English 13 Readings

AIN'T I A WOMAN?

by Sojourner Truth

Delivered 1851 at the Women's Convention in Akron, Ohio

Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be

something out of kilter. I think that 'twixt the negroes of
the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights,
the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all
this here talking about?

That man over there says that women need to be helped into
carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place
everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over
mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman?
Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and
gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a
woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man -
when I could get it - and bear the lash as well! And ain't I a
woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold
off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief,
none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what's this they call
it? [member of audience whispers, "intellect"] That's it, honey.
What's that got to do with women's rights or negroes' rights? If
my cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't
you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have
as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where
did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from?
From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn
the world upside down all alone, these women together ought
 to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again! And
now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.

Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner ain't got
nothing more to say.

Rage

They put you in a cage four feet by one foot small, the height of an average
man. There are hollow blocks to the side and iron grills in front. You sit with
three other men, crouched in a line. There is no other way to fit.

Your brother is in the same cell. The door opens, more of them come in. More
of them like you—beaten, bruised, helpless. They are put inside the next cell.
This time there are two men and a married couple. The woman has burns all
over her body. She was raped, they tell you. She was raped and beaten until
she soiled herself. They say she has gone mad. They take her away.

This is where you shit, where you piss, where you wash if you still care. You do
not feel the wind; you do not see the sun. Your food comes rarely, and what
comes is rotten, leftover pig feed. Three men arrive, from Nueva Ecija. They
are tortured. One of them has both arms broken. Bleeding.

Sometimes, when the soldiers are drinking, they take you out of your cage and
play with you. The game varies, but it is usually the same. Two by fours, chains,
an open gardening hose shoved down your nose. You crawl back to your cage,
on your hands and knees. You wake up to screaming, to the sound of grown
men begging, and you wonder which one it is this time. Sometimes, one of
your cellmates will disappear. Sometimes, they don’t come back.

Then they take you away, and there is a doctor, pills, antibiotics, a bed. They
tell you they are taking you home to see your parents. You meet the man they
call The Butcher, and he tells you to tell your parents not to join the rallies, to
stay away from human rights groups, that they would ruin your life and your
brother’s. He tells you, this small man in shorts, that if you can only prove
you’re on his side now, he would let you and your brother live. He gives you a
box of vitamins, and tells you that they are expensive: P35 per pill.
They put a chain around your waist. The military surround your farm. Your
mother opens the front door crying, and hugs you. You tell them what you were
told to say. You hand them the money Palparan told you to give. Then you are
told you must go.

Always, you keep thinking of escape. You make yourself useful, to make them
trust you. You cook. You wash cars. You clean. You shop. No task is too
menial. And one day, while you sweep the floor, you see a young woman,
chained to the foot of a bed. Her name is Sherlyn Cadapan, she tells you,
Sports Science, University of the Philippines Diliman, the same Sherlyn who
disappeared from Hagonoy, Bulacan on June 26, 2006. She says she has
been raped.

Later, you meet Karen Empeño, also from UP, and Manuel Merino, the farmer
who rushed to save the two girls when they were abducted. Karen and Sherlyn
are in charge of washing the soldiers’ clothes, you and Manuel and your
brother Reynaldo wash the car and carry water and cook.

The five of you are taken from camp to camp. You see the soldiers stealing
from villagers. You see them bringing in blindfolded captives. You see them
digging graves. You see them burning bodies, pouring gasoline as the fire rose.
You see them shoot old men sitting on carabaos and see them push bodies
into ravines. And in April 2007, you hear a woman begging, and when you are
ordered to fix dinner, you see Sherlyn, lying naked on a chair that had fallen on
the floor, both wrists and one tied leg propped up.

You see them hit her with wooden planks, see her electrocuted, beaten,
half-drowned. You see them amuse themselves with her body, poke sticks into
her vagina, shove a water hose into her nose and mouth. And you see the
soldiers wives’ watch. You hear the soldiers forcing Sherlyn to admit who it
was with plans to “write a letter.” You hear her admit, after intense torture, that
it was Karen’s idea. And you see Karen, dragged out of her cell, tied at the
wrists and ankles, stripped of her clothing, then beaten, water-tortured, and
burned with cigarettes and raped with pieces of wood. And it is you who are
ordered to wash their clothes the next day, and who finds blood in their
panties.

And you are there, on the night they take away Manuel Merino, when you hear
an old man moaning, a gunshot and the red light of a sudden fire.
Be Sociable, Share!

Retribution
By: Conrado de Quiros - @inquirerdotnet Philippine
Daily Inquirer / 12:06 AM August 19, 2014

The Association of General and Flag Officers want fairness. Jovito Palparan,
they say, is being unduly subjected to trial by publicity. “Let him have his day in
court and defend himself against his accusers. Our justice system presumes
that he is innocent until proven otherwise in a court of law.”

Calling Palparan “berdugo” or “butcher” doesn’t contribute to the search for

justice, they say. “We should not forget that the real enemies are those who
resort to violence and intimidation to achieve their selfish political ends.
Professional soldiers like Maj. Gen. Palparan faced hardships and risks, and
had put his life on the line like countless Filipino soldiers in the service of the
country, starting as a junior officer in the 1970s. His courage and leadership
had saved lives and protected communities. His sacrifices should be taken into
account.”

