion and I decided to go back to Naawan. We negotiated the route back home at 30-35 km/hour.

In the race to Naawan some butterflies started to flutter in my stomach as the traumatic experience of my younger brother long time ago was refreshed in my mind. The company vehicle he was riding from an inspection tour of a road they were constructing in Tubod, Lanao del Norte, bumped a five year old Maranao girl somewhere in Kauswagan, Lanao del Norte. The girl, unmindful of the onrushing car, crossed the highway and ran after her grandma who was already on the other side of the road. It was too late for the old lady to stop her, and too late for the driver to totally avoid her. My brother picked up the bloody mess of a child and persuaded the grandma to accompany them to the hospital in Iligan. Upon reaching the Sanitarium, my brother directed his driver to surrender the vehicle and himself to the police station.

In the emergency room, the attending physician could not believe the results of the medical examination of the little girl. Despite the impact of the vehicle on her frail body she sustained no fractured bones. Except for the minor but bleeding wound in her forehead and the bruises in her tiny limbs, the child was in exceptionally stable condition. Nonetheless, the she had to be admitted in the hospital for a 24-hour medical observation. The child was about to be ushered to a private room when a throng of relatives arrived angrily demanding for the driver of the ill-fated vehicle. The medical team scampered to safety. Only my brother, the little girl and the grandmother remained in the room. Then a young man pointed to my brother telling the crowd that he was the one who picked the child up and pushed the old lady inside the car. My brother tried to explain but they seemed to hear nothing and started inching towards him. The guard informed of the commotion rushed to the scene and somehow stopped what could have been a tragic event. He was tailed by a tall fellow with a .45 pistol bulging on the left side of his waist.

“Are you the driver?’ the new arrival with the .45 asked with authority.

“No,” my brother replied. I am the passenger – the project engineer. The driver already surrendered to the City Police Station,” he explained.

“He should have surrendered to the PNP in Kauswagan where the accident happened,” the guy blurted out and demanded for my brother’s ID.

“My driver was entertaining that but I ordered him to rush here so that the child can get immediate medical attention. The life of the child was our primary concern,” he answered while handing to him his ID.

The tall guy examined my brother’s ID, looked quizzically at him, narrowed his forehead and asked: “Are you in anyway related to Willie A of MSU Naawan?”

“He is my elder brother.”

“O my God!”

He put his arm around the shoulders of my brother and immediately addressed the crowd, telling everyone that everything is Ok and to leave the stranger (my brother) alone because “I know his brother.”

I was waiting for the bus ride to Iligan after a quick change of clothing when by good fortune an unfamiliar car stopped where I was standing. The new car was owned by a son of a family friend. Thus I was in Iligan in just about an hour upon learning of the incident.

From a distance I saw my two sons talking to the insurance man and to another man whom I presumed to be the driver-owner of the Isuzu Crosswind. I approached them and introduced myself to the owner of the Crosswind.

The man was cool and composed. He showed me his driver’s license, his OR and the certificate of registration of his vehicle even without my asking.

“We are a little unfortunate today Sharif,” I declared.

“Perhaps, but only a little as you said Mr. Willie,” he replied. “To be honest, I actually consider myself fortunate because if it was I who hit your car I really don’t know where to get the money for the repair of the two vehicles. My car is not covered by a comprehensive insurance.

Only two months ago I also figured in an accident with this car while driving in Davao. Somewhere in Makilala, a big carabao suddenly crossed my path and I smashed into it. The carabao was unscathed but my car was heavily damaged. I walked the carabao to the police station nearby and requested the police chief to call for the owner of the carabao. Everyone in the community was notified to identify the carabao. No one claimed the beast. I returned the following day with a tow truck. The carabao was still in the police station ground. ‘Sir,’ the police chief told me, ‘the carabao is owned by nobody. You can bring it home.’ So the police helped me load the carabao in the tow truck. I brought it home to Tugaya and sold it for P15k. You know, I paid P80k for the repair of my car. I was still lucky I had the carabao.” He chuckled amused by his own story.

“Sharif, I am really fascinated by the way you take and handle things like this,” I told him. “You seem undisturbed by the incident. You appear to me incapable of anger. You are really different.”

“Mr. Willie,” he explained. “Nobody wants an accident. Not you and me. But you cannot avoid an accident. If it is bound to happen it will happen. Consider this: I was from Tugaya and your son was from Naawan. We did not know each other and never had an agreement to come to Iligan and arrived here today almost at the same time. There are many routes to the pier and there are other routes to the bank he was going. He chose his own route and I chose mine and we met in that intersection in a way that no one of us desired.”

