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he
late literary great Adrian Cristobal, whose readers sometimes thought he was
serious when he meant to be joking, or joking when he meant to be serious, had
a nice pitch for Vigan, Ilocos Sur. He said:
“Local and
foreign experts describe Vigan as ‘a place like no other.’ Its uniqueness lies
in its historic townscape which is an architectural blend of Asian, European,
and Latin influences. Being the only surviving colonial town in the country,
Vigan, earlier known as ‘Ciudad Fernandina’ from 1758 to late 19th century, is
the oldest surviving Spanish colonial city in the country. It has auspiciously
escaped the bombs of World War II unlike its sister cities, Manila and Cebu.
How and why it has survived the wrath of war is a fascinating story on its
own.”
Adrian,
of course, was taking snap shots. One would wish he could say those nice words
with the entire length of Vigan’s history in mind. Kidding aside, that is.
Vigan
is the birthplace of Chavit Singson. And what happened in Vigan at the time he
was making a name for himself could bring to light on possible answers to
questions of the hows and the whys surrounding his participation in Erap
presidency, or, more to the point, in Erap’s fall from the presidency.
The
truth is, without necessarily contradicting Cristobal, Vigan survived the
recurring madness of war. But what Vigan and, by extension, the whole province
of Ilocos Sur, might be in greater pain of was the wrath of home-grown
violence. It is hard to mention the province without some thoughts on the
political violence that marred its history.
Since
the mid-1950s until late 1960s, the Province of Ilocos Sur in northern
Philippines gained a dubious recognition for its violent politics. Not that the
3 Gs (guns, goons, and gold) of traditional Filipino politics were unknown
elsewhere, but one may argue that a 1967 police report on election-related
mayhem in Ilocos Sur could only be used to describe other parts of the country
with difficulty:[1]
|
Year |
No. of Murder/ Homicide Cases |
|
1961 |
201 |
|
1963 |
303 |
|
1965 |
217 |
|
1967 (1st half) |
153 |
|
Source: The 9 Lives of
Luis “Chavit” Singson by Linda Limpe and Luis “Chavit” Singson |
|
The
mix of violence and partisan politics in Ilocos Sur probably took its shape and
content from the tribal mores of pre-hispanic times. The Itneg and Tinggian
aborigines, which both drew their ancestry from the Igorot and Kankanaey
tribes of the Cordilleras, ruled parts of northern Luzon that included what is
now known as Ilocos Sur. They were recognized—and feared—for their aggression
and expansionist bent. They chose as their leaders the ones who killed the
greatest number of warriors of opposing tribes.
Nevertheless,
the cycle of political violence in the province appeared to have been ignited
by the bitter split in 1955 of the two political forces in the area. The
Liberal Party, then undisputed as the dominant partisan player in Ilocos,
wobbled when one of its key leaders, Vigan (capital town of Ilocos Sur) Mayor
Lorenzo Formoso, Sr. defected to the opposing Nacionalista Party in an act that
signified his intention to go to war against the other Liberal Party overlord,
Congressman Floro Crisologo.[2]
Formoso
allied with the private army-backed Faustino Tobia during the 1957 elections,
and both won—as Vigan Mayor and Ilocos Sur congressman, respectively—over their
respective opponents: Jose Singson and Crisologo.
It
was not only a contest for votes. It was also a dash for longevity. Formoso and
Tobia won their seats. But scores of people lost their lives.
Crisologo
vowed not to be defeated again in such a deadly game.
In
1958, Formoso fell from a bullet. This was a man who, in the world of guns,
himself did not bother to hide his resort to the trigger. Once, while
delivering a speech in a plaza, he offered a reward for anyone who could put to
permanent sleep three people whose names he identified.
Lorenzo
Formoso, Jr., the son, pulled himself out of relative obscurity to assert his
bloodline. Riding on the flood of sympathetic emotions generated by the killing
of his father, the young Formoso paddled his way to the finish line of the 1959
elections ahead of anyone else. Thus, another Formoso rose to become mayor of
Vigan.
