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Florence (Dom-an) Macagne-Manegdeg
[Ed.Note: Jose ‘Pepe’ Riveral Manegdeg III (37) was the regional coordinator of the Rural Missionaries of the Philippines (RMP) for Ilocos and the Cordilleras when on November 28, 2005 he was shot and killed at San Esteban, Ilocos Sur as he waited for a bus to Manila. Two masked men on motorcycles pumped 22 bullets into him before riding away. Faced with his death and the ordeal of bringing up two little girls aged 6 and 9, his wife Dom-an took up writing about the injustices faced by families such as hers and urging that the perpetrators be brought to justice. But soon faced with the same fate as that of her husband, she was forced to flee her home with her children. But her writing did not stop. The following are her thoughts on paper]
The Manegdeg family during happier times
Exodus in motherland
It is almost one year since my two daughters and I were compelled to pack a few belongings and leave the comfort of our small niche in the cool of Baguio City in Northern Luzon, the Philippines.
Gradually we left behind our hometown, amidst the mystic mountains of Sagada and the romantic beaches of Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte. We were fleeing towards Metro Manila, a place sweltering heat and filth, overcrowded with the urban poor and a haven for contagious diseases. Along the way we took refuge in many intermediary comfort zones—inside the university compound, the La Mesa watershed area, the Quezon City Circle and wildlife parks, convents and even a churchyard. Anywhere a tree spread its leaves to shade a tiny flower and branches stretched out to chirping birds to perch on, was a temporary shelter for us.
Unfortunately, while we lived with relatives, my youngest daughter contracted Dengue Fever. We had to rush her to the nearest hospital and pay a hospital bill that rolled like a taxi meter. We then continued to move through life’s unexpected journey of a widow and two fatherless children all the while facing endless questions such as, where to, what next and how to. Tears flowed freely too, wishing all this was somehow not true. It was all the more difficult as we did not possess a famous name or a bank account; we were only the family left behind by one of the less celebrated extrajudicial killings—that of martyr Jose ‘Pepe’ Riveral Manegdeg III.
But along the way, we did meet people from various walks of life and various convictions who in their own way offered us their hearts, hands, shelter, money, prayers, thoughts and love. Finally our journey took us past Metro Manila to the serene mountain and calm lake of Mount Taal and into the welcoming arms at the Maryridge Place of Healing and Renewal.
‘Taal’, the folks say means ‘Truth’.
Throughout our ordeal and flight to safety, I have always believed that those who have gone ahead of us to the spirit world were somehow guiding us just as relatives soothed me with whispers of condolences as I sat with an empty heart in the aftermath of my husband’s murder. Indeed, human hearts and hands have always been there when we needed them most.
So what happened?
Angels of darkness
I first noticed the presence of two masked men on motorcycles in our peaceful and isolated neighbourhood of Baguio City on July 30, 2006. The very next day, we heard that Alyce Omengan Claver—a human rights and social activist—was killed when the vehicle she was travelling in was sprayed with bullets. Her husband, a doctor of the people and with her at the time, was seriously injured but survived. I reported the incident to the relevant state authorities, relatives, friends and our church community. But the news gave me an uneasy feeling.
Considering the rise in the number of killings by masked men on motorcycles, I was warned to be vigilant and use commonsense when needed. Mockingly, it seems, the Civilian Intelligence Detective Group (CIDG) even offered me a licensed gun to protect myself. Nevertheless, I refused to panic. But a few days later on August 7, again we saw two masked men riding the same motorcycle bearing plate number AF 1033. Sensing danger and after consulting friends, I quickly threw a few pieces of clothing into a bag, and together with my two young daughters fled our rented home.
Later it was discovered that “AF 1033” had been registered not in Baguio City but in Ilocos—the place where my husband ‘Pepe’ was killed. But agents at the Ilocos National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) have still not checked the ownership of the vehicle. This is probably because there have been threats to and even killing of members of the Intelligence Services who dared to do their job efficiently, thus effectively silencing others.
