Avila Arrested In Human Rights Rally Dispute
SENATOR DOMINGO AVILA IS in trouble again, as illegal assembly charges were filed against him and seven others by the police.
Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada Panganiban from the Sisters of Mercy Order were the alleged primary organizers of a “mock trial” held by human rights activists calling themselves “the court of the common people.” The group met in front of the American Embassy on Roxas Boulevard on August 29. After several speeches, which attracted hundreds of spectators, the group enacted a “trial in absentia” on a makeshift platform stage. Several prominent Special Squadron officials, including Lt. Col. Oswaldo Carreon, were accused of human rights violations.
Along with Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada, the following were also arrested: Senator Avila’s wife, UP Professor Maria Luisa Avila; Senator Avila’s niece, Clarita Avila; Quezon City Councilor Baptista Magalona; Ramon and Baltazar Montano, Jr; and Father Conrado Igarta of Tondo. Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada were detained at Camp Dilidili and later released on their own recognizance, while the others were taken to Camp Aguinaldo for questioning.
The “people’s justice case,” as it has come to be known, was filed by Brig. Gen. Armando Reyes, Metro Manila Constabulary and Police Chief; Lt. Col. Oswaldo Carreon of the President’s Special Squadron Division; and Chief of Staff Gen. Nicasio Ledesma.
During the mock trial, Senator Avila, his wife, Sister Immaculada, the Montano brothers, and Father Conrado Igarta acted as members of the “people’s jury,” while the senator’s niece and Councilor Magalona played the roles of “witnesses to crimes against the people.”
When finally reached for comment, Lt. Col. Carreon accused Avila and Panganiban of “creating a negative atmosphere of hatred and disrespect for law and order.” He also claimed the rally was held without a permit. “I have no choice but to sue the senator for defamation of character,” Carreon said. “These are very serious charges Avila and his leftist cohorts are making against government officials. If found guilty, the senator faces a maximum sentence of ten years in prison. We fail to see the humor in this situation.”
—The Metro Manila Daily
Sleeping Beauty
BEFORE HER TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY, before she marries a foreigner in haste and just as hastily leaves him, before she is given the name Mutya by her guerrilla lover in the mountains, Daisy Consuelo Avila is crowned the most beautiful woman in the Philippines, our tropical archipelago of 7100 known islands. We are serenaded by mournful gecko lizards, preyed on by vampire bats and other asuwangs, protected by kapre giants crouching in acacia trees, enchanted by malevolent spirits living in caves and sacred termite-dwellings. The humid landscape swarms with prehistoric, horned warrior beetles with armored shells, flies with gleaming emerald eyes, and speckled brown mariposa butterflies the size of sparrows. Eagles nest in mountain peaks; in certain regions and seasons the sky blackens with humming locusts and flocks of divebomber cockroaches. Invisible mosquitoes lurk in the foliage, said to infect children with a mysterious fever that literally cooks the brain, causing hallucinations, insanity, or death. Inoculations against the fever have not proved effective, according to an alarming study recently published in the National Institute Of Health’s annual report by the eminent medical duo, Drs. Ernesto and Emilia Katigbak.
The latest national survey reports that eighty dialects and languages are spoken; we are a fragmented nation of loyal believers, divided by blood feuds and controlled by the Church. Holy wars are fought in the combat zones of our awesome archipelago. Senator Avila declares that our torrid green world is threatened by its legacy of colonialism and the desire for revenge. He foretells more suffering in his eloquent speeches, which fall on deaf ears. He is ridiculed and vilified in the government-run newspaper. The underground circulates a pamphlet of his writings, “The Suffering Pilipino”: “We Pinoys suffer collectively from a cultural inferiority complex. We are doomed by our need for assimilation into the West and our own curious fatalism…” “Fatalism is fatal,” begins another influential essay. He describes us as a complex nation of cynics, descendants of warring tribes which were baptized and colonized to death by Spaniards and Americans, as a nation betrayed and then united only by our hunger for glamour and our Hollywood dreams. Is it a supreme irony then, when such an otherwise wise man as the Senator allows his gullible daughter to participate in a government-endorsed beauty contest run by the First Lady?
