Alberto de los Reyes is currently working for the Families of Victims of Involuntary Disappearance (FIND), a Philippine human rights NGO working for the search of the disappeared and acts as a support network for the victims and their families. Assisting forensic experts in the exhumation of the victims’ remains, he was able to exhume 66 sets of remains, more than half of which were identified. 36 years old at the time of writing, Abet (as he is fondly called by his friends) enjoys “pinakbet” — a native dish from his home province and consumes it in large amounts.
My father — Jose de los Reyes — disappeared when I was just 19 years old and struggling my way through college. At that time, he was already a veteran labor activist and was an adviser for a local union affiliated with the militant Kilusang Mayo Uno (KMU / May One Movement). At the same time, he was also serving as the Secretary General of the Pasay City chapter of the Partido ng Bayan (PnB / Party of the People)— an electoral vehicle that was formed shortly after the People Power Revolution of 1986.
Ever since I can recall, my father was very much interested in union work. From 1969 to 1970 for instance, he attended a series of seminars on union administration which gained him some degree of respect and recognition from his fellow workers at the La Suerte Cigarette factory. For him, union work was both a passion and a vocation, an act of service demanding that he should share a part of himself for others.
His organizing efforts were so successful that he soon got the attention of the authorities. In 1974, he got his first taste of prison when he was arrested along with three other union leaders by elements of the METROCOM, a Metro Manila-wide unit of the Philippine Constabulary-Integrated National Police (PC-INP).
Through the assistance of former Senator and human rights lawyer Jose “Pepe” Diokno, my father was able to secure his release after spending several days as a detainee. The experience, however, did not deter him from continuing his union work. Rather, it even made him more persistent in helping the workers of La Suerte. I even recall tagging along with my father when I was still a teenager during his visits to the house of then-KMU National Chair Crispin “Ka1 Bel” Beltran.2
Probably, as a result of his continuing labor activism, he was again arrested on September 17, 1988 by the Intelligence Service Operations Group of Pasay PC-INP. The arresting officers were mostly plainclothes policemen carrying long firearms and headed by Capt. Gaudencio Cordora who was infamous in Pasay City at that time due to his brutality and rabid anti-communism.
According to the report released by the Pasay police, they allegedly recovered a number of bullets from my father, including a hand-grenade and a .22-caliber pistol and a .38-caliber handgun. They also claimed to have confiscated numerous subversive documents in his keeping, such as several issues of Ang Bayan (The People)—the underground organ of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP).
He was immediately brought to Pasay City Jail after his arrest for “tactical interrogation,” which is a sanitized term for torture. Based on my father’s recollections, he was blindfolded by his captors and received several blows to the chest. They also squeezed his genitals and burned his legs with cigarettes. Another form of torture is what they call “El Telefono,” that is, slapping your ears till they bleed.
The torture was meant to force him to admit his alleged links with the Alex Boncayao Brigade (ABB) — the urban hit squad of the CPP based in Metro Manila. They also questioned him about any knowledge of the ABB’s failed assassination attempt on Pasay Police Chief Col. Jesus Garcia.
On that same night, he was brought to Camp Crame for presentation, but he was immediately brought back to Pasay City Jail. My father was imprisoned for two (2) months and was subsequently discharged on bail. After his release, our family’s tension subsided, though there were still a few “spotters” roaming in the vicinity of our house.
Then, on 2 December 1988, our adopted brother Bernard Liwanag (who was in his mid-20s at that time) suddenly disappeared and was last seen near the Pasay City Jail at around 7:00-8:00pm. The following day, my father, accompanied by my uncle Roque Montero, went to look for Bernard. They never returned.
I can still vividly remember the last words he said to me: “Anak, kung ano man ang mangyari sa akin, ikaw na ang bahala sa nanay.” (Son, if something happens to me, it’s up to you take care of your mother.)
A neighbor of ours named Philip Colacito who was a cigarette vendor, soon admitted that he saw my father and uncle in front of Holiday Plaza (a local mall) when they were accosted by two men in civilian clothes at around 10:00-11:00 am who forced them to ride a white Toyota Corolla with plate number NJZ-231.
Disbelief was the first thing that I felt when I heard the news of my father’s disappearance. I was so dazed and confused that it was as if my mind was floating in midair. My mother, on the other hand, became so hysterical that she began rolling on the ground in a very frenzied state, mumbling like a child. She was not able to sleep that night.