Well, the presumption of innocence is an entitlement only to freedom until such

time as one can be proven guilty beyond a shadow of doubt and the terms set
for their punishment. It is not an entitlement to being presumed pure as the
driven snow. It is not an entitlement to bail particularly when there is a
preponderance of evidence of guilt. Certainly it is not an entitlement to the
public suspending disbelief when the crimes cry out to the heavens for the
savage and brazen way they were done, such as those the Ampatuans and
Palparan are accused of.

Alongside the presumption of innocence is an age-old legal adage, which

diminishes it greatly, if not invalidates it completely. That is that flight is an
admission of guilt. Lest we forget, Palparan dodged the law after a case was
filed against him and a warrant ordered for his arrest. That puts him in the
same category as Joel and Mario Reyes, the brothers accused of
masterminding the murder of Gerry Ortega. They cannot be presumed to be
innocent until proven guilty while in a state of flight. Lest we forget as well,
Palparan did not give himself up, he was caught. Why should we extend him
every possible accommodation after all that?

Why should calling him berdugo get in the way of justice? He didn’t
particularly mind being called that when he was running Bulacan and environs
like a concentration camp, presuming students and peasants guilty until they
could prove themselves innocent. He reveled in the notoriety, being singled out
by his commander in chief, Gloria Arroyo, for promotion precisely for it.

As to his being a professional soldier, that is an insult to the rank and file of the
Armed Forces. Palparan was not alone to carry out the campaign against the
communists, he was alone to be charged with committing atrocities, or crimes
that cannot and may not be justified by being done in the line of duty. The
charges weren’t just filed by the “communists,” they were filed by government.
Abducting students like Karen Empeño and Sherlyn Cadapan is not doing
things in the line of duty. Making students like Karen Empeño and Sherlyn
Cadapan disappear is not professional.

You want to see professional soldiers who “faced hardships and risks and put
their lives on the line,” cast your gaze on people like Danilo Lim, not on
Palparan. Lim in particular was one soldier who took risks and underwent
sacrifices, not the least of them foregoing becoming chief of staff during
Arroyo’s time (he was the most senior then), not the least of them being
incarcerated. All to do his duty as a Filipino soldier and oppose Arroyo’s
tyranny .

Which brings me to something that seems to have escaped notice here, which
is that it’s not just Palparan who ought to face retribution for his crimes, it’s
Arroyo too. It was Arroyo who unleashed Palparan, it was Arroyo who made
Palparan possible.

From the start I had been saying repeatedly that Arroyo unleashed a cynical
war. That war wasn’t meant to end the communist insurgency—let alone in two
years’ time, which was her vow, another one of those vows she had no
intention of fulfilling—it was meant to give her a new lease on life, preferably
indefinitely. She declared it in 2006 amid mounting protests about her
legitimacy in the wake of the revelation of the “Hello Garci” tapes.
The point of the exercise was patent. It was to give free rein to the military,
particularly those of it loyal, or at least closest, to her. The better to put the fear
of God and/or her not on the communists but on the oppositionists. Especially
with berdugos like Palparan at the helm of it. A cynical war naturally
produces cynical, and vicious, methods. A cynical war naturally produces
cynical, and vicious, butchers. Protest at your own risk: That was the message
the putting of Palparan at the heart of the “counterinsurgency” campaign sent
to the nation.

In the end, Palparan was just a blunt instrument, the one who wielded it was
Arroyo herself.

But of course she never ended the communist movement, least of all in two
years’ time, to no one’s surprise. She only ended the lives of scores, if not
hundreds, of activists, along with dyed-in-the-wool revolutionaries, wide-eyed
idealists along with narrow-eyed ideologists. No, it’s not just Palparan who
ought to pay for his crimes here.

You want to see presumption of innocence, look at Concepcion Empeño and

Erlinda Cadapan, the mothers of Karen and Sherlyn. To this day, they want
Palparan only to tell them where their children are, hoping as they do that their
children are still alive. That is the lot of the parents of the disappeared, that is
the cruelty the act of making people disappear wreaks. They are compelled by
the fact of being parents not to presume Palparan guilty of murder most foul. It
gives the most bizarre twists to the presumption of innocence.

Which makes Palparan look guilty of even bigger crimes.

Writing as Process

THE HOUSE ON ZAPOTE STREET by Quijano de

Manila
July 22, 2013 at 10:39 PM
About the Author
Quijano de Manila is the pen name of Nick Joaquin. He started
writingbefore the war and his first story, “Three Generations” has
been hailed as amasterpiece. He has been recipient of almost all
the prestigious awards inliterature and the arts, including the
National Artist Award for Literature in1976. He was also conferred,
among other recognitions, the Republic CulturalHeritage Award for
Literature in 1961, the Journalist of the Year Award in theearly
1960s, the Book of the Year Award in 1979 for his Almanac for
Manileños,the national Book award for several of his works, the
Ramon Magsaysay Award forJournalism, Literature, Creative
Communication Arts (the Asian counterpart ofNobel Prize) in 1996,
and the Tanglaw ng Lahi Award in 1997.

