Independence in the Balance, January 28, 1933

January 28, 1933

Independence in the Balance
Babel of Voices Rising on All Sides—Question Buried Under Volumes of Oratory Leaders’ Future Moves Uncertain

CONFUSION worse confounded marked the week’s developments in the unfolding of the drama of Philippine independence. From Bongao to Aparri raged the question of the hour: Should the Philippines approve the independence bill enacted by the United States congress? Of almost equal interest was the subsidiary question: Should the Philippine legislature act on the bill, or should a convention of specially elected delegates decide this momentous matter?

All eyes were focused upon the impetuous figure of Senate President Quezon, who effective ended discussion of the bill during the special session of the legislature by threatening to take an immediate vote on the question unless sponsors of the bill stopped their sniping tactics.

As staunchly opposed to the bill as ever, Senate President Quezon was unquestionably supported by a majority in both houses of the legislature. Should he have put the question to a vote, there was no doubt but that his wishes would have been followed. In spite of claims that the legislature could not act on the matter until an official copy of the bill had been received from Washington, the senate president insisted that all that was necessary for a vote was for the governor general to submit the radioed copy of the bill to the legislature.

Mission Summoned

“I have an agreement with the members of the mission not to act on the bill until they return and make their report, in order that they may defend their actions,” said Senate President Quezon, “but if sympathizers of the bill continue making speeches and waging a campaign to form public opinion in favor of the bill, the members of the legislature, in spite of my wishes, may force a vote on the measure.

Having  thus effectively spiked discussion of the bill at the special session of the legislature, Senate President Quezon called a caucus of the majority party, and secured authorization to send a cable ordering the mission to return to the Philippines.

If the mission were to return, it seemed probable that Senate President Quezon had abandoned his plans to sail to the United States to work for the better bill which he felt he could secure from the forthcoming congress. Yet the next thing the mercurial leader did indicated the possibility of his departure. He had the senate elect Sen. Jose Clarin as president pro tempore, and Sen. Elpidio Quirino a majority floor leader. “As everybody knows, the question of my going to the United States has not been decided, but if I should leave there must be a president pro tempore,” explained Senate President Quezon.

The mission, in the meantime, were sitting tightly in Washington awaiting orders from Manila. Even Sen. Benigno Aquino, envoy extraordinary who joined the mission at the last moment and who had planned to start his return trip late this month, announced he had canceled his passage and would stay in Washington.

But while the senate president was charting his course in regard to the independence bill, a great barrage of opinion, pro and con, was laid down in Manila and throughout the provinces.

Among the many entities which expressed their opinions on the independence bill were: the municipal council of Manila, which opposed it after hearing a councilor make the sensational statement that the mission should be shot for treachery and the students of the Columbian institute of Manila, who “sincerely and wholeheartedly” endorsed the independence bill.

For and Against

Rafael Palma, president of the University of the Philippines, and once a member of the Big Three of Philippine politics, issued a statement deploring “the absence of perfect understanding among our leaders”. He favors the approval of the bill.

On the other side of the fence is Don Vicente Lopez, president of the International Chamber of Commerce of Iloilo, the Filipino businessman who declared before Secretary of War Hurley that independence would be ruinous without free trade for 20 years. He said:

“One need not be a prophet to predict now what will happen should the Philippine legislature accept the Hawes-Cutting Bill.

“1. Foreign capital, which constitutes more than 50% of our total, will be withdrawn as soon as possible, in two years at the most.

“2. Filipino capital, which is much more conservative than foreign capital will also be withdrawn and all the cash will be deposited with foreign banks.

“3. As a result of this withdrawal of all foreign and Filipino capital, the government of the Philippine commonwealth will be so poor after the lapse of five years that it will ask the United States to restore the Jones Bill.

“4. The Jones law may be restored but without such privileges or have gains as free trade.

“5. That, to cap it all—and in this I hope I am mistaken—we shall not say goodbye to the country, but we shall say goodbye to the home, because economic slavery will then prevail.”

Many observers chose the “middle path,” feeling that although the independence bill is far from an ideal one, it is better than nothing at all. For instance, Dr. Bernabe Africa, professor of political science at the University of the Philippines, holds that “We must meet the selfish American interests halfway. Immediate independence is impracticable. If we cannot have a whole loaf, we are wise if we take half a loaf. Under the next administration a worse bill, from the economic standpoint, might be passed.

The most interesting debate now being conducted in the daily press by Maximo Kalaw and Jorge Bocobo, the two politically minded deans of the University of the Philippines. Dean Kalaw, a member of the mission who returned early, is defending the bill, while Dean Bocobo is opposing it.

De Joya for Bill

A public clash between those favoring and those opposing the independence bill occurred Tuesday afternoon at that forum for the creation of public opinion, a convocation of students of the University of the Philippines.

For Judge Mariano H. de Joya, the principal speaker delivered a lengthy speech in favor of the bill declaring “We must accept the Hawes-Cutting-Hare Bill because it contains a definite and solemn promise of Independence, at the expiration of the ten year period of transition, thus eliminating the element of uncertainty.

“Furthermore, we must accept the Hawes-Cutting-Hare Bill, to be consistent with ourselves; and so that we may not become the laughing-stock of the World. To reject the Hawes-Cutting-Hare Bill would be impolitic, and treason to the rights and the welfare of future generations.

“Besides, if we should now reject the Hawes-Cutting-Hare Bill, the American Congress will charge us with ingratitude and with attempting to impose upon them, and they will treat our next petitions with scorn. We have no right to gamble away the gains already obtained, and thus be recreant to our duty to 13,000,000 souls.”

Judge De Joya then took up the controversial points of the bill one at a time, arguing that the retention of American naval bases in the Philippines would be a stabilizing influence in the Far East, that the trade relations provided in the bill are not unjust to the Philippines, that the limitation of immigration into the United States was a blessing in disguise and that the fears concerning the American high commissioner are unjustified.