“But by experience many people get mad in situation like this,” I said.

“One must be mad for the right reason and at the right time,” he mused. “To get mad you must have someone to blame and direct your ire to. But who is to blame for an incident that no one intended to do or even wished to do? Accidents might be divine jokes. This one was neither funny nor so cruel in anyway. Whatever, this is one of the things we have to accept in life.”

He gently tapped my shoulder and whispered a request: “Please put some pressure on the insurance and the repair shop to hasten the restoration of my car. This is my livelihood. I ferry passengers in groups (pakyaw) from Marawi to any parts of Mindanao. I hope I can drive this car again before Christmas or the New Year.”

I promised. The shop released his car to his satisfaction three weeks after the incident and two days before the New Year. Mine languished in the shop for another two weeks.

Dr QF Miravite, the Man and the Legend: A Close Personal Encounter

I had a love-hate-love relationship with Dr. QF Miravite.

When I arrived in MSU in 1966, Dr. QFM was already occupied with administrative functions as Vice President for Academic Affairs. He was no longer teaching but gave occasional lectures in civic and social training (CST).

One cold November at around 5 pm, the students in CST D, Current International Issues, were assembled in the gym waiting for their lecturer. It was a little dark in the gym because the busted light bulbs had not been replaced and the fog had also crept inside. Suddenly a dark smoking figure materialized in front of us and, after ascertaining that it was the gathering for CST D, started articulating on the conflict over Kashmir between India and Pakistan, the escalation of the Vietnam War, and the raging dispute between the Philippines and Malaysia over Sabah. The eternally smoking dark man in dark suit was no other than Dr. Quiterio. F. Miravite.

Dr. QFM cut quite an impression on me because of his nonchalant attitude and behavior expressed in the way he talked and bore himself. He wore a crooked smile, which came like a smirk, which put his listeners in quandary as to his seriousness of purpose. QFM was an eloquent speaker but came with a voice that was low and a little raspy probably because of the accretion of nicotine in his throat. He was puffing his cigarette with gusto while lecturing. After a while, the fog and his smoke mixed in what most likely was the first smog we knew that hovered around us for the duration of the one-hour CST session at the campus gym.

The Legend

The Miravites were a legend. Reality and myth intertwined around them. Those ahead of us on campus told us that QFM finished his Ph.D. in esoteric studies in India at age 24 and was an expert in yoga and hypnotism. They said that Rozalina, his adorable wife, the first known political activist in Marawi campus, could not have married him if she were not hypnotized by him. The Miravite couple, accordingly, had at any time a case of beer and coca cola under their matrimonial bed: the beer for smoking QFM and the coke for sweet Rosalina. Ma’am Miravite, her students claimed, would always bring with her two or more bottles of coke to her workplace. Dr. QFM had, accordingly, also a stock of beer in some cabinet of his office. He was intellectually productive, like Edgar Alan Poe, when a little tipsy, said many. That he could think and type very fast, I can vouch for it. I watched him one time typed a special order in a zip. I thought the typewriter would break into pieces when he did it.

The Master Strategist

QFM was a master strategist. His game plan was way ahead of everyone’s thought. The creation of MSU IIigan Institute of Technology (IIT) and MSU Sulu College of Technology and Ocenaography (SCTO), evidently with the blessing of President Antonio Isidro, was his branchild. He had probably foreseen that one day MSU Marawi would slowly lose its momentum for academic excellence because of the growing, pervasive and choking cultural atavism in the area that would eventually warp the vision, mission and goals of the University. At least another campus may rise from the fall, in case. The genius of QFM was manifested in the way he assured the development of the new MSU units by securing them special and reliable sources of funds. Under RA 5363, the MSU IIT was assured an annual allocation of 3 percent of the gross income from all sources of the City of Iligan for its operation and maintenance. On the other hand, MSU SCTO was to receive from the Bureau of Custom 5 percent ad valorem duty on processed imported marine products (RA 6060), collectible every end of each quarter. For whatever reason, either by new legal issuances or as a result of administrative mediocrity, MSU SCTO (now TCTO, where T stands for Tawi-tawi) stopped to receive its valorem funds after the declaration of Martial Law. And the revamp of the MSU Board of Regents after the EDSA I Revolution lost the Iliganon’s representation in the policy making body of the University and, consequently, stopped the flow of the City’s tax money to the coffer of MSU IIT.

