Name: Johna Feb O.

Kangleon Date: October 13,2023

Section: BSN-1 SWAIN
READING IN PHILIPPINE HISTORY
UNIT 2
WEEK 6
Exiled to Guam ( Apolinario Mabini )

When I arrived home this morning from the office. I greeted my father who was reading
at the dining room. He informed me that my younger brother and one of my cousins of
about the same age as the former, had been called to the colors. I rushed to see my
brother. I found him busy with his baggage. “Do you know the front you are being sent
to?” I asked him. “We have not been told. For the moment, I must report to the military
command quartered at the San Juan de Letran College.”

He next added that our cousin had been ordered likewise, only that he was to report at
the Adamson College. Both institutions were located in the district of Intramuros, where
were also found the Court of Appeals, my place of work, and the San Juan de Dios
Hospital, to which my father was affiliated. Once through helping my brother with his
minuscule luggage, I proceeded to see my cousin, also engaged in the pertinent
preparations with the aid of his father, who was unable to restrain his anguish and
sorrow. I sought to give him some encouragement, but without results.

In due time, both took their leave from my father. The other cousins, who happened to
be home, joined us in bidding the two farewell. My father merely shook hands with both
would-be combatants and, taking advantage of the presence of the others, stated, “Our
country has called you in her hour of need. As worthy Filipinos and full-fledged men,
comply with your duty. Let this apply to all the others here, in case you are also called
to the colors. Be assured that | shall be the first to denounce any one of you who would
shirk from this patriotic obligation.” And he added nothing more. Instead, he went back
to his seat and resumed his reading. For our part, we all went downstairs with my
brother and cousin. It was with great effort thatI| mustered the conflicting sentiments
invading me and I confined myself to giving both a big farewell hug. My other cousins
deported likewise. Not so with my uncle who, after embracing my brother, tenderly held
in his arms his own son—the youngest, incidentally. I had to intervene, for I realized
that there was no more time to lose. Finally, both my brother and cousin walked away
to board the tramway at the end of the street, bound for their destination. When both
were already quite afar, my uncle screamingly beckoned back his son. The latter
rushed to him and. once again, they tightly embraced each other. I feared that such
would never end Therefore, I interceded once again to bring it to a definite close.
Following a last kiss and heavily sobbing, my uncle rushed inside the house. I bade
both good-bye once more. They hurriedly boarded a streetcar then passing by.

I climbed up the house, after my brother and my cousin were no longer In sight. When
passing in front of my uncle’s room, I found him on his knees before the image of
Jesus of Nazareth which his wife had hidden in her dresser, precisely to keep it away
from the sight of my uncle, who for years had been estranged from the Church
and touched by a rabid anticlericalism. The scene was so unprecedented therefore,
that discreetly I stopped to watch him. I overheard his broken voice amidst copious
tears: “My Lord, I promise to return to the fold of the Church and to receive the
Sacraments should my sons be spared in this war. Forgive me my sins; do not punish
me on my children.” Reservedly I managed to step away without being seen. The rest
of the day my uncle kept to himself in his room.

The following morning, on my way to the office, I first passed by the San Juan de
Letran College, which had been turned into a garrison. The main entrance was
protected by sandbags and there was an armed sentry at the gate. Since sentry was
an acquaintance of mine, he let me in. I asked for my brother. In no time, he showed
up. He told me he was in perfect shape. We could hardly exchange some words, for he
had to attend to the chores assigned to him in his new status. I took my leave, with a
promise to call on him whenever possible. I did so in succeeding days, although, on
certain occasions, I was unable to talk to him, but I managed to get information about
him from the guard on duty Thank God, I was never given any bad news. In regard to
my cousin, however, we never came to know anything, although we imagined he must
be doing well as well, for nothing adverse about Adamson College –his quarters– had
so far been reported.
On my visit this morning I was able to greet some of my former professors –Spanish
Dominican friars, all of them. They wore khaki clothes, their distinctive white habits now
discarded. I found them busy with the menial tasks demanded by the upkeep of that
part of the College, which the military authorities permitted them to continue occupying.
When briefly conversing with me, they exuded exquisite discretion, for they were not
unaware of their double condition as religious and aliens. They showed great concern
for me and my family; I too, expressed great interest in their new condition. But we
went no further.