The high spot of the convocation resulted from Judge De Joya’s statement that “What could President Quezon do, a sick man and alone, that the others, all strong and sound, could not do together?”

Securing permission to be heard, Dean Jorge Bocobo leaped to his feet and belabored Judge De Joya for “rejoicing over the failing health of our president, Manuel L. Quezon.” With anger surging through every word of his speech, he passionately declared, “If President Quezon’s health is failing, if he is a sick man, it is because he has spent all his life, has sacrificed it all for the welfare of the people.”

Judge De Joya protested that he had been maliciously misunderstood declaring, “I did not say I was rejoicing because President Quezon is a sick man. I was merely stating a simple fact as a lawyer ordinarily would.”

Opening shot of the Kalaw-Bocobo debate was fired Thursday morning when Dean Kalaw released to the press his first article, which he described as an account “of a once famous battle-cry whose echo has been lost in the recondite nooks and corners of Capitol hill.” The battle-cry was “immediate, complete and absolute independence,” which Dean Kalaw said “has served tremendously in arousing the people”. Therefore supporters of immediate independence, he argued, were barking up the wrong tree, were seeking something impossible to attain.

Probably one of the most vital pronouncements on the measure will be made by Senate President Quezon at one o’clock next Sunday morning, when he will address the people of the United States over a nationwide radio hook-up which will carry his voice into millions of American homes.
What the Filipino leader says then will undoubtedly have a very real and definite bearing on the final outcome of the problem.

And Now. . .

THE fevered excitement incidental to the unimagined passing of the Hawes-Cutting bill over President Hoover’s veto is subsiding, and we are moving into the more sober secondary stage.

While there is still interested discussion as to the merits and probable consequences of the measure, which debates in the press and on the platform will tend to keep alive, the general tendency seems to be toward suspended judgment.

The poll conducted by the daily press, mostly among businessmen, reveals complacence on the part of some and resignation, in lieu of the hope of anything better, on the part of others. A few, however, openly voice their dissatisfaction and apprehension and seem disposed to risk everything in an effort to avert the “slow strangulation,” the “creeping paralysis,” which they see as the inevitable outcome of the bill’s operation.

Meanwhile, in diametrical opposition, in apparently uncompromising antagonism dominating the welter of discussion and dissidence, are the well known views of the members of the mission in the United States, with Osmeña and Roxas in the forefront, and, here, Manuel Quezon. On neither side has there been the slightest sign of wavering, of change, of yielding.

For those who believe with Quezon, that there is hope of something better, the argument appears to run about as follows:

That the executive heads of the United States government, reference being had to President Hoover and four members of his cabinet, definitely opposed the bill; that in its essence it is unqualifiedly one-sided and arbitrary; that it was promoted by selfish and sordid interests; that the press of the United States generally condemns it; that it works a great moral and material wrong upon the Filipino people, gives the lie to the past lofty professions of the United States about being animated solely by motives of altruism in its dealings with the Filipino people and generally reflects dishonor upon the good name of America; and further, that it is inconceivable, if the worst came to the worst, that, with a whole people protesting against the injustice of the bill, the congress of the United States would be so cruel and inhuman as to force upon that people a bill still more drastic and merciless in its provisions.

On the other hand, apart from those who welcome the bill because of its more or less definite promise of independence, fear exists lest congress might be ruthless enough to enact a still more stringent measure. These advocates of acceptance say there is no telling what congress might do. Some Americans even go so far as to voice the belief that, should Quezon declare the Filipino people would prefer immediate and outright independence to the present bill, congress might—to use their words—“call his bluff” and pass such a bill. Better, they say, to take half a loaf than risk getting none.

Thus is the issue presented to the Filipino people, to the people of the Philippines. They stand at the crossroads of destiny, at a crisis in their history. Through their legislature or through a popular convention, they are to be called upon to play the part of the Lords of High Decision. Fate hangs in the balance.

Committee Thrashing Out Details of Independence, December 24, 1932

December 24, 1932

Committee Thrashing Out Details of Independence
Hawes-Cutting Bill Approved by Senate—Goes to Conference with Hare Bill—Manila Rises Against Senate Measure

IN ONE of the commodious committee rooms in the capital building in Washington, D.C., at 10 o’clock on Wednesday morning, a group of five senators and three representatives sat down around a large conference table.

Before each member of the joint committee lay printed copies of two bills: one entitled S. 3377; the other, H. R. 7233. Popularly known as the Hawes-Cutting and the Hare bills, they were the measures which the United States senate and the United States house of representatives, respectively, had passed as Philippine independence bills.

Basically following the same broad outlines, these two bills varied in certain essential details. To compromise those differences and report out a single measure which would be acceptable to both houses was the task before the joint committee, as it settled down to work Wednesday morning. Briefly, those differences were:

How soon the joint committee can finish its task of ironing out those discrepancies was much in doubt as the eight congressmen buckled down to the task at hand. Senator Hawes, chief independence proponent in the upper house, was anxious to get a measure approved before December 25, as a Christmas present for the Filipino people. But with the traditional recess of congress over the holidays only a day or two off, it looked as though there were little hope of final action before January.

But if congress must adjourn, there was no reason why the committee could not continue its deliberations during the holidays.

Members of the committee, for the most part, are well-known in the Philippines.

Representing the upper house are Senators Hawes and Cutting, co-authors of the bill, Sen. Hiram Bingham, long-time opponent of independence, Sen. Hiram Johnson, who wants to exclude Filipinos from the United States, and Sen. Key Pittman, generally regarded as a friend of the Philippines.