Dr. Leonardo Quitangon, a soft-spoken,mild-mannered,

cool-tempered Caviteno,was still fancy-free at 35 when he returned
to Manila, after six years abroad. Then, at the University of Santo
Tomas, where hewent to reach, he met Lydia Cabading, amedical
intern. He liked her quiet ways and began to date her steadily. They
went to the movies and to baketballgames and he took her a
number oftimes to his house in Sta. Mesa, to meet his family.
Lydia was then only 23 and looked like a sweetunspoiled girl, but
there wasa slight air of mystery about her. Leonardo and his
brothers noticed that she almost never spoke of her home life orher
childhood; she seemed to have no gay early memories to share with
her lover, as sweethearts usually craveto do. And whenever it
looked as if she might have tostay out late, she would say: "I'll have
totell my father first". And off she would go, wherever she was, to tell
herfather, though it meant going all the way to Makati, Rizal, where
shelived with her parents in a new houseon Zapote Street.

TheQuitangons understood that she was an only child and that her
parents were, therefore, over-zealous inlooking after her. Her father
usually took her to school and fetched her after classes, and had
been known to threaten to arrest young men who stared at heron
the streets or pressed too closeagainst her on jeepneys. This
high-handedness seemed natural enough, for Pablo Cabading,
Lydia's father was a member of theManila Police Depatment.
After Lydiafinished her internship, Leopardo Quitangon became a
regular visitor at the house on Zapote Street: hewas helping her
prepare for the board exams. Her family seemed to like him. The
mother Anunciacion,struck him as a mousy woman unable to speak
save ather husband's bidding. There wasa foster son, a little boy the
Cabadings had adopted. As for Pablo Cabading, he was a fine
strapping man, an Ilocano, whogave the impression of being taller
than he was and looked every inch an agent of the law: full of brawn
andguts and force, and smoldering with vitality. Hewas a natty
dresser, liked youthful colors and styles, decorated his house with
pictures of himself and, at50, looked younger than his inarticulate
wife, who was actually two yearsyounger than he.

WhenLeonardo started frequenting the house on Zapote Street,

Cabading told him: ill be frank with you. None of Lydia's boyfriends
ever lasted ten minutesin this house. I didn't like them and I told
them so and made them getout." Then he added laying a hand on
the young doctor's shoulder:"But I like you. You are agood man."
Therest of the household were two very young maids who spoke
almost no Tagalog,and two very fierce dogs, chained to the front
door in the day time, unchained in the front yard at night.
The house of Zapote Street is in the current architectural cliché: the
hoity-toity Philippine split-level suburbanstyle—a half-story perched
above the living area, to which it is bound by the slope of the roof
and which it overlooksfrom a balcony, so that a person standing
inthe sala can see the doors of the bedrooms and bathroom just
above his head. The house is painted, as isalso the current fashion,
in various pastel shades,a different color to every three or four
planks. The inevitable piazza curvesaround two sides of the house,
which has a strip of lawn and a low wall all around it. The Cabadings
did notkeep a car, but the house provides for an eventualgarage
and driveway. This, and the furniture, the shell lamps and thefancy
bric-a-brac that clutters the narrow house indicate that the
Cabadingshad not only risen high enough to justify their split-level
pretensions but were expecting to gohigher.

Lydia took the board exams and passed them. Thelovers asked her
father'spermission to wed. Cabading laid down two conditions: that
the wedding would ba a lavish one and that was topay a downy of
P5.000.00. The youngdoctor said that he could afford the big
wedding but the big dowry. Cabading shrugged his shoulders; no
dowry, nomarriage.

Leonaradospent some frantic weeks scraping up cash and

managed to gather P3.000.00. Cabading agreed to reducehis price
to that amount, then laid down a final condition: after the wedding,
Lydia and Leonardo must make their home at the house on Zapote
Street.

"I built this house for Lydia," said Cabading,"and I want her to live
here even when she's married. Besides, her mother couldn't bear to
beseparated from Lydia, her only child."
Therewas nothing. Leonardo could do but consent.

Lydia and Leonardo were on September 10 last year,at the

Cathedral of Manila,with Mrs. Delfin Montano, wife of the
Cavitegovernor, and Senator Ferdinand Marcos as sponsors. The
reception was at theSelecta. The status gods of Suburdia were
properly propitiated. Then thenewlyweds went to live on Zapote
Street -- and Leonardo almost immediately realizedwhy Lydiahad
been so reticent and mysterious about her home life.
The cozy family group that charmed him in courtship days turned
out to be rather too cozy. The entire householdrevolved in
submission around Pablo Cabading. The daughter, mother,
thefoster-son, the maids and even the dogs trembled when the lifted
his voice. Cabading liked to brag that was a"killer": in 1946 hehad
shot dead two American soldiers he caught robbing a neighbor's
house in Quezon City.
Leonardo found himself within a family turned in on itself,
self-enclosedand self-sufficient — in a house that had no neighbors
and no needfor any. His brothers say that he made morefriends in
the neighborhood within the couple of months he stayed there than
the Cabadings had made in a year. Pablo Cabading did not like
what his to stray out of,and what was not his to stray into,his house.
And within that house he wanted to be the center of everything,
even of his daughter's honeymoon.

