2021-006 | PURE SURVIVAL CHRONICLES: THE LANIGUID INCIDENT

IN THE COURSE OF MY life’s journey, I have met many people who were survivors of different mishaps and catastrophes, circumstances and deprivations, wars and conflicts, and they lived to tell their experiences, predicaments and fortunes. While others I came across to, are witnesses of, or have been recipient of tales from these survivors, it still are stories worth telling. I am an eager listener and I always remember the stories very well and added these pieces of information into my “library of self-preservation”. This blog is, in itself, a repository of pure survival tales.

One of the saddest misfortunes that befell during conflicts are the wanton killings of non-combatants, especially the civilian population, almost always attributed to both sides without discrimination. It so happened so many times in the past that it is not that rare anymore. One of these massacres happened on a hinterland community of the Municipality of Liloan during the last stages of World War II which was inflicted by units of the Imperial Japanese Army when they made their retreat to northern Cebu.

After Cebu City was cleared of Japanese resistance by the US Eighth Army on April 14, 1945, the Japanese-held lines between the coastal plains and the heights of the Babag Mountain Range were abandoned by their defenders, who escaped over the mountains, hoping to reach Bogo where a Japanese troop ship was supposed to be steaming towards it. It was at this time, a platoon-sized IJA that strayed at Laniguid on a bright full moon. The Japanese soldiers summoned all the civilians they could find and begun killing them.

 

According to the last living witness, GREGORIA LANCA-AG GEPEGA, female, married, now 94 years old, and a resident of Barangay Mulao, Liloan; a younger brother of hers accidentally discovered the Japanese troops. He was immediately detained and everyone were roused out of their homes, to include evacuees coming from the lowlands of Liloan, who seek refuge here, to stay away from the fierce battles waged on the coastal highway and shorelines. 

“I was born on September 28, 1927, here in Mulao, which was then known as Sak-on. I lived with my parents, my eight brothers and a sister. I finished Grade 2 at Sak-on Elementary School and I enjoyed my teen years by watching a ‘comparza’, a form of entertainment, with neighbors. We know there was a war going on but we did not know what it was like because we were living peacefully here… 

“I do not even know what a Japanese soldier looked like because, despite all the fearful stories we heard about them, it seemed so distant to us. One day, people from the lowlands, led by a certain Mr. Buhay, arrived. There was an open market fair and they took rest under the makeshift huts and benches. We were so disturbed at the news they brought and it left us wondering what would become of us if the war should come here… 

“Like most nights, we retired early. There was a full moon and my younger brother went out to check on his cow. It was quite strange that he took so long to be out. In fact, he never came back at all. We hit our sleeping mats and began dozing off when we were awakened by angry noises muttering strange dialects. Loud bangs pounded our door and the cool breeze of the night entered as we opened it and it sent a chill upon our spines.” 

Laniguid is a hilly part of Liloan town and is popular with hikers who spend overnight or just a day. Its peak reaches 500 meters above sea level and a small community still lives on its foothills. It is part of the village of Mulao. There is a cross on the site of the massacre where there used to be mass graves. All the remains of the dead victims were exhumed and given proper burials after the war.

It was on this massacre site where the villagers and the unlucky visitors from the lowlands were dragged and lined. The men, young and old, were separated from the women, the girls, and the nursing infants and small children. The soldiers were talking to the men but nobody could understand them. Under the ghostly light of a full moon, it would cast an impression of a grim ending for all. 

“My father and the rest of my brothers were taken away from me by force while another group of soldiers herded me, my mother and my sister, along with all the women and their children some distance away. It was the last time I saw my father and three of my brothers alive and almost everybody that I knew for so long… 

“There was this concubine of a Japanese soldier, named Lourdes, who was from the lowlands, and who tried to talk the soldiers out from harming us all. She was with her half-Japanese infant, but the leader grabbed instead her child and thrust the bayonet through, killing the child. Then she was also stabbed to death by the same murderer… 

“From afar, I heard cries of pain and shouting for help. Then the Japanese in our own group began killing us with their bayonets thrusting the tips to whomever was nearest them. In the half-light, all of us tried to run or shielded those whom dear to us. I felt a sharp hard object punching painfully on my lower back and in my armpit. I fell down and the same object is thrust again on my upper back and I lost consciousness.” 

The indiscriminate murder of innocent civilians took the lives of more than 250 men, women and children. This was the biggest massacre inflicted by the Japanese in Cebu and it is not well-publicized. It took the lives of her father, her mother, her only sister and three of his brothers. By this time of the interview, Gregoria Gepega was in tears, sobbing, and releasing her painful memories away.

 

Killing without provocation could have been attributed to the fear of discovery by the Americans or by Filipino guerrillas on the routed Japanese troopers. They would probably be suffering from hunger, thirst, great stress, shock, low morale, frustration, anger and fear. The least they could do is being discovered by its enemies or even by innocent locals and that is why they travelled by night during their retreat. 

“I regained consciousness when I felt light through my eyelids. Morning had arrived. I was alive and I was left for dead, not only by the Japanese, but also of the surviving villagers. My dead mother was above me. She could have shielded me while I was going down and that is why I was alive. She has saved me! I pushed my dear mother gently aside and I crawled out to seek help… 

“The wounds I got were very painful yet I did not have difficulty in breathing. Immediately, first aid treatment was applied on my wounds when they found me, all of it folk remedies since our barrio was very far from the town center. I remembered I took a decoction made from boiling water and a 6-inch nail. Then I passed out again…

“When I regained consciousness once more, I was recuperating from my wounds in an American army field hospital in Jagobiao, Mandaue. I did not have any recollection of when and who brought me here? A local nurse told me that I slept for three straight days. I would go on to stay for another month before they would release me.” 