From the lower house are Representative Hare, author of the independence bill bearing his name, Rep. Guinn Williams, from Texas, an unknown quantity in Philippine matters but certainly in favor of early independence, and Rep. Harold Knutson, whose Minnesota constituents are clamoring for independence in order to shut out Philippine coconut oil, which competes with their dairy products.

The question of Philippine independence was thrown into committee when the senate, last Saturday, passed the amended Hawes-Cutting bill without a record vote, after having reconsidered and disapproved the Broussard amendment which provided for independence in eight years with increasing tariffs beginning the first year. The bill as passed by the senate provides for independence in approximately 12 years, with restricted imports during the first seven years and gradually increasing tariff duties during the final five year.

As a matter of form, the house of representatives then disapproved the senate amendments to the bill, thus throwing both the senate bill and the house bill, which was passed last spring, into committee. That the compromise measure which emerges from that committee will be approved by both houses and sent to President Hoover seems probable. But what President Hoover will do with the bill is anybody’s guess.

Plebiscite Provision

Most controversial matter during the final discussion of the Hawes-Cutting bill was the question of a plebiscite. It is generally felt that President Hoover wants no independence bill without a plebiscite, which will allow the Philippine voters to decide, after a period of transition, whether or not they wish to be cut loose from the United States.

But Sen. Huey P. Long, self-styled Kingfish of Louisiana, who had forced through lower limitations on sugar and coconut oil, rose in his majesty and said he would filibuster until March 4 to prevent the plebiscite proviso. As a final compromise it was provided that the constitution of the Philippine commonwealth should be submitted to the people for a vote, thus allowing them to express their opinion before the period of transition.

From Manila, after the approval of the Hawes-Cutting bill, came an almost unanimous storm of protest. Said Senate President Quezon.

“While they insist upon keeping us under the American flag for a number of years our people are branded as undesirable to the American people. They want to restrict our free trade with America to a ruinous extent, and yet American free trade with the Philippines will be unlimited. Our industries will not be protected in the United States markets but American industries will be protected in the Philippines.

Wants Independence

“It is a most unfair arrangement reminding one of the treatment accorded to the American colonies by Great Britain in the days of George the Third.
“America should grant independence to the Philippines at once, or if Americans insist upon a period of transition then let it be the shortest possible time. If in the meanwhile, America does not want our people in the United States nor our products, let there be no intermigration of the two peoples nor free trade at all. Let Congress prohibit Filipinos from entering the United States and impose customs duties on Philippine products. But let the Filipinos have the right to do the same thing in reference to the United States.

“We did not ask Congress to establish this free trade, and we are willing to have it terminated now. We only ask independence.”

William H. Anderson fairly represented the opinion of America businessmen in Manila when he said, “Better have independence tomorrow than 10 years of slow torture by economic strangulation.”

Mass Meeting

A more conservative note came from the University of the Philippines, where President Rafael Palma pointed out that the Philippines could not expect an ideal independence bill and Dean Francisco Benitez declared that “beggars cannot be choosers.” Dean Maximo Kalaw caustically remarked that the “unfair commercial provisions” had “not surprised” him as he had “always contended that the history of our tariff relations with the United States showed that America has not been actuated by liberal motives.”

The climax of the protest was scheduled for Thursday evening, when a public mass meeting was held at the Manila Opera House. Organized under the chairmanship of Dean Jorge Bocobo, the meeting was first to have been addressed by Senate President Quezon, but later the Filipino leader withdrew, stating his stand on the matter was clear and declaring he was anxious the people themselves should be given an opportunity to express their views.

A resolution of protest was prepared for the meeting, and the program included speeches by Sen. Jose Generoso, Gonzalo Puyat, Lope K. Santos and Isauro Gabaldon.

Nacionalista Party Split, January 7, 1933

January 7, 1933

Nacionalista Party Split

Hoover Considers Independence

Bill Finally Passed by Both Houses—Provides Three Years Continued Free Trade Without Restrictions—Quezon and Osmeña at Parting of Ways

ON TWO widely divergent battlefronts was the bloodless war of Philippine Independence being waged this week: in Washington and in Manila. In the American capital all the forces were being concentrated on President Hoover, who could approve or veto the compromise bill which congress had passed. In Manila the question was somewhat more complicated, as it involved an apparently irreparable split between those two Titans of Philippine politics, Manuel L. Quezon and Sergio Osmeña.

Last Friday morning, about an hour before the ice plant whistle announced the 36th anniversary of the exact hour at which Dr. Jose Rizal was executed, word reached Manila that the lower house of the United States congress, by the overwhelming vote of 171 to 16, had approved the compromise Philippine independence bill. Since the senate had previously approved the measure, only the signature of President Hoover was needed to enact into law the first Philippine independence bill ever passed by both houses of the United States congress.

Generally termed a 10-year bill, the compromise bill now before President Hoover would in reality require about 13 years before the final grant of independence, might event take longer. Greatly feared for its annual limitations of 850,000 tons of sugar and 200,000 tons of coconut oil which might be sent free of duty from the Philippines to the United States, the bill provides that these limitations will not go into effect until the Philippine commonwealth has been established, which would take, conservatively estimated, two years and ten months, but might even take as long as four years. In the meantime the bill provides there would be no limitation on Philippine exports to the United States.

With the bill finally passed by both houses of the United States congress, speculation immediately centered itself upon what action President Hoover would take. Having wearied of affairs of state, the president was cruising in the Caribbean sea, and did not return to Washington until Tuesday of this week.

Hurley Opposed

Having until January 11 to sign or veto the bill, failing to do which it will automatically become law, the president called Secretary of War Patrick Jay Hurley into conference, asked him to make a report on the bill. Staunch foe of independence Secretary Hurley told newspapermen on his way out of the White House that the bill “does not solve the inherent difficulties of the Philippine problem, but merely accentuates them.”