WheneverLeonardo and Lydiawent to the movies or for a ride,

Cabading insisted on being taken along. If they seated him on the
back scat whilethey sat together in front,be raged and glowered. He
wanted to sit in front with them.
WhenLeonardo came home from work, he must not tarry with Lydia
in the bedroom chatting: both of them must comedown at once to
the sala and talkwith their father. Leonardo explained that he was
not much of a talking: "That's why I fell in love with Lydia,
becauseshe's the quiet type too". No matter, said Cabading. They
didn't have to talk at all; he would do allthe talking himself, so longas
they sat there in the sala before his eyes.
So, his compact family group sat around him at night, silent, while
Cabading talked and talked. But, finally, thetalk had stop, the
listeners had to rise and retire - and it was this moment that
Cabading seemed unable tobear. He couldn't bear to see Lydia
andLeonardo rise and go up together to their room. One night,
unable to bear it any longer he shouted, as they roseto retire:
"Lydia,you sleep with your mother tonight. She has a toothache."
After a dead look at her husband, Lydia obeyed.Leonardo went to
bed alone.

Theincident would be repeated: there would always be other

reasons, besides Mrs. Cabading's toothaches.
What horrified Leonardo was not merely what being done to him but
his increasing acquiesces. Had his spirit been soquickly broken?
Was he, too, like the rest of the household, being drawn to revolve,
silently andobediently, around the masterof the house?
Once,late at night, he suddenly showed up at his parents’ house in
Sta. Mesa and hisbrothers were shocked at the great in him within
so short a time. He looked terrified. What had happened? Hiscar
had broken down and he had hadit repaired and now he could not
go home. But why not?

"Youdon't know my father-in-law," he groaned. "Everybody in that

house must be in by a certain hour. Otherwise, the gatesare locked,
the doors are locked, thewindows are locked. Nobody can get in
anymore!”
A younger brother, Gene offered to accompany him home and
explain to Cabading what had happened. The two rode toZapote
and found the house darkand locked up.

Says Gene: "That memory makes my blood boil -- my eldest brother

fearfully clanging and clanging the gate, andnobody to let him in. 1
wouldn't have waited a second, but he waited five, ten, fifteen
minutes, knockingat thai gate, begging to be let in. I couldn't haveit!"
In the end the two brothers rode back to Sta. Mesa, where Leonardo
spentthe night. When he returned to the house onZapote the next
day, his father-in-law greeted him with a sarcastic question:"Where
were you? At a basketball game?"

Leonardo became anxious to take his wife away from that house.
He talked it over with her, then they went totell her father. Said
Cabading bluntly: "If she goes with you, I'll shoot her head before
your eyes."
Hisbrothers urged him to buy a gun, but Leonardo felt in his pocket
and said, "I've got my rosary." Cried his brother Gene:"You can't
fight a gun with a rosary!".
When Lydia took heroath as a physician, Cabading announced that
only he and his wife would accompany Lydia to theceremony. I
would not be fair, he said, to let Leonardo, who had not borne the
expenses of Lydia'seducation, to share that momentof glory too.
Leonardo said that, if he would like them at least to use his car. The
offer was rejected.Cabading preferred to hire a taxi.
Afterabout two months at the house on Zapote Street, Leonardo
moved out, alone. Her parents would not let Lydia go andshe herself
was too afraid to leave.During the succeeding weeks, efforts to
contact her proved futile. The house on Zapote became even more
closed tothe outside world. If Lydiaemerged from it at all, she was
alwaysaccompanied by her father, mother or foster-brother, or by all
three.
Whenher husband heard that she had started working at a hospital
he went there to see her but instead met herfather coming to fetch
her. The very next day, Lydiawas no longer working at the hospital.
Leonardoknew that she was with child and he was determined to
bear all her prenatal expenses. He went to Zapote oneday when her
father was out and persuaded her to come out to the yard but could
not make her make themoney he offered across the locked gate.
"Justmail it," she cried and fled into the house. He sent her a check
byregistered mail; it was promptly mailed back to him.

OnChristmas Eve, Leonardo returned to the house on Zapote with a

gift for his wife, and stood knocking at the gatefor so long the
neighbors gathered at windows to watch him. Finally, he was
allowed to enter, present hisgift to Lydia and talk with her for a
moment. She saidthat her father seemed agreeable to ameeting
with Leonardo's father, to discuss the young couple's problem. So
the elder Quitangon and two of his younger sonswent to Zapote one
evening. Thelights were on in Cabading house, but nobody
responded to their knocking. Then all the lights were turned off. As
they stoodwondering what to do, a servant girlcame and told them
that the master was out. (Lydia would later tell them that they had
not been admitted because herfather had not yet decided what
shewas to say to them.)