Crisologo
by this time had assembled the pioneering roster of his own private army—called
saka-saka—that in later years would
become notorious for their rapacity.
In
1961 Crisologo reclaimed his congressional seat from Tobia. He campaigned by
force or by fear, and was just as effective with any other means known to
politicians.
The
dread effect of the Crisologo formula once more yielded positive results in the
next—1963—elections.[3] Two
Crisologos became new entrants to the deadly power game. Paquito, the brother,
had been elected as Mayor of Vigan; and Carmeling, the wife, was the new
Governor. During the campaign, provincial morbidity and mortality rates shot
up; the Formoso residence could have qualified for conversion to a tertiary
hospital.
For
the efforts they put into these new conquests, Crisologo saw in Chavit, his
nephew, a reliable hand. Explosive yet calculating, the young man showed some
flair for thrill. Crisologo thought that Chavit could be a vital cog in his
kingdom’s grand scheme of things.
At
the same time, there crept a sense of doubt among members of the Crisologo
household in their capability to contain the saka-saka within “manageable” limits. Floro himself, while acknowledging the
indispensability of the armed band for the preservation of his rule, saw the
monster that his creation had become.
The
saka-saka had gone berserk. The group
started out solely as an extension of Crisologo’s political apparatus, not much
unlike any government that has its armed forces. Crisologo supplied the group
with guns, ammunition, bandit paraphernalia and cost of dying allowance.
Then
it morphed into a fully committed criminal organization. And although capable
of acting independently from the Crisologos, it enjoyed impunity based on its
alliance with them.
In
between electoral campaigns, during which time the expertise of the saka-saka was utilized to the hilt, they
kept themselves busy with an atrocious pastime—extortion. At the point of a
gun, many business establishments in Vigan had to bear the cost of arbitrary
impositions. Worse, killings and threats to life and limb became a necessary
attachment to the gang’s full package of terror.
Vigan,
after having earned for centuries the tag as commercial and cultural hub in the
north, would lose its lure as a business and historical destination, and not a
few businesspeople thought that relocating elsewhere was the only option.
The
livelihood of the people suffered assaults from various fronts. Aside from
peace and order problems, the local economy took a beating from shrinking job
opportunities.
And
so, confronted with the above challenges, and in recognition of Chavit’s gut,
the Crisologos decided to put him in harness. New mayor Paquito appointed
Chavit, 22, to become Chief of Police of Vigan. The Crisologos thought that
Chavit could contain the saka saka
while keeping the alliance in the service of their reign.
It
turned out Chavit had to contend not only with the saka-saka and the widespread lawlessness in his turf, but also with
one Vincent “Bingbong” Crisologo.
Bingbong—Floro’s
eldest son—was Chavit’s cousin. After years of thrill-seeking adventure in the
city, Bingbong had to resettle himself in Vigan. In 1966, Bingbong figured as
one of the suspects (with Jaime Jose, et al) in a robbery with rape case in
Pasay City, Manila.
From
a crime-littered life in Manila to one that led an abusive gang in Vigan:
anyone who lived that life was quite a police character, and Chavit knew he had
to deal with it.
The
Crisologos tasked Bingbong with managing the family’s Virginia Tobacco—the
principal cash crop of Ilocos Sur and lifeblood of farmers in the area—redrying
business, known by the name “Farmers of the North Tobacco Company (FNTC)
Redrying Plant.
In
the typical way of a brat, Bingbong hardly played by the rules. With the saka-saka manning the key entry and exit
points throughout the province, he imposed an embargo on the tobacco trade,
forcing the tobacco farmers and traders to consign their items to FNTC at
one-fifth of the prevailing price.
The
farmers and traders suffered from the forced commercial practice. And yet they
felt helpless. They had to bear and endure the pain inflicted on them by the
bully.
Then
hints of something new loomed in the horizon. Chavit, showing bricks of
different mold, saw the world from the eyes of the oppressed.
At
the outset people regarded him as one of “them” (the oppressors), but in time
they found him sincere (and surprisingly out of the ordinary) in carrying out
his task, as policeman, to enforce law and order.