That Hurley recommended veto of the bill seemed likely. Another ground for believing that President Hoover would not approve the measure was the statement of Sen. Hiram Bingham, chairman of the senate territories  committee, that he feared “Hoover could not sign the Philippine bill in view of the opposition of Secretary Stimson.” Nevertheless, Senator Bingham hoped that Hoover would sign the bill, fearing that an even less favorable measure would be passed by the coming congress.

Rep. Charles L. Underhill, republican from Massachusetts, scorchingly declared the compromise bill was “unfair, unchristian, and uncivilized and it is going to cause more woe and troubles in the world than any here conceive.”

With the bill passed and awaiting presidential action, the long impending storm in Philippine politics broke in all its fury. Asked by the Philippine missioners in Washington to petition the president to sign the bill, Senate President Quezon refused to do so, then called into session the Philippine independence commission.

Before the independence commission Senate President Quezon read a cable from Senator Osmeña and Speaker Roxas.

In a long and intensely dramatic speech, Senate President Quezon then proceeded to tear the compromise measure to pieces, objecting to nearly every provision in the bill. His most startling statement was that the bill “is the work of the National City Bank,” which has “one billion dollars invested in Cuban sugar interests, and it is bent on ruining the Philippine sugar industry.”

Qualified Request

Finally, however, he moved and the independence commission approved a qualified interest for presidential approval of the bill. This request was contained in the following cable, signed by Quezon and Alas.

“The commission of independence further believes it to be its bounden duty to state that the legislation recommended by the conference committees of congress is not entirely in accord with the statements made and instructions given to date by the legislature and by the independence commission. The commission of independence would agree, however, with the President’s signing the bill already mentioned, with the object of giving the legislature or the Filipino people opportunity to express its opinion on such legislation, an opportunity which would not exist if the bill is not enacted into law. With this the commission believes it paves the way for the passage of the said measure and at the same time reserves for the legislature and the Filipino people full liberty of action to accept or refuse it when it is submitted to it for its consideration after hearing the side of the mission.”

Thus, while the way for presidential approval might have been paved, the way for a sharp split between Quezon and Osmeña was likewise paved, with Quezon opposing the independence  measure and Osmeña approving it. Supporting Osmeña, of course, would be the other member of the independence mission. Just how the senators and representatives in the Philippines would line up was in doubt, but the division in the senate appeared almost even, with perhaps the appointive senators, including the sultan of Sulu, holding the balance of power.

Carrying the fight to the provinces, Quezon supporters invaded northern Luzon, seeking resolutions approving the stand of the senate president. From Cebu, stronghold of Senator Osmeña, came a telegram from Paulino Gullas requesting Senate President Quezon to explain his stand before the bar association of the southern province. Replied Senate President Quezon, “If in my opinion my duty to the people demands a trip to Cebu, I shall come regardless of myself and personal consideration to my friend Senator Osmeña.”

Quirino Reply

How the wind was blowing in the Philippines was indicated by a cablegram sent to Washington by Sen. Elpidio Quirino, acting majority floor leader Sen. Benigno Aquino had previously cabled Senator Quirino stating, “I wish to complain against premature judgment. If you succeed in preventing Quezon from prematurely and unnecessarily committing himself, we will save the country.” Caustically replied Senator Quirino, “Our colleagues have authorized me to inform you of our unanimous endorsement of Quezon’s attitude.”

Ayos na ang Buto-Buto,” November, 1963

“Ayos na ang Buto-Buto”
by Quijano de Manila
November 1963

THE cooked goose, the swung deal, the clinched victory, the mission accomplished have had rich utterance in street argot. Your ability to remember Arreglado na ang kilay will date you. Later gamier words for it are Kuarta na! and Yari na! The classic expression is Tapos na ang boksing, which will always sound unbearably sad to those who heard the great Recto saying it during the 1957 campaign.

This year’s campaign will go down in slang annals for broaching a new way to say curtains. The hot phrase wildfired through Manila during the last month of the campaign, is now to be heard wherever folk talk. Has the eighth passenger climbed into the A.C. jeepney? Ayos na ang butó-butó. Has the bingo emcee picked up that elusive number? Ayos na ang butó-butó. Has your girl finally agreed to a movie date? Ayos na ang butó-butó.

The literal meaning of it is: The voting’s over. The blossoming meanings are: It’s made, sewed up, completed, settled, on the way, in the bag, amen, fin, the end. The rites of politics required every candidate and his henchmen to claim cocksurely that, as far as they were concerned, the fight was over, the voting was over, long before the people stormed the polls. Now, as the two parties wrangle over who really won or lost, the people hurl back at them their own cry of pre-poll confidence. So what’s the use of post-poll wrangling? Ayos na ang butó-butó!

The birth of that byword was a major event of the campaign, which ended with a bang-bang-bang. The first bang was the War over the Mestizo. The second bang was the Apocalypse according to St. Robot. The third bang was the pair of avance mitings on Plaza Miranda. It wasn’t a dull campaign, and don’t let anybody tell you different. Funny things happened to the politicos on their way to public office.

The fun began with the assault on the mestizo. Just when people were thinking the NPs should be thrashed for conducting what can only be described as a hate campaign, the LPs, who had been behaving more primly, got their nice record spoiled for them by their own chief, the President, with his unhappy remark on the “mestizo arrogance” of Vice-President Pelaez. Though efforts were made to explain away the gibe, the general reaction was: Why bring up racism at all? But if that’s the point of the fuss, then the matter doesn’t end here, and the veep, too, must be haled in and declared just as guilty as the President in this matter of racism. Or maybe guiltier. The President’s tongue slipped only once; but the veep, in his campaign, at least in Bulacan, brought up the question of race in after speech, as all those who saw him campaigning can testify.

