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YOU AIN'T IN KANSAS, AND I'LL TAKE THEM SHOES!
"The old doctor…with a certain eagerness asked me
whether I would let him measure my head… 'I
always ask leave, in the interest of science, to measure
the crania of those going out there,' he said. 'And
when they come back, too?' I asked. 'Oh I never see
them,' he remarked; 'and, more over, the changes
take place inside, you know.'"
-Joseph Conrad, 'Heart of Darkness'; 1899.
In the late 70's Francis Ford Coppola was in the Philippines filming his version of 'Heart of Darkness' as the Vietnam War epic 'Apocalypse Now'. It was the reign of Ferdinand Marcos and the unforgettable scenes of the helicopter attack were filmed using the Philippine air force which was continuously being called away to fight rebel guerrillas--N.P.A., New Peoples Army--in the mountains.
During the Philippine-American War (1899-1902) Filipino guerillas attacked the 9th Infantry Regiment of the U.S. army at Balangiga, a town in Samar province, on September 27, 1901. Of the 74 soldiers stationed there more than half were killed. In retaliation, Brigadier General Jacob Smith ordered that Samar be made "A howling wilderness. I want no prisoners. I wish you to kill and burn, and the more you kill and burn the better you will please me. I want all persons killed who are capable of bearing arms in actual hostilities against the United States." He set the minimum age limit at ten. The American press had a field day with this and he was subsequently cashiered from the forces.
"Exterminate all the brutes!" -Kurtz.
The last time the island of Leyte had seen battle was World War II, in fact the largest navel battle of the war was fought off the coast, the place MacArthur "returned" to. The other thing Leyte is famous for is the San Juanico Bridge. The 28-year-old "S" shaped bridge is aprox. 2 km in length the longest in Southeast Asia, connecting the islands of Leyte and Samar. (The 3rd thing Leyte is famous for is home to Imelda Marcos, but that has nothing to do with this story.) It's not unusual for people from Samar to walk across the San Juanico to look for work in Leyte. In the 1980's one young girl came to the door of my parents-in-law, she had only the clothes on her back, and was hired as a maid. She was a good worker but had a peculiar habit of running & hiding under the dinning room table whenever she heard a helicopter.
"Save me!--save the ivory, you mean. Don't tell me. Save me!
Why, I've had to save you. You are interrupting my plans now.
Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe. Never
mind. I'll carry my ideas out yet--I will return. I'll show you
what can be done. You with your little peddling notions--you
are interfering with me. I will return. I...." -Kurtz.
After Samar was declared a Howling Wilderness the island closed in on it self. Long after the Americans had gone, after the Japanese had been forced out, the people of Samar were distrustful of outsiders, not just foreigners but anyone outside. The 3rd largest island it still has vast untouched wilderness, tribal peoples will ghost out of the jungle into villages whenever they feel they need to trade, then disappear again. It was also a perfect hiding place for guerrilla soldiers during the Marcos regime. You see when the Huey gun ships that were used in 'Apocalypse Now' were called away they went to places like Samar where their mission was to arbitrarily strafe N.P.A. rebels with .50 caliber bullets that could literally cut a person in two, civilian casualties were sad but expedient. Thus the reason my parents-in-law's maid hid under a table whenever she heard helicopters.
Many members of the New Peoples Army were graduates of the University of the Philippines, idealists who wanted to end government corruption. After the Marcos regime fell the N.P.A. became less political and fell more to banditry in order to survive. While N.P.A. bands are scattered through out the islands, living deep in the bush, the island of Samar is a haven for many, as the xenophobic Samarans know of every stranger that enters their vast domain. It was not uncommon for a farmer to go to his fields one day and find boots hanging from a tree, looking up he would find men dressed in fatigue jackets & bush hats, wearing shorts & sandals, all carrying M16 rifles. The farmer would then be told that the fields belonged to them & if he wanted to work them he would have to pay. Thus many Samarans trek across the San Juanico Bridge looking for work. My father-in-law was a teacher, principal and eventually retired as Minister of Education for the provinces of Leyte & Samar. As it was part of his district he decided to inspect the area. No Minister had ever gone to visit Samar, they were afraid. After a time the little delegation began to realize they were not alone; shadows could be seen drifting between the trees. Whispers of "The Nice People Around" spread. What did the N.P.A. want, was murder on their mind or kidnapping? Government employees don't make much. After a time one guerrilla stepped from the jungle to confront my father-in-law. It turned out he was a former student who liked my father-in-law, word had reached the guerrilla band that Mr. Teacher was in the area, and so they took it upon themselves to act as bodyguards making sure that nothing would happen to him or his delegation.
