Ang lista

Bencyrus Ellorin

WHEN I was a grade schooler one of our teachers, when out, perhaps selling goods to fellow teachers or doing whatever outside the classroom, assigned a spy–usually the most sipsip–to make a list of who has been “angel” or “devil” while she was away.

By our Gestapo’s standard, it was easy to distinguish the angel from the devil. He or she who was silently stuck on his/her seat, doing his/her workbook or drawing his or her favorite comic character qualified for an angel. The talkative, always standing and roaming around the classroom, minding other classmate’s business qualified as a devil. Sometimes, we do counter-intelligence measures by exposing the spy or even try to steal his or her list. Some of us ended in the prefect of discipline’s office. I got referred to the guidance counselor for questioning the list. I ended up crying one time when my irate mother, who was a college teacher then, threatened to stop sending me to school.

One time, a talkative classmate, Edward, was listed as devil because he was “talkative.” When the teacher got back, Edward was given a mouthful of sili, yes, sili as halang kaayo nga sili. Rewind: that incident created a classroom atmosphere of sili or silence.

Outside, we also heard of lists. And paskin or death threat comes with that list. There were two lists people dread that time. One supposedly comes from the New People’s Army (NPA) and the other from government security forces. I I never saw any of the lists, but I witnessed how dreadful it was. People feared for their lives when they were on the list. People feared the list. That was the early 1980s. My happy childhood was draped with a cloud of fear. Decapitated bodies, supposedly NPA rebels killed in battle, are displayed in the Kiosko at the Rizal Park. You will know a paramilitary (CHDF), police or soldier has died in battle when you hear staccato of gunfire from automatic rifles from the menteryo. They do not honor with 21-gun salute fallen fighters then. They empty magazines of bullets into the air.

Last week, I got frantic text messages and Facebook private messages from a childhood friend and student activism comrade. He was so anxious because he was told his name was in a list of druglords. I initially laughed at his concern, telling him, ipatawag nang pulis sa mayor, knowing he works in the local government. But he said, dili pwedi. I asked why? He retorted, “Pwedi ba diay ipatawag sa mayor ang NPA?”

I assured him that I have read in the news that despite its taking on the challenge of the President to participate in the anti-drugs war, the NPA said it will follow due process. That did not offer any consolation at all.

If true that the NPA list exists, how does one clear his or her name?

Will those in the list undergo trial in a revolutionary court? Is there really an NPA list of druglords?

To be sure, and hoping the underground gets his message, my friend undertook a drug test which turned out negative. He had his name cleared by the police and the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency, hoping that maybe because of the new environment, the NPA and government security forces may share information related to drugs trade.

A friend, a former political detainee who served as a consultant of the National Democratic Front in the peace process, explained to me how the NPA follows due process. I relayed the information to my friend. I had hoped it offered assurance.

Meanwhile, we got unofficial word denying the existence of an NPA list of druglords. I just hope this can be independently verified.

Perhaps, a comic turn of events, the boss of my friend, a local executive, provided him with security detail. Good or bad? We were left laughing when he said, “Gi-at…y mura naman gyud nuon ko druglord ani kay naa naman koy bodyguard.” Another friend said, “Bantay sa ambush, bai.”

To my friend, stay safe always.

E-mail: bency.ellorin@gmail.com