Gregoria would go on to marry her neighbor and suitor, Benito Gepega, now 94 years old. During the incident in Laniguid, he was in Balamban with his family, looking after their farm. All told, there were less than ten survivors and most of them are now dead of old age. One of the survivors is MIGUEL MALABON, male, married, 76 years old and the current village chairman of Mulao. He is the nephew of Gregoria Gepega.

 

He has no recollection whatsoever of the incident since he was three months old at that time. He was allegedly cradled by his mother when they were separated from the men. He survived the massacre when his mother shielded him from the Japanese but his father was not so lucky. He has a twin brother, which also survived and is now living in Davao. 

Days after the massacre, the surviving neighborhood created a search party led by Perio Goc-ong when they discovered that there were three Japanese stragglers sighted in their barrio. All three decided to fight it out to the last man than be taken prisoner. Most of the IJA forces reached Tabogon, harassed on the rear by guerrilla forces and could go no further as the Americans blocked their route. 

They surrendered to Major General William H. Arnold of the US Eighth Army, all 9,867 officers, the rank-and-file and their civilian auxiliaries, to include, perhaps, those responsible for that massacre in Laniguid. All were transported immediately back to Cebu City and repatriated under guard to Japan.

 

Photo Nr 1 credits to Wikipedia

Photo Nr 5 credits to Pacificwrecks.com

2021-002 | THE LEGEND & LEGACY OF ANTONIO ILUSTRISIMO

ON THE EVENING OF JANUARY 27, 2020, I saw two men practicing the traditional Filipino art of fighting with sticks at the Luneta National Park. “Whup-whup-whup! Whup-whup-whup…” The rhythm of rattan sticks slashing air echoed clearly in a secluded spot of the hallowed grounds. “Whup-whup-whup! Whup-whup-whup…” Outside was the familiar traffic noise of metropolitan Manila which were muffled by the trees and the concrete barriers. “Whup-whup-whup! Whup-whup-whup…”

But, on closer look, these two men were not holding rattan sticks that most favored because it is very light, round, friendly to the hands and very easy to control. They were using wooden sticks made in the shape of a traditional Filipino blade which looked like a cross of the Cebuano pinuti and a Waray sansibar. Nevertheless, this is no eye-candy form-lovely dancing-stick style. This could be the real deal! The one art that could still be in its unadulterated medieval form.

During the break of the practice session, Ramon “Jay Z” Jorge introduced me to Master Arnold Narzo. I was surprised that he is also a Cebuano like me and we Cebuanos prided ourselves of having the best schools and the best masters when it comes to eskrima, arnis or kali. Mention either terms and the Doce Pares, the Balintawak and the Lapunti, and even Lapulapu himself; would emerge in a conversation and these are all in Cebu.

Master Narzo explained to me that what he and Jay Z were doing is called the KALIS ILUSTRISIMO REPETICION ORIGINAL. It is a form of kali which the late Great Grandmaster Antonio “Tatang” Ilustrisimo personally taught to only a few disciples like Master Antonio Diego, a Cebuano from Pasil, and Master Narzo, of Malabuyoc, Cebu. After the death of Grandmaster Ilustrisimo, Master Diego took over and documented all the moves into a training syllabus which benefitted Master Narzo, who also learned from Master Diego before he died. 

Kali taught by Tatang Ilustrisimo is simply a dangerous form of martial art for it uses real blades instead of sticks and he cannot understand why people would want to learn from him to kill more people? He was the exception, of course. He rejected a lot of them because of that but he is willing to accept a duel from anyone, regardless if it was just for fun or a deadly one. He would always win because his style is very simple and he would even taunt other masters of their propensity to memorize and teach so many number of figure forms. 

But who was Tatang Ilustrisimo really? I found out that he was born in Kinatarkan, a small islet located off the north of Cebu and is part of the Municipality of Santa Fe. According to a story published in a blog, Tatang at age nine, stole away from home without the blessings and approval of his family, carrying with him his clothes, money he saved, food, a traditional blade and a small family boat. He rowed alone following his dream of setting foot in America.

His basic knowledge of stick-fighting, learned from his uncles and his father, emboldened him to go on an adventure which most of the youths of those long-gone days would take, like my own late grandfather who took a one-way trip to Cebu from Iloilo. Unknown to him, he was embarking on his own warrior’s pilgrimage, a personal wanderlust seeking out knowledge in survival through learning of martial arts that only battles and individual duels could give. The most famous warrior’s pilgrimage was made by Miyamoto Musashi in 16th-century Japan. 

I have been to Kinatarkan Island many times, especially at the very place where he was born: Sitio Dapdap, in Barangay Langub. A neighboring barangay, Hagdan, has a percentage of its population with Micronesian features of larger body mass and their Cebuano dialect has a sprinkling of Waray. Tatang, at the prime of his life, was extremely tall for a Filipino. He was a six-footer, more or less. That longer reach would figure more prominently in his adult years when fighting was a way of life. 