Martin Sheen looks out his hotel window and says the opening line of 'Apocalypse Now', "Saigon. Shit." Of course he's looking at Manila. 2003 my fifth trip to Philippines in ten years. A shroud of dust & pollution hangs on the city as something you can taste. Imagine the worst rush hour traffic imaginable--now double it. Take away rules, politeness, and sanity. A four lane highway becomes six as lane markers are meaningless. There is no right of way--size matters. Everyone pushes; no one gives way. Ingenious Filipinos took W.W. II jeeps, pumped them full of steroids and created public transit; great shining steel, cartoon embellished passenger carriers, 25 people crammed inside with more hanging out the back for dear life. Huge reinforced steel bumpers like the prow of a ship, push through the never-ending stream of traffic. The undisputed king of the road is the cross-country bus. They go where they will and are always given way--or you will be crushed. Zipping in between them all are the tricycles. Motorbikes with sidecars, three people can comfortably fit inside, eight with people behind the driver, and the kids on the roof with the chickens. An hour and a half drive that can take up to four hours; my sister-in-law sits in back, her leg pumping the air as if she could brake as small children, adults & livestock suddenly dart onto the highway.
I say my parents are worried about me coming here. "Why?" My relatives ask puzzled. "Bombings, kidnappings, coup d'état, usual stuff that makes the news." They laugh--It's the Philippines! "Don't worry that's some place else," they tell me then turn around and say, "You want to go outside and walk around, are you crazy?" All Filipino homes are a man's castle. Well fortified behind iron gates and concrete walls topped with cemented in broken glass or upright rusty nails. You don't trust your neighbours, especially if they're family. It's the last two days of Aug. and already the malls are playing Christmas carols.
We flee to the peace and quiet of Leyte, the middle of the country. Here I feel I've arrived home, sky is blue, green fields & palms, smell of the ocean, nipa huts, water buffalo plod along. The only stench that of rotting vegetation & durian and that's okay with me. I take my watch off, time doesn't exist here; eventually someone will tell me what day our flight leaves.
When tired of eating rice, dried crunchy fish, pig's blood & fat, I open one of the boxes of Kraft dinner I've brought. Cousins look on as I eat my "mac. & cheese" as if it were the most revolting stuff they've ever seen!
Night, I switch on the light; a 2-inch cockroach stops in mid-scuttle across the bed, turns & gives me the finger before continuing on his way. My wife shrugs and turns the fan on high, tells me their afraid of the fan. I spend the night rolling over expecting to find Him staring back at me, I know he's there in the dark waiting…
My sister-in-law (her name means Light) has come home after 10 years; she's been a nurse in New York the past 20. She's decided to buy beachfront property for her retirement and build a resort--"Paradise Light!" She was married once and divorced, both in New York. The kicker is she married a guy from her hometown and had a church wedding in that town. Now lucky for her her brother is a lawyer; he asks if she had been legally married in Philippines, a Catholic country with no divorce. If she was then her legal name--the name that would appear on the deed--would be her ex-husband's, he can then step in and take the property. The fix? Her brother puts his name on the deed.
Kidnapped. Light tells my wife and I we're going to Marjorie's Garden. Okay, I say. What do I care as long as I get to go somewhere! Too long trapped behind iron gates and silenced in the isolation of the native tongue, a dialect literally meaning "Nothing Nothing." We head toward San Juanico Bridge. We pass over it. Now Marjorie is a retired American married to a Filipino who built a coffee shop atop a mountain a quarter mile or so from the bridge, but we just keep going--deeper into Samar. My parents-in-law are very protective never let me go beyond the fortified house never mind to this place. That's why Light told them Marjorie's Garden, I was being kidnapped, taken to her piece of "paradise" on the sea, miles from San Juanico Bridge, the only way back.
"The horror! The horror!" -Kurtz.