When I left the College converted into a garrison, where, nevertheless, by military
concession, these Dominican friars still resided, I could not help but ask myself
whether this arrangement did not violate international law. Indeed, how was the
College to be classified now? Was it a military garrison or a civil residence or, what is
more, a religious site? May it be said, perhaps, that this innovation rendered the
College a legitimate military objective justifying enemy attack? I had no answers.

Some other digressions assailed me, once back home: If my brother and my cousin—
both of the first reserve—had been called to the colors, was it because our
professional army was insufficient in number? If we, of the second reserve, were
eventually to be called to the colors too, such would certainly be a bad omen, not
precisely for the effects upon us personally, but because it would mean that the war
progress was adverse to our cause. But, let us not anticipate events.

At the office this morning I made ready to dictate a report to stenographer. Suddenly
the air-raid signal sounded. immediately, Justice Albert stepped out from his
contiguous office and went to mine to tell me that we should go down to the Records
Hall at the basement of the Court. Its stone walls might afford us some protection
considering that the building lacked an air-raid shelter, properly speaking. I went down,
therefore, followed by auxiliary personnel.

The hall was already filled with a conglomeration of justices, secretaries, clerks, and
other employees. The old room, despite its measurements, appeared to me rather
incapable of holding so many refugees. I managed to get quite into the interior of the
hall. I could see Justice Albert serenely smoking a pipe while standing very close to the
threshold of the entrance door. In the others I perceived some marked nervousness,
which was sought to be overcome through raucous commentaries. A few minutes
hence we could hear the hoarse and monotonous rumbling of approaching planes.
Immediately, an impressive silence fell upon us all. To alleviate the tension —so I
imagine—a colleague of mine thought noi better than to comment loudly, “You know? It
seems to me that the enemy’s target today is this very Court.” Somebody was hardly
able to censure him, “Quiet! Don’t be ominous!”

For, indeed, almost at the same time, we heard the unmistakable sound of planes that,
drawing an arc,
rapidly descended. It may be said that the simultaneously piercing whistling of the
bombs capped into a metallic clash, accompanied by a deafening explosion.
Instinctively we all threw ourselves down to the floor. Before doing so, I managed to
remove my eyeglasses and get hold of my rosary, whose whose beads I commenced
to pass silently, I hid my head between two steel cabinets (Later, I would be told that to
do so was most dangerous, because with the rattling caused by the bombs, the
cabinets might hit each other, crashing my head in the process.)

Next, I noticed that two of the refugees had thrown themselves upon my back. They
were an unpleasant burden, but I found comfort in the thought that they might afford
me greater protection, as if I had two mattresses on me.

The bombs kept falling down rapidly and countlessly. Their explosions gave me the
impression that the bombs were being hurled close to our place. I incremented my
prayers, while I asked myself: “Must I die this way? Is there any sense that | should
have reached my present age, only to die thus? And that anonymous pilot, who may
drop the bomb that would snuff out my life, what has he against me, whom he does not
even know, that he should do me this evil?” But, notwithstanding its candidness or,
perhaps, precisely due to it, I chose not to lose myself in further conjectures.

After some time, which seemed endless to me, the all-clear signal was on. We hastily
stood up, although, I must confess, in my case I had to wait for the two on top of me to
do so first. Upon standing up, I noticed the effect of the weight that had been on me,
for I must remain still for some minutes before I could start to walk. Lost in
commentaries and already recovered from the shock and the anxiety, not having to
deplore any victim or damage, we all headed for the exit.

While we made ready to leave the place, unexpectedly we were confronted by two
incoming individuals, who held in their arms a third one stripped from the waist up. His
face was wet and he manifested clear symptoms of spasms. While they made their
way in order to lay him down on the floor and help him recover his breath, the two
repeatedly cried out, “Gas! Poison gas! The Japanese have dropped gas bombs!”

The disorder amassed by surprise and fear was simply indescribable. I found myself
pressed upon by an avalanche of men and women struggling to get out and by others
who, instead, preferred to return to the Records Hall in search of greater security. The
floundering that ensued might well occasion victims regrettably. Then it occurred to me
to make the following recommendations:

“Attention, please! The best thing is to wet your handkerchiefs or any piece of cloth and
cover your nose with it as you leave this place.”