Fate would always be kind to him. According to one of Tatang’s student, Master Romy Macapagal, when he was at sea on his small boat and utterly exhausted fighting physical fatigue, loneliness, hunger, thirst, cold and heat, fishermen who passed by would toss their catch to him. He ultimately reach the Port of Cebu where there were many steel-hulled trading ships of whom he thought would be capable of bringing him to America and smuggled himself into the biggest one where it brought him to the Port of Zamboanga instead. There he met an acquaintance and jumped ship.

 

His friend brought him to Sulu where he was introduced to Islam and adopted a Muslim name of Muntisali. He was entrusted to serve under a very influential person as an adopted son. He took advantage of this privilege to study in a school together with his foster father’s sons and then train with several Tausug warriors as his physical age and growth began to fine-tune him into one of the better warriors under the nobleman’s protection. His learning in academics and the fighting arts began to reach a favorable curve which were greatly appreciated by his patron. 

His mastery of kali at the young age of 17 learned under the wings of his foster family enabled him to kill his first opponent during an altercation. Both men drew their barung almost simultaneously but he was more agile and has the longer reach which offset his more experienced opponent. The fight started when he was reprimanded for intoxicating himself with alcoholic drinks, which is totally forbidden in Islam. He was banished from Sulu after his benefactor paid blood money to his dead opponent’s family. 

Back in Kinatarkan Island and reunited with his family, he soon found his old life boring and the call of individual combat would, once again, beckon him to make another journey to Zamboanga, this time, teaming up with Pedro Cortes, his father’s former sparring partner, as bounty hunters in the employ of the Americans in the early 1920s. Cortes taught him the finer things of the Cebuano fighting art, which Tatang fused with the fighting art he learned in Sulu. It was, at this time, that he developed his own style: the economy of movement, the simple steps and that formidable stance that complement his natural reach which had ensured him many success.  

 

He was now engaged in a very serious warrior’s pilgrimage in Mindanao and around the Visayas in the 1920s up to the middle of the 1930s, fighting adversaries during barrio fiestas and pre-arranged duels. He would win every match, whether with blade or with sticks, and this journey made him so famous that masters from other countries would come here to seek him out. His opponents would protect themselves with armor and paddings but he fought bare, knowing that, should he lose, it would be the end of his career or his life. His reputation was so intimidating that many grandmasters turned his dares down. 

One of the most difficult opponents that he faced was in Bohol. His reach advantage was negated by his rival’s longer weapon, which was in the shape of a wooden pestle. It took him many tries before he was able to subdue the Boholano fighter whose strange technique he called the “inal-ho”. When he ran out of worthy opponents, he tried the big city of Manila and lived on the fringes of the waterfront area where he was contracted as an enforcer for cargo shippers. 

For a time, he found favor with a shipping company where he travelled outside the country as a deck officer after neutralizing a very problematic hoodlum. Then World War II came and he offered his fighting skills as a member of a guerrilla unit. In the 1950s through the 1960s, he was now a revered grandmaster that other masters would pay him a visit to test their techniques against him. While they wore protection, he would not, and he would continue to insult them when they stuck to their age-old habit of memorizing endless fighting sequences which were useless in fast fluid actions.

 

In his travel outside the country as a seafarer, he would spar with other fighters. It was at this time that he became obsessed with amulets and incantations. He says that other masters used spiritual warfare to confuse and defeat their opponents. One of those that used this power effectively in tandem with fighting was an Indonesian pencak silat master. During the heat of the duel, the Indonesian lost a thumb and threw the proverbial “white towel”. In the process, Tatang won the $5,000 wager without killing his opponent. 

Badgered for ten years by Antonio Diego, he finally relented and shared his technique to him and a few others. Master Narzo benefitted from both when they were still alive and continued the legacy of Grandmaster Ilustrisimo and, to a lesser degree, of Master Diego. He is invited frequently in the US and in Europe to teach foreigners and overseas Filipinos the art of Kalis Ilustrisimo. Since Kalis Ilustrisimo is well-preserved by Master Diego and then to him, this is the Original.

While other schools-of-thought preferred the rattan sticks as their practice weapons instead of real blades, Kalis Ilustrisimo does the opposite. Kalis Ilustrisimo maintained their fatal-blow accuracy with a correct angle provided only by holding a real blade or its sword dummies during training. Then it never placed their style inside a series of templates like everybody are doing and repeats the same technique over and over again, as in Repeticion, and encourages improvisation and the free flow of movements based on target opportunities.

 

Tatang Ilustrisimo made a very small fortune by winning all his fights and through his industry but he died a poor man because he shared what little he had to his needy neighbors, friends and relatives. He was 93 years old when he passed away and his grave was never remembered by his closest relatives and, in fact, his remains were exhumed by the cemetery management when his closest of kin failed to pay for its upkeep and cannot be located anymore. Master Narzo tried his best efforts to locate his remains but all to no avail. 

Sadly, this gifted Cebuano swordsman did not receive any accolade nor words of appreciation from the place where he was born. His journey of life were fraught with dangers, real threats and challenges, at a time when lawlessness was prevalent, and made us all lesser mortals, if we compare our own troubles with him. His skills, even though demonstrated in bravado and very fatal, was a deterrent that have benefitted those who may have been under his protection. Sadly, what Cebu lost, Manila has gained, because it had welcomed him. 

