Voices of Tatalon

I remember growing up in a barrio that abounded in large trees and rice

fields. Kind neighbors gave us sinigwelas and we gathered santol, star
apples and guavas from fruit trees that grew along the still pristine river.
Women washed and sunned clothes in large rock formations called beata.
My name is Nela. My mother said that I was named after a local movie star.
Our family migrated to Manila from Mindanao in the 50s, and we found a
home in Tatalon. I am now 73 years old and a widow with two sons.
I was a tomboy, used to climbing trees and swimming in the river. Once I
miscalculated the depth of the water, jumped in and hit my head on a rock.
Since then I have suffered from seizures. I didnt let this keep me from
becoming a second mother to my younger sisters and brothers. I had three
older brothers but I was the oldest daughter. When my father died, my
mother had to work as a stay-in helper. Later she cooked and sold lugaw,
sopas and other breakfast and merienda items to neighbors; she even made
preserved fruit and sold them in a stall in the Blumentritt market. I took over
my mothers duties and took care of my younger siblings. In my spare time I
loved to read English books and draw.
The first time I became aware of the conflict between Tatalon residents and
the Tuason and Araneta group was when a jeep manned by two Araneta
guards started to make a daily round of our community. The guards would
accost anyone that they saw attempting to build fences or houses and force
them to stop. They would even confiscate the clothes and other belongings
of the people caught trying to make a home in Tatalon. What I knew was
that the wide expanse of land belonged to local farming familiesincluding
the Bolanyos and dela Cruz familieswho were still tilling the land tilled by
their own fathers, grandfathers and great grandfathers before them.
Of course they had no papers to back up their claims. The Spanish
authorities had called for people to file for land titles but since the farmers
did not understand Spanish, they were unaware of the law and unable to get
titles. Instead the land went to a handful of educated, well off and well
connected Filipinos. In Tatalon it was Sontua or Tuazon.
When I married Jose Laurel, he was a member of the Kabataang Makabayan
which had an HQ, a small room in the community. I attended discussion

groups held in our home, and so did my mother, but I did not become an
active KM member. I was too busy taking care of my new and old family.
After the declaration of martial law. Tatalon was subjected to raids and sonas.
A raid was different from a sona. In the former the police were looking for
specific people reported to be in the neighborhood while in the latter the
police were not looking for anybody in particular. Other urban poor
communities were subjected to both sona and raid, but Tatalon was a
favorite target because of its history of activism.
I will never forget the night they arrested my husband.
It was two in the morning of April 1977. I was already four-months pregnant
with my second child. We were fast asleep. Suddenly we were awakened by
the sound of fists pounding on our walls, over and over again. We saw that
they were soldiers. They told all the men to go out, put their hands on top of
their heads and stand in line.
There was a man. A paper bag covered his head but there were two holes so
that he could see without being recognized. He pointed to my husband, Jose
Laurel, and other men of our community in Tatalon. Every man he pointed
out was taken by the soldiers and brought to Camp Crame, and then Bicutan
where they were detained.
People told me I should go to JAGO to work for his release. I was so scared
that I went to the JAGO everyday, together with the relatives of other
detainees from Tatalon. I was exhausted and sick. I suffered from a heart
condition, and I was pregnant. I was forced to sell boiled eggs to earn enough
for my fare to JAGO in Crame and back to Tatalon. I sold them to the other
people working for the release of their relatives.
My husband was still in jail when I suffered a heart attack. We were admitted
in the charity ward of St. Lukes Hospital. My baby and I nearly died and we
were confined at the hospital for one month. I know why the military men
were angry at us, the people of Tatalon. I know why they jailed our men. We
were fighting Aranetas goons. We were fighting for our right to live securely,
peacefully, in Tatalon.
As early as the 50s, Tuason and his administrator Araneta had tried to evict
us. The people fought them then, and continued to fight, even during martial
law. Local bullies and petty criminals had been hired by Araneta to terrorize
the people, to build walls that would prevent an influx of migrants from the
provinces, and to eject long-time residents from their homes. Tatalon leaders

were able to reach out to them and reach a compromise. During the day
they would follow Aranetas orders but at night they blasted the walls that
they themselves had built. They blasted the walls to bits. We built barricades
and joined mass rallies.
We felt a change, finally, after years of struggle. The land was surveyed and
divided into lots. A census of residents was made. The people who were
recognized as legitimate residents were able to buy their lots at relatively
affordable prices. (Of course a few who should have received lots were not,
while some new faces got in) Tatalon became a showpiece of the martial law
government. We however knew the truth. Tatalon was not given to us by any
man or any government. We fought and struggled for Tatalon, and we won
Tatalon.