History, sentimentality & Fort Boni
I wake up every morning and say “Thank God, I’m alive.” I’ve been blessed with another day and yesterday I was spared from misfortune; and last night, I had neither dark dismay nor horror.
Like the day before, a month ago, and today — I live history while at work in Fort Bonifacio. I look around and see the flat buildings built in 1968. One is the dispensary, another is the library, then the administrative services, and down the long road, more offices. Considering the buildings are 40 years old, they have survived storms, intense heat and the strides of students.
I work in the last property of Fort Bonifacio surrounded by nature. It is but a matter of time before a whole new institution moves out of this 7.5-hectare government property to give way to Megaworld’s development. It may be our last Christmas party here. I’ve been praying that this coming New Year, the Three Kings would find a new location for a school that’s been in existence since 1968 — when Fort Bonifacio was still a part of Makati, and the school was named National Capital Regional Training Center — like how they found Jesus in the manger.
It may not be meaningful to you, but Filipino and American soldiers toiled protecting our country at Fort Bonifacio prior to World War II. The Americans gave up Camp Crame for the Filipino servicemen and moved to Fort Bonifacio, believing the Japanese cannons from their warships would not reach Fort Boni. This was part of the “War Plan Orange” conceived by Gen. Douglas McArthur on behalf of the American Armed Forces. Twenty-five years later, when it was still a camp, police recruits were turned over to the Commandant, Police Col. Levy D. Macasiano.
I must introduce you to some areas of the old Fort Bonifacio. If you enter through Kalayaan Gate I, you will chance upon the Philippine Army Custodial Cell and St. Michael Parish Church. Beside both is a three-foot-wide canal filled with running water from the Pasig River. Once, a battalion commander jumped into the canal and the rest, well, followed their leader. Everyone waded in the muddy canal in their boots and fatigues so when the sun rose, the como-greens were caked and stiff. Upon reaching the end of the canal, each student walked like a duck towards the gate of the now Philippine Public Safety College until they reached the college hall. In front, everybody had to lie down and roll like a barrel. The exercises were to test the recruits’ determination. Did they really want to belong to the uniformed rank-and-file? Were they fit to undergo the four-month rigid training for their basic course?
Between 1986 and 1989, the military attempted a takeover of the National Capital Regional Training Command during several coup attempts against the Cory Aquino government.
Every night at 6 p.m., I am distracted from my work as I listen to the bells of the St. Michael Chaplaincy calling the faithful to recite the Angelus. As children, didn’t we stop playing at 6 p.m. when we heard the bells ring? Marybeth and I even knelt in the grass by the fountain in our aunt’s house as the Singalong Church bells rang. St. Michael in 1961 was a tiny white church under the Military Ordinariate and eventually became under the Archdiocese of Pasig City. There was an oval called, naturally, the Camp Bonifacio Oval Ground in 1975. It was the favorite venue for various sports competitions within the Armed Forces of the Philippines for Philippine Constabulary 2nd lieutenants probationary officers. Round and round the officers ran to gain stamina and esprit de corps. Now it is an abandoned property that’s spooky enough for a pictorial.
The Bureau of Immigration and Deportation Custodial Center was located right in front of the gate of the balcony I’m standing on. It was an empty lot for so long that cars would park here before the cranes filled it up with mounds of earth from the digging next door for a basement parking. The Custodial Center was where apprehended illegal aliens were confined for the final disposition of their pending cases by the Bureau of Immigration and Deportation. On the left side once were two Philippine Merchant Marine Academy structures. There are no signs that once a government institution stood on its hilly portion and professors conducted the cadetship program of the Philippine Navy. Two years ago, the academy transferred to Zambales. In due time it, too, will be swallowed up by modernity. I called Vic Badoy of the National Historical Institute to put a marker on the National Police College. It was just 40 years old, I was informed, and markers are placed on edifices that are 50 years of age. Like the Philippine Merchant Military Academy, there won’t be a trace of the white painted hollow blocks and steel windows belonging to squat buildings just two stories high.
The Metropolitan Citizen Military Training Command, located beside the Philippine Merchant Marine Academy, was the headquarters of the former Reserve Officer Training Corps. Few will recall that this was the site of the house of the famous Japanese Imperial Army Gen. Yamashita. Market Market! and Serendra were constructed on those grounds. The location of the British School is now where the Metropolitan Citizen Military Training Command Target Range used to be.
Fort Bonifacio Army General Hospital’s patients were those soldiers wounded in the line of duty or those afflicted with health problems including their dependents. I went to that army hospital for my blood test and X-ray as a prerequisite before entering the National Defense College of the Philippines.
In that army hospital on Aug.21, 1983, at 2:30 p.m. Lupita Aquino-Kashiwara, Maur Aquino Lichauco, Ditas Rodrigo and her father Senator Soc Rodrigo went to find Ninoy Aquino. All four were barred from entering. They proceeded to get a pass from the visitors office. At the visitors lounge, when an officer said, “Magandang hapon,” Lupita answered, “Hindi maganda ang hapon. Pinatay ang kapatid ko.”
Finally, the permit came, then the usual signing of the logbook by Lupita. The others — Doña Aurora, Maur, Tessie Aquino-Oreta, Esto Lichauco and Doy Laurel — dashed ahead to the second floor of the hospital. Then Lupita heard a wail, a cry of pain and shock from her two sisters. Then it was deathly quiet.
Lupita ran up and confronted the military cameraman who recorded in video the faces and the pain the family was undergoing. She covered the camera with her hand. The sheet covering Ninoy was lifted. She saw her assassinated brother lying on a gurney — still warm. “I want his ring—where is his wedding ring—the ring he wore on his finger?” They gave it to her in a plastic bag. His rosary, too, cut in three parts.
At 7 p.m., Ninoy was brought to Loyola Memorial in Guadalupe Viejo, Makati City. Over there he was lifted onto the autopsy table. Lupita wiped his gurney with the under-sheet Ninoy lay on. It was soaking with the blood of sacrifice.
The commercialism of today has led the history of the old Fort Bonifacio to be forgotten. This place whose wide avenues were lined with acacia trees and its bungalows housed servicemen. Leases and multi-million acquisitions for stores and restaurants and condominiums floating in the sky will continue to rise 18 floors high and more. Everything today seems measured by money. No sentimentality. Tomorrow the youth will know nothing of what was…
It is up to us to remind them.
