In 1968, something happened in Loyola Heights, Quezon City. In her biography-in-progress with her father as subject, the episode is recounted by Elyrah Salanga, daughter of the late great writer Alfrredo Navarro Salanga, and now an associate professor at the Filipino department of UP Diliman:
“Sa Ateneo, noong mga panahong iyon, ipinagbabawal ang magsalita ng Tagalog. Pinagbabayad ang sino mang lumabag dito. Hindi na ito malintana ng marami sapagkat halos lahat ng mga mag-aaral noon ay galing sa de buena familia....
“Pumasok si Tatay sa Ateneo na may kursong AB Humanities. Sa kanyang pagpasok, hindi pa rin naglaho ang mithiin niyang maging isang manunulat at makata. Sa katunayan, kinikilala niya ang reputasyon at kredibilidad ng Ateneo sa paglinang sa mga manunulat at tagahanga ng sining.
“... Kahit aktibo si Tatay sa iba’t ibang organisasyon sa paaralan, hindi niya tinalikuran ang kanyang hilig sa pagsulat. Sumulat siya ng mga malikhaing akda, partikular ng mga tula, sa literary folio ng Ateneo, ang Heights....
“Bukod sa mga malikhaing akda, sumusulat rin siya sa The Guidon, ang opisyal na pahayagan ng paaralan.... Sa panahong nagsusulat siya bilang features writer, nayanig ang pamunuan ng Ateneo sa paglathala ng manipestong ‘Down From The Hill.’
“Ang manipesto ay isang panimulang pag-aaral at pag-aanalisa sa kalikasan at balakid ng Filipinisasyon sa Ateneo. Isinulat nina Jose Luis ‘Linggoy’ A. Alcuaz, junior AB; Gerardo ‘Gerry’ J. Esguerra, junior AB; Emmanuel ‘Eman’ F. Lacaba, junior AB; Leonardo ‘Leony’ Q. Montemayor, junior BS; at ni Tatay na senior AB. Ginamit nila ang talinghaga ng burol bilang imahen ng mayayaman sa lipunang nagsasamantala sa mahihirap, tulad ng mga Heswita at dayuhang naninilbihan sa Ateneo....
“Naging kontrobersyal ang paglathala ng ‘Down from the Hill’ dahil sa mga agam-agam na idinulot ng manipesto sa administrasyon at sa mga magulang ng ilan sa mga Atenistang mag-aaral.... (B)inansagan ang grupo bilang mga komunista....
“Buong semestre ang ipinataw na suspensiyon... kay Tatay sa pangunguna nito sa manipesto. Gayunman, ibinaba na lamang ito sa isang linggo nang umapela si Lola sa mga Hesuwita.”
It wasn’t long after that I found myself in the regular company of Freddie Salanga (who would be my good friend, colleague and neighbor at UP/Teachers’ Villages for years), Eman Lacaba and Linggoy Alcuaz on weekends spent with Tikoy Aguiluz at the latter’s place on Panay Avenue. But that’s another story, more of an immersion into zany existentialism.
It’s more important now to share the keynote speech delivered recently by honoree Howie G. Severino, another Atenean, at the 9th Raul L. Locsin Awards for Student Journalism held at the Loyola Heights campus on May 23. I give the rest of this space to Howie.
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Coming down from the Hill
By Howie G. Severino
Congratulations to the award winners.
Now that you’re on top of the hill, so to speak, let me tell you, it’s all downhill from here.
But that doesn’t mean it gets worse, it only gets better… if you pay your dues. And in journalism, you pay it with sweat, time and a willingness to experience the world as few others will ever experience it.
At the Ateneo of course, going downhill, or down from the hill, has a well-known connotation that doesn’t need repeating here. But it has a special connotation for campus journalists. Those of us who feel we were born to be journalists have naturally restless souls. So three or four years of covering school events and a generally tranquil campus have probably made you realize what a tiny, tiny part of the world it is. And you’re dying to burst out of it and cover the world.
I’ve been there, done that, starting out like you, a campus journalist who couldn’t wait to engage the larger world. But when I got out of school, the same year that Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, I was so eager I tried to do everything at once. I was a teacher and activist, a writer and photographer who liked shooting protest rallies because I was sure of finding both action and pretty activists inside my frames.