Even after we left, a cousin of mine told me that these masked men on motorcycles were seen going up and down the road leading to our house, several times in the succeeding months. They never stayed for long. Once she had even been awoken early in the morning by the sounds of barking dogs and seen strange men exploring the 109 steps leading to our house. They were wearing motorcycle helmets and masks.
Who were these men? And who sent them on what purpose? Their behaviour definitely did not look like that of adventure seekers or mere bikers. They concealed their faces and bore emptiness in their eyes. Their aura was suspicious and their presence warned of danger.
Liberating life, ended
My beloved husband Jose ‘Pepe’ Riveral Manegdeg III of the Rural Missionary of the Philippines (RMP) was brutally shot 22 times and killed on November 28, 2005 near the tobacco fields in San Esteban, Ilocos Sur. He had just finished a talk to fellow workers on peace, justice advocacy and grassroots organizing. He was waiting for a bus to Manila, to meet with fellow church workers and make preparations for the arrival of an international delegation of the United Methodist Church. In the afternoon he was to meet me—returning from employment in Hong Kong—at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport. It was then; he was slain by two masked motorcycle riders. After he was killed his mobile phone, wallet and money were removed.
Later some military personnel in the area had discreetly admitted that he was to have been executed earlier, on November 22, but some soldiers were opposed to it as they knew Pepe as a town mate. He did write about being harassed by suspiciously behaving men who had followed him in the bus and then spoke to him about ‘following up a case of so-called organized crime’. Yet, the ‘order to execute’ had nonetheless been issued and accomplished a little while before a happy family reunion could take place.
Pepe was a radical alright—for seeking changes in a social system that perpetuated inequality, poverty and violence; for initiating a publication on Church and Society entitled ‘Writing on the Wall’; and for writing project proposals and charismatically appealing to advocates, ecumenical partners, enlightened politicians and others for funds and resources to be channelled to a region long impoverished by land monopoly and local tyranny. He was also a revolutionary for transcending his own personal poverty and woundedness and transforming his energy to the greater cause for social justice and world peace; for loving his children and other children, his family and other families and last but not least, for being a compassionately loving husband to me.
What a grave mistake it was to kill such man. For his death simply released his spirit to inspire a great movement on earth as it is in heaven. But it is indeed sad that young men and women like him continue to be killed like sacrificial lambs.
In the immediate aftermath of this tragedy, I took solace in writing and making appeals for the truth behind the killing of a gentle, peaceful and loving family man who was father and mother to our two daughters while I was in a foreign land trying to eke out a decent living as a domestic helper. Before leaving for Hong Kong, I had already mourned the deaths of two younger brothers, aged 23 and 15, stabbed by a reckless taxi driver and a gang of young men. I mourned the senseless violence that worsened the plight of a family already in economic poverty. What a litany of agony and poverty, it is but sane to ask the infinite WHY? and pause to create space, time and a moment to breath. Then, withdraw into much deeper silence better expressed with a bamboo nose flute, poetry a smile and tears.
Perpetrating wide-eyed terror
During and after the wake of my husband, it was blatantly absurd and disrespectful to the solemnity of mourning to see military men and their intelligence agents lurking around the burial site. Two of them were on a black motorcycle bearing No. BI 9872. They had the audacity to join the vigil, but slipped away when people started looking at them. They were even heartless enough to spread disinformation about my husband and rumors of killing me as well as his brothers and sisters. Four months later, my brother-in-law who was a fisherman went missing and his body was later found mutilated.
And even as we try to move forward as widow and fatherless children, we are not spared more terror. For is it not sheer horror to lose two brothers in senseless violence, a husband in extrajudicial killing, a brother-in- law in murder and then as I am picking up the pieces, my life is threatened by masked men for my writings and pleadings?
All this, while the killings continue around us…
Posted on 2007-10-16
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