Rebel rouser: Col. Ariel Querubin
MANILA, Philippines - So this is what a military detention cell looks like. Col. Ariel Querubin, the most decorated soldier in Philippine history, survivor — and leader — of the bloody 1989 coup attempt, life-risking hero of a 24-hour gun battle with 300 fully-armed MILF rebels in 2000, and alleged co-conspirator in the 2006 marine standoff in Fort Bonifacio, for which he is now incarcerated, sits at what I assume is the receiving area for visitors, a set of monobloc tables and chairs in a shaded area inside Camp Aguinaldo. On one side is a cement brick wall, crowned with barbed wire and bougainvillea; on the other is a basketball court, where a mutiny of turkeys have gathered under a tree, they too crowing incessantly about the heat. (Random question: Are turkeys in a detention center considered free-range?)
“I have seven children — I’m not really the one suffering,” Querubin says, offering me a cup of orange soda. “I’m used to more severe conditions out in the field. This is nothing.” He speaks quietly, humbly, with a hint of humor, nothing alluding to the warfreak he is often called, or certainly what his résumé makes him out to be. After 30-plus years dedicated to the army, Querubin is now running for senator, following in the footsteps of other prisoners who sought office from behind bars, like Antonio Trillanes and Ninoy Aquino. Why would he want to enter the dirty arena of politics, after everything he’s seen and experienced? “I’m 54. I have injuries. The remaining years of my life should be worthwhile,” he says. “I cannot forever be a rebel.”
This is not the first time he was jailed. He almost died in 1989, after being hit by a rocket — his pancreas exploded, and a portion of his left liver had to be removed, as well as six feet of small intestine. Querubin describes it almost like something out of an Oliver Stone film: “I escaped from the hospital. I lived as a fugitive, and then when I was caught, I was incarcerated.”
President Ramos granted him and his comrades amnesty in 1992, and Querubin returned to the military mainstream, satisfied with the improvements in the armed forces that Ramos initiated. However, as time went by, the same old things that bothered the brass began to return. “You can see that we’re here again,” he points out. “If I were around during Oakwood, I probably would have been jailed together with them.”
He begins with what caused everything: the 2004 elections. He was superintendent of the training center for the Marine Corps at the time, and the “repository for all the reports of military personnel involvement in election fraud. I received firsthand information, from those who were involved, or those who were witnesses.” He relayed the information to the chain of command. Nothing was done. He sought help from the chair of the defense committee. Nothing happened, except that he and his men started being tailed and pressured. Querubin was already brigade commander when the melodious strains of “Hello Garci” rang out, revealing electoral cheating in Tawi Tawi, Marawi and other ARMM provinces. “Lahat sila nan doon sila nandaya,” he says of the tapes. “The officers were so agitated, and wanted to join the protest march. I went to Gen. Miranda and asked, ‘What do we do?’”
On Feb 26, 2006, Gen. Miranda was mysteriously relieved of his position and replaced by Gen. Allaga, thus triggering the Querubin-led standoff. The colonel called on civilians to protect him and a few hundred Marine troopers; the standoff ended seven hours later when Allaga announced, “I am now the authority.”
Querubin along with 27 other officers were arrested (12 have since been released). He muses at the irony of it all. “The one provision granted by the Medal of Valor is that the government should pay respect to the recipient. And this is how they show respect?”
Col. Ariel Querubin for Senator” is catching up in the surveys, and doing quite well, despite his being locked up, despite his inability to join senatorial debates or go on campaign sorties. This is because, in his stead, Querubin’s family has taken up the cross. Martin Querubin is only 23 years old, and has given speeches to an audience of 30,000 people, hangs out on the trail with Sen. Villar (Querubin is on the Nacionalista Party ticket) and worries about his younger siblings, who are being exposed to behind-the-scenes politicking at way too early an age.
Martin, a former political science undergrad at Ateneo and now a UP Law student, focuses on campaign strategy while his mother, Pong Querubin, takes charge of production, materials and logistics. The rest of the family, the youngest of whom is nine, helps out in whatever way they can, writing letters or just telling their father’s story. “It’s a learning process,” Martin says, visibly tired from the constant traveling, speaking, shaking of hands. We are realities away, in the reassuringly generic ambience of a Starbucks. “All of us have become better persons in the end. It’s my younger brother’s first time to really witness poverty, to see it in its multitude. You can’t not think of your responsibilities anymore. It’s both a privilege to witness, but it’s also a responsibility.”
Putting one’s whole family out there perhaps gives a more complete glimpse of the candidate than the candidate can ever reveal about himself. That they are the ones making a commitment on their father’s behalf, sacrificing play time, barkada time, and the usual trappings of youth in order to face the entire nation shows that they truly believe in their father. What father would let his kids down after that? “If he fails the people, he will be failing us,” says Martin.
The Ariel Querubin for Senator movement is, in many respects, a youth movement. The announcement broke out on Facebook, like most news of modern relationships. A bunch of Martin’s friends from Ateneo started Facebook pages for Querubin, which quickly drew many fans. “Most of the young people here are looking for heroes, models of selflessness and patriotism,” Martin says. “It’s hard to believe that he chose to leave a promising career, take the road less traveled and stand by his principles. It takes a courageous individual to do that.”
Martin himself feels that the road he’s traveling — even though it’s only three months long — is changing his life. He can’t seem to find things to talk about with his friends anymore, after being on the road with 50-year-old candidates who have significantly different concerns. He says he misses those days of simply being a student: “I hope I can go back — but it’s difficult to unlearn the things you learn.” Incidentally, he relates that Gilberto Teodoro always admonishes him to return to law school. “Pressure from Gibo! From the campaign to the books! Oh my God!”
The former rebel, military adventurer and mutineer’s plan is simple and straightforward: “My main constituents are the uniformed service men: the police, the PNP, armed forces, coast guard. I want to institutionalize a magna carta of benefits. I am for the modernization of the armed forces, but first, our soldiers. A soldier can have a nice gun, but if his family is sick and can’t afford medicine, he’s going to think of selling his gun. What’s the point of having a nice tank when the person driving it has low morale?”
The colonel obviously knows what he’s talking about. Because of his numerous medals, his children have all been able to go to good schools, but as a full colonel, he received a P900 allowance for quarters, a P240 monthly combat pay, and a P90 subsistence allowance — which, he quips, is barely enough for a McDo value meal. “Ito ang halagaan ng buhay namin sa field. Ganoon ang buhay ng sundalo.”
And we wonder why there is so much corruption, and so many insurgencies.
The father has sacrificed much in service to the country. He’s missed practically all his children’s milestones, from communion to graduation. And yet they’ve understood from the start what his imprisonment means. He proudly lists his kids’ achievements, and is delighted that they wear “Free My Dad” shirts while on campaign. “Okay sila. They’re not really affected. They don’t even have money,” he shares, recalling how he refused to be the disciplinarian at home, since he barely got to spend time with the children, and when he did, he would rather leave them with good memories. “Leadership really begins at home. When I see my kids well-behaved, maybe maayos naman ako na tatay.”