 

Sources:

1.   Master Arnold Narzo

2.   Master Romeo Macapagal

3.   Ramon Jorge

4.   Tita Rosos

5.   Queen City.com

6.   Mandirigma.org

7.   Kali Filippino.it  

PURE SURVIVAL CHRONICLES: Virginio Lavilles, Defender of Bataan

IN THE COURSE OF my life’s journey, I have met many people who were survivors of different mishaps and catastrophes, circumstances and deprivations, wars and conflicts, and they lived to tell their experiences, predicaments and fortunes. While others I came across to, are witnesses of, or have been recipient of tales from these survivors, it still are stories worth telling. I am an eager listener and I always remember the stories very well and added these pieces of information into my “library of self-preservation”. This blog is, in itself, a repository of pure survival tales.

Virginio Lavilles is my uncle. He is more known by his friends as Guy. He is the big brother of my mother and he is popular everywhere. He is a very likeable fellow and he has a good sense of humor. He died when I was 12 due to cirrhosis of the liver. When he was alive, he used to come over regularly to our house to visit us. Actually, it was the house of my grandparents. Our next-door neighbor is his sister. But he lived in Barrio Luz and has a family of his own.

He, along with my grandparents, my mom and my aunt, and sometimes visitors from Bohol who were always welcome to stay in the house, would talk and reminisce about the years preceding World War II and during those darkest of days when the Japanese came. I always heard their stories and I became familiar with it. My uncle was a legendary character and I find it strange that this gentle family man was another person whom I cannot reconcile as him in those stories.

So it goes that the clouds of war came to the Philippine Islands. The United States, who governed the archipelago, wanted to remain neutral even when Germany invaded Poland, Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and France in September 1939 and threatened to cross over the English Channel. Japan fought a maritime war with Russia and annexed Korea, Manchuria and Taiwan and, later, invaded China, French Indochina, Burma, British Malaya and the Dutch East Indies.

Gen. Douglas McArthur was mustered from retirement by the US Congress and was tasked to plan and organize the defense of the Philippine Islands, most notably from Japan. It was during this time that several divisions of the Philippine Army were organized and trained for conventional warfare under the umbrella of the United States Army Forces of the Far East or USAFFE. It would fight side by side with American divisions.

There were not enough men to fill up the divisions as the local populace cannot fathom why Japan would wage war on neutral US and on the Filipinos, reasoning that we have no scruples with Japan. It was not our war, but the US believed that the archipelago was a very tempting prize for Japan, nevertheless, since it would control maritime traffic and, at the same time, protect their own transport of valuable natural resources like rubber, petroleum, lumber and metal ores from invaded countries.

The US and their Philippine counterpart appealed to their constituents and, slowly, enlistment began to pick up. My uncle found himself one day in an Army enlistment post inside Camp Lapulapu. His father, Atty. Gervasio Lavilles, personally brought him there out of patriotic duty. The old man served once as a Philippine Scout during World War I. My uncle was 17 when he was forced by his father to be a soldier and became Private Lavilles.

Then on December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and, hours after that, declared war on the USA. The following day, Japanese planes went south, bombed and strafed all military and vital civilian installations in the Philippines everyday. The US and Philippine forces were caught flatfooted and it became inevitable to everybody that Japan did not give a damn about no scruples and all. Everybody now wanted to join the Army.

Trainings and preparations were doubled and rumors of Japanese landings came from all directions. The populace were agitated and some abandoned the urban centers for the countryside. On December 22, 1942, the Japanese landed in Lingayen Gulf and the real invasion began. It was a very strong force. All opposition wilted before the fighting prowess of the Japanese, many of whom were veterans of jungle warfare in French Indochina, Malaya and Borneo.

Pvt. Lavilles and his unit were deployed to Luzon to face this invasion force. Gen. McArthur activated War Plan Orange 3 and all units proceeded to the Bataan Peninsula to lure the force of Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma there instead of destroying Manila and exact needless civilian casualties. The lines were set and fire and steel rained against each other. Mechanized warfare overran trenches and flesh as the discord of war placed everyone in a state of shock and madness. I heard these words from my dear uncle:

“I lost many of my friends. I just could not easily accept it and continued to deny, even to this day, that they died. They were very alive. They were of my age. We even joked a few hours before and smoked our last cigarettes when the bombs came. It was hard to accept. I would ask God, why not me? I lost my appetite after that and kept thinking of them and then the bombs would come and I forgot about them for a while…

“The explosions shook the earth and you hold on to yourself for dear life, wishing you were in another place. You are scared, angry, thirsty and your adrenaline is up. Your stomach is in a knot. You felt the hunger but you have no taste for it. There is no way, no chance, to place a shot at your enemy. Somewhere infront of you are Americans and Filipinos. I was counting the days when I would find the chance to kill a Japanese soldier or be killed…

“Living among the dead in the trenches was overpowering. All what was left of your former comrades lay grotesque and horrid. A few of them had half of their faces blown away; many lost limbs; a lot got half of their bodies burned and a lucky few, they just died as if in a state of grace. They all lay there and you moved carefully not to step on them until the front became silent and they were taken away for burial. Streaks of blood on the earth remind you that they were still there.”

The defensive lines of Bataan retreated every week but it was enough to stymie the timetable of the Japanese. They were expecting half-hearted opposition just like they encountered in China, French Indochina, British Malaya and the Dutch East Indies. They even overwhelmed the Royal British and the Royal Dutch forces. A feat which surprised even their military strategists and they were now using the same tested tactics in Bataan.

