Those left by the disappeared

by Rowena C. Paraan

THE PROGRAM began at noon, on a day that shone brightly despite the heavy rains of the past days. Speakers with rheumatic knees had to heave themselves up the hood of a rundown AUV that served as the stage, but most of the participants stayed on until the program finished two hours later. That, after all, is nothing compared to a lifetime of trying to come to terms with the fact that a loved one seems to have simply vanished.

Last Sunday, August 30, was the International Day of the Disappeared, and more than 150 families of desaparecidos (the disappeared) and their supporters gathered in front of the Bustillos church in Manila. Winston Balao, brother of missing Cordillera activist James Balao, came all the way from Baguio to express solidarity with the other families. Another participant was Edith Burgos, mother of agriculturist Jonas Burgos, who was abducted in a mall two years ago and has not been seen since.

Under the Arroyo administration alone, abduction cases have reached 207, according to militant groups.

Dee Ayroso’s husband Honor is among the desaparecidos of the Arroyo regime. A former student activist and political detainee, Honor Ayroso, together with Johnny Orcino Jr., was abducted by men suspected to be soldiers from the 71^st Infantry Battalion of the Philippine Army (IBPA) on Feb. 9, 2002. The two have yet to resurface. Dee, an award-winning writer, makes it a point to attend activities in remembrance of the disappeared each year. That is one of her ways of coping with her husband’s abduction, she said.

Another is being part of Desaparicidos, an organization of families of victims of state-perpetrated abduction. “Kasi ang feeling ko wala nang titindi pa sa pain na naramdaman ko kaya nakatulong nang makausap ko ang ibang pamilya ng desaparecido (Because there is nothing more painful than what I am feeling, and it helps when I can talk to families of other desaparecidos),” she said.

Dee said it was easier during the first years of Honor’s disappearance when there still seemed that there were things she could do, such as go to different government and military offices, write to senators and congressmen, and visit detention centers. It became more difficult when she felt she had exhausted everything she could think of doing, with no results.

The protesters carried small bronze bells with red ribbons, inked with demands for justice to desaparecidos. The bells, said Ghay Portajada, are symbolic of what they want to do – wake the public up and make them see that enforced disappearances do happen in the Philippines. Her own father was abducted when she was 12 years old. Now 33, she is one of the leaders of the Desaparecidos.

Among those present, Romy Luneta had been waiting the longest for news about his abducted relatives. His sister-in-law Margarita Luneta and his niece Niña, then three years old, were abducted in 1976, together with seven other people in Cabanatuan, Nueva Ecija, during a raid at a house there.

The 67-year-old father of seven and grandfather of three acted as one of the emcees and stayed on top of the makeshift stage during the entire program. “Wala akong sakit pag nandoon ako sa taas (I feel good while I’m onstage),” he said. But for him and the rest of the families of the disappeared, the pain may never stop. – PCIJ, September 2009