The last act of this curious drama began Sunday last week when
Leonardo was astounded to receive anearly-morning phone call
from his wife. She saidshe could no longer bear to be parted from
him and bade him pick her up at a certain church, where she was
with herfoster brother. Leonardo rushed to the church, picked up
two, dropped the boyoff at a street near Zapote, then spedwith Lydia
to Maragondon, Cavite where theQuitangons have a house. He
stopped ata gasoline station to call up his brothers in Sta. Mesa, to
tell them what he had done and to warn them that Cabadingwould
surely show up there. "Get Mother out of the house," he toldhis
brothers.
At about ten in the morning, a taxi stopped before the Quitangon
house in Sta. Mesa and Mrs. Cabading got out andbegan
screaming at the gate: "Where'smy daughter? Where's my
daughter?" Gene and Nonilo Quitangin went out tothe gate and
invited her to come in. "No! No! All I want is mydaughter!"
shescreamed. Cabading, who was inside the waiting taxi, then got
out and demanded that the Quitangons produce Lydia.
Vexed,Nonilo Quitangon cried: "Abah, what have we do with where
your daughteris? Anyway, she's with her husband." Atthat,
Cabading ran to the taxi, snatched a submachinegun from a box,
and trained it on Gene Quitangon. (Nonilohad run into the house to
get a gun.)
"Produce my daughter at once or I'll shoot you all down!"shouted
Cabading.
Gene, thegun's muzzle practically in his face, sought to pacify the
older man: "Why can't we talk this over quietly,like decent people,
inside the house? Look,we're creating a scandal in the
neighborhood.."
Cabading lowered his gun. "I give you till midnight tonight toproduce
my daughter," hegrowled. "If you don't, you better ask the PC to
guard this house!"

Then he and his wife drove off in the taxi, just a moment before the
mobile police patrol the neighbors had calledarrived. The police
advised Gene to file a complaint with the fiscal's office.Instead,
Gene decided to go to the house on Zapote Street,hoping that
"diplomacy" would work.
Tohis surprise, he was admitted at once by a smiling and very genial
Cabading. "You are a brave man," hetold Gene, "and a lucky one",
And he ordered a coke brought for the visitor. Gene said that hewas
going to Cavitebut could not promise to "produce". Lydia bymidnight:
it was up to the couple to decide whether they would come back.

It wasabout eight in the evening when Gene arrived in Maragondon.

As his car drove into the yard of this family's oldhouse, Lydiaand
Leonardo
appearedat a window and frantically asked what had happened.
"Nothing," said Gene, and their faces lit up. "We'rehaving our
honeymoon at last," Lydiatold Gene as he enteredthe house. And
the old air of dread, of mystery, did seem to have lifted from her face.
But it was thereagain when, after supper, he told them what had
happened in Sta. Mesa.
"I can't goback," she moaned. "He'll kill me! He'll kill me!"
"Hehas cooled down now," said Gene. "He seems to be a
reasonable man after all."
"Oh, you don'tknow him!" cried Lydia."I've known him longer, and
I've never,never been happy!"
Andthe brothers at last had glimpses of the girlhood she had been
so reticent about. She told them of Cabading'sbaffling changes of
temper, especiallytoward her; how smiles and found words and
caresses could abruptly turn into beatings when his mood
darkened.
Leonardosaid that his father-in-law was an artista, "Remember how
he used to fan me when I supped there while I wascourting Lydia?"
(At about that time, in Sta. Mesa, Nonilo Quitanongon, on guard at
the gate of his family's house, saw Cabadingdrive past three times
in a taxi.)
"I can't force you to go back," said Gene. "You'll haveto decide that
yourselves.But what, actually, are you planning to do? You can't
stay forever here in Maragondon. What would you live on?"
Thetwo said they would talk it over for a while in their room. Gene
waited at the supper table and when a longtime had passed and
they had not come back he went to the room. Finding the door ajar,
he looked in. Lydia and Leonardo were on their knees on the
floor,saying the rosary, Gene returned to the supper table. After
another long wait,the couple came out of the room.
Said Lydia:"We have prayed together and we have decided to die
together.” We'll go back with you, in themorning."

Theywe’re back in Manilaearly the next morning. Lydiaand

Leonardo went straight tothe house in Sta. Mesa, where all their
relatives and friends warned them not to go back to the house on
Zapote Street, asthey had decided to do.Confused anew, they went
to the Manila policeheadquarters to ask for advice,but the advice
given seemed drastic to them: summon Cabading and have it
outwith him in front of his superior officer. Leonardo's father then
offered to go to Zapote with Gene and Nonilo,to try to reason with
Cabading.
They found him in good humor, full of smiles and hearty greetings.
He reproached his balae for not visitinghim before. "I did come
once," drily remarked the elder Quitangon, "but no one would
openthe gate." Cabading had his wife called. She came into the
room and satdown. "Was I in the house that night our balae came?"
her husband asked her. "No, youwere out," she
replied. Havingspoken her piece, she got up and left the room. (On
their various visits to the house on Zapote Street, the Quitangons
noticedthat Mrs. Cabading appearedonly when summoned and
vanished as soon as she had done whatever was expectedof her).
Cabading then announced that he no longer objected to Lydia's
moving out of the house to live with her husband inan apartment of
their own. Overjoyed,the Quitangons urged Cabading to go with
them in Sta. Mesa, so that the newlyweds could be reconciled with
Lydia'sparents. Cabading readily agreed.

