What I CAN DO

1. I READ IT

2. Sept. 21, 2020. This is a day I will never forget. Forty-eight years ago, President Marcos
signed Presidential Decree 1081, imposing Martial Law all over the Philippines. I was 18
,years old. A year later on the first anniversary of Martial Law, I was arrested, tortured, and
imprisoned for 7 months. I wish to add my voice to those who denounce the efforts of
Duterte and his minions in congress to extol Marcos as a hero and promote a revisionist view
of the ruthless and corrupt dictator whom he idolizes, emulates, and tries to surpass. Below
is an account of the horror I experienced:
At 4 in the morning of September 21, 1973 – the first anniversary of Martial Law – I and 3 other
seminarians quietly slipped out of the seminary. I wore my jogging pants and my Scout Ranger
jacket. We carried some of the leaflets that we mimeographed the previous nights. These leaflets
contained a denunciation of Martial Law and a call for people to resist the dictatorial regime. We
planned to saturate the city with these leaflets. Other students belonging to various cells were
also doing the same thing in different parts of the city.
We went on our separate ways. As I was walking alone in the dark and deserted streets of
downtown Cebu dropping leaflets on doorsteps and in mailboxes, I suddenly felt hands grabbing
me from behind. A man held me by the neck, another by the arms. The third man aimed his .45
caliber pistol at me and said, "Don't move, you are under arrest!"
He frisked me and grabbed the leaflets I tucked inside my jacket. A car suddenly pulled in beside
us and I was shoved inside. I was sandwiched between the two men while the third sat in front.
My whole body froze and my heart raced as the car sped along Jones Avenue and entered Camp
Sergio Osmeña. I had a sinking feeling – as if I was falling into a void as I said to myself, "Oh
God, please help me, I have been caught."
They brought me up to the office of the Constabulary Security Unit on the third floor and
dumped me inside the small, dark, windowless room they called the "dragon room." This was the
room where they conducted tactical interrogations.
What happened next seemed surreal. It was an experience of pain, shame, and humiliation that I
tried to forget and did not want talk about. While I was inside the “dragon room,” I felt so
helpless. I cried out to God but he seemed so distant and absent. I felt abandoned. Under the
glare of a light bulb over my head, the intelligence agents continued to take turns in interrogating
me and hitting my solar plexus, ears, chest, and kidneys every time I refused to answer their
questions. I was gasping for air every time they hit me. The pain became so unbearable that I
passed out. When I regained consciousness, I lost sense of time since it was dark inside the room.
I didn't know whether it was night or day. I was hungry and thirsty. Instead of giving me water,
somebody forced me to drink Tanduay rum. I became groggy and they continued to ask me who
my comrades were and where they could be found. They thought that too much alcohol would
loosen my tongue. Instead, I wailed like a little child. 
After a while, another intelligence agent was assigned to interrogate me. He treated me like I was
his younger brother. He spoke softly and told me that the torture would stop if I just give them
the information they wanted. He also brought me food. I was wondering if I could withstand
another session of torture. Yet I was also imagining the faces of my comrades. If I revealed their
names they would also be picked up, tortured, and imprisoned. I told myself that I would never
reveal any information that would lead to their arrest. Yet I had to tell them something that
would make them believe that they had broken me and that I had finally cooperated. So, I finally
said, "Please, don't hurt me anymore. I will tell you everything I know."
The head of the Constabulary Security Unit came. He was stocky and dark. He looked like a
bulldog. I overheard other agents referring to him as Major. He asked me the source of the
documents and the identity and location of my contacts. I told him that the structure of the
underground was very sophisticated, and that I only knew one contact who provided me with the
leaflets. I gave them false information and implicated another person not connected with our
group.
They seemed to believe me and the torture stopped. They were glad that I was finally
cooperating with them. They asked me if I was willing to work as an informer if they released
me. I said yes. I was thinking that I would just hide once I got out. 
