Trigger Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of sexual abuse, physical violence, and death.
They hailed Him a conqueror, His reign “The Golden Age,” His territory the “Tiger of Asia,” His name “The Builder.”
He is the man who finally broke his country out of its primitive shell. The man who could talk charm and back it up.
It was said their family inherited gold bars from Tagean-Tallano’s blessing, who once ruled his country before the Spaniards. Their story made sense. It explained not only the weighty bangles worn by the conqueror’s wife, but also the utopic buildings and bridges that emerge across the country. There was no other proof that could explain this economic miracle without pointing fingers at Him, so the people believed it.
Years later, the golden tale still lives. But more people questioned and questioned. Little did they know it was true. The gold, however, did not come from Tagean Tallano, nor did it come from an amicable inheritance.
The treasure came from the land that the conqueror swore to protect, stained with the blood of the people on that gold reserve: Eastern Samar. Within these lands are people who were used as fleshy punching bags for daily exercise, roasted on stakes like pigs and eaten, while their corpses were thrown into rivers.
A clink can be heard in the marbled palace as the conqueror relished his throne. He is not satisfied, for He still had his eyes set on the prize: a mineral reserve in the central islands. Alas! It was a bauxite treasure house. Chromite in the south; manganese, copper, coal in the east; and gold in its center.
Year 1952: the land of exploitable riches was unfortunately obstructed by trees that covered more than three-quarters of the island.
Fortunately for the conqueror, His henchman gleefully took the honorable duty of wrecking this obstruction, for he saw it as his own gold mine. It was a lofty goal, but very much achievable, especially with the power of a co-beneficial acquaintanceship and the people’s taxes. There were steps to take, but none of which required heavy effort.
With a heavy hand on logging corporations, the ardent henchman sextupled the concessions. Soon, the island was covered in fallen trees that eventually disappeared. His master, the conqueror, sent an army of battalions (more than usual this time) — the mighty Philippine Constabulary — to the island. They didn’t know how to step in peace, so they didn’t. In fact, they never wanted to.
A 9-year-old was dragged out of their own doorsteps into a straw sack hung from the rafters; her father was pounded with his toe severed; and her mother stripped naked of clothing.
A man’s bloated, water-filled stomach was punched to make him vomit. The same man was forcibly fed scorching hot eggplants.
A girl who never once held an ArmaLite was named a communist. They raped then killed her. They sliced off her right breast, ribs, and stomach. They pulled out her liver. They sliced off one finger and tied it to a string and yelled gleefully, “This is the finger of an NPA!”
A husband was roasted like a pig and turned around with a stake, with the firewood coming from his own home. 80 men–the entire patrol gathered around the perfectly cooked body and ate it until only skeletons were left.
A pregnant woman saw her husband get beaten up with a rifle, and her mother dead. In the middle of the gruesome scene, she gave birth to an eight-month-old dead baby. “It already looked like a human,” she said.
People were orphaned, tortured, and killed. They ate rotten rice as trees were knocked down exponentially. No one fully knew what was happening, nor did they understand what Martial Law was, apart from the horrors inflicted upon them. Simultaneously, the people and their land bore anguish and torment as their innards were gobbled up by the mighty thief and conqueror.
Year 1986: the people realized that the conqueror’s throne was built with the blood of those he brutalized.
His castle is full of money he robbed, while his barong is made with strings of lies. It might be due to an oversight in his meticulous plans, or perhaps a lack of understanding, but the omnipotent conqueror didn’t know the power of a single voice built on truth.
Kingdoms built on falsehood led by a faux king are bound to be reclaimed by the people who used to rule it truthfully. Suddenly, the deceived were deceived no more, for the streets were filled with angry men who cried until their voices were hoarse. Thread by thread, the people stripped the conqueror of his power until he existed only by his name: Ferdinand Marcos Sr.
Year 1987: the dead man’s blood was still etched upon the remaining trees that now barely covered a tenth of Eastern Samar.
Years passed, and suddenly it’s 2025. The thief is long gone, but his name remains in power.
Families huddle towards their television for noontime lunch as the now-elected president came up to the podium to address his nation. The man looks like a certain someone.
Headlines showed his name in bold letters: Ferdinand Marcos Jr. The man who inherited the conqueror’s blood, riches and sins.
Meanwhile, in the land of Eastern Samar, those in power have decided that the riches previously seized are not enough. Trees continue to fall as the soil keeps eroding. It mimics the pattern of a gruesome period that people thought was long gone.
