The Social Cancer - 28

"He wouldn't have recognized me, since the only time he ever saw me
he wasn't in a position to take careful note of my appearance."
"I'm in bad luck," sighed Ibarra, thinking of Maria Clara. "What did
you have to tell me?"
Elias looked about him. They were already at a distance from the
shore, the sun had set, and as in these latitudes there is scarcely
any twilight, the shades were lengthening, bringing into view the
bright disk of the full moon.
"Sir," replied Elias gravely, "I am the bearer of the wishes of many
unfortunates."
"Unfortunates? What do you mean?"
In a few words Elias recounted his conversation with the leader of the
tulisanes, omitting the latter's doubts and threats. Ibarra listened
attentively and was the first to break the long silence that reigned
after he had finished his story.
"So they want--"
"Radical reforms in the armed forces, in the priesthood, and in the
administration of justice; that is to say, they ask for paternal
treatment from the government."
"Reforms? In what sense?"
"For example, more respect for a man's dignity, more security for the
individual, less force in the armed forces, fewer privileges for that
corps which so easily abuses what it has."
"Elias," answered the youth, "I don't know who you are, but I
suspect that you are not a man of the people; you think and act so
differently from others. You will understand me if I tell you that,
however imperfect the condition of affairs may be now, it would be
more so if it were changed. I might be able to get the friends that
I have in Madrid to talk, _by paying them_; I might even be able to
see the Captain-General; but neither would the former accomplish
anything nor has the latter sufficient power to introduce so many
novelties. Nor would I ever take a single step in that direction,
for the reason that, while I fully understand that it is true that
these corporations have their faults, they are necessary at this
time. They are what is known as a necessary evil."
Greatly surprised, Elias raised his head and looked at him in
astonishment. "Do you, then, also believe in a necessary evil,
sir?" he asked in a voice that trembled slightly. "Do you believe
that in order to do good it is necessary to do evil?"
"No, I believe in it as in a violent remedy that we make use of when we
wish to cure a disease. Now then, the country is an organism suffering
from a chronic malady, and in order to cure it, the government sees
the necessity of employing such means, harsh and violent if you wish,
but useful and necessary."
"He is a bad doctor, sir, who seeks only to destroy or stifle the
symptoms without an effort to examine into the origin of the malady,
or, when knowing it, fears to attack it. The Civil Guard has only
this purpose: the repression of crime by means of terror and force, a
purpose that it does not fulfil or accomplishes only incidentally. You
must take into account the truth that society can be severe with
individuals only when it has provided them with the means necessary
for their moral perfection. In our country, where there is no society,
since there is no unity between the people and the government, the
latter should be indulgent, not only because indulgence is necessary
but also because the individual, abandoned and uncared for by it,
has less responsibility, for the very reason that he has received less
guidance. Besides, following out your comparison, the treatment that
is applied to the ills of the country is so destructive that it is
felt only in the sound parts of the organism, whose vitality is thus
weakened and made receptive of evil. Would it not be more rational to
strengthen the diseased parts of the organism and lessen the violence
of the remedy a little?"
"To weaken the Civil Guard would be to endanger the security of
the towns."
"The security of the towns!" exclaimed Elias bitterly. "It will
soon be fifteen years since the towns have had their Civil Guard,
and look: still we have tulisanes, still we hear that they sack
towns, that they infest the highways. Robberies continue and the
perpetrators are not hunted down; crime flourishes, and the real
criminal goes scot-free, but not so the peaceful inhabitant of the
town. Ask any honorable citizen if he looks upon this institution as
a benefit, a protection on the part of the government, and not as an
imposition, a despotism whose outrageous acts do more damage than
the violent deeds of criminals. These latter are indeed serious,
but they are rare, and against them one has the right to defend
himself, but against the molestations of legal force he is not even
allowed a protest, and if they are not serious they are nevertheless
continued and sanctioned. What effect does this institution produce
among our people? It paralyzes communication because all are afraid
of being abused on trifling pretexts. It pays more attention to
formalities than to the real nature of things, which is the first
symptom of incapacity. Because one has forgotten his cedula he must
be manacled and knocked about, regardless of the fact that he may be
a decent and respectable citizen. The superiors hold it their first
duty to make people salute them, either willingly or forcibly, even
in the darkness of the night, and their inferiors imitate them by
mistreating and robbing the country folk, nor are pretexts lacking
to this end. Sanctity of the home does not exist; not long ago in
Kalamba they entered, by forcing their way through the windows, the
house of a peaceful inhabitant to whom their chief owed money and
favors. There is no personal security; when they need to have their
barracks or houses cleaned they go out and arrest any one who does not
resist them, in order to make him work the whole day. Do you care to
hear more? During these holidays gambling, which is prohibited by law,
has gone on while they forcibly broke up the celebrations permitted by
the authorities. You saw what the people thought about these things;
what have they got by repressing their anger and hoping for human
justice? Ah, sir, if that is what you call keeping the peace--"
"I agree with you that there are evils," replied Ibarra, "but let
us bear with those evils on account of the benefits that accompany
them. This institution may be imperfect, but, believe me, by the fear
that it inspires it keeps the number of criminals from increasing."