At any rate, Dr. QFM managed to divert some funds from the ad valorem money of SCTO to finance the physical development and operational enhancement of a small marine research laboratory of the MSU College of Fisheries in Naawan, Misamis Oriental. The research lab which would be known later as the Institute of Fisheries Research and Development (IFRD), the forerunner of MSU Naawan, eventually became the birthplace of the Sugpo Revolution in the country. MSU Naawan developed the first technology in the mass production of the fry of the tiger shrimp, p. monodon, in hatcheries and their culture in brackish ponds early in the seventies. This feat of MSU Naawan was used by QFM to eventually corner and capture under MSU management the establishment of the Aquaculture Department of the Southeast Asian Fisheries Development Center (SEAFDEC AQD) in Tigbauan, Iloilo. The first wave of research workers of SEAFDEC AQD came mostly from MSU Naawan and partly from Marawi campus. The first Japanese shrimp experts conducted their preliminary production experiments at the MSU Naawan hatcheries. In 1975 when the formal management structure for SEAFDEC AQD was formally approved by its member countries, MSU’s supervision over the Aquaculture Department of SEAFDEC was ended.

Up Close and Personal

But let me backtrack a little. My first personal encounter with QFM occurred some three months after the student demonstration in August 1969 in MSU Marawi. My love for legends started to fade away.

The whole country then was wracked by student activism and the fever rubbed on us at MSU Marawi that gave birth to the Student Reform Movement (SRM). I found myself in the company of Jun Acut, Dan Lobitania, Dave Tauli, Willie Lazaro, and the late Rod Cadiente, Glenn Rosauro and Sammy Marohombsar, among others, in the frontline of the movement. The Marohombsar cousins, Rebecca and Myrna, were among our links to the Girls Dorm I can still remember. The Student Government headed by Abe Alonto joined forces with us.

The SRM led probably the longest campus demonstration and boycott of classes in the whole country at that time that lasted for 9 days, from August 6-15, 1969. It grappled on the issues and concerns that beset the scholars’ paradise: security problems – the increasing frequency of physical assault of boys’ dorm occupants, the slapping contests carried out by non-campus residents, and the thievery on campus; the inadequacy of learning materials, particularly textbooks, where in major courses only one textbook was available for some 15 students despite our textbook allowance; the invariant, almost nauseating meals in the cafeteria; the insufficient water supply whose share for the students flowed to the dorms at 12 midnight or 4 in the morning; and the low quality of health and other student services. Of course in the speeches of some student leaders, corruption in the University and the government were dished out along with the national outcry on American imperialism. I noticed along the way, however, that local campus politics took a ride on the student movement for change. The demand to oust President Isidro and QFM insidiously took the front seat of the struggle and put me in a moral dilemma because I was not personally sold to the idea. I did not believe it was necessary. Tension was mounting. The Board of Regents of the University had to hold a special meeting on campus to listen to the student’ demands and break the stalemate on the negotiation between the University administration and the student leaders in ending the boycott of classes. The Board’s chief negotiator with the students was alumni representative James Claude S. Mante. At the end of the day, President Isidro had to retire outside of schedule. QFM managed to hang on.

It was difficult to go back to study mode after about a month of freedom and disorder in one’s immediate environment. Nonetheless, I managed to pass in all my subjects and maintain my scholarship. When it was time to enroll for the second semester, I got the shock of my life: the faculty in the political science department would no longer admit me. I was given no explanation but was advised to see Atty. Jose Agbayani, the University Registrar. I went to Atty. Agbayani and was told to see Dr. Quiterio F. Miravite, the Vice President for Academic Affairs.

QFM welcomed me in his office with a handshake and his patented smile and said:

“Congratulations William. We have examined your academic records and noticed that you have already met the minimum requirements for graduation. Thus, you don’t have to enroll this semester. We have already considered your candidacy for graduation.”

I was tongue-tied for a moment. I did not expect this development. I felt, however, that I was being robbed of something. I looked at him and said: “Sir, I was able to maintain my scholarship and am still entitled to enroll this semester. There are still a lot of things that I have to learn and I will not be happy to settle with minimums.”

His reaction was immediate and furious. “Gago ka talaga. Kung hindi ka pa naman tanga, eh binibigyan na nga kita ng pabor, ayaw mo pa. Yong iba nga dyan, umiyak-iyak na, halos lumoluhod na para maka-graduate lang. At ikaw pa-ayaw-ayaw pa!”

“Sir,” I tried to reason out, “we have this scholarship contract. You can’t just dismiss it. I have the right to study and stay here for another semester.”

“The contract is subject to certain policies of the University. We have made the decision. If you insist, you can go to court,” he declared.

