An ode to the imprisoned writer

MANILA, Philippines - Pablo Neruda once wrote a song of protest for the labor workers and the oppressed peoples of Chile. The men and women of his country were pushing for a genuine socialist society, having lived long enough under the iron fists of President Gonzalez Videla, an extreme rightist. The song was so popular that it became an anthem in every mobilization against the Chilean government.

The story goes that the young Neruda joined a rally and heard his song being sung by a group of protesters. He told them, “I wrote that song.”

One of the protesters went up to him and said, “My friend, that song was sung by my grandfather’s grandfather. You cannot have written it. It’s in our blood as Chilean people.” And with that, Neruda smiled and felt fulfilled.

This is every writer’s dream: to write something powerful enough that their words outlive their names.

Much to our dismay, however, writing never comes easy. Some writers choose to write about the importance of dating a man who owns a car; about their grades in relation to their fashion sense; about cutesy, sitting-pretty articles of their first jeepney ride. Those who do remember to live and write with passion, unfortunately, get imprisoned.

Last Nov. 15, the Philippine Center of International PEN (Poets & Playwrights, Essayists, Novelists) celebrated the International Day of the Imprisoned Writer. To commemorate this, Supreme lists down a few writers who've fought the good fight with their pens, and have landed in jail for their courage.

The thought that the government can put people in jail for our ideas places us all in a metaphorical prison. What security do we have when we can get detained for our beliefs — the things we write and live for?

Amado V. Hernandez (National Artist for Literature)

The writer of Mga Ibong Mandaragit wrote portions of his novel on small pieces of paper, brought in and out of his cell by his wife, Atang dela Rama, National Artist for Theatre, Dance, and Music. They had to hide the notes from soldiers; Hernandez was kept in jail for helping labor leaders struggle for genuine land reform in the 1960s. Only after five years was he released on bail.

Ditto Sarmiento

In 1975, Abraham Sarmiento Jr., also known as Ditto Sarmiento, became editor in chief of The Philippine Collegian, the University of the Philippines’ student publication. He was known to have penned the lines “Kung hindi tayo kikilos, sino ang kikilos? Kung di tayo kikibo, sino ang kikibo? Kung hindi ngayon, kailan pa?”

A year later with his appointment as The Philippine Collegian’s EIC, he earned Defense Minister Enrile’s ire. He was imprisoned a few weeks later (by no less than future Senator Panfilo Lacson) for his editorials. He was kept in prison for six months where he developed an advanced stage of asthma. A year after his release, this illness cost him his life.

Jose F. Lacaba

Also known as Pete Lacaba, he gained popularity by writing scripts that staunchly criticized the Marcos dictatorship. These films included Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim (1984) directed by Lino Brocka, and Sister Stella L. (1984) directed by Mike de Leon. This also earned him time behind bars.

With Imelda Marcos present in one of his privilege speeches as National Artist for Literature, Nick Joaquin emphasized how much freedom meant for artists. In his speech, he demanded Lacaba’s release. Afterwards, Joaquin was never invited to speak at any more of the Dictator’s events.

Ericson Acosta

Imprisoned Feb. 13, 2011, Ericson Acosta was detained (rather ironically) for researching on human rights violations and environmental issues in Calbayog, Samar. While Philippine Law states that one can be held for only 180 days during pretrial detention, 19 months have passed and the Philippine Commission on Human Rights, the Department of Justice, — moreover President Aquino — have all been mum on his case or his release.

The President has even labeled information on political detainees as mere “leftist propaganda.”

Acosta sits and writes in his cell in Calbayog sub-provincial jail in Samar, leaving his wife and child in Manila. His imprisonment, however, hasn’t destroyed his fighting spirit. In his own words (from his poem Pambihira):

Magtagumpay kaya ako sa pambihirang panukalang ito? Hmmm… Di pwedeng hindi Di pwedeng hindi

Time and time again, we’ve been conditioned to believe that the pen is mightier than the sword. But it’s not. The two of them are just as cunning, just as dangerous. And as long as those above keep writers imprisoned, the sword cheats the pen. Now, I refuse to submit to that bullshit.

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