In Bulacan, the veep invariably began his speeches by denying, apropos of nothing, that he was a mestizo, or half-white. This was before anybody accused him of “mestizo arrogance.” He seemed to feel a need to explain away his European color and appearance, and his explanation was mystical: his mother had “conceived” him after St. Anthony. But though his skin was fair, his heart was kayumanggi. In other words, though he might look like a mestizo, he really was not a mestizo. Now this is equivalent to a Harlem Negro saying that, despite his looks, he’s really a Dutchman. Fellow Negroes could accuse him of being ashamed of his race. Fellow mestizos could complain that before the President is said to have insulted their breed, Pelaez had already done son, by gratuitously denying to be what he obviously is. Dark-skinned Filipinos may feel flattered that their vice-president is trying to pass for brown; but a man who’s embarrassed by the color of his skin, and apologizes for it, ultimately heightens our awareness of racial differences. Why bring up racism at all, we justifiably cry. And Pelaez is as bound to answer that question as his adversary.

Fortunately for the nation, before barricades could be put up by the chabacanos of Cavite and Zamboanga and the entresuelistas of Manila, the potential Battle of Birmingham in reserve got kicked off center stage by another act: the unturbanned magus called Robot with his clouded crystal ball. Robot’s revelations shook the local political earth. The Liberals would win the senatorial race by 5-3, or more likely by 6-2, with either Padilla or Roxas as topnotcher, followed by Tolentino, Diokno, Ziga, Climaco and Liwag. The eighth place would be contested by De la Rosa, Balao, Puyat and Cuenco, with the first two having “a slight edge over the others.”

As it turned out, the topnotcher berth was contested by Roxas and Tolentino, not Padilla and Roxas; Puyat, whom Robot placed almost outside the magic eight, landed in fifth place; De la Rosa, Balao and Cuenco ended way, way below eighth place; and the unmentioned Ganzon and Lim fought it out with Climaco for the tail end of the line.

The Robot findings, released to the press a week before election day, were published three days before the elections, and one day before the U.P. statistical center released its own poll survey, which also had the LPs leading, 6-2, with Padilla and Roxas in the first two places, followed by Tolentino, Diokno, Climaco, Ziga and Liwag, and the eighth place being contested by Balao and Puyat. As Robot, aggrieved, would later point out, the U.P. poll escaped the ire of the politicians, but Robot got it from both sides.

De la Rosa and Cuenco angrily questioned the accuracy of the poll. The NPs were, of course, even angrier. They denounced the poll as “part of the Liberal scheme to cheat” in the elections, “a smoke-screen to prepare the people’s minds to accept rigged election returns.” The Robot poll results had been “doctored” to produce a “bandwagon mentality” among voters, and their “premature publication” was an LP propaganda gimmick. The NPs insisted that they would either sweep the polls or get a clear majority.

The day after the elections, people were quipping that there was one sure loser: Robot. Its forecast had flopped.

Says Vice-President Francisco Lopez of Robot Statistics: “What we published was an estimate of the situation as of a given period of time: from late October to early November. It was not a forecast, it was not a prediction. If we had wanted to make a real forecast, we would have continued polling up to the eve of the elections.”

The trouble with this disclaimer is that Robot was using that very word, forecast, during the days it was frantically trying to decide whether or not to publish its poll findings ahead of the balloting, or wait, as it did in 1959, until the last ballot had been cast. One-upmanship finally prompted the “premature publication.” Robot feared to be one-upped by another poll organization, and decided to release its findings to the press a week before election day.

Robot Magi

The other poll organization was Index, which had, in late October, begun publishing a series of reports on voter attitudes based on a survey. Robot felt sure that the series would be climaxed by a forecast of election results. The fear was unfounded; but Robot not only didn’t want to be beaten to a forecast but was afraid the poll figures it had been gathering month after month since the campaign started might be stolen and used.

On November 2, Robot invited three distinguished citizens—Father Francisco Araneta, Professor Ariston Estrada and Judge Pastor Endencia—to read its latest survey on poll trends. Copies of the survey were read and signed by the three men, and then locked up in a vault, as proof that Robot already had those figures at that time. One-upmanship is a nervous way of life in every branch of Madison Avenue.

This was on a Saturday. The following Monday, November 4, Robot, apparently still jittery about being beaten to the draw, assembled representatives of the four leading Manila newspapers and provided them with copies of the latest Robot poll results.

Explains Robot’s Armando Baltazar: “That was for their guidance only. We wanted them to know the real score. Their columnists were making predictions and might go off on a wild tangent. The publishers could keep their columnists from going out on a limb if they knew what the figures were. But we made it clear that we did not want any publication.”

Robot’s George Cohen modifies this: the poll figures were released to the press; it was up to the press to decide whether to publish them or not, and when. On November 8, Cohen dispatched a letter to the publishers:

“You will recall last Monday that Robot wished to impose an embargo on the release of its election estimates until the closing of the polls on election day when survey results could not possibly be accused of influencing events. Robot in fact does not believe that at this stage of the election campaign a release of its survey results now would significantly affect its outcome—if at all. However, Robot does not wish to be the first polling group to be releasing pre-election forecasts—but as a public opinion/marketing research organization it feels obliged researchers do. Thus please feel free to publish the results enclosed within red quotation marks if other polling organizations or research groups (exclude informal newspaper or magazine surveys) such as the University of the Philippines, Index, et al. have or are in the act of publishing national senatorial election forecasts. If not, Robot respectfully requests that you withhold publication until the polls have closed on election day.

“Finally we wish to remind that some 15% of the voters still do not know whom they will select for their senatorial choices on November 12. This figure constitutes a 4% increase over the ‘don’t know’ers’ since September, thus indicating considerable uncertainty on the part of the voters. Thus last minute shifts of preferences are possible even on election day—which could upset the above forecast. What the forecast represents is the best estimate of the state of the public opinion at a given point of time, 26 October to 6 November.”

