I’ve recently watched a film by Lav Diaz titled, Ebolusyon ng Isang Pamilyang Pilipino or The Evolution of a Filipino Family. This film revolves around a Filipino family during the Martial Law era. The movie's setting started in 1971, a year before the dictator Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law up until 1987, a year after Martial Law and Ferdinand Marcos rule ended in the Philippines. The Martial Law era in the Philippines is a tumultuous year with thousands of human rights violation was committed. Lav Diaz shot this film in 8 years that it even precedes his debut film, Serafino Geronimo, Kriminal ng Barrio Concepcion in 1998 and was released in 2004 with a running time of 10 and a half hours. I salute those people who attended its first screening in Toronto Film Festival. I heard they only have a 10-minute break in the middle of the film screening.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you a story growing up in Martial Law and being born in 1982. Of course, I wasn’t that aware of what’s happening at the time. But I wanted to recall what little I know from the stories I heard growing up. These stories are somehow related to what is happening in the film as mentioned earlier. This also doesn’t mean you need to or have to see the movie, Ebolusyon ng Isang Pamilyang Pilipino, but I think it’s important to say it in the start. Since it’s the film that made me reflect and remember some parts of how it is growing up in the Martial Law era.
My mom used to say that life at the time of Martial Law was peaceful at the most. Life was prosperous. But despite that, there are nuggets of stories from her that cast darkness from the stories she often tells. I grew up in a small barrio up North of Luzon. Just like the family in the film, they also live in a small barrio up North. Young girls and boys are expected to help out on the farm as it’s the only means of livelihood. As early as 6 years old, you learn how to till the soil, plant rice seedlings, and harvest rice with a sickle. Growing up, I’d often hear stories of brutality from the military. How the military would often shoot and kill civilians, plant them a gun and label them as a communist to be able to collect bounties. I can still recall the face of a dead man brought to the plaza and see the gunshot wounds on its face. People would openly say, this one’s from the mountain, mouthing it off with added caution. Making sure they wouldn’t be associated by the rebel fighters in the mountain. But comes trouble, it’s the rebel fighters in the mountain they expected to go down to fight injustices. If someone rapes or steal, you can be sure that the rebel fighters would take care of that person with a gun.
Our relatives, in the south of Luzon, fares better but succumb to the glittering promise of mining gold in the river. They’d spend all their fortune for that sliver of hope of getting rich quick, influenced by stories of individuals who have struck vast amount of gold. Sadly, not all of them are lucky. Most are bankrupt and lost their families in the city of Manila finding new ways to elevate their status. But the city offers a different kind of story too.
I wonder why the stories are told casually as if it's something that can only happen on movies. As my mom would often say, "If you'd done nothing wrong then there is nothing to fear about."