When theyarrived in Sta. Mesa, Lydia and Leonardo were sitting on

a sofa in the sala.
"Whyhave you done this?" her father chided her gently. "If you
wanted to move out, did you have to run away?" ToLeonardo, he
said: "And you - are angrywith me?" house by themselves. Gene
Quitangon felt so felt elated he proposed a celebration: "I'll throw
ablow-out! Everybody is invited! This is on me!" So they all went to
Max's in Quezon City and had a very merry fried-chicken party.
"Why, this is a familyreunion!" laughed Cabading. "This should be
on me!" But Gene would not let him pay thebill.

Earlythe next morning, Cabading called up the Sta. Mesa house to

pay that his wife had fallen ill. Would Lydia pleasevisit her?
Leonardo and Lydiawent to Zapote, found nothing the matter
withher mother, and returned to Sta. Mesa. After lunch, Leonardo
left for his classes. Then Cabading called upagain. Lydia's mother
refused to eat and kept asking forher daughter. Would Lydiaplease
drop in again at the house on Zapote?Gene and Nonilo Quitangon
said theymight as well accompany Lydiathere and start moving out
her things.

When they arrived at the Zapote house, theQuitangon brothers

were amused by what they saw. Mrs.Cabading, her eyes closed,
lay on the parlor sofa, a large towel spread outbeneath her. "She
has been lying there all day," said Cabading, "tossing restlessly,
askingfor you, Lydia."Gene noted that the towel wasneatly spread
out and didn't look crumpled at all, and that Mrs. Cabading was
obviously just pretending to be asleep. Hesmiled at the childishness
of the stratagem, but Lydiawas past being amused. She wont
straight to her room, were they heard her pulling out drawers.While
the Quitangons and Cabading were conversing, the supposedly
sick mother slipped out of the sofa andwent upstairs to Lydia's
room.
Cabading told the Quitangons that he wanted Lydia and Leonardo
to stay there; at the house in Zapote. "I thoughtall that was settled
last night," Gene groaned.
"I built this house for Lydia," persisted Cabading,"and this house is
hers. Ifshe and her husband want to be alone, I and my wife will
move out of here, turn this house over to them." Genewearily
explained that Lydiaand Leonardo preferred theapartment they had
already leased.
Suddenlythe men heard the clatter of a drawer falling upstairs.
Gene surmised that ithad fallen in a struggle between mother and
daughter. "Excuse me," said Cabading, rising. As he wentupstairs,
he said to the Quitangons, over his shoulder, “Don't misunderstand
me. I'm notgoing to 'coach' Lydia".He went into Lydia's room and
closed the doorbehind him.
Aftera long while, Lydiaand her father came out of the room together
and came down to the sala together. Lydia wasclasping a large
crucifix. There was no expression on her face when she told the
Quitangon boys to gohome. "But I thought we were going to
startmoving your things out this afternoon,," said Gene. She
glanced at the crucifix and said it wasone of the first things she
wantedtaken to her new home. "Just tell Narding to fetch me," she
said.

Back in Sta. Mesa, Gene and Nonilo had the painful task of telling
Leonardo, when he phoned, that Lydia was backin the house on
Zapote. "Why did you leave her there?" cried Leonardo. "He'll beat
her up!I'm going to get her."Gene told him not you go alone, to pass
by the Sta. Mesa house first and pick up Nonilo. Gene could not go
along; hehad to catch a bus for Subic, where he works.When
Leonardo arrived, Gene told him: "Don't force Lydia to gowithyou. If
she doesn't want to,leave at once. Do not, for any reason, be
persuaded to stay there too."
When his brother had left for Zapote, Gene realized that he was not
sure he was going to Subic.He left too worried. He knew he couldn't
rest easy until he had seen Lydia and Leonardo settled in theirnew
home. The minutes quickly tickedpast as he debated with himself
whether he should stay or catch that bus. Then, at about a quarter to
seven, the phonerang. It was Nonilo, in anguish.
"Somethingterrible has happened in Lydia'sroom! I heard four
shots," he cried.
"Who are upthere?"
"Lydia andNarding and the Cabadings."
"I'llbe right over.