"Say rather that by this fear the number is increased," corrected
Elias. "Before the creation of this corps almost all the evil-doers,
with the exception of a very few, were criminals from hunger. They
plundered and robbed in order to live, but when their time of want
was passed, they again left the highways clear. Sufficient to put
them to flight were the poor, but brave cuadrilleros, they who have
been so calumniated by the writers about our country, who have for a
right, death, for duty, fighting, and for reward, jests. Now there are
tulisanes who are such for life. A single fault, a crime inhumanly
punished, resistance against the outrages of this power, fear of
atrocious tortures, east them out forever from society and condemn
them to slay or be slain. The terrorism of the Civil Guard closes
against them the doors of repentance, and as outlaws they fight to
defend themselves in the mountains better than the soldiers at whom
they laugh. The result is that we are unable to put an end to the evil
that we have created. Remember what the prudence of the Captain-General
de la Torre [131] accomplished. The amnesty granted by him to those
unhappy people has proved that in those mountains there still beat the
hearts of men and that they only wait for pardon. Terrorism is useful
when the people are slaves, when the mountains afford no hiding-places,
when power places a sentinel behind every tree, and when the body of
the slave contains nothing more than a stomach and intestines. But
when in desperation he fights for his life, feeling his arm strong,
his heart throb, his whole being fill with hate, how can terrorism
hope to extinguish the flame to which it is only adding fuel?"
"I am perplexed, Elias, to hear you talk thus, and I should almost
believe that you were right had I not my own convictions. But note this
fact--and don't be offended, for I consider you an exception--look
who the men are that ask for these reforms" nearly all criminals or
on the way to be such!"
"Criminals now, or future criminals; but why are they such? Because
their peace has been disturbed, their happiness destroyed, their
dearest affections wounded, and when they have asked justice for
protection, they have become convinced that they can expect it only
from themselves. But you are mistaken, sir, if you think that only the
criminals ask for justice. Go from town to town, from house to house,
listen to the secret sighings in the bosoms of the families, and you
will be convinced that the evils which the Civil Guard corrects are
the same as, if not less than, those it causes all the time. Should
we decide from this that all the people are criminals? If so, then
why defend some from the others, why not destroy them all?"
"Some error exists here which I do not see just now some fallacy in the
theory to invalidate the practise, for in Spain, the mother country,
this corps is displaying, and has ever displayed, great usefulness."
"I don't doubt it. Perhaps there, it is better organized, the men
of better grade, perhaps also Spain needs it while the Philippines
does not. Our customs, our mode of life, which are always invoked
when there is a desire to deny us some right, are entirely overlooked
when the desire is to impose something upon us. And tell me, sir, why
have not the other nations, which from their nearness to Spain must be
more like her than the Philippines is, adopted this institution? Is it
because of this that they still have fewer robberies on their railway
trains, fewer riots, fewer murders, and fewer assassinations in their
great capitals?"
Ibarra bowed his head in deep thought, raising it after a few
moments to reply: "This question, my friend, calls for serious
study. If my inquiries convince me that these complaints are well
founded I will write to my friends in Madrid, since we have no
representatives. Meanwhile, believe me that the government needs a
corps with strength enough to make itself respected and to enforce
its authority."
"Yes, sir, when the government is at war with the country. But for
the welfare of the government itself we must not have the people think
that they are in opposition to authority. Rather, if such were true,
if we prefer force to prestige, we ought to take care to whom we grant
this unlimited power, this authority. So much power in the hands
of men, ignorant men filled with passions, without moral training,
of untried principles, is a weapon in the hands of a madman in a
defenseless multitude. I concede and wish to believe with you that
the government needs this weapon, but then let it choose this weapon
carefully, let it select the most worthy instruments, and since it
prefers to take upon itself authority, rather than have the people
grant it, at least let it be seen that it knows how to exercise it."