Daisy Avila is the demure and solitary eldest daughter of the opposition leader Senator Domingo Avila and his outspoken wife, the controversial professor of Philippine history Maria Luisa Batungbakal Avila. Daisy is the adored sister of the unremarkable adolescent Aurora Avila, and the beloved cousin of the infamous painter of erotic infernos, Clarita Avila. She is also the dark-horse contender in the Young Miss Philippines annual pageant. The other contestants include Baby Ledesma, a niece of the famous General, Baby Katigbak, Baby Abad, the Congressman’s youngest daughter, and the disappointed runner-up, Severo Alacran’s stunning niece Girlie. There is intense and immediate speculation as to how and why Daisy Avila wins over the panel of judges headed by General Nicasio Ledesma. Some say Congressman Abad had rigged the contest in favor of his daughter, and now wants his revenge. Some say the perverse General is solely responsible for convincing the other judges to vote for his enemy’s daughter. The choice puzzles even Daisy’s family. Tsismis ebbs and flows. According to a bemused Severo Alacran, richest of all the richest men and therefore privy to most of the General’s secrets, the best tsismis is always inspired by some fundamental truth.
General Ledesma has been overheard saying Senator Avila should have been assassinated long ago. In public, the General and the Senator are polite and even cordial. Their wives attend the same church. The fact that Daisy’s father is still alive is exploited by our wily President. “You see? This is a free country—just ask Domingo Avila,” the President reminds his critics. “He’s a dear man—one of our closest friends,” the First Lady has said in the numerous interviews she grants foreign correspondents. “Domingo Avila is one of our elder statesmen, one of our living national treasures,” she gushes, totally without guile and meaning every word the second she utters it. At the beauty pageant, she turns to nod at the Senator, acknowledging his presence in the row behind hers. She has always found him a handsome man. The Senator’s worried frown does not escape her, and it amuses her when the Senator cringes during the talent competition. The shy Daisy recites two florid sonnets by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from memory, and also sings a tentative “Dahil Sa Iyo.” For her grand finale, she parades up and down the runway in a modest bathing suit with such natural grace that even the worst shrews in the audience have to applaud.
Her mother has refused to attend the coronation, calling her “a disgrace to the Avila name.” She forbids Daisy’s sister to watch the televised proceedings. Daisy begs her father to escort her to the Magsaysay Pavilion, and he cannot refuse his favorite daughter. Embarrassed, he slumps in the second row of the VIP section, an honored guest seated behind Severo Alacran, General Ledesma, Congressman “Cyanide” Abad, and the preening First Lady.
The open-air pavilion where the pageant is held is known for its terrible acoustics and hungry mosquitoes; it is one of the First Lady’s unnecessary monuments, a morbid pile of gray stones crumbling slowly on a hill overlooking Manila Bay. Sequined purple, red, and yellow banners flutter gaily onstage. Said to benefit the Sisters Of Mercy Orphanage and Shelter For Street Children, the pageant advertises SPORTEX, TruCola, and Intercoco Investments, “first names in modern living.” Oswaldo “Pepe” Carreon is the last spectator to enter. The newly appointed Special Assistant to General Ledesma and son-in-law of Severo Alacran hurries alone into the pavilion to find his seat. He is the only latecomer to appear without a bodyguard. Often the last to arrive at public functions, he complains that there are too many social obligations associated with his new job. He is a very busy young man. His ailing,
pregnant wife Baby is home watching the disorganized event on her new twenty-seven-inch Sony color TV, one of her wedding gifts.