Weeks went by and it became March and the defenders of Bataan could not be dislodged easily. Japanese casualties were heavy. It was a stiff price since it claimed their most battle-hardened veterans. Reinforcements of fresh troops came and replaced battle-worn units. The Japanese now have total air superiority during this time and more ships supporting their infantry target the rear and the supply lines of the defenders.

The Japanese kept up the pressure, importing more troops from Korea, Malaya and Indochina. The defensive lines broke and became pockets of resistance. One pocket resisted and shrunk in size until it held the heel of Bataan. Resistance was futile as enemy opposition surrounded them from almost all sides, except where the side of Corregidor Island is facing.

“I remembered that day of April 9, 1942. It was the saddest day for us defending Bataan with all of our lives. We lost so many and yet it was not enough. We ran out of heavy rounds many days ago and we fought bravely with small arms against overwhelming odds. We were left to our own wits on the field. Scrounging for rifle bullets that a comrade left behind. There were no more food to eat, no water to drink. It was a very hot day…

“Infront of us was the enemy. Their tanks advancing slowly. My commanding officer handed me a piece of paper and a white cloth tied to a stick. I was chosen because I was the youngest and, perhaps, the dumbest private. Against my will, I climbed up slowly from the fox hole and raised my arms slowly and walked uneasily forward. I could have pissed right there as all Japanese weapons were trained on me…

“Then a Japanese officer motioned me forward. I stepped a few more paces and told to stop. A Japanese underling walked past me and kicked the back of one leg and I went down to my knees. He snatched the paper and gave it to his superior. Another soldier kicked me from behind and I fell face flat on the earth and then he pumped a rifle butt on my head. It hurts but it hurts more that you are now a defeated adversary and a POW.” 

All told, there were around 10,000 Americans and about 58,000 Filipinos as prisoners of war. These survivors would be forced to march from Mariveles, Bataan to Capas, Tarlac on what would be known in history as the Death March. It is a walk of more than 90 kilometers, most of it on roads under a sweltering heat of the day. Only the fittest and the most adaptable would survive this infamous chapter.

The forced march, under the threat of death, started on April 10. The prisoners made it in five to twelve days to San Fernando, Pampanga. In between were rests under the heat of the sun, deprived of whatever shade. Whatever valuable items that prisoners possessed were confiscated and, ultimately, they had only the shirts on their backs, their trousers and their boots. Instant death came to anyone who possessed Japanese property.

Many more would succumb to exhaustion and poisoning caused by swallowing dirty food and water. Death could also come from the bayonets given to one who was now incapable of walking or in the act of escaping or accepting something from the civilians like food and water. By the sheer power of parched thirst, prisoners would have no other choice but drink water whenever they find it like ponds and canals.

“After the formal surrender ceremony, the gravely wounded and those that could not move were placed separately from the rest. I believed they were all dispatched. Regimental lines were formed by company strength. We were told to march and marched we did. The Japanese marched with us with their bayonets attached to their muzzles and ready for the kill. They would threaten and kill you if you just stared at them or out of sport…

“I looked for any opportunity of escape but I found none. Some of our comrades were lucky to escape unnoticed while a great number got caught and dispatched right away with machine guns, rifles and those long bayonets. An American beside me was able to catch a ball of sticky rice thrown from out of nowhere and everyone placed their dirty hands on it, including me, and devoured it without a trace…

“We do not know where we were going but we know that the battlefields were much easier living than be a POW of the cruel Japanese guards. I was consoled by the presence of so many Cebuanos. We goad each other out and that gave me strength. Being a prisoner is not that bad, after all. You retained your self-esteem and I am proud to be with these brave Americans and Filipinos. I would not have this if I entertained of deserting my comrades during the early days of battle. Surely, I would never be forgiven by my father.”

When the sickly masses of POWs reached San Fernando, they were all hauled in to waiting locomotives, packed tight inside livestock and freight box cars, to Camp O’Donnell in Capas. There were few engines and there were many prisoners. The Japanese did not expect that many. Many more succumbed to asphyxia, complications from infected wounds and extreme heat.

Camp O’Donnell used to be a camp of the Philippine Army’s 71st Division. The Japanese found use for it as a concentration camp for POWs. The billeting was expanded to accommodate close to 70,000 prisoners, well beyond their expectations. Light materials made of bamboo and palm shingles were constructed to house the unexpected number. Operating the camp was a logistical nightmare for any prison administrator.

“I was in one of these bamboo structures. It was very small for the 200 of us. We slept sitting down on the hard ground but we were allowed to stretch outside during daytime. Many of us would be on work detail and we dug holes with sticks and bare hands. We were fed little rice and a little soup. A rat straying into our room would be a great feast. It was cool during the night but when it rained the bare floor would get flooded and, God knows, how many would piss on the seats of their pants…

“The stench was overwhelming as weeks became months. What were once men were now stick men. The spaces between us were not tight anymore and air could move around us this time because we are now so thin. We could even sleep horizontally five at a time for an hour every four days. Little comforts like that made your life as POW bearable. I am glad we had officers. It became a fashion in camp to wear ragged oversized clothes. Of the original 200 many died but many prisoners arrived and we are packed to square one…

“One day after Christmas Day 1942, I was conditionally released from Camp O’Donnell with a signed agreement that I would never fight again the Japanese and I would report every week to the military administrators where I lived. Those from Cebu were herded and packed into military transport to Manila and then put on a steamer bound to Cebu. It was a happy moment of my life that I get to see again my friends and neighbors but absent among them were those that paid their ultimate sacrifice for freedom in Bataan.”