Elias spoke passionately, enthusiastically, in vibrating tones; his
eyes flashed. A solemn pause followed. The banka, unimpelled by the
paddle, seemed to stand still on the water. The moon shone majestically
in a sapphire sky and a few lights glimmered on the distant shore.
"What more do they ask for?" inquired Ibarra.
"Reform in the priesthood," answered Elias in a sad and discouraged
tone. "These unfortunates ask for more protection against--"
"Against the religious orders?"
"Against their oppressors, sir."
"Has the Philippines forgotten what she owes to those orders? Has she
forgotten the immense debt of gratitude that is due from her to those
who snatched her from error to give her the true faith, to those who
have protected her against the tyrannical acts of the civil power? This
is the evil result of not knowing the history of our native land!"
The surprised Elias could hardly credit what he heard. "Sir," he
replied in a grave tone, "you accuse these people of ingratitude;
let me, one of the people who suffer, defend them. Favors rendered,
in order to have any claims to recognition, must be disinterested. Let
us pass over its missionary work, the much-invoked Christian charity;
let us brush history aside and not ask what Spain has done with the
Jewish people, who gave all Europe a Book, a Religion, and a God;
what she has done with the Arabic people, who gave her culture,
who were tolerant with her religious beliefs, and who awoke her
lethargic national spirit, so nearly destroyed during the Roman and
Gothic dominations. You say that she snatched us from error and gave
us the true faith: do you call faith these outward forms, do you
call religion this traffic in girdles and scapularies, truth these
miracles and wonderful tales that we hear daily? Is this the law of
Jesus Christ? For this it was hardly necessary that a God should allow
Himself to be crucified or that we should be obliged to show eternal
gratitude. Superstition existed long before--it was only necessary
to systematize it and raise the price of its merchandise!
"You will tell me that however imperfect our religion may be at
present, it is preferable to what we had before. I believe that, too,
and would agree with you in saying so, but the cost is too great,
since for it we have given up our nationality, our independence. For
it we have given over to its priests our best towns, our fields, and
still give up our savings by the purchase of religious objects. An
article of foreign manufacture has been introduced among us, we have
paid well for it, and we are even.
"If you mean the protection that they afforded us against the
_encomenderos_, [132] I might answer that through them we fell under
the power of the _encomenderos_. But no, I realize that a true faith
and a sincere love for humanity guided the first missionaries to our
shores; I realize the debt of gratitude we owe to those noble hearts;
I know that at that time Spain abounded in heroes of all kinds, in
religious as well as in political affairs, in civil and in military
life. But because the forefathers were virtuous, should we consent
to the abuses of their degenerate descendants? Because they have
rendered us great service, should we be to blame for preventing them
from doing us wrong? The country does not ask for their expulsion but
only for reforms required by the changed circumstances and new needs."
"I love our native land as well as you can, Elias; I understand
something of what it desires, and I have listened with attention to
all you have said. But, after all, my friend, I believe that we are
looking at things through rather impassioned eyes. Here, less than
in other parts, do I see the necessity for reforms."
"Is it possible, sir," asked Elias, extending his arms in a gesture
of despair, "that you do not see the necessity for reforms, you,
after the misfortunes of your family?"
"Ah, I forget myself and my own troubles in the presence of the
security of the Philippines, in the presence of the interests of
Spain!" interrupted Ibarra warmly. "To preserve the Philippines it
is meet that the friars continue as they are. On the union with Spain
depends the welfare of our country."
When Ibarra had ceased Elias still sat in an attitude of attention
with a sad countenance and eyes that had lost their luster. "The
missionaries conquered the country, it is true," he replied, "but do
you believe that by the friars the Philippines will be preserved?"
"Yes, by them alone. Such is the belief of all who have written about
the country."
"Oh!" exclaimed Elias dejectedly, throwing the paddle clown in the
banka, "I did not believe that you would have so poor an idea of
the government and of the country. Why don't you condemn both? What
would you say of the members of a family that dwells in peace only
through the intervention of an outsider: a country that is obedient
because it is deceived; a government that commands be, cause it avails
itself of fraud, a government that does not know how to make itself
loved or respected for its own sake? Pardon me, sir, but I believe
that our government is stupid and is working its own ruin when it
rejoices that such is the belief. I thank you for your kindness,
where do you wish me to take you now?"
"No," replied Ibarra, "let us talk; it is necessary to see who is
right on such an important subject."
