Oryang's autobiography

Looking Back

By Ambeth Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer – 8 July 2008

MANILA, Philippines—Last monday, july 7, was the 116th anniversary of the establishment of the Katipunan. Since it is not a national or even a local holiday, we are glad when some people care to remember. Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim held a simple memorial service at the Bonifacio Shrine beside City Hall, and in attendance were descendants of Andres Bonifacio from his sister Espiridiona. Wreaths were laid at the shrine, speeches were read, and one can only hope that the elementary and high school students who were given front-row seats in the event appreciated this impromptu history lesson.

Unfortunately, Carmen Guerrero Cruz Nakpil, chair of the Manila Historical Commission, was not around. Her first husband was a grandson of Jose Rizal's sister Maria, and her second was related to Andres Bonifacio's widow Gregoria "Oryang" de Jesus, who married Julio Nakpil and settled in Quiapo.

It was significant that Nakpil's "Marangal na Dalit ng Katagalugan" was played by the City Hall Band. I forgot to remind Mayor Lim that it was one of the stirring tunes of the Revolution, together with "Alerta Katipunan" and "Jocelynang Baliuag." Nakpil's tune was considered the anthem of the Katipunan and, if not for the tide of history that saw Emilio Aguinaldo installed as head of the revolutionary government and later as president of the First Philippine Republic, we would probably be singing the Nakpil anthem today rather than "Lupang Hinirang" by Julian Felipe of Cavite.
 
After the ceremony at the Bonifacio Shrine, the mayor invited me to join him in his car for a quick trip to Recto Avenue to visit the site where the Katipunan was founded on the night of July 7, 1892, the same day that Rizal's exile to Dapitan was announced in the newspapers. What people forget is that Rizal founded a civic society called La Liga Filipina in a house on Ilaya Street, Tondo, on July 3, 1892. It was in this organizational meeting that he met Bonifacio face to face. What they discussed (maybe they only exchanged pleasantries?) is lost to history and historians.

From the still-born Liga was born the Katipunan. While both words mean "league," the direction shifted with the change in leadership. The original house on 72 Azcarraga Street (now C. M. Recto Avenue) is no more. A bronze marker used to stand on a sidewalk to remind vendors and pedestrians that history took place on that spot. Now there is yet another tableau in bronze on the site to commemorate the event. Again I wonder if people who pass by notice, or take the trouble to read the markers and remember history made on that hallowed spot.

No speeches were delivered there, just a floral offering and a very impressive execution of arrival honors by the Philippine Marines, complete with gunfire that no doubt made some startled pedestrians dive for cover. If I weren't safe with the mayor of Manila, I would have looked for a safe place to hide at the first crack of gunfire, friendly or otherwise.

When speeches are made to young people in the 21st century about the exploits of heroes of the late 19th century, I wonder if the story sinks in. This is why reading the first-hand accounts of historical events by actual participants is more effective.

Gregoria de Jesus wrote a short autobiography in 1928, "Mga tala ng aking buhay," that talks about her experiences:

"I had no fear of danger, not even death itself, whenever I accompanied the soldiers in battle, impelled as I was then by no other desire than to see unfurled the flag of an independent Philippines, and I was present in and witnessed many encounters. I was considered a soldier, and to be a true one, I learned how to ride, to shoot a rifle, and to manipulate other weapons which I actually used on many occasions.

"I have known what it is to sleep on the ground without tasting food for the whole day, to drink dirty water from mud-holes or the sap of vines which, though bitter, tasted delicious because of my intense thirst. When I came to think of my life in those days, considering my youth then, I am surprised by how I stood it all, and how I was spared."
 
Oryang's narrative reads so much better in the original Tagalog, but then this is an English language column so we have to make do with the translation.

She returned to her parent's house in Caloocan and gave birth to a son they christened Andres Bonifacio. That child did not survive. When the Revolution broke out in August 1896, she had to move from place to place to evade arrest:

"While I was with my parents, through friends, I learned that I too would be apprehended. I therefore decided to escape right away and I did so at 11 at night with the intention of returning to Manila under cover, going through the rice fields direct to La Loma. I was treated like an apparition ('isang katatakutan'), for, sad to say, from every house where I tried to get a little rest, I was driven away as if the people therein were mortally frightened."

The places she visited were searched, and friends and relatives were arrested, tortured and exiled.

It is one thing to learn about the Revolution from textbooks. It is gut-wrenching to read the actual accounts, the primary sources. I reread Oryang's autobiography every year to remind me of the sacrifices our heroes made so we can take freedom for granted today.