“People
saw that I was fair and sincere in carrying out my tasks. If somebody broke the
law, I locked them in prison, regardless of who they were” Chavit said. He was
referring to an instance when he apprehended and jailed a Crisologo bodyguard
for the charge of grave threats.
And
yet Chavit’s job demanded not only sincerity. It risked the health and safety
of the one performing its functions.
One
day Chavit led a convoy of 20 trucks full of tobacco headed towards Manila. Also,
on board the fleet were farmers who owned the precious leaves, and desperate
enough to sell their products at a fair price.
Chavit
had equipped each vehicle with weapons in preparation for any eventuality. The
sign of desperation was obvious: People were prepared to lose their lives in
the defense of their livelihood.
As
the convoy passed through each saka-saka
checkpoint, the bandits cringed and slithered away at the sight of Chavit. The
threat of mutual destruction dumbed the nerves of terrorists. From where the
oppressed saw it, the fear of power behind the embargo had dissipated. The
Crisologo tobacco blockade was defeated.[4]
Since
that day, the tobacco embargo ceased being a symbol of tyranny and lordship.
The subjects—constituting mostly of farmers—felt liberated.
People
found a new hero in Chavit. On the other hand, the Crisologos felt they had
raised a traitor in their midst.
In
1967, Chavit, aged 26 and egged on by a growing number of fans, forayed into
politics. He ran, along with his father Jose “Seling” Singson, as Liberal Party
stalwarts opposite Crisologo’s Nacionalista Party bets,[5] for
councilor and mayor of Vigan, respectively.
The
Crisologo candidates won the contested seats in practically all of Ilocos Sur.
Many of them ran unopposed anyway, as their opponents had been forced to
withdraw their candidacies before the voting.
Except
Chavit and Seling. They did not balk. In fact, they won.
The
battle lines were now clearly drawn. The Singsons versus the Crisologos. And
the rivalry was just warming up.
The
1969 national elections offered Chavit a bigger arena for his burgeoning
political stock. The Liberal Party fielded him as congressional candidate for
Ilocos Sur. The opponent: Floro Crisologo.
Days
after the campaign period began, on September 16, 1969, armed men barged into
the house of Florencio Parel in Bantay, Sto. Domingo, Ilocos Sur. They fired at
him and left as soon as they were certain he was dead. Parel was Chavit’s
campaign manager.
The
next day Chavit, along with a dozen or so supporters, went to Bantay to see and
condole with the Parel family. On their way back, danger awaited them in Sto.
Domingo. There they were—Bingbong and a hundred of his armed saka-saka men. It did not take long for
a firefight between Chavit’s and Bingbong’s group to erupt. For 12 hours, from
8 am to 10 pm, staccato of shots rang out from the poblacion of Sto. Domingo.
It was as if the scene was taken out of a gangland movie, except that this was
not a movie.
Jose Paolo dela Cruz,
writing for the Philippine Star on November 17, 2011, framed in words what it
must have been like: “To many who remember, tales of the old Ilocos [Sur]
are a case of life imitating art. Art being the classic cowboy films,
where the West is governed by guns, goons and gore. Only, the Old North is not
the West and Clint Eastwood is nowhere to be found. Filling in for these
elements are our local version of a “wild” North, and its version of the
legendary Clint Eastwood — Luis ‘Chavit’ Singson.”
Reports
on the number of casualties varied. Some said as many as 16 people died from
the madness.
The
killings and cases of violence went on and on, almost without let-up,
throughout the campaign period.
Philippine Constabulary
records showed that from January to May 1970 alone, no less than 78 cases of
murder have been reported in the province, of which only 21 were said to have
been solved.
Chavit
lost in the election. But it was not the end of his and his supporters’ misery.
In Ora Centro and Ora Este, two barangays of Bantay, Ilocos Sur, the fury of
the scorned candidate was unleashed.
Floro,
the winning congressional candidate (Chavit said he won the vote but lost in
the counting) along with other Crisologo candidates who vied for provincial
positions, got zero votes in those barangays. On May 22, 1970, armed men
descended on the communities and set their houses ablaze. In Ora Este, one
resident—Vicenta Balboa—was too old to flee and died from the heat and burns
caused by the fire.
