Some of the best published works of Cebu’s photojournalists are currently on display in an exhibit called “Lenscape” at Paseo Solana, on the second level of Ayala Center Cebu, just above the activity center.
The exhibit will run for an entire week and is part of the celebration of the 15th Year of Cebu Press Freedom Week. The people behind the photographic works are all members of Lens, the organization of photojournalists in Cebu.
Masscom and journalism students, professional and amateur photographers and hobbyists, plain lovers of good photos, and the general public wanting to recapture some great moments in time, are encouraged to view the exhibit.
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Cebu in the early 1970s was a rather laid-back and benign place, especially for a still young lad like me. What few night spots were there were reserved only for those old enough to be fathers. Teenagers had “jam sessions” at home or bar gigs that had to end by late afternoon.
I was in one of these bar gigs when President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law on September 21, 1972. Somebody just unceremoniously stopped the music and made the announcement. Everybody almost literally flew out of that darn building to go home before darkness sets in.
I belonged to that greater segment of the youth that did not want to have anything to do with the militancy that so fired up a few of our generation. We felt there was so much about life to enjoy than waste worrying about Marcos.
We felt that Marcos, however vile, will eventually have to wither and wilt and go. And life, at least the enduring goodness and beauty of it, will pick up from where it left off and go on and what bitter experiences we learn will enrich us enough to be good citizens.
So, when the announcement was made that martial law was declared, we only understood half of what it probably meant — that soldiers would be taking over our lives. That is how utterly naive we were. On the other hand, with martial law, what more was there to understand?
Not knowing what it truly meant added to the panic. There is so much in not knowing that drives people nuts. The impossibility of grasping, in those first few minutes, the extent of what martial law would mean to our lives, there was only one immediate concern that hit us.
And that was to get home as quickly as possible. Everybody was talking about the curfew and how we would all end up in detention if we get caught. Boy, was there a mad dash for every available means of transportation. We were all scurrying around like severely agitated ants.
Most people in the early 1970s took the jeepney. It was a time when taxis only had two main purposes — to bring someone to the hospital or to bring someone to the airport or port. But when martial law was declared, even taxis became scarce. I ran all the way to Mandaue.
That is, of course, a lie. But I did get to run half of the way because I managed to get a jeepney ride already in Mabolo, near where the Pepsi plant was. When your freedom was at stake, you did not stay rooted where you are. You run.
But as I said, we were of the positive kind. No sense going to the hills if you can skip rope in the lowlands. The game of life is played not with anger and violence but with smarts. It is a pity there were those who learned too late you cannot put a tag on principles.
People eventually learn to cope with and surmount adversity. Even the dreaded curfew was no match for human ingenuity. To have a night life and still beat curfew, we stayed the night at Cosmopolitan Funeral Homes and got wiser by endless “wake tales” with snacks to boot.
And we did our bit at helping fight crime, if order was truly the issue of the day. We would bait passing Constabulary patrols by staying up late and then run the chasing constables straight to where secret gambling dens were being operated.
Looking back now, I find my memories of martial law to be quite different from those of others, leaving me to wonder whether I should be ashamed of myself to have not suffered the way others did.
I decided it was neither wrong nor dishonorable not to suffer during martial law. The absence of painful memories does not make me less of a man than others. I believe adversity is not enough reason to paint life black.