Genesent a younger brother to inform the family lawyer and to alert

the Makati police. Then he drove like mad to Zapote. It was almost
dark whenhe got there. The house stood perfectlystill, not a light on
inside. He watched it from a distance but could see no movement,
Then a taxidrove up and out jumped Nonilo. Hehad telephoned from
a gasoline station. He related what had happened.
He said that when he and Leonardo arrived at the Zapote house,
Cabading motioned Leonardo upstairs: "Lydia is in herroom."
Leonardo went up;Cabading gave Nonilo a cup of coffee and
chatted amiably with him. Nonilo saw Mrs. Cabading go up to
Lydia's roomwith a glass of milk. A while later, they heard a woman
scream, followed by sobbing. "There seems to betrouble up there,"
saidCabading, and he went upstairs. Nonilo saw him enter Lydia's
room, leaving the dooropen. A few moments later, the door was
closed. Then Nonilo heard three shots. He stood petrified, butwhen
he heard a fourth shot he dashedout of the house, ran to a gasoline
station and called up Gene.
Nonilopointed to the closed front gate; he was sure he had left it
open when he ran out. The brothers suspected thatCabading was
lurking somewhere in the darkness, with his gun.
Beforethem loomed the dark house, now so sinister and evil in their
eyes. The upper story that jutted forward,forming the house's chief
facade, bore a curious sign: Dra. Lydia C. Cabading, Lady
Physician. (Apparently,Lydiacontinued- or was made- to use her
maidenname.) Above the sign was the garlandof colored lights that
have been put up for Christmas and had not yet been removed. It
was an ice-cold night, thedark of the moon, but the two
brothersshivered not from the wind blowing down the lonely murky
street but from pure horror of the house that had sofatally thrust
itself into their lives.
But the wind remembered when the sighs it heard here were only
the sighing of the ripe grain, when the cries itheard were only the
crying of birds nesting in the reeds, for all these new suburbs in
Makati used to begrassland, riceland,marshland, or pastoral
solitudes where few cared to go, until the big city spilled hither,
replacing the uprootedreeds with split-levels, pushing noisy little
streets into the heart of the solitude, and collecting here fromall over
the country the uprooted souls that now moan or giggle where once
thecarabao wallowed and the frogs croaked day and night.In very
new suburbs, one feels humansorrow to be a grass intrusion on the
labors of nature. Even barely two years ago, the talahib still
roseman-high on the plot of ground on Zapote Street where now
stands the relic of an ambiguous love.

As the Quitangon brothers shivered in the darkness, a police van

arrivedand unloaded quite a large contingent ofpolicemen. The
Quitangons warned them that Cabading had a submachinegun. The
policemen crawled toward the front gate and almost jumped when a
younggirl came running across the yard, shaking with terror and
shrieking gibberish.She was one of the maids. She and her
companion and the foster son had fled from the house when they
heardthe shooting and had been hiding in the yard. Itwas they who
had closed the front gate.
Apoliceman volunteered to enter the house through the back door;
Gene said he would try the front one. He peered inat a window and
could detect no one in the sala. He slipped a hand inside, opened
the front door andentered, just as thepoliceman came in from the
kitchen. As they crept up the stairs they heard a moaning in Lydia's
room. They tried the doorbut it was blocked from inside."Push it,
push it," wailed a woman's voice. The policeman pushed the door
hard and what was blocking it gave. Hegroped for the switch and
turned light. As they entered, he and Gene shuddered at what they
saw.

Theentire room was spattered with blood. On the floor, blocking the
door, lay Mrs. Cabading. She had been shot inthe chest and
stomach but was stillalive. The policeman tried to get a statement
from her but all she could say was: "My hand, my hand- it hurts!"She
was lying across the legs of her daughter, who lay on top of her
husband's body. Lydia was stillclutching an armful of
clothes;Leonardo was holding a clothes hanger. He had been shot
in the breast; she, inthe heart. They had died instantly, together.
Sprawled face up on his daughter's bed, his mouth agape and his
eyes bulging open as though still staring in horrorand the bright
blood splashed on his facelay Pablo Cabading.
"Oh, I cursed him!" cries Eugenio Quitangon with passion."Oh, I
cursed him as he lay there dead, God forgive me! Yes, I cursed
thatdead man there on thatbed, for I had wanted to find him alive!"
Fromthe position of the bodies and from Mrs. Cabading's
statements later at the hospital, it appears thatCabading shot Lydia
whileshe was shielding herhusband, and Mrs. Cabading when she
tried to shield Lydia. Then he turned the gun onhimself, and it's an
indication of the man's uncommon strength and power that, after the
first shot, through theright side of the head, which must have been
mortal enough, he seems to havebeen able, as his hands dropped
to his breast, to fire at himself a second time. The violent spasm of
agonymust have sent the gun - a .45 caliber pistol-flying from his
hand. It was found at the foot of the bed, near Mrs. Cabading'sfeet.
Thedrama of the jealous father had ended at about half-past six in
the evening, Tuesday last week.
The next day, hurrying commuters slowed down and a whispering
crowd gathered before 1074 Zapote Street, to watch the policeand
the reporters going through the pretty little house that Pablo
Cabadingbuilt for his Lydia.