Through the tangle of language, the publishers presumably saw permission to publish, since the U.P. was “in the act of publishing” its own forecast. But why did Robot’s “best estimate of the state of public opinion” fail to tally with actual public opinion as expressed in the elections?

Cohen and his colleagues say that they went by trends. When they began polling in July, Puyat, for instance, was in fourth place but kept slipping, slipping, until he was in seventh or eighth place. The Puyat trend was, therefore, downward: “But he didn’t slip as much as we expected him to. He caught it in time, arrested his decline.” Robot failed to catch that stoppage and went by the general Puyat trend—which is why the forecast had him still slipping off the tail end.

Another candidate whose trend was a downward slide. De la Rosa, was popularly believed to be a sure winner. Robot was a bit more accurate here, and surprised everybody by having De la Rosa just hovering over the edge of the eighth place: “If we had surveyed more, up to a few days before the elections, we might have caught him on his way out.” The U.P. poll did find De la Rosa already out.

The three fastest risers, according to Robot, were Roxas, Diokno and Liwag. Diokno started at 13th or 14th place, rose steadily, suddenly shot straight up during the last phase of the campaign. If graphed, his progress would be a long slanting line that ends in a steep curve. Liwag started at 16th, worked his way up to 7th in a more even manner. Most spectacular of all was Roxas, who started below the eighth place and rocketed to the top. Robot’s data indicate how effective propaganda can be when skillfully used, for Roxas, Diokno and Liwag had the smartest publicity machines in this campaign.

The candidates that really got Robot into trouble were Climaco and Ganzon. Robot estimated that Climaco would outpoll Ganzon in Mindanao, 2-1. The elections proved they had about even strength there—which, says Cohen, is inexplicable, since Climaco, after all, is from Mindanao. Cohen hazards the guess that Climaco’s drive against smuggling while in Customs turned the Moro vote against him.

To people who say that Robot took a beating in these elections, Cohen points out that his organization had a near-perfect score in the gubernatorial races, pinpointing the winners in 21 out of the 22 provinces it polled. (Robot, like everybody else, guessed wrong in Bulacan.) Cohen also claims that Robot scored almost 100% in its forecast of election results in the Manila area; it missed only one winner: the vice-mayor of Quezon City. But Robot saw the Manila vote as 4-4 in the senatorial election (the actual ratio was 6-2 in favor of the NPs) and 4-1 in the mayoralty contest (Villegas actually had only about a 2-1 lead over Oca). Cohen has two explanations for the increased figures in favor of the NPs: their miting de avance on Plaza Miranda was a major event of the campaign, giving the NP senatorial candidates, and Oca along with them, the benefit of maximum public exposure, and exerting a terrific influence on the undecided vote. Cohen’s other explanation is that Manila has a large floating vote: the squatters but still vote in the city. Because it polled only actual residents, Robot failed to get a picture of the total Manila vote.

Just how much do these forecasts affect voters’ decisions? In the U.S. not at all—or so they say. In the Philippines, such forecasts, Cohen admits, may sway votes, but only if published, say, ten days or two weeks before the elections. But a forecast published practically on the eve of the polls can have little effect on them. Cohen cites an instance. In 1961, just two days before the elections, Mayor Lacson, against Robot’s wishes, published the Robot poll survey that showed Garcia was losing. The forecast, according to Cohen, did not appreciably alter voting trends. But it did have one unexpected result that has passed into political legend. The story goes that money given to the leaders to distribute on election day was not handed out because, the leaders told themselves, Garcia was going to lose anyway. Failure to flood the polls with handouts may have helped Garcia lose.

The NPs, who are usually so zealous for freedom of expression, are currently up in arms against public opinion polls. Senator Primicias threatened to sue Robot for multimillion-peso damages and to have it investigated as a foreign agency interfering with Philippine elections. Robot says its capital is 90% Filipino, that the company is run by Filipinos, and that it is in no way subsidized by World Gallup Polls. One NP who doesn’t believe the Robot forecast was “rigged to please its client” (Robot says it had clients from both parties in this campaign) is Diokno. Robot tried to assess the situation as best it could, but, says Diokno, it failed to take into account an important “x-factor”: people’s fear of the administration. As Robot was not really undecided, was already for the NP, but preferred to keep mum and express itself only at the polling booths, for fear of reprisals.

The Robot forecast appeared the Saturday before election day. The NPs had their miting de avance on Plaza Miranda that Monday night; and Robot, the second favorite target, suffered the slings and arrows for outrageous fortune-telling. The crowd the NPs drew that night was unquestionably the hugest to assemble on Plaza Miranda since the time of Magsaysay.

Holiday throngs

Manileños who attended both the LP and the NP miting de avance could not but note the “visayanization” of their city, its utter conquest by the seafolk of the South. The LP crowd was still recognizable Manileño (Villegas’s yeba urbanites) though it’s significant that the speaker who made the greatest hit with the audience that Sunday night was Climaco of Zamboanga. The other “Star of the South,” Gerry Roxas, didn’t shine so bright that night, through no fault of his own. He was rising to speak when word came that the President had not yet arrived. It turned out that the President had not yet arrived; so Roxas preceeded to the mike. As he started to speak the stage and plaza buzzed again with he rumor that the President was already there. “I rushed through my speech,” recalls Roxas, “like a locomotive.” Had he been allowed to speak at his leisure he might have proved that the witching powers associated with his province now work as well on Plaza Miranda.

The following night, at the NP miting de avance, there was again no doubt that the crowd responded most fraternally to another Southerner, Senator Roseller Lim of Zamboanga—and this on the testimony of a Pampango-Manileño, Senator Puyat. A forecaster could indeed have read in the size and temper of that multitude on Plaza Miranda the great swing of the South to the Opposition that the next day’s polls would reveal. If the politicos want a new rule on Manila, here’s a possible one: As Manila goes, the South goes. Because Manila is now the biggest Southern city in the Philippines.
Puyat says he felt rather scared when the atmosphere became so charged with passion the miting turned into a mighty dialogue between speaker on stage and the crowd below.