What made me say so? For instantly a big group of those present violently vied with
each other to take hold of a jar of water spotted in a corner of the hall. Impatience and
fear shared by all did not allow them to resort to the logical process of taking turns
therefor. What they, at length, merely succeeded in doing was to let go of the jar
which fell into pieces. This made many of them rush to the floor seeking to dampen
their handkerchiefs in the spilled water. More unexpected still was for me to catch sight
of some of those present, who, with hardly any prudery, urinated on their
handkerchiefs to make up for the lack of water.Suddenly, one well-intention companion
cried out, “Let us go to a higher place, because gas is heavier than air and, therefore,
tends to remain at floor level.”
Once more there was a storm of running, stumbling and pushing. Everybody attempted
to reach a superior place, be it window sills, tables, chairs, cabinets or any other
furniture piece. What constituted a veritable sight was afforded by some serious-mien
Justices, who, candidly, insisted upon taking turns to climb and stay at the top of a
carpenter’s ladder found in the place.
“You have already been up there for quite some time. Come down and let me take my
turn in climbing,” thus one of the Justices addressed a colleague, no matter how
childish it appeared to be.

Incidentally, the colleague in question did not descend from the ladder. One of my
companions—the secretary of the Presiding Justice of the Court—alone had a gas
mask, which he put on with great complacency. We all certainly envied him.

At length, came the denial. There had been no such attack. No gas bomb had been
dropped. Without bothering to check up the information, the same, however, made us
recover our calmness. In more orderly fashion we all commenced to step out. The
humorous was not wanting to cap the experience: We all discovered our lone
colleague with the gas mask , whether due to lack of practice or out of sheer
nervousness, had put on his mask the wrong way. He would have had, indeed, a bad
jolt if the false threat had been true!

We were told that, in view of the bombing, we could take the afternoon off!

On my way to board a streetcar I met many people, still terror-stricken, fleeing to all
directions. I sought to calm down as many as I could, telling them about the false
alarm. Fortunately, quite a number of them recovered their composure. At the terminal
station I had great difficulty in boarding a streetcar, for they all came replete with
passengers, some of them clinging to the outer side of the windows. At last, I
succeeded in boarding one, even as I had to travel standing up. Almost to a man all
the passengers gave vent to their comments and reactions concerning this morning’s
air raid. I heard that the bombing had centered upon the Port Area, some two hundred
meters away from my office; hence the sense of nearness that the explosions
provoked in me. It was feared that there had been many casualties.

When fortunately I arrived home safe and sound, | lost no time in recounting my
odyssey. Everybody was glad to see that I had been spared any damage or injury. Not
long after, my father arrived. For his part, he told us his own story. At the Hospital de
San Juan de Dios, where he works, he had had to supervise and coordinate the
transfer
of the patients to the Saint Paul’s Hospital nearby, which seemed to be a safer place.
With much difficulty he had to exert every effort to avoid or suppress the hysterics of
some of the patients. Fortunately, everything turned out satisfactorily, with no sign of
any panic.

Shortly before sitting down for lunch, one of my uncles arrived, being held by two of his
officemates. He limped; something that alarmed us. My father asked that he be taken
to bed, where he examined him carefully. Some minutes later, he assured us
comfortingly that there was nothing serious about his condition. He needed only to stay
in bed for some days. Another casualty in the family. How many more?

When taking their leave, my uncle’s friends informed us that during the air raid at the
Port Area this morning, where the Customs office is located, they had to abandon this
workplace of theirs to escape from the bombing. Upon reaching the street they had
had to face the maze of hundreds of cars feverishly crisscrossing the streets.
My uncle took a false step and could not avoid being hit by one of the speeding cars,
which floored him down. Fortunately, they were able to rush to him and carry him away
from the place in no time. We all thanked them for their kind deed and congratulated
them, for having been spared themselves.

Once lunch was over, my father motored to Montalban. He told us, “I am fetching the
family back. They have been insisting that they do not choose to remain there one
more day. They cannot stand being safe over there, while we run every risk down here.
I have been told that they would rather die with us together, should the case arise.”
Besides, some days ago the owner of the house—my father’s patient—had passed
away and it was embarrassing for them to continue in that place.