JANUARY 18, 1961: COP KILLS

DAUGHTER, SON-IN-LAW, HIMSELF
This bizarre and horrific incident, a front page headline news in 1961 became
the subject of a 1981 Mike de Leon critically-acclaimed movie, Kisapmata. It
happened on the late afternoon of January 18, 1961 when a Manila Police
detective killed his daughter, son-in-law, critically wounding his wife and shot
himself to death due to domestic and family dispute. Here's the full account of
that fateful and unfortunate tragedy --- from the front page of The Manila
Chronicle.
A Manila police detective, driven to a fit of madness during a family quarrel,
killed his only daughter and son-in-law, shot and wounded his wife and then
blew his brains out with the same gun at their plush residence in Makati, Rizal,
shortly before 5:45 p.m. yesterday.
 The amok was Pablo Cabading, 48, a
plainclothesman assigned with the criminal investigation laboratory of the
Manila Police Department. He herded the three into his room at the second
floor of their lavishly-furnished house at 1074 Zapote, Makati to settle a
domestic dispute. At the heat of the argument, he shot them one after, and
then presses the muzzle of his .45 caliber pistol against his right temple and
shot himself to death. The .45 caliber slug plowed through his skull. His victims
were: 1. Mrs. Asuncion Cabading, 45, his wife, who sustained multiple gunshot
wounds. Mrs. Cabading, up to press time last night, was in serious condition at
the Philippine General Hospital. She sustained eight wounds --- five in both
feet, two in the left shoulder and one in the body. She was taken to the
operating room. 2. Mrs. Lydia Cabading-Quitangon, 24, his lone daughter, a
doctor by profession. 3. Leonardo Quitangon, 36, professor at the University of
Santo Tomas College of Medicine, Lydia’s husband.

Quintangon and Lydia died in each other’s embrace in a corner of the room.
Their bodies were riddled with bullets. Cabading fell on his back on a bed. Mrs.
Cabading was found writhing in pain on the floor near the feet of Quitangon
and Lydia. Makati policemen rushed her to the PGH. The death gun,
Cabading’s service pistol was found on the floor below the feet of Cabading.
The four were found in the blood-soaked room on the second floor of their
newly-constructed house. Police investigators had to break the lock of the door
to get into the room. They said the room was locked from inside.

Four other persons were in the house during the shooting orgy. They were
Nonilo Quitangon, 27, a lawyer of 3996 Dangal, Sta. Mesa, brother of
Leonardo; Eduardo Cabading, 8, adopted son of the Cabadings; Normalinda
Gapuz, 15, and Corazon Verzosa, 12, housemaids. A Makati policeman was
passing by and the maids sought his aid, Gapuz said. Nonilo said he was in
the house during the rampage but got frightened and rushed out tocall for
policemen. He said he was summoned by Cabading to their house to discuss
“something important.” When he arrived at the house, Cabading engaged him
in a lively conversation, Nonilo said. Minutes later, Cabading told him to wait
downstairs as the family was going to discuss something upstairs. Five
minutes later, Nonilo said, he heard a succession of shots. Nonilo told
policemen Cabading might have been angered by their children’s refusal to
stay with them. He said the Quintangons wanted to live separately.
Quintangon and Lydia were married only last October 1960. Lydia was an only
child of the Cabadings.

Rodrigo Narvaez, 18, of 176 Arellano Avenue, cousin of Quintangon, rushed to

the house after he got word of the shooting. He said that Cabading once told
him that it was his wish that Lydia would not live separately with them. Narvaez
said he learned Cabading treated Quintangon coldly because he married his
daughter without their blessing. Nonilo told Makati police investigators that last
Sunday, Lydia and Quintangon left for Marogondon, Cavite, without the
permission of their father. He said that shortly before Sunday noon, Cabading
went to his house in Sta. Mesa brandishing a Thompson submachine gun,
looking for Quintangon and Lydia. Nonilo said he told Cabading that the couple
was still in Cavite. Yesterday morning, Nonilo said, the couple who slept in his
house received a phone call from Cabading telling them that Mrs. Cabading
was “very ill.” Worried, Nonilo said, the couple left for their house in Makati but
much to their surprise they found Mrs. Cabading well. Nonilo said Cabading
then called him up telling him also to go to his house as they were going to
discuss “something important.” When he arrived, Nonilo said, Cabading told
him to wait downstairs as he wanted to talk to their children upstairs. A few
minutes later, Nonilo said, he heard gunshots.

Policemen who rushed to the place, surmised that the couple stood pat on thei
plan tp live separately. Police conjectured that when the father sense it the
futility of having them live with them, he got his .45 caliber pistol, locked the
room, and shot them one by one. Initial findings showed that Mrs. Cabading
had prevented her husband from shooting the two or tried to shield the young
couple from Cabading’s gun. Lydia was also covering her husband when they
were hit by the first volley of shots, police surmised.

Mayor Maximo Estrella and several Makati homicide investigators dug deeper
into the case. They wanted to know the real motive behind the killing. They
were trying to find out why the gun was found far from Cabading. (by Roberto
Cuevas)

"Kisapmata" (1981)- Stars Charito Solis, Jay Ilagan, Vic Silayan and Charo
Santos/ with Ruben Rustia, Juan Rodrigo/ Directed by Mike de Leon

This particular news item can also be read in full and in details in the article,
"The House on Zapote Street" by Quijano de Manila (or Nick Joaquin)
originally published in the Philippines Free Press magazine. It was later
compiled with 12 other articles in a book, "Reportage on Crime."
"Reportage On Crime"
by Quijano de Manila
Cover artwork and Design: Danny Dalena