It's hot. There's only two seasons: hot and hot & wet. Heat pushes me down in my seat, baking my brain; I swill warm mineral water and watch the world blur passed the open jeep. Head swimming, we speed along concrete roads slowing only to scale Samaran feats of engineering: bridges built 10-inches above the road, with some asphalt slapped in as a kind of ramp, if you don't know the road and slow you'll be air borne! As we cross I look along the green murky river, palm fronds hiding the shore on both sides. Cool peaceful, I wonder what lies further up, to take an outrigger and paddle… No, not Conrad's Belgian Congo of the 1890's, nor were there Viet Cong waiting around the bend, this isn't Vietnam, no war, this is Philippines. Warm and friendly people almost to a fault; the late 19th Century writer & freedom fighter José Rizal once recorded his observations of the Spanish as bragging that they savored & abused Filipino hospitality, but that they fell victim to the wiles of Filipino women. I keep this in mind as we speed through towns where every eye falls on me; I stand out shining white. I try to keep this in mind as people dressed in only ragged shorts watch with out smiles. Every male adult I see, without exception, has a long slim blade in a wooden scabbard tied around his waist or slung across his back with a piece of string. What would happen if we stopped? "You ain't in Kansas, Dorothy, and I'll take them shoes!" No this isn't Kansas; this is the Howling Wilderness. The omnipresent sun beams down as if I was a bug beneath a glass. I feel my skin turn red, start to crackle and crisp like the roast pig they love so much. We pass a kid on a bike wearing a camouflage hat. He could have got it any where…did he have a brother living deep in the bush, a secret tattoo on his tongue to show his N.P.A. band? Or is that just stories? I do know it's not so easy to get out. One came to my brother-in-law the lawyer; he was willing to testify in exchange for a pardon. Lawyer politely turned him away fearing reprisal from the band against himself or his family. Mother-in-law looks at pictures of the 2 hectares of white sand, rock and jungle her daughter purchased; her hair rises up, prickling. Spirits, she says, plenty of spirits, a witch doctor needs to be brought in before any construction can begin. Light guides us down the winding rugged road, jungle closing in from the sides, rock face to the left, an occasional glimpse of ocean from the right. The green is pale from dust going back dark, deep from the road or up inclining toward mountains, miles of inland mountains. A break in the trees as suddenly a house appears, bare dirt, bamboo floors & plank walls, chickens, pigs and naked children. Blades step without warning from the green! Of course that's why they carry such knives, these men hack their living out of the forest, lumber, reeds for roofing, copra for charcoal, most of what they need grows there. Have I become Marlow looking into the heart of my fears, my darkness, or Kurtz, the "hollow man," sliding toward insanity? I see heat shimmers in the distance, we continue up road further and further from the bridge.
"'No!' she cried. 'It is impossible that all this
should be lost--that such a life should be sacrificed
to leave nothing--but sorrow. You know what vast plans
he had. I knew of them, too--I could not perhaps
understand--but others knew of them. Something must remain.
His words, at least, have not died.'"
-Joseph Conrad, 'Heart of Darkness'; 1899.
"The old doctor…with a certain eagerness asked me
whether I would let him measure my head… 'I
always ask leave, in the interest of science, to measure
the crania of those going out there,' he said. 'And
when they come back, too?' I asked. 'Oh I never see
them,' he remarked; 'and, more over, the changes
take place inside, you know.'"
-Joseph Conrad, 'Heart of Darkness'; 1899.
In the late 70's Francis Ford Coppola was in the Philippines filming his version of 'Heart of Darkness' as the Vietnam War epic 'Apocalypse Now'. It was the reign of Ferdinand Marcos and the unforgettable scenes of the helicopter attack were filmed using the Philippine air force which was continuously being called away to fight rebel guerrillas--N.P.A., New Peoples Army--in the mountains.
During the Philippine-American War (1899-1902) Filipino guerillas attacked the 9th Infantry Regiment of the U.S. army at Balangiga, a town in Samar province, on September 27, 1901. Of the 74 soldiers stationed there more than half were killed. In retaliation, Brigadier General Jacob Smith ordered that Samar be made "A howling wilderness. I want no prisoners. I wish you to kill and burn, and the more you kill and burn the better you will please me. I want all persons killed who are capable of bearing arms in actual hostilities against the United States." He set the minimum age limit at ten. The American press had a field day with this and he was subsequently cashiered from the forces.
"Exterminate all the brutes!" -Kurtz.
The last time the island of Leyte had seen battle was World War II, in fact the largest navel battle of the war was fought off the coast, the place MacArthur "returned" to. The other thing Leyte is famous for is the San Juanico Bridge. The 28-year-old "S" shaped bridge is aprox. 2 km in length the longest in Southeast Asia, connecting the islands of Leyte and Samar. (The 3rd thing Leyte is famous for is home to Imelda Marcos, but that has nothing to do with this story.) It's not unusual for people from Samar to walk across the San Juanico to look for work in Leyte. In the 1980's one young girl came to the door of my parents-in-law, she had only the clothes on her back, and was hired as a maid. She was a good worker but had a peculiar habit of running & hiding under the dinning room table whenever she heard a helicopter.
"Save me!--save the ivory, you mean. Don't tell me. Save me!
Why, I've had to save you. You are interrupting my plans now.
Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe. Never
mind. I'll carry my ideas out yet--I will return. I'll show you
what can be done. You with your little peddling notions--you
are interfering with me. I will return. I...." -Kurtz.
After Samar was declared a Howling Wilderness the island closed in on it self. Long after the Americans had gone, after the Japanese had been forced out, the people of Samar were distrustful of outsiders, not just foreigners but anyone outside. The 3rd largest island it still has vast untouched wilderness, tribal peoples will ghost out of the jungle into villages whenever they feel they need to trade, then disappear again. It was also a perfect hiding place for guerrilla soldiers during the Marcos regime. You see when the Huey gun ships that were used in 'Apocalypse Now' were called away they went to places like Samar where their mission was to arbitrarily strafe N.P.A. rebels with .50 caliber bullets that could literally cut a person in two, civilian casualties were sad but expedient. Thus the reason my parents-in-law's maid hid under a table whenever she heard helicopters.
Many members of the New Peoples Army were graduates of the University of the Philippines, idealists who wanted to end government corruption. After the Marcos regime fell the N.P.A. became less political and fell more to banditry in order to survive. While N.P.A. bands are scattered through out the islands, living deep in the bush, the island of Samar is a haven for many, as the xenophobic Samarans know of every stranger that enters their vast domain. It was not uncommon for a farmer to go to his fields one day and find boots hanging from a tree, looking up he would find men dressed in fatigue jackets & bush hats, wearing shorts & sandals, all carrying M16 rifles. The farmer would then be told that the fields belonged to them & if he wanted to work them he would have to pay. Thus many Samarans trek across the San Juanico Bridge looking for work. My father-in-law was a teacher, principal and eventually retired as Minister of Education for the provinces of Leyte & Samar. As it was part of his district he decided to inspect the area. No Minister had ever gone to visit Samar, they were afraid. After a time the little delegation began to realize they were not alone; shadows could be seen drifting between the trees. Whispers of "The Nice People Around" spread. What did the N.P.A. want, was murder on their mind or kidnapping? Government employees don't make much. After a time one guerrilla stepped from the jungle to confront my father-in-law. It turned out he was a former student who liked my father-in-law, word had reached the guerrilla band that Mr. Teacher was in the area, and so they took it upon themselves to act as bodyguards making sure that nothing would happen to him or his delegation.
Martin Sheen looks out his hotel window and says the opening line of 'Apocalypse Now', "Saigon. Shit." Of course he's looking at Manila. 2003 my fifth trip to Philippines in ten years. A shroud of dust & pollution hangs on the city as something you can taste. Imagine the worst rush hour traffic imaginable--now double it. Take away rules, politeness, and sanity. A four lane highway becomes six as lane markers are meaningless. There is no right of way--size matters. Everyone pushes; no one gives way. Ingenious Filipinos took W.W. II jeeps, pumped them full of steroids and created public transit; great shining steel, cartoon embellished passenger carriers, 25 people crammed inside with more hanging out the back for dear life. Huge reinforced steel bumpers like the prow of a ship, push through the never-ending stream of traffic. The undisputed king of the road is the cross-country bus. They go where they will and are always given way--or you will be crushed. Zipping in between them all are the tricycles. Motorbikes with sidecars, three people can comfortably fit inside, eight with people behind the driver, and the kids on the roof with the chickens. An hour and a half drive that can take up to four hours; my sister-in-law sits in back, her leg pumping the air as if she could brake as small children, adults & livestock suddenly dart onto the highway.
I say my parents are worried about me coming here. "Why?" My relatives ask puzzled. "Bombings, kidnappings, coup d'état, usual stuff that makes the news." They laugh--It's the Philippines! "Don't worry that's some place else," they tell me then turn around and say, "You want to go outside and walk around, are you crazy?" All Filipino homes are a man's castle. Well fortified behind iron gates and concrete walls topped with cemented in broken glass or upright rusty nails. You don't trust your neighbours, especially if they're family. It's the last two days of Aug. and already the malls are playing Christmas carols.
We flee to the peace and quiet of Leyte, the middle of the country. Here I feel I've arrived home, sky is blue, green fields & palms, smell of the ocean, nipa huts, water buffalo plod along. The only stench that of rotting vegetation & durian and that's okay with me. I take my watch off, time doesn't exist here; eventually someone will tell me what day our flight leaves.
When tired of eating rice, dried crunchy fish, pig's blood & fat, I open one of the boxes of Kraft dinner I've brought. Cousins look on as I eat my "mac. & cheese" as if it were the most revolting stuff they've ever seen!