Private Lavilles eventually rejoined his father and sisters in Bohol in June 1944 and joined a guerrilla unit. When the Liberation forces came, he went out of hiding and fought side by side with Americans again in Cebu. After World War II, he was honorably discharged from the Army and worked under his father who established a law firm. Later, he worked under the City Government of Cebu.

He most likely experienced post-traumatic stress disorder after the war. Memories of departed friends and comrades and the brutalities of war might have been too much for him to bear and caused him to drink excessively almost every day. Alcohol intoxication might be his own method of coping with the post-battle stress. At that time, PTSD was still under clinical research and it was only in the ‘80s that this medical condition was properly treated.

He died on November 20, 1975. He was 53. He was survived by wife Lourdes and children Alice, Albert, Michael and Patrick.

Document done LibreOffice 5.3 Writer

Fifth photo grabbed from WorldWar42.blogspot.com

Sixth photo grabbed from PacificWar.org.au

 First and third photos grabbed from BataanSurvivor.com

Fourth photo grabbed from Imminent Threat Solutions

Second photo grabbed from KRQE News 13 | Associated Press

Seventh photo is a snapshot of a page of Bridging the Generation Gap by author Magdalena Loredo Lometillo

Eighth photo from the Lavilles Family Archive

PURE SURVIVAL CHRONICLES: Joel Costelo and the Band of Brothers

IN THE COURSE OF my life’s journey, I have met many people who were survivors of different mishaps and catastrophes, circumstances and deprivations, wars and conflicts, and they lived to tell their experiences, predicaments and fortunes. While others I came across to, are witnesses of, or have been recipient of tales from these survivors, it still are stories worth telling. I am an eager listener and I always remember the stories very well and added these pieces of information into my “library of self-preservation”. This blog is, in itself, a repository of pure survival tales.

Let me tell you about Afghanistan first. It is a beautiful landlocked country with mixed ethnicity but, unfortunately for its populace, it is in constant turmoil. It had enjoyed peace for just relative short periods of time. Colonial powers have invaded it in the past and there were inter-ethnic wars but the 1970s was the year when the escalation of the problems besetting Afghanistan begun to be felt. The former USSR interfered and invaded the country but the population resisted and fought as one people.

 

When the Soviets left in 1989, internal disagreements fractured the shaky mujaheddin alliance and, in 1994, the Taliban seized an opportunity. They wrested control of the country and imposed their medieval and brutal ways on the land. Afghanistan became a refuge and a training ground for religious extremists from all over the world symbolized by al Qaeda. The attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001 were planned from the forbidding mountains and caves of Afghanistan.

The United States and NATO forces struck back and defeated the Taliban regime and its al Qaeda allies in 2002 and began to pacify the country. It became another insurgency problem that the Western allies indirectly inherited from the Russians. The US military were deployed in Afghanistan and saw considerable combat actions. Their mission was to protect and to patrol the remote regions so the incipient Afghan government could function. But the enemy remains entrenched and used violence to influence the civilian populace to their side.

We know that a few servicemen of Filipino ancestry served in Afghanistan but we know less of what units they were fighting under, much more their tales. I was waiting at Ondo Espresso Bar in Gen. Maxilom Avenue, Cebu City when a typical local man in New York Knicks jersey and cargo shorts arrived together with his pretty girlfriend. I got introduced to the man by a common friend and I informed him that it is an honor and a privilege to meet him. This is the veteran and he is not even in his 40s.

I am very fortunate to have this casual interview opportunity with a former US serviceman who had once been a part of the 101st Airborne Division, the famous unit whose exploits are now part of Hollywood lore like Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers, to name a few. He is Private Joel Costelo. He hailed formerly from Mabolo, Cebu City and once studied in our local university. He emigrated eventually to Queens, NY in 2002. He talked willingly of Afghanistan, his “brothers”, their sacrifices and frustrations, and civilian life.

“I enlisted with the 101st and got assigned to Afghanistan in 2009 after training for many months in the US. Although I was trained with the best, there is always a feeling of dread. I have never been in a conflict before and that feeling took most of your waking time thinking about it. In just a few days, I got my first taste of an Aghan welcome committee and then it became regular. They shot at you from nowhere and you shoot back where you thought they fired…  

“We do not execute conventional parachute drops anymore like those seen in movies but we trained and deployed quickly from helicopters during big operations like in Black Hawk Down. We did both vehicle and foot patrols, mostly platoon-sized movements, and got into frequent firefights. We were the infantry and we were the frontliners. While at base, we ate like dinosaurs, slept like turtles and we did the dirtiest jobs: latrine duty…

“In the 101st, I noticed some Asians. We were very few, maybe less than ten and, I believed, I was the only Bisaya (a Cebuano). I was the smallest guy in my platoon but I carried the same load. Maybe more. But I carried on without complaint, trudging on for 12-15 miles a day over the most rugged terrain, hefting three different weapons and their ammunition, getting harassed, from time to time, by enemy fire.”