Thousands of spectators jostle each other on the parched lawns of the public park at the bottom of the hill. The ubiquitous vendors in their torn kamisetas, short pants, and rubber thong slippers make their way expertly through the tight mass of people. They hawk cigarettes, bottles of warm soda pop, Chiclets, and balut. The nonpaying public has stood in the unrelenting sun for hours to catch a glimpse of their idols, their movie stars, even the real Macoy himself and the First Lady. In the front row closest to the steps leading to the Magsaysay Pavilion stands Santos Tirador, a man of thirty with restless eyes. Earlier that day, the fortune-teller La Sultana meets with him in the interior of her rusting Mercedes-Benz sedan, permanently parked on a side street near Paco Cemetery. She is guarded day and night by four of her vigilant followers. Some people regard her as a faith healer and soothsayer; her followers visit daily for detailed reports on her nightly talks with the Virgin Mary. She is totally dependent on her followers’ charity for food and clothing. La Sultana has never been seen leaving her sacred Mercedes-Benz; she claims to lack the need to urinate or defecate, thanks to a miracle performed during her sleep by the Virgin Mary. She sits in the back seat smiling, waiting for her visitors, reciting the rosary. Even the First Lady drops by for advice. Others denounce the fat old widow as a crackpot, but Santos Tirador decides to visit her just for the hell of it. He gives her his last one hundred pesos. La Sultana prophesies the wild young man will meet a dark queen by chance, “someone from afar.” He will wreak havoc in her life, and the price will be high. “For this you will die,” La Sultana tells him, smiling wider and showing him her rotten teeth. “But never fear,” the widow reassures him, “you will die a happy man. For this, you must be thankful.”
One Christmas in a Mountain Lodge up in Baguio, Date Unknown:
IF WHAT YOU SAY is true, that Senator Avila and General Avila are actually distant cousins, and you’ve finally admitted Nicasio was promoted to Chief of the Armed Forces and Special Intelligence mainly because he’s the President’s first cousin, then why can’t all these men patch up their differences? Aren’t they all the same—just one big happy Ilocano family?
—Dolores Gonzaga to her brother-in-law, Agustin
Que magulo! That’s why I moved to Spain.
—Cristobal Gonzaga
Si, si, si.
—Doña Socorro Gonzaga
Si, si, si.
—Florence Gonzaga
Epiphany
OUR COUNTRY BELONGS TO women who easily shed tears and men who are ashamed to weep. During the days following her extravagant coronation, something peculiar happens to Daisy Avila, something which surprises and worries everyone in her family except for her indomitable mother. Each morning, as Daisy struggles to wake from her sleep, she finds herself whimpering softly. Most of her waking hours are spent crying, or trying in vain to stop. Her eyes are continually bloodshot and swollen. The once radiant beauty cannot pinpoint the source of her mysterious and sudden unhappiness. “It will pass,” her mother says curtly, in a clumsy attempt to calm her daughter. Meanwhile, the Avila house is besieged by increasingly aggressive fans and the press. With a nose for scandal, Cora Camacho attempts to bribe the Avila chauffeur Celso and Daisy’s former yaya Candelaria (now Celso’s wife) to give her firsthand information, but to no avail.
Daisy shuts herself in her bedroom, where she can avoid her younger sister’s morbid curiosity, her father’s pained and pitying glances, and her mother’s sharp, I-told-you-so looks. Daisy dreads falling asleep. She is terrified of the weeping which begins while she dreams. She tries to stay awake, swallowing bitter, black Batangas coffee along with the tabs of yellow amphetamine she begs Candelaria to steal from the secret desk drawer in her father’s study. In spite of these potent stimulants, Daisy somehow manages to doze off just long enough to wake up once again, drowning in misery. “What are you crying for?” her sister Aurora grumbles, impatient and unsympathetic. The star-struck teenager is envious of the attention lavished upon Daisy—the phone never stops ringing, movie deals are offered, flowery love letters and proposals of marriage are sent by prosperous strangers. “If I were you, I’d think I died and went to heaven,” Aurora says.
Nothing cheers Daisy up. In desperation, she makes a mental list of her attributes. She may not be artistic like her cousin Clarita, or brainy like her parents and clever sister, but surely she has much to be proud of! Daisy reminds herself that to be considered exceptionally beautiful in a country overrun with beautiful women is a personal triumph. She has attained her goal. Why then is she so unhappy?
The phone continues to ring day and night. When Senator Avila attempts to have his number changed, the PLDT representative tersely informs him that there is a long waiting list, then coolly adds that he is lucky to have a phone at all. The Avila party line shamelessly listens in on every phone call, interrupting some conversations with bits of advice for the Senator and his wife to pass on to the celebrity beauty queen. “Tell Daisy naman to stop being such a killjoy! Tell Daisy naman that Ed and Augie are die-hard fans who want to marry her!” Male voices giggle on the crackling wires, while roosters crow and dogs bark in a distant background chorus. “Go back to the jungle!” Maria Luisa Avila snarls into the receiver before banging the phone down on her party line’s ears. Senator Avila winces and retreats into the privacy of his study. He too, has become a prisoner in his own house.