The following day, we called up our lawyer Atty. Virgilio Ocaya of the Free Legal Assistance Group (FLAG) and informed him of our father’s situation. We filed a habeas corpus and went to all the jails that we knew, and to the different military camps. We even checked the different funeral parlors, yet, we still failed to even catch a glimpse of either him or his remains. We were so desperate that we even wrote to then President Corazon Aquino to help us in finding our father. We did not receive any reply.
Soon enough, all sorts of rumors and innuendos began to pop up regarding my father’s lot: that he was blindfolded then hacked to death and placed in an unmarked grave somewhere in Manggahan, Cavite. We are uncertain, however, as to the veracity of these hearsays.
I felt so much anger and disgust against the police that I wanted vengeance and craved for retribution. I thought that somehow, one of them should suffer the same fate as punishment for what they did to my father. I was able to eventually accept my father’s fate though until today, I still hope that he would return to us and rebuild our family.
To this day, I still feel the same way, for what they did was unforgivable. They not only took away my father’s life, but they also devastated our family’s lives, disrupted our education, destroyed our financial stability, and stole whatever bright future we had.
I was then enrolled at the Technological Institute of the Philippines (TIP) as a B.S. Architecture student when Tatay (father) disappeared. And like any other person at that age, I was so full of hope and youthful dreams. I was forced to leave school to somehow offset our financial burdens and ensure our security. Not long after that, I was forced to leave Metro Manila and stay in the province due to a personal threat to my life.
On 7 March 1989, three months after the disappearance of my father, my brother, Rosendo de los Reyes, also disappeared. Endong (that’s his nickname) was riding on a tricycle along Cabrera St. in Pasay City on his way to his girlfriend’s house when he was forced out of the vehicle by plainclothes men who introduced themselves as police officers.
We have reasons to believe, however, that I was really the target of that operation for I was the one in our family, apart from my father, who was politically active, being a member of the Kabataan para sa Demokrasya’t Nasyonalismo (KADENA3 / Youth for Democracy and Nationalism). Moreover, when he was abducted, my brother was wearing my fatigue pants. His abductors then took him to a safe house and tortured him mercilessly. Endong, disappeared for one (1) month and one (1) week.
Before he was released, his captors instructed him to tell me to leave the activist movement and desist from further joining rallies. That compelled me to leave my parents’ house and go to Abra to stay with my lola (grandmother). Six (6) months later, I moved to Mindanao and stayed with my uncle who was in the military. I stayed with him for two (2) years, until I finally decided to return back to Metro Manila in 1992.
After my return, I was advised to stay in the Balay office, an NGO involved in the rehabilitation of human rights victims. Then, in 1994, I got a job at the Task Force Detainees of the Philippines, until finally in 1996, I was hired as a worker by the Families of Victims of Involuntary Disappearance (FIND).
FIND was very instrumental in getting me back on my feet. It assisted me in searching for my father, in providing rehabilitation for me and my family, extending medical assistance and most importantly, for the warmth and caring that it has given me. With FIND, there is reason to hope, knowing that there are also others like me who have suffered the same fate and perhaps even worse.
Because of all their assistance, I was able regain the confidence in putting my life in order. I enrolled in a two-year Computer Programming Course in Datamex Computer College in 1993 which somehow made up for all the years that I had dropped out of school.
Through hindsight, I wish I could have told my father not to go, and convinced him to let our other relatives to look for Bernard, instead. If I could have done that, maybe he might still be with us today.
But ultimately, the blame should be placed squarely upon the shoulders of the perpetrators. If I would be given a chance to talk to them, I would just ask them a very simple question: Why did you do it?
Though I still have this lingering sense of anger, it is now more restrained. I now feel greater anger towards the government, for it has not done anything to assist us.
I’m also disappointed with the more radical elements in the activist movement. For despite the long exemplary service that Tatay (father) made for the mass movement, we did not receive anything from them. Not even a single word of consolation. It’s as if they’re no different from the government that they claim to vehemently detest. But I can’t blame them. But I do hope that in time, they’ll be able to pay their respects.
The disappearance of my father had a jarring effect on my life so that I carry this deep ambiguity within me. Whenever I see, for instance, a former desaparecido who was able to survive his ordeal, I feel so elated that it gives me so much hope that my father might still be alive after all these years. But when I happen to unearth the remains of a disappeared person, I feel so much anger that it chokes my soul. Perhaps, I shall carry this ambiguity until the end of my life.
Footnotes
1 Ka is shorthand for kasama, a Tagalog word for comrade. (Editor’s note)
2 Beltran is now a second-term congressman at the House of Representatives. (editor’s note).
3 Kadena is also the Tagalog word for chain. (editors’ note)