The 101st Airborne Division is now known as the 101st Air Assault Division. Its main headquarters is in Fort Campbell, KY but it has forward operating bases in Afghanistan and Iraq. When it was known by the former name, the men behind the “Screaming Eagles” badge had fought in every great battle during and after D-Day, dropping behind enemy lines and disrupting supply arteries. Normandy. Rhineland. Ardennes-Alsace. Germany.

It saw extensive action in Vietnam in 1968 and Desert Storm in 1991. It currently has a small detachment carrying out missions in Somalia. Afghanistan is their largest deployment to date. The bases are located where the thick of the actions are. They interdict insurgent forces streaming from Pakistan, protect vital roads and airports, initiate and construct community projects, and train and support the Afghan National Security Forces during locate-and-destroy patrols.

Pvt. Costelo’s unit is based in FOB Sharana in the Province of Paktika. The province shares a border with Pakistan where Taliban militants maintain strongholds and enjoys protection from their fellow Pashtun tribesmen who, themselves, are fighting against the Pakistani Government. It is a very rugged environment, lawless and bare of trees, with mountains and valleys that could hide an army undetected. Worse, these insurgents know their country very well.

“In time, I was assigned as an assistant gunner for the M240B machine gun and, that meant, I have to carry additional ammunition for that. Many months of exposure to hard living, surviving enemy fire and the mild climate of Afghanistan had made my body more strong and much more flexible to do the tasks of an infantryman. My mind had long ago adapted to the regimented life of a soldier but, here, it starts to show stress… 

“The enemy uses his terrain very well. He fights his own style of fighting. He chooses his own time and you are there forever in the crosshairs of his sight. You hear the bark of a Dragunov and, a split second later, you felt warm air passing near your skin. The bullet missed you and the ground beside you explodes into dust and fragments of rock threw up on your face, half blinding you and you scamper for cover. You shoot back at empty space…

“Living day by day, patrol on to the next patrol, firefight after firefight, had steeled me and my ‘brothers’. We survived because we worked together. We accepted our fate and we had our share of injuries and, soon, death would claim some of ours. It was hard to accept that someone you knew well took a bullet. You seethe with anger and you can do nothing. But that was the easiest part.”

The Wazi Khah region of Paktika Province hosts numerous mountain passes that were used as avenues of travel by nomadic tribesmen from Pakistan into Afghanistan and vice versa since the time of Alexander the Great. It is there where Pvt. Costelo and his “band of brothers” were operating. The insurgents are known to blend with the local population since most, or all of them, are related by blood, by tribal laws and by religion.

Islam is misunderstood by most but, actually, it is a religion of peace which has its patriarch as Abraham, like Hebrew and Christianity. It is the second biggest religion in the world and their Holy Q’uran states that every worthy Muslim welcomes strangers as friends, even those of different faiths. Teachers who were converted to the Wahabbi line of thought, thinks otherwise, and poisoned the minds of the young and the gullible.

Paktika is populated mainly by the Pashtun, although nomadic tribes make their livelihood there. Because of the constant turmoil, illiteracy is high. What education they get are from the madrasahs – the religious schools – and are taught the wrong interpretation of Islam. The Taliban came from this movement of religious schools fed by false teachers with hatred and violence. The presence of foreign al Qaeda fighters only emboldened them. 

“Because of my adaptability to learn new languages like Pashtun and Farsi, I got assigned as interpreter for my team. We have our official ANSF interpreter and I am always beside him. I earned a sort of privilege where my commanding officers would look the other way if I committed infractions. That privilege also required me to add another weight to my load – the HIIDE camera or the Handheld Interagency Identification Detection Equipment…

“One infraction I committed was getting injured during an ambush. I was reprimanded for not using a seat belt. Another time, was bringing live prisoners to Bagram Air Base because no FOB would accept them. Another one was treating a mortally wounded Afghan without surgical gloves. The most serious one which almost placed me on court martial was uploading photos in Facebook when I found a rare internet signal…

“In my conversations with village elders, they would ask me if I am American or Hazara. Hazara is another tribe from Bamiyan Province who were descendants of Mongols. They would not believe I am American. Then I would tell them I am Filipino and they believe me. They would add that they have seen Filipinos passing by their villages. I do not think there were overseas Filipino workers in Afghanistan, except maybe aid workers. Then it came to my mind that the Abu Sayyaf of Southern Philippines has its origins from here.”

Haj Abdurazzak Janjalani, a Filipino Islamic scholar, was a product of such madrasahs. He fought in Afghanistan as a mujaheddin alongside Osama bin Laden against Soviet occupation. He was one of the many Filipinos who answered the call of Jihad – holy war – and learned new tactics, which they used against their countrymen when they returned home. Eventually, he became the leader of the notorious Abu Sayyaf which he founded. He died in 1998 during a clash with the Philippine military.

Foreign jihadists led by bin Laden influenced the young Afghans to embrace Wahabbi extremism. They sent them to Pakistan and returned as “freedom fighters”, totally injecting them with poisonous and dangerous doctrines into their minds. The elders are subjected to threats or violence and leadership control of the villages are usurped by the Taliban. Some villages resisted but the Taliban would use their full force on the hapless civilians.

The continued presence and unabated movements of insurgents in the countrysides are a threat to peace, reconstruction and development. The International Security Assistance Force also helped in the counterinsurgency mission of Afghanistan, totally separate in scope from Operation Enduring Freedom, where the 101st AAD is operating under. Real-time intelligence were used to monitor movements and presence of insurgents and the acquisition of such were basis for operational missions to suppress these forces.