"Pardon me, sir," replied Elias, shaking his head, "but I haven't the
eloquence to convince you. Even though I have had some education I am
still an Indian, my way of life seems to you a precarious one, and my
words will always seem to you suspicious. Those who have given voice
to the opposite opinion are Spaniards, and as such, even though they
may speak idly and foolishly, their tones, their titles, and their
origin make their words sacred and give them such authority that I
have desisted forever from arguing against them. Moreover, when I
see that you, who love your country, you, whose father sleeps beneath
these quiet waters, you, who have seen yourself attacked, insulted,
and persecuted, hold such opinions in spite of all these things, and
in spite of your knowledge, I begin to doubt my own convictions and
to admit the possibility that the people may be mistaken. I'll have
to tell those unfortunates who have put their trust in men that they
must place it in God and their own strength. Again I thank you--tell
me where I shall take you."
"Elias, your bitter words touch my heart and make me also doubt. What
do you want? I was not brought up among the people, so I am perhaps
ignorant of their needs. I spent my childhood in the Jesuit college,
I grew up in Europe, I have been molded by books, learning only what
men have been able to bring to light. What remains among the shadows,
what the writers do not tell, that I am ignorant of. Yet I love our
country as you do, not only because it is the duty of every man to
love the country to which he owes his existence and to which he will
no doubt owe his final rest, not only because my father so taught
me, but also because my mother was an Indian, because my fondest
recollections cluster around my country, and I love it also because
to it I owe and shall ever owe my happiness!"
"And I, because to it I owe my misfortunes," muttered Elias.
"Yes, my friend, I know that you suffer, that you are unfortunate,
and that those facts make you look into the future darkly and
influence your way of thinking, so I am somewhat forearmed against
your complaints. If I could understand your motives, something of
your past--"
"My misfortunes had another source. If I thought that the story of
them would be of any use, I would relate it to you, since, apart from
the fact that I make no secret of it, it is quite well known to many."
"Perhaps on hearing it I might correct my opinions. You know that I do
not trust much to theories, preferring rather to be guided by facts."
Elias remained thoughtful for a few moments. "If that is the case,
sir, I will tell you my story briefly."


CHAPTER L
Elias's Story

"Some sixty years ago my grandfather dwelt in Manila, being employed
as a bookkeeper in a Spanish commercial house. He was then very young,
was married, and had a son. One night from some unknown cause the
warehouse burned down. The fire was communicated to the dwelling of his
employer and from there to many other buildings. The losses were great,
a scapegoat was sought, and the merchant accused my grandfather. In
vain he protested his innocence, but he was poor and unable to pay the
great lawyers, so he was condemned to be flogged publicly and paraded
through the streets of Manila. Not so very long since they still used
the infamous method of punishment which the people call the '_caballo
y vaca_,' [133] and which is a thousand times more dreadful than death
itself. Abandoned by all except his young wife, my grandfather saw
himself tied to a horse, followed by an unfeeling crowd, and whipped
on every street-corner in the sight of men, his brothers, and in the
neighborhood of numerous temples of a God of peace. When the wretch,
now forever disgraced, had satisfied the vengeance of man with his
blood, his tortures, and his cries, he had to be taken off the horse,
for he had become unconscious. Would to God that he had died! But
by one of those refinements of cruelty he was given his liberty. His
wife, pregnant at the time, vainly begged from door to door for work or
alms in order to care for her sick husband and their poor son, but who
would trust the wife of an incendiary and a disgraced man? The wife,
then, had to become a prostitute!"
Ibarra rose in his seat.
"Oh, don't get excited! Prostitution was not now a dishonor for her
or a disgrace to her husband; for them honor and shame no longer
existed. The husband recovered from his wounds and came with his wife
and child to hide himself in the mountains of this province. Here they
lived several months, miserable, alone, hated and shunned by all. The
wife gave birth to a sickly child, which fortunately died. Unable
to endure such misery and being less courageous than his wife, my
grandfather, in despair at seeing his sick wife deprived of all care
and assistance, hanged himself. His corpse rotted in sight of the son,
who was scarcely able to care for his sick mother, and the stench
from it led to their discovery. Her husband's death was attributed
to her, for of what is the wife of a wretch, a woman who has been
a prostitute besides, not believed to be capable? If she swears,
they call her a perjurer; if she weeps, they say that she is acting;
and that she blasphemes when she calls on God. Nevertheless, they
had pity on her condition and waited for the birth of another child
before they flogged her. You know how the friars spread the belief
that the Indians can only be managed by blows: read what Padre Gaspar
de San Agustin says! [134]
"A woman thus condemned will curse the day on which her child is born,
and this, besides prolonging her torture, violates every maternal
sentiment. Unfortunately, she brought forth a healthy child. Two months
afterwards, the sentence was executed to the great satisfaction of
the men who thought that thus they were performing their duty. Not
being at peace in these mountains, she then fled with her two sons
to a neighboring province, where they lived like wild beasts, hating
and hated. The elder of the two boys still remembered, even amid so
much misery, the happiness of his infancy, so he became a tulisan as
soon as he found himself strong enough. Before long the bloody name
of Balat spread from province to province, a terror to the people,
because in his revenge he did everything with blood and fire. The
younger, who was by nature kind-hearted, resigned himself to his
shameful fate along with his mother, and they lived on what the woods
afforded, clothing themselves in the cast-off rags of travelers. She
had lost her name, being known only as _the convict, the prostitute,
the scourged_. He was known as the son of his mother only, because
the gentleness of his disposition led every one to believe that he
was not the son of the incendiary and because any doubt as to the
morality of the Indians can be held reasonable.
