Of icons, feminism and a few good men

(Remembering Chadli Molintas)

In my life, I have known a few good people that I have put up as my icons, deconstructed as I grew and matured, de-mythified, and yet remain always in my mind’s eye as models, as reminders to live my life to the fullest and hold on to my own set of principles.

Three of them are women. 

In fact, in times of crisis and difficulty, I turn to my memories of these icons,  remembering that my life has been basically transformed by three good women and, well, a baby.

The three women are writers—but not only.  They are writers par excellance, passionate journalists, crusaders, hopeful humans (quite a feat in this cynical world). They are spirited and strong, they are nurturing mothers, daughters and wives.

One of these women I know, not only in her professional capacity. She is, until today, my confidant, patiently listening to my woes—and now with the distance brought by my work here in Baguio—reading and responding to my long letters written as sputtering attempts to keep that literary engine somewhat oiled despite the load of work and mommy-ing, or written to unload  in my favorite confessional style. 

This woman nurtured me through many heartaches and disappointments, mothered me, cheered me on,  healed my broken wings, and witnessed me take flight.

Apart from these three women, there are countless other women that I see around me who are icons-in-the making.  I suppose it is the difficulty of life as a woman that forces many of them to transcend, and then shine. 

BUT in my life there too, have been a few good men. 

Some of them I got to meet, up close and personal.  The others, I have only met once or twice,  but their lives were with lived with such brilliance, even their memories are so bright, like a moth I am caught hovering close by.

It is said that the light that shines brighter, shines shorter, too.  Of the men I admire, two of them lived lives so brilliant, that they were snuffed out so early.  One of them is Lean Alejandro, one of them was my uncle.

Arguably the brightest in a family of intelligent people, Tombol was once a hopeful engineer who entered the College of Engineering of country’s premier state university in the late 70s—no mean feat considering the difficulty of entering UP Diliman, being accepted into a quota course, and on a scholarship at that. 

Like many UP students, he was soon caught up in the swirl of activism. But unlike many of them who soon graduated into more sedate but easy (and lucrative) paths (a few of them now in high places in government, eating their words), this young man put his money where his mouth was. Or, more aptly, having no money, he put his talents—and eventually his very life—where his mouth was:  he acted on his beliefs.  Truly, he lived a life like a true Iskolar ng Bayan.

I never really got to know him when he was alive, being years younger than him.  But in my years in the NGO circle and in media (into where a lot of activists graduate) I have met many of his kindred spirits (a few classmates here, a few who worked with him at various stages of his life) who told me little stories. Some of these stories make him out to be larger than life, others show his essential humanity.  He was not, after all, just an activist, a propagandist and red fighter caught up in his ideals.  He was also a young man, awkward, funny at times, often with a carefree streak, and a few quirks--like an aversion to water in contrast to his wife who reportedly took hours bathing, even in the “field.”

Slowly, the stories about Chadli come to me,  like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  Perhaps one day I will be able to piece them together and write the story that will do justice to his life.

FIFTEEN years ago, this young man was brutally shot down along the tri-boundaries of Abra, Ilocos Sur and Benguet. Reports had it that he was part of a rebel team that conduced an operation against the military.  But the truth is, he was not even armed enough to be part of an operation.  (*its twenty years ago, today)

His death made him larger than life: one of the many martyrs the Cordillera region sacrificed to the fire of the historical struggle to defend ancestral lands and ways of life.  In time, an entire rebel brigade was named after him: The Chadli Molintas brigade.

Chadli was not only intelligent.  He was a deep thinker, and he loved discourse.  Thus, I often wonder, what he would have thought about many developments in the region, in the country, in the world—from profound to trivial?   What would he have thought about the San Roque Dam, for instance?  About new developments in the UN on human rights?  The events after the 1992 Environmental Summit?  The Indigenous People’s Rights Act? Internet? Texting? PA Diaz?

Sadly, we will never know.  Such a brilliant intellect, snuffed out so early.  But then again it was his life—and death—that contributed, in no small measure, to the many hopeful changes in this country and region. And contributed to the lives of the people who were touched by his life.

* * *

Last Friday was the birthday of one of my icon-uncles, and yes, this is a shameless plug. 

Admirable for his keen intellect, energetic pursuit of a thousand and one projects, and his crusading stance in his chosen field (law), card-playing skills, charisma and influence and well, looks, he is even more touchingly admirable for being the family man that he is.  He is also one of the most fair and just persons I know, a diplomat that knows how to play hard ball with the people who deserve it—truly quite a combination.

I do wish uncle joe will run for congress again next elections. Hopefully, senate so that indigenous issues will get mainstreamed. What about it, Uncle Joe?

http://www.law.arizona.edu/journals/ajicl/AJICL2004/Vol211/Molintas.pdf

(the original text was written in July 2002)