There was no way for me to go to court. I didn’t even have fare money to go home. At the end of the enrolment period, I went back to the Registrar and asked for development in my favor. There was none. I could not stay on campus and eat free meals without an evidence of registration for that semester. So I went back to QFM and told him that I gave up and that I was going home. But because I did not have fare money, I wanted that my travel, book allowance, and the equivalent monthly stipends for the remaining semester provided for in the scholarship contract be given to me. He agreed and in less than two hours I got my money and went home to Butuan the following day. That was how I was “kicked out” from the University and enjoyed my vacation ahead of the flock courtesy of QFM. Given this free time, I gave no second thought when invited by the junior faculty of MSU led by Yesnoy (formerly Nonoy) Macasantos to join the Movement for Better MSU (MBM). But this is another story that I may tackle in some other time.

The Encounter in Bongao

Two years later (1971), I accepted the invitation of Fred Santiago, then Director of the Sulu College of Technology and Oceanography, to help him in launching the college program in Bongao, Sulu (now Tawi-Tawi). I came to Bongao in the company of Elvira Ynion (who in two years’ time would become my wife), Corazon Uy, the late Gertrudes Licmoan, Alejandra Napil, Capistrano Tejano, Jr, Angelito Vizcara, and the late Artemio Bernardino (Dan and Helen Vicente, Manuel Lam, Ninpha Gayon, and Eldigario Gonzales followed us later). As the construction of the college buildings was still going on, we held classes temporarily at the Bongao MSU Preparatory High School and under the acacia trees. QFM was around in the first week of August 1971 to see the progress of the construction of the school buildings on campus and to serve as our guest speaker for the 2nd Founding Anniversary of SCTO on August 4, 1971. It was at this time that I heard the famous quote: “the center of gravity of MSU is everywhere and its periphery is nowhere.”

He was not in any way surprised to see me in Bongao but asked me some questions.

QFM: What are the courses assigned to you here?

WRA: I am initially hired as Teacher II. I am assigned to teach English and history subjects in fourth year high school.

QFM: You are a political science major. How do you teach English?

WRA: I want to develop my students in writing and public speaking. I have required them to keep a daily journal and I am correcting their works (sentence construction, grammar, tenses, etc.) every weekend. I am planning to come out with a student publication both for high school and college, to start in mimeographed form. To improve their public speaking ability, I have devised a draw-lot method where a student would pick up at random his topic to develop and deliver extemporaneously in 3 minutes.

QFM: Well, that is something. What do you want me to buy to enhance your teaching strategy?

WRA: A new electric mimeo machine for the student publication and a portable tape recorder with a lot of blank tapes and batteries for my public speaking classes (Bongao did not have electricity at that time but we have a generator at the Guest House).

One month later, Dir. Santiago brought with him to Bongao a new Gestetner electric mimeo machine, a portable Sony tape recorder and a Pentax SL camera for me. I immediately organized the editorial staff of the first student publication in SCTO campus, “The Sambatau (for Samal-Badjao-Tausog) Echo” and came out with our first mimeographed maiden issue at no time at all. The tape recorder was still a novelty at that time. My students were amazed and fascinated to hear their voices for the first time and were laughing at their speeches. Their shyness and apprehension gone, they started jockeying thereafter for priority position to talk extemporaneously in class.

The Encounter in Naawan

A year after the declaration of Martial Law, the local talents in Bongao wanted to run SCTO themselves. Fred Santiago returned to MSU Marawi and helped QFM in working for the establishment of SEAFDEC under the wings of MSU. Because I was critical of the way the campus was managed and was strongly identified with Fred Santiago, the new SCTO administration tried to find ways to ease me out of Bongao. One night, the MNLF assaulted Bongao and found ourselves scampering for safety. Jun Tumanda and wife, Farida Alibasa, Dan and Helen Vicente, Letty and her hubby, the late Fruc Escudero and I took refuge in Zamboanga City. When we failed to return to Bongao after two weeks because of the turmoil, the SCTO administrators terminated our employment. With the intervention of Dean Domiciano Villaluz, Pres. Mauyag Tamano reversed the action of SCTO management and facilitated the transfer of Fruc and Letty to the MSU College of Fisheries in Marawi and our (the newly-wed couples, Jun and Faring Tumanda and Willy and Bing Adan) transfer to Naawan as research assistants in May 1973. Dan and Helen Vicente would follow us soon.