Night, I switch on the light; a 2-inch cockroach stops in mid-scuttle across the bed, turns & gives me the finger before continuing on his way. My wife shrugs and turns the fan on high, tells me their afraid of the fan. I spend the night rolling over expecting to find Him staring back at me, I know he's there in the dark waiting…
My sister-in-law (her name means Light) has come home after 10 years; she's been a nurse in New York the past 20. She's decided to buy beachfront property for her retirement and build a resort--"Paradise Light!" She was married once and divorced, both in New York. The kicker is she married a guy from her hometown and had a church wedding in that town. Now lucky for her her brother is a lawyer; he asks if she had been legally married in Philippines, a Catholic country with no divorce. If she was then her legal name--the name that would appear on the deed--would be her ex-husband's, he can then step in and take the property. The fix? Her brother puts his name on the deed.
Kidnapped. Light tells my wife and I we're going to Marjorie's Garden. Okay, I say. What do I care as long as I get to go somewhere! Too long trapped behind iron gates and silenced in the isolation of the native tongue, a dialect literally meaning "Nothing Nothing." We head toward San Juanico Bridge. We pass over it. Now Marjorie is a retired American married to a Filipino who built a coffee shop atop a mountain a quarter mile or so from the bridge, but we just keep going--deeper into Samar. My parents-in-law are very protective never let me go beyond the fortified house never mind to this place. That's why Light told them Marjorie's Garden, I was being kidnapped, taken to her piece of "paradise" on the sea, miles from San Juanico Bridge, the only way back.
"The horror! The horror!" -Kurtz.
It's hot. There's only two seasons: hot and hot & wet. Heat pushes me down in my seat, baking my brain; I swill warm mineral water and watch the world blur passed the open jeep. Head swimming, we speed along concrete roads slowing only to scale Samaran feats of engineering: bridges built 10-inches above the road, with some asphalt slapped in as a kind of ramp, if you don't know the road and slow you'll be air borne! As we cross I look along the green murky river, palm fronds hiding the shore on both sides. Cool peaceful, I wonder what lies further up, to take an outrigger and paddle… No, not Conrad's Belgian Congo of the 1890's, nor were there Viet Cong waiting around the bend, this isn't Vietnam, no war, this is Philippines. Warm and friendly people almost to a fault; the late 19th Century writer & freedom fighter José Rizal once recorded his observations of the Spanish as bragging that they savored & abused Filipino hospitality, but that they fell victim to the wiles of Filipino women. I keep this in mind as we speed through towns where every eye falls on me; I stand out shining white. I try to keep this in mind as people dressed in only ragged shorts watch with out smiles. Every male adult I see, without exception, has a long slim blade in a wooden scabbard tied around his waist or slung across his back with a piece of string. What would happen if we stopped? "You ain't in Kansas, Dorothy, and I'll take them shoes!" No this isn't Kansas; this is the Howling Wilderness. The omnipresent sun beams down as if I was a bug beneath a glass. I feel my skin turn red, start to crackle and crisp like the roast pig they love so much. We pass a kid on a bike wearing a camouflage hat. He could have got it any where…did he have a brother living deep in the bush, a secret tattoo on his tongue to show his N.P.A. band? Or is that just stories? I do know it's not so easy to get out. One came to my brother-in-law the lawyer; he was willing to testify in exchange for a pardon. Lawyer politely turned him away fearing reprisal from the band against himself or his family. Mother-in-law looks at pictures of the 2 hectares of white sand, rock and jungle her daughter purchased; her hair rises up, prickling. Spirits, she says, plenty of spirits, a witch doctor needs to be brought in before any construction can begin. Light guides us down the winding rugged road, jungle closing in from the sides, rock face to the left, an occasional glimpse of ocean from the right. The green is pale from dust going back dark, deep from the road or up inclining toward mountains, miles of inland mountains. A break in the trees as suddenly a house appears, bare dirt, bamboo floors & plank walls, chickens, pigs and naked children. Blades step without warning from the green! Of course that's why they carry such knives, these men hack their living out of the forest, lumber, reeds for roofing, copra for charcoal, most of what they need grows there. Have I become Marlow looking into the heart of my fears, my darkness, or Kurtz, the "hollow man," sliding toward insanity? I see heat shimmers in the distance, we continue up road further and further from the bridge.
"'No!' she cried. 'It is impossible that all this
should be lost--that such a life should be sacrificed
to leave nothing--but sorrow. You know what vast plans
he had. I knew of them, too--I could not perhaps
understand--but others knew of them. Something must remain.
His words, at least, have not died.'"
-Joseph Conrad, 'Heart of Darkness'; 1899.
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