"At last, one day the notorious Balat fell into the clutches of the
authorities, who exacted of him a strict accounting for his crimes,
and of his mother for having done nothing to rear him properly. One
morning the younger brother went to look for his mother, who had
gone into the woods to gather mushrooms and had not returned. He
found her stretched out on the ground under a cotton-tree beside the
highway, her face turned toward the sky, her eyes fixed and staring,
her clenched hands buried in the blood-stained earth. Some impulse
moved him to look up in the direction toward which the eyes of the
dead woman were staring, and he saw hanging from a branch a basket
and in the basket the gory head of his brother!"
"My God!" ejaculated Ibarra.
"That might have been the exclamation of my father," continued Elias
coldly. "The body of the brigand had been cut up and the trunk buried,
but his limbs were distributed and hung up in different towns. If
ever you go from Kalamba to Santo Tomas you will still see a withered
lomboy-tree where one of my uncle's legs hung rotting--nature has
blasted the tree so that it no longer grows or bears fruit. The same
was done with the other limbs, but the head, as the best part of the
person and the portion most easily recognizable, was hung up in front
of his mother's hut!"
Ibarra bowed his head.
"The boy fled like one accursed," Elias went on. "He fled from town
to town by mountain and valley. When he thought that he had reached
a place where he was not known, he hired himself out as a laborer in
the house of a rich man in the province of Tayabas. His activity and
the gentleness of his character gained him the good-will of all who
did not know his past, and by his thrift and economy he succeeded in
accumulating a little capital. He was still young, he thought his
sorrows buried in the past, and he dreamed of a happy future. His
pleasant appearance, his youth, and his somewhat unfortunate condition
won him the love of a young woman of the town, but he dared not ask
for her hand from fear that his past might become known. But love
is stronger than anything else and they wandered from the straight
path, so, to save the woman's honor, he risked everything by asking
for her in marriage. The records were sought and his whole past
became known. The girl's father was rich and succeeded in having him
prosecuted. He did not try to defend himself but admitted everything,
and so was sent to prison. The woman gave birth to twins, a boy and a
girl, who were nurtured in secret and made to believe that their father
was dead no difficult matter, since at a tender age they saw their
mother die, and they gave little thought to tracing genealogies. As our
maternal grandfather was rich our childhood passed happily. My sister
and I were brought up together, loving one another as only twins can
love when they have no other affections. When quite young I was sent
to study in the Jesuit College, and my sister, in order that we might
not be completely separated, entered the Concordia College. [135] After
our brief education was finished, since we desired only to be farmers,
we returned to the town to take possession of the inheritance left
us by our grandfather. We lived happily for a time, the future smiled
on us, we had many servants, our' fields produced abundant harvests,
and my sister was about to be married to a young man whom she adored
and who responded equally to her affection.
"But in a dispute over money and by reason of my haughty disposition
at that time, I alienated the good will of a distant relative, and
one day he east in my face my doubtful birth and shameful descent. I
thought it all a slander and demanded satisfaction. The tomb which
covered so much rottenness was again opened and to my consternation
the whole truth came out to overwhelm me. To add to our sorrow, we
had had for many years an old servant who had endured all my whims
without ever leaving us, contenting himself merely with weeping and
groaning at the rough jests of the other servants. I don't know how my
relative had found it out, but the fact is that he had this old man
summoned into court and made him tell the truth: that old servant,
who had clung to his beloved children, and whom I had abused many
times, was my father! Our happiness faded away, I gave up our fortune,
my sister lost her betrothed, and with our father we left the town
to seek refuge elsewhere. The thought that he had contributed to
our misfortunes shortened the old man's days, but before he died I
learned from his lips the whole story of the sorrowful past.