The following night or was it day, I heard the scream of another person. An agent told me that
they had picked the person whom I had implicated. I was seized with remorse. When I met the
Major, I told him that everything I revealed to them was a lie and that I was retracting my
statement. So they released the person immediately.
I felt I was being sucked deeper and deeper into a black hole in which there was no escape.
When I went to the comfort room, accompanied by a guard, I saw an open window and all I
thought was to jump out of it. We were on the third floor but I didn't care. All I wanted was to
end it all. But I didn't have a chance to do it since the guard was just beside me. 
I was sent back to the dragon room for further interrogation. They were mad at me for lying to
them. The torture continued. I was like a punching bag and a soccer ball. But I refused to tell
them anything. After so many days of torture, my body and mind became numb. I couldn't feel
anymore. Even when one of the interrogators put the barrel of his .45 caliber pistol in my mouth
and cocked it, I didn't care anymore if he pulled the trigger. My interrogators out of exasperation
told me that they would be using electric shock to force out information from me. They showed
me a machine with electrodes that they would attach to different parts of my body. I was
suddenly filled with terror. I finally told them, "OK, I give up, I can't stand it anymore. I will tell
you everything." They believed that I had finally reached my breaking point.
I gave them the names of the seminarians who helped me produce and distribute the leaflets.
This story was as close to the truth as to be credible. Strangely enough, the interrogators seemed
to believe me. In order to check out my story, they invited for questioning the 3 seminarians.
Since all they knew was about the production and distribution of the leaflets, they were sent
home immediately. 
So, finally the torture and tactical interrogation was over. I survived. I protected the identity of
my comrades and friends. I was turned over to the Regional Command for the Administration of
Detainees for formal investigation. I spent almost a week in a small cell inside the Provost
Marshall's office. It was like a cage. This was the holding cell for those undergoing formal
investigation. After our last session, the investigator told me I would be sent to the detention
center and undergo "rehabilitation." 
On October 3, 1973, I and two other prisoners were put on a military truck and taken to Lahug
Detention Center. We were handcuffed and accompanied by armed guards. It was the first time I
saw the sky since I was arrested.
It was a gloomy afternoon, the sun was hidden by the dark clouds, and rain poured as we reached
the detention camp. I had a sinking feeling as I found myself inside the prison camp, which was
enclosed by high walls and barbed wires. The guards first took us to the administration building
where our pictures and fingerprints were taken. The officer on duty added our names to the list of
prisoners on a blackboard. Then we were brought to a one-story building that looked like a pre-
fabricated school house without any windows or ceiling. The air and light could only enter
through a small opening near the roof.
After we were brought inside, the guards closed the steel door behind us and I saw these burly
men with tattoos all over their bodies look down at us. One of them started asking, "Who are you
and what are your cases?" I was the first one to answer, "I am Amado Picardal and I am a
political detainee." A dark young man with a shaved head approached me and said, "Come with
me. Nobody's going to harm you. You are exempted from this initiation. They respect political
prisoners here. I am Hugo and I am also a political detainee." The two other new prisoners with
me had criminal offenses. They were just teenagers. They were immediately subjected to the
initiation rite for new prisoners. It was called “the baptism.” The two young prisoners were
brought to the toilet and their faces were dunked into the toilet bowl filled with urine and
excrement. Then the other prisoner took turns in punching them. Later that night several sex-
starved prisoners sodomized them. And I thought all these could have happened to me too.
I found it difficult to sleep on my first night. There was a lot of bantering among prisoners who
were drinking and playing cards. Others were arguing and I thought a fight could erupt at any
moment. I was perspiring and every time I breathed, the smell of sweat, urine, and excrement
filled my nostrils. Thankfully, I was tired and I dozed off. At around 4 in the morning I woke up.
I tried to convince myself that I was back in my bed in the seminary and all that had happened
was just a bad dream. But the stench reminded me that I was still in prison. I wiped the tears
from my cheeks and went back to sleep.
3.