In Naawan, Dean DK Villaluz made me his public relations officer and the first head of Training and Extension Program of IFRD. When MSU was finally designated by Malacanang as the implementing arm of the Aquaculture Department of SEAFDEC, Dr. Miravite came over to Naawan and sat with me to discuss a massive technology dissemination program on the culture and production of sugpo in hatchery and fishponds. He suggested that we develop a 3-day fishpond cooperators training program in collaboration with SEAFDEC Iloilo and the Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR). The concept was to train fishpond operators with their caretakers, help them develop or prepare their ponds, and give them 10,000 sugpo fry each gratis to experiment the culture of the same in their respective pond conditions. MSU Naawan researchers would monitor the physical and chemical parameters of the production experiment.

I first balked at the idea because I was quite aware that the technology in sugpo production was still immature and was in fact still a hit-and-miss thing. But it was difficult to stop QFM. You either have to move with his traffic or be pushed aside. I decided to go with him. I personally convinced myself that it would take 5 years or more for the sugpo technology to mature in our laboratories. We took the unorthodox move of involving the users in improving the technology and have this same mature in their own hands. What we did short-circuited the paradigm of existing school of thoughts on technology generation, development, dissemination and adoption. It was a gamble that became the subject of my master’s degree thesis three years later.

The fishpond cooperators program was duplicated later in SEAFDEC when it started operating its shrimp hatcheries. At the conclusion of the program, only about 5 percent of those given sugpo fry to culture in their ponds reported different levels of success. But these successful innovators would soon become the source of improved culture and production technology to the neighboring farmers. Parallel to the pond production effort, we also trained fish farmers and their technicians in the operations of shrimp hatcheries. As a result, shrimp culture became a “sunshine industry” in the country and Southeast for that matter in the late seventies to the nineties.

The Last Encounter

I suppose Dr. QF Miravite was already out of SEAFDEC but ran a consulting firm known as Bio-Resources International (BRI) which was quartered at Zeta Building in Ayala, Makati, when I paid him a visit for a personal purpose sometime in 1983. BRI’s major project at that time was the Vitali Fishpond Estate of the Southern Philippines Development Administration (SPDA). Everyone was busy in the office when I arrived. Nevertheless, Nonoy (now Yesnoy) Macansantos, BRI’s chief of staff, ushered me to the plush office of QFM. Apparently, QFM was in a foul mood that morning. When I requested him for a road-right-of-way through his lot which was adjacent to my lot in Naawan where we were constructing our house, he became unnecessarily abrasive.

QFM: Ano, hihingi ka ng road-right-of way sa akin? Kon di ka pa naman gago, bakit ka bumili ng lupa na walang madadaanan? Ang dunong-dunong mo tapos nagkaroon ka ng problemang ganyan at ipasa mo ngayon sa akin. Sayang ang dunong mo!

WRA: Hindi ko ho alam noong una, Doc, na kailangan yon pagmag-loan ka sa bangko. Akala ko noong araw pwede na yong trail or pathway para sa gawin naming bahay. Babayaran ko naman ho yong road-right-of-way. Hindi ko hinihinging libre.

QFM: Hindi ko problema yon. Nagpakatanga ka, problema mo yan.

WRA: Bakit ka naman galit sa akin? Hindi naman kita pinipilit. Kong ayaw mo di ayaw. Bibili na lang ako ng helicopter pagdating ng araw para makapasok sa lote namin.

I left him without saying goodbye. I bantered for a while with his staff some of whom were familiar to me. When I was about to leave Yesnoy came to me and asked me some details on my request. I showed him the sketch of the lot, the location and the total area of the road-right-of way, and informed him of the prevailing price of land in Naawan. We agreed that I pay double of the prevailing price. I needed 70 square meters and I was to pay P2, 800 in manager’s check for the road-right-of-way. Two days later, I returned to BRI and handed to Yesnoy the manager’s check. He handed to me the road-right-of-way instrument, which was already signed by QFM, together with the land title for annotation purposes.

In a trip to Manila sometime in the second quarter of 1987, or four years after the encounter in Makati, I learned from former SEAFDEC Chief (Jan 1983-April 1986) Dr. Fred Santiago that QFM was sick and was closeted in his condo (Sunset Condominium) in Roxas Blvd. Jun Tumanda was with me at that time and we decided to pay him a visit.

Our arrival in his condo was unannounced. When he opened the door he was so surprised and pleased to see us. He was unnaturally warm in welcoming us. He gave us a hug and immediately offered us a choice of drinks. We settled for orange juice. Apparently, QFM was sorting his papers when we arrived and these were scattered on the table and on the floor. Then he smiled and walked towards the table and pulled out a document and said: “Willy, look, I have still here your manager’s check for the road-right-of-way.” He giggled as he handed me the check stapled on the land title.

That was the last time I saw the real man and the legend I learned to love again.


William R.Adan
AB Political Science, Batch 1966
MSU Marawi