SPEAKER: Ano ang gagawin kay Macapagal?
CROWD: Palakolin!
SPEAKER: Ano ang gagawin kay Macapagal?
CROWD: Martilyuhin!

“I felt,” says Puyat, “that if the speaker had shouted On to Malacañang! that mob would have followed—and I fear to think what would have happened there. We politicians carry a big responsibility.

As one listened to Puyat’s account, one had the creepy feeling, too, that our political campaigns have gotten out of hand and are becoming sick.
But during those two pre-poll days, Sunday and Monday, it felt like fiesta, like New Year’s Even, especially since the firecracker ban had apparently been lifted and the savage things crackled underfoot, along with the watusi, as massed marchers, as torrents of torches, surged up every street toward the town plazas and the mitings de avance. As the people marched shouting, fireworks lit up the skies to the thunder of rockets. The candidates held open house all day and all night; arroz caldo and pancit perpetually simmered in caldrons in the yards. Bus rides got pelted with showers of leaflets as if it was carnival time and this was the confetti. A blaze of electric bulbs framed the portraits of the candidates, full length, in full color, in action, in the style started by Lacson: the giant figures jutting right out of the frames, waving a hand, or pointing at the beholder, or striding forward into the air. Some billboards carried multiple portraits and a title: The Four Aces, The Magnificent 7. One rode through one gorgeous arch after another and pondered the thought that politicians are the only people in the world who build triumphal arches before they have triumphed. Ah, but it seemed so right then; everybody would win; we all shared in the excitement; the very air was festive. We were having a cold wave then, and the campaigners turned out in hats and jackets, in sweaters and mufflers. The country was supposed to have gone dry, but you could get a drink in almost any restaurant along the way. They served it in pitchers and you drank it from cups or colored plastic glasses.

After all that, election day itself was anticlimactic, very quiet in Manila. Mayor Villegas began the day with a mass, breakfasted at a leader’s house, had a haircut and a mud pack, holed up at the Army and Navy. Oca voted in San Nicholas, slept out the day at a friend’s house in Lavezares. Senator Puyat and his wife voted at the precinct on Mayon in Quezon City. Voting at the same time in the same place were Senator Padilla and his wife. Contrapartidos but good friends, Puyat and Padilla hailed each other, their wives merrily chatted. Right after the LP miting de avance, which ended at dawn, Roxas gave a thank-you breakfast for his campaign staff, then flew to Roxas City, where he stayed through election day. “That was,” he says, “the first time I went to Capiz in this campaign,” Diokno, too, departed for his home province, Batangas, right after the NP miting de avance, which ended only a couple of hours before the polls opened. He and his wife were among the first to vote in Taal. Riding back to Manila, they were stopped by so many well-wishers along the way it was noon when they reached home. Diokno fled to bed and slept till evening.

In Manila, few people stayed up all night to follow the counting; but the surrounding towns kept vigil and the winners started celebrating at dawn. In one suburban town, victory was proclaimed at four a.m. by a fire engine racing up and down the streets, siren a-wailing and bell a-ringing, while the people on it yelled: “Nanalo si Mayor!” For the losers, that was a bleak day, the caldrons in the yard now cold and empty, and out on the street, in front of their gates, the mocking music of the brass bands hired by the winners to serenade the defeated with the Marcha Funebre, a cute rite of Philippine elections.

The NPs were leading in the Senate race by 6-2, then by 5-3; and there was a rumor that Terry Adevoso was sneaking out of the country: someone had seen him getting a passport. Then the tide turned: the LPs briefly led by 5-3, then dropped to a tie with the Opposition; and the talk now was that Adevoso had changed his mind about leaving. Adevoso himself says, laughing, that he had really been scheduled to leave the day after the polls, to visit shipyards in Japan; but the trip was postponed for a few days so he could make a stop first in Hong Kong to attend the opening of the PNB branch there.

The Thursday after the elections, the NPs began muttering about the slow-down in election returns reportage. They assembled for an angry conference that night at Amang Rodriguez’s office in Congress, behind closed doors, but there are guesses as to what they decided to do. The LPs were suspected of withholding returns from the provinces they controlled so they would know if they had a big enough backload of votes to cover the NP lead. If they didn’t have enough, they would know just how many more votes they must conjure up to win. Or so the NPs suspected. So, the NPs replied to the LP slow-down with a slow-down of their own, according to observers, who say that returns from such NP bailiwicks as Rizal, Quezon, Batangas and Negros Occidental suddenly dwindled to a trickle, because the NPs were withholding their returns too, so the LPs wouldn’t know just how far ahead the Opposition was. Whether this battle of slow-downs is true or not, there was certainly a freezing of the 4-4 position through the weekend.

While the NPs were conferring that Thursday night, word was going around that Gerry Roxas was protesting Tolentino’s position as topnotcher. The next day, Roxas issued a denial that he had lodged any protest: “I have not even seen Johnny Bora (Comelec chairman), much less talked with him. I’m happy enough that I’m included in the win group.” But in private Roxas said that there was an already admitted mistake in the figures credited to Tolentino. The error amounted to over 70,000 votes, which, if cancelled, would erase Tolentino’s 20,000-vote lead over Roxas and put Roxas in first place. However, Roxas’s attitude was: “Comelec made the mistake, it’s up to Comelec to correct.” Gerry said he didn’t want people to think he was so greedy for glory that just winning was not enough for him, he had to be topnotcher too.