“On one such patrol, we walked for days to search our quarry. It was the last day of our patrol when we climbed a high peak and, seeing the beauty of the countryside, we took a group picture. Right after putting the camera back, we were suddenly under fire from a large force. We were very exposed and there was no cover and concealment except for a few head-sized rocks. We used the rocks to cover our heads and wished bullets would not hit the rest of our bodies…

“In that firefight, we cannot move and maneuver. We stayed where we lay or crouch. It was late afternoon. Soon dusk would come. In my high state of excitement I had to answer the urge to take a leak. I took a piss lying down, the spout of liquid arching over on to one side causing annoyance from my ‘brothers’ as a few drops touched their uniforms. They were too serious. I laughed so hard that the volume of fire from the enemy increased…

“Our chance to get out alive from the ambush was darkness but we cannot do that without support. We had communicated to our HQ earlier our location and those of the enemy. We were completely surrounded. A fighter bomber arrived and rendered the landscape around us into a very fiery and wondrous sight. The harassment stopped and we navigated in darkness along the gullies using night vision goggles.”

Village visits were common and the individual soldier behaved as he must professionally. The units are briefed in cultural sensitivity, religious tolerance and so many rules to remember and comply. The use of force on civilians were deemed forbidden and prisoners were to be treated humanely as possible. The battle for the hearts and minds were as applicable as ever. This was not a war against a people but a war against ideology, much more sinister and dangerous than communism.

These insurgents do not follow rules. The only rule they follow is the law of violence. These are half-literate men that do not know kindness, humility, forgiveness, love, charity and hope. Theirs is a world of constant desperation and violent changes. They lived like animals and accept death as “martyrs” of their faith, an illusory idea which true believers of Islam do not condole, for these wayward men did not follow the teachings of the Prophet.

“I cannot forget when I was using the HIIDE on a village elder. Suddenly blood splashed on my face and on my uniform. I was stunned for a moment as the old man fell to the ground with opened entrails. Bursts of gunfire erupted everywhere and I dived for cover. I fired at I thought the enemy were and then I saw the old man still alive and pleading for help. Shouldering my carbine, I dragged the injured man to safety and applied pressure to the wound but the intestines they fell outside…

“I saw my officer down with a wound on a leg and he was firing back. A ‘brother’ reminded me to leave the injured civilian alone and focus on the enemy. They were very near and I could see their faces. I thought I hit some but in the confusion of battle you cannot count it as yours. Somebody must have hit them. The best thing to do is to keep yourself and your ‘brothers’ alive. After more than an hour, the last shots were heard. The dead enemies were lined on the ground. A few prisoners were handcuffed…

“The eyes of the mortally-wounded elder haunt me always in my memory. I do not know what happened to him after that. He was transferred to a military ambulance and taken away. I could have done more for him but we were under pressure. I have to contribute firepower for my team else we would all be annihilated, including the civilians. But this was not the worst I encountered. This was one of the easy part.”

The 101st AAD is a very cohesive unit. More like a single organism instead of as a fighting unit composed of different individuals and characters. The movie Band of Brothers showed why they operate with such efficiency for a large unit. These guys trained, dined, fought, slept, laughed, suffered and consoled each other and together in the confines of barracks life and on the battlefields. They are the modern Spartans.

But behind that facade of invincibility are men who are susceptible to inner struggles and domestic problems. These soldiers gave up the comforts of their homes, the support of spouses and families, the cozy old life, a rosy future because they value more their service to country and flag. They know the outcomes of their choices and they would rather stand up for their beliefs than rant excuses in social media. They sacrificed everything for a vague future.

“The hardest part really was containing your emotions and the solitude. I dreamed of getting a bullet for myself to shorten my tour. We did what we were ordered to even in the most volatile situations because it was the rightful thing to do. It was a miracle I made it home alive in 2014. Back there in Afghanistan, we were not earning much for what we did so the rest of us Americans could enjoy freedom and our way of life. Lazy people on government welfare lived much better than us and they are the ones complaining. It is unfair for those who served overseas…

“I have a ‘brother’ who has no home and no more family to return to. His wife ran off with another guy, taking all his money and his son. Another of my ‘brother’ gets a video from a friend and sees his wife having sex with another man. What would you do if you were in the same room with them? It is hard, man. Very hard. The complex of emotions, coupled with the stress of battle, are almost unbearable. You may be able to control them for now but it will have an effect on you later on…

“After my tour, I found it hard to fit back to the old civilian life. The 101st was my home and my family and I liked it there. I missed the action. Is there something wrong with me or is it just a withdrawal mechanism of my body with all those stress and emotions that I underwent for five years beginning to simmer down from my system? I do not know but I yearned for conflicts. When I learned that Marawi City was taken over by foreign and local ISIS militants, my urge to be there was overwhelming.”

Private citizen Joel Costelo was divorced by his wife after his discharge from the Army. He is currently taking up law enforcement studies in the US so he could work as a policeman someday. He visits Cebu now and then so he could be with his future wife. He is on vacation and taking up film production in a local film academy here. He found the outdoors a good therapy to lessen the volatile memories of Afghanistan.

101st Airborne Division Motto: Rendezvous With Destiny

Document done in LibreOffice 5.3 Writer

All photos courtesy of Joel Costelo