It was past seven in the evening when all returned from Montalban. We were highly
pleased upon seeing us all together once more. Personally, | was doubly glad, for, at
long last, I no longer needed to attend to the house tasks. Our returning family
informed us of their own ordeal in Montalban: It seems that this morning, a local
woman, while washing at the river, saw a pilot dropping himself with a parachute.
Later, it was learned that he was a Japanese airman, whose plane had been downed.
But, the good woman, eaten up by nerves, without bothering to ascertain the truth,
simply rushed back to town, screaming wildly: “Parachutists! Japanese Parachutists!”
The ensuing turmoil was simply chaotic. While the minuscule local force, with the aid of
some peasants armed with boloes, picks, and spades, rushed to the place, a large
number of the resjdents and evacuees fled away in their cars, even as others chose to
remain in their houses, which they locked to the bolt. Our family members preferred to
remain in the place, where they were staying, placing all their trust in prayer. How
grateful they were to have been spared any dire outcome.

Some few minutes later, one other uncle of mine came back home. He brought also his
own tale: “This morning’s attack found me at the Bay on board the coastguard under
my command. Since we had no anti-aircraft guns, we had to defend ourselves through
evasive maneuvers. In this manner, we were able to escape away from the nine
bombs dropped against the ship. We emerged unhurt. It was horrible! It was sheer
savagery, indeed!”

My father interrupted him: “Nothing of the sort! Such was to be expected. Remember
that your coastguard has been attached to the American naval forces. Your boat is,
therefore, a legitimate military objective. As such, the Japanese had to destroy it. Your
great fortune, for which I am glad, is that the enemy has had no success this time.”

Tonight the radio announced that, for security reasons, the Christmas Midnight mass
scheduled to be celebrated at the City Hall, under the sponsorship of the eldest
daughter of President Quezon, had been suspended. On the other hand, the war
communiques broadcast did not seem encouraging at all. We were told of the landing
of Japanese troops brought in by eighty military transport vessels that had docked at
the Lingayen Gulf. How had this been possible? We were also advised that such
troops as of this moment, were heading for Manila. Will they. be checked in their
march? I am afraid not. All this time, we were only told of the effective defenses pout
up by our troops; but, not one word about any offensive movements.

Today was Christmas Eve. Not the slightest festive air was visible anywhere. But my
father insisted on overcoming the situation. The observance must be respected. We,
therefore held the traditional midnight repast. Under the unavoidable reigning straits,
we partook of a tin of corned beef, instead of the usual sweetened smoked ham. There
 was, besides, some salad –not Russian– made up of some greens with boiled eggs.
Our dessert consisted of plain bananas. True, we offered the established season’s
toasts, but with red wine, instead of the sophisticated champagne of the recent past.
Finally, we exchanged kisses and embraces, warm and tremulous with emotion. We
wished each other “A Merry Christmas,” even as our inner souls wept silently.

CONTEXT ANALYSIS
Apolinario Mabini was a prominent intellectual and political philosopher who played a
crucial role in the Philippine Revolution against Spanish colonial rule in the late 19th
century. His writings and political activities, especially his service as an advisor to
General Emilio Aguinaldo, marked him as a significant figure in the fight for
independence.
Apolinario Mabini's exile to Guam was a significant episode in his life and the broader
context of the Philippine Revolution. It highlights the complexities of colonial rule,
resistance, and the endurance of individuals dedicated to the cause of national
independence. His legacy endures as a symbol of the unwavering commitment to the
ideals of freedom and self-determination.

CONTENT ANALYSIS
Apolinario Mabini's exile to Guam is a significant chapter in the history of the
Philippines. It exemplifies the sacrifices and determination of individuals who
championed the cause of independence. Mabini's intellectual contributions during his
exile continue to be celebrated, and his legacy remains a source of inspiration for
those who seek to understand the complexities of colonial history and the enduring
quest for freedom and sovereignty.

REFERENCES:
Apolinario Mabini, Author at The Philippine Diary Project. (n.d.). The Philippine

Diary Project. https://philippinediaryproject.com/author/apolinario-mabini/