The
national press—and the nation—turned its attention to what it now collectively
labeled as Ilocos Sur being “The Wild, Wild West of the North.” Members of
Philippine Congress, particularly those who were identified with the political
opposition, bristled at the brazenness by which life and property were being
violated in the province.
Senators
Gerry Roxas and Ninoy Aquino of the Liberal Party delivered fiery speeches on
the Senate floor to denounce the Ora atrocities. Philipine President Ferdinand
Marcos, a Crisologo ally, could not ignore the mounting pressure for him to
look into the gripping reports of violence that had been rocking the province
of Ilocos Sur.
After
a series of government-sanctioned investigations (there were initial attempts
at whitewash and cover-up) and an exchange of charges between the camps of
Crisologo and the allies of Chavit, Bingbong and about a hundred of his men
would be tried in court for arson with homicide. This led to his conviction to
two life terms; he eventually carried on serving time for 11 years before being
pardoned.
The
spiraling cycle of violence was hitting every which way. On October 18, 1970,
it was Floro’s turn to fall from an assassin’s bullet. The Crisologo patriarch
who, as Congressman, was known as father of the Philippine Social Security
System, was far from secure even in his own kingdom. His was one more dot in a
long list of unsolved crimes in the Wild, Wild North.
Floro’s
death did not end the Crisologo side of partisan political fued in Ilocos Sur.
The Crisologo-Singson rivalry, in fact, had revved-up even more. But Chavit
would not be denied of his political destiny. In 1971, Chavit pressed on with
jabs at electoral contests. This time, he would go on to win as Governor of
Ilocos Sur. Evaristo “Titong” Singson, Chavit’s brother, also won the mayorship
of Vigan. And yet, except for the Singson brothers, all the other contested
seats in IIocos Sur went to the Crisologos or their allies.
The
Crisologo-Singson rivalry fueled more mayhem. On September 24, 1971, while on
the campaign trail, Chavit’s convoy of vehicles ran through an ambush. Quirino
Pilar, seated beside Chavit, was hit by a bullet and died. Three Chavit
supporters—Felix Kaabay, Alfredo Taypa and Eddie Follosco—who were on board in
another vehicle, sustained bullet wounds but survived.
Barely
days after winning the governorship of Ilocos Sur, Chavit cheated death one
more time. He was invited to grace the fiesta celebration of Cabugao, one of
the province’s 34 towns, and, while on the dance floor, grenades exploded in
the middle of the town plaza, which was the site of the celebration. The blasts
shaked the ground and threw everything out of their places. There was bedlam.
Blood sputtered everywhere. People screamed, gripped with horror.
The deadly attack was meant for Chavit. But he
survived, with nothing more than bruises in his arms. The crimsoned barong
tagalog he wore for the occasion is currently on display at the family
museum. His dance partner was not as fortunate; she suffered, along with
hundreds of revelers, multiple shrapnel wounds. In all, 11 people died from the
explosions.
[1] These numbers could be viewed in a
context where the population was at least 6 times smaller than today.
[2] Prior to 1986 when a new Constitution was
adapted, the Philippines had two dominant political parties—the Liberal Party
and the Nacionalista Party.
[3] Patterned after the US electoral system,
Philippine elections at the time were conducted every two years. One was for
national positions (like President and members of Congress) and two years after
for local positions (like Governor and Mayor). Each elected position was for a
term of 4 years.
[4] Other sources claimed that the tobacco
blockade was not solely designed by Crisologo. Lucio Tan, with his Fortune
Tobacco company, offered bribes to ensure steady supply of raw materials at
rock-bottom prices. Marcos, who had been in Malacañang for over a year, acted
as behind-the-scenes facilitator.
[5] A decade earlier, the Crisologos were
allied with the Liberal Party. But when then Senate President Ferdinand Marcos,
a key political leader from the neighboring province of Ilocos Norte, jumped
over to the Nacionalista Party to run for President, the Crisologos turned
Nacionalista as well.
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