There was one rally in 1985 that I remember well because it happened right outside Gate 2 of this campus… and because that was the day I ended up in jail and eventually solitary confinement. Student activists had barricaded Katipunan and no traffic could pass; anti-riot police had arrived. I had my trusty Mamiya, my first stills camera. (Does anyone here remember film?)
I was shooting the speeches of the student leaders… when all hell broke loose. Tear gas was fired and police charged with batons and M16s as the rally was violently dispersed. I could hardly see anything through the tear gas but I kept shooting… with my camera, of course.
The police were apparently ordered to arrest the leaders, but they were gone in a flash. Instead, the police found someone who did not run and had the semi-nerdy look of someone who could have passed as a student leader: me.
The police hauled me off to Camp Karingal, where the charge sheet said that I was the leader of the whole band of barricaders, even if I didn’t know any of them and wasn’t familiar with any of the protest chants that the charge sheet said I was leading.
Luckily, the police did not succeed in opening my camera to expose the film, and my pro bono lawyers got it back with the film intact. The pictures became my proof that I was indeed just shooting… and not leading the rally. After being accused of being a communist and a subversive, I was released eight days later, luckier than many who didn’t survive martial law’s abominations.
The moral of this story? I’m not sure if there is one. All I know is that when Marcos was kicked out and Cory Aquino took over, anyone who had spent any amount of time in a Marcos jail suddenly wore an invisible badge of honor. That was the time I became convinced that the front lines of history were where I wanted to spend a career.
It was also one of my first adventures with a camera. I am still shooting, the cameras have just gotten bigger and so has my world.
It’s not just the adventure that attracts me to this profession. It’s the variety, knowing that I could be interviewing a senator and a farmer on the same day and treating both with the same respect… and being respected by both.
It’s the surprise and revelation at the end of a quest, like what I experienced less than a month ago in Sagada, where I was drawn by the legend of a black stallion and its mares, and then seeing them galloping free on a windy plateau, proving to myself and to others that wild horses do exist in the Philippines.
It’s the duty to bear witness at dramatic events, to capture for posterity the rawest human emotions, the grief that people need to share, the simple joy of a bountiful harvest.
It’s the opportunity to tell stories for a living, and to be a living channel for passing on civilization as we know it.
But part of the attraction is also the rigorous challenge of precision. It’s the adrenalin rush of getting the facts, getting them right… and getting them fast.
It’s the act of will of working all night in a rainy place with no electricity or counting dead bodies when their stench makes you feel like throwing up.
Beyond all that, the greatest attraction of journalism to me is it enables someone without wealth to make a large impact on society. All you need is skill and ideas. You don’t even need experience.
This is where I go back to campus journalism. I’m not sure if you all know about it, but this year marks the 40th anniversary of an important event at the Ateneo. 1968 was a big year for political movements all over the world, and our university was not insulated from the turbulence.
In November 1968, The Guidon published a manifesto written by five undergraduates, including the late Freddie Salanga and the late Eman Lacaba. The manifesto was entitled “Down from the Hill.”
At that time, the Ateneo had always been led by American Jesuits since before World War II. The “Down from the Hill” manifesto boldly called for Filipino leadership at the Ateneo, Filipinizing the school, engaging the world of common people, and otherwise coming down from its perch. It was considered radical at the time, and so were its authors. Eman Lacaba eventually took his talents to the hills where he was killed. Freddie Salanga became a widely respected journalist and editor before he died at a relatively young age.
But the statement they wrote as student writers has had an impact that we feel today. Within a few years, the Ateneo did appoint its first Filipino president, philosophy and other subjects were being taught in Filipino, and social programs were created to expose cloistered students to the world down the hill. All of these aspects of campus life we now take for granted, changes that began in the minds of campus writers and journalists.
It’s part of the legacy that you take with you as Ateneo journalists, a constant reminder of the power of words and the beauty of a profession that has chosen you… as much as you have chosen it.
It’s down the hill from here. Enjoy the ride.
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(Breaking news: Just as this column was written and sent for publication last Friday, good word came that Elyrah Salanga won the NCCA Writers’ Prize for her proposed literary biography and partial manuscript titled Alfrredo Navarro Salanga: Sa Mga Pahina at Ibang Salaysay.)