Sponsors of the beauty contest are worried and furious at Daisy Avila. Her stubbornness has already cost them millions of pesos. A scheduled whirlwind tour of the provinces is indefinitely postponed, and Daisy’s cameo role in the upcoming Tito Alvarez-Lolita Luna disco-dance drama Loverboy is canceled by Mabuhay Studios. Emissaries are sent from Malacañang Palace and the Alacran Corporation to persuade the ungrateful beauty queen to come out of hiding. They are met at the gate by Daisy’s irate mother. “My daughter is indisposed. GO BACK TO THE JUNGLE!” she shouts at the intruders. The press dubs Daisy’s mother “One Tough Doña.” “Excuse me lang, but what is this about a jungle?” Cora Camacho inquires on her TV show, Girl Talk. “Does our foremost nationalist family consider us common Pinoys nothing more or less than a bunch of savages?” When Senator Avila politely turns down Cora’s insistent demands for an exclusive interview, Cora is outraged. “Aba! Who does he think he is?”
The First Lady appears that same week as Cora’s special guest. When Cora sweetly suggests taking away Daisy’s crown and title, the First Lady’s eyes, as if on cue, fill with tears. She stifles a sob and pulls out a handkerchief, which she dabs carefully at the corners of her eyes. “Walanghiya!” Senator Avila scowls at the extreme close-up of the First Lady’s anguished face. “Daisy Avila has shamed me personally and insulted our beloved country,” the First Lady sobs. She blows her nose. The camera discreetly pulls away. Aurora Avila runs up the stairs to knock on the closed door of her sister’s room. She is shrieking with laughter. “Daisy! Daisy! Come out and see! You’re going to hell for sure—you’ve made the Iron Butterfly break down and cry!”
The hungry pack of journalists, photographers, and fans maintain a twenty-four-hour vigil on the sidewalk outside the gates of the Avila property. Daisy cringes at the thought of confronting them. “Don’t worry—even this will pass,” her mother repeats, sighing. The weariness on both her parents’ faces disturbs Daisy and makes her feel twice as guilty. Candelaria warns her that bets are being placed by the bored predators outside the gates. Who will be the first among them to spot the reclusive beauty queen through the drawn blinds of her windows? Who will capture her tarnished image with the powerful zoom lenses of their Japanese cameras? Tsismis quickly circulates in Manila: Daisy Avila is pregnant with Tito Alvarez’s baby, Daisy Avila is secretly married to the President’s only son, Daisy Avila is a junkie, Daisy Avila is a junkie slowly dying of a sexually transmitted disease.
Through the partially open blind
s of her bedroom window, Daisy squints at the African flame tree, the garden of plumeria and bougainvillea bushes growing below. She cannot remember the last time she has been outside in the sun. Overwhelmed by the dazzling light, Daisy hastily draws the blinds before crawling back under the covers of her damp, rumpled bed. She shuts her eyes and tries to force herself to submit, finally, to the uncertain refuge of dangerous sleep. She lies perfectly still, a corpse stupefied by the tropical weather. Her eyelids flutter, the only sign of movement in the ovenlike room. Though the obsolete air conditioner drips and hums at full blast, the heat won’t let her escape into sleep. Daisy sits up in bed and looks tentatively around the room. It is darker now than when she first lay down. She waits; she waits for what seems an eternity. Nothing happens. Daisy waits some more, but no tears fall. She is wide awake, dry-eyed, and restless.
Breaking Spells
ON HER BIRTHDAY A week later, Daisy Avila makes a significant decision. She grants Cora Camacho an exclusive interview on her live television special At Home with a Beauty Queen.
The entire country tunes in, even those in the remote reaches of our tropical archipelago, places where one battered TV is shared by an entire village. Cora promises an intimate look at Daisy’s life, loves, and wardrobe.
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