Comelec had made no revision of the senatorial standings when election week ended. Tolentino stayed in first, Roxas in second. The Senate race was still tied at 4-4. Adevoso was still waiting for the pieces of his jigsaw puzzle to fall into place, but now said that a “4-4 result would be satisfactory enough for us.” He stressed one point: when the campaign began back in July, a poll survey showed that only two of the LP candidates were among the top eight. By October, surveys were showing that five LPs had shot up to winning positions. The party machine had been tested, had acquitted itself. The final results might not come up to expectations. “But,” shrugs Adevoso, “1963 is just a laboratory year.”

Postmortems

Adevoso sees the administration in mid-term as “a sala in which the furniture is being rearranged.” Everything is helter-skelter. A visitor who walked in might get an impression of disorder, not knowing what was going on: “In the same way, a reform administration like this one is shakes up things. People who have been hurt, or think they have been hurt, are bound to be antagonistic. We cannot expect, in mid-term that everybody will understand that what has to be done is now what’s popular but what’s right.”

The LP “rearrangement of the furniture” has certainly shaken up the country’s political sala. If the 1963 elections are regarded purely as local elections, which is what they are supposed to be anyway, then the Liberals scored a sensational success, by winning some 70% of the provinces, including such NP domains as Bulacan and Iloilo. Adevoso says that of the country’s 12 biggest provinces only two were in Liberals hands before the polls. The elections gave them six more of the topnotch provinces: Pangasinan, Bulacan, Samar, Leyte, Cebu and Iloilo.
But if the LPs think a victory on the local level presages victory in 1965, they should ponder the recent history of the NPs, who likewise scored an overwhelming victory in the local elections of 1959 but found that their control of the provinces didn’t help them any in the presidential elections of 1961.
If, on the other hand, this year’s elections are regarded as a national contest between the President and the Opposition, which is how the campaign projected the fight, then the most that can be said, if the score says at 4-4, is that the NPs didn’t win it. Their basic argument was that the people should not, for their own good, give the President a majority in the Senate. It is, therefore, immaterial whether the LPs win by a sweep or by 5-2 or only end up in a tie. As long as the LPs get a Senate majority, even if only by one vote, then the NPs have lost, because the people will have given the President what he asked for and rejected the arguments of the Opposition.

Since all the other issues, from high prices to rice queues, got tied up with this question of whether or not it was safe to give Macapagal a Senate majority, the people, if they give it to him, can be said to have rejected all the other issues too, by giving the President a vote of confidence. For though 4-4 is hardly an impressive score, it must still be regarded as a vote of confidence, since it will mean that the people do not believe that an LP Senate, which they decree with a 4-4 score, will bring on the death of democracy, the horrors of dictatorship, harder times, higher prices, more rice queues and more ax murders—which is how the NP campaign line went.

But a mid-term election is also an assessment of the administration. The vote of confidence only means that the people do not believe the President will use the Senate to make himself a dictator; it does not necessarily imply approval of his performance so far. To gauge the people’s judgment of the New Era, this year’s score will have to be compared with the mid-term scores of previous administrations. Under Quirino, it was 8-0 against Quirino’s regime, a clear condemnation. Under Magsaysay, it was 7-1 for the administration, an accolade. Under Garcia, it was 5-3, a passing mark. A score of 4-4 for the New Era would mean that, at mid-term, the people assessed the New Era as much better than Quirino’s administration, far below Magsaysay’s, not as good as Garcia’s. The grade would thus be, not excellent, not good, and not bad, but merely fair. It amounts to a repetition of what’s becoming a cliché pronouncement on the New Era: suspended judgment.

Still another way of interpreting the senatorial election results is to disregard party tags and consider the winners as having bee elected for their individual qualities and attitudes. Diokno says that the top five winners—Tolentino, Roxas, Diokno, Puyat and himself—all have one thing in common: a reputation for being “uncontrollable” by Macapagal. The people, according to Diokno, expressed their disapproval of Macapagal by voting most heavily for men who are, in one way or another, anti-Macapagal.

There’s something to Diokno’s theory, but it collapses when we consider that he and Tolentino had heir most dramatic encounters with Macapagal last year. If the people were really voting against Macapagal, it would have been more logical for them to vote for the men whose battle against the President are still fresh in the mind, being recently in the headlines: Lim, for instance, because of his filibuster in the Senate; Cabangbang, especially, because of his defiance of the Palace; and Oca, too, because of his anti-administration strikes. Since all these much-headlined foes of the President lost, anti-Macapagalism can hardly be said to have been a strong factor in the elections.

The Stonehill case, on the other hand, which was being written off as an issue, now appears to have been a factor after all, since it can now be said to have helped Diokno and Liwag win, and to have killed off Lim, Balao and De la Rosa.

Whether the campaign of Pelaez was an important factor is still in question. The vice-president probably got a score of 4-4. The massing of the South behind the Opposition is undoubtedly partly due to him; but he failed to show a similar ability to sway the voters in Luzon. The test province here is Bulacan, which was a Nacionalista stronghold to begin with. Pelaez personally campaigned there, personally proclaimed and endorsed the local NP candidates. They mostly lost. Bulacan turned Liberal.

A main factor is party organization—but it, too, must be given a 4-4 rating. The Liberals placed utmost confidence in the value of a strong organization, a smooth party machine, a rigidly disciplined team—but the results don’t justify their faith. The Nacionalistas, with a creakier machine that lacked the oil of finance, did just as well, though hindsight now exposes their grave errors. They made Ziga a sure winner by not putting up a woman candidate to divide the feminine vote; and they chose as campaign manager a man who, it turns out, could not make his personal candidates win in his own province. Puyat thinks the NP machine will have to be completely overhauled. Politics, he says, is not just an election every two years. It’s not a sometime thing but an all-the-time thing. A party machine shouldn’t be left to rust in storage until just a few months before an election; it should be kept running all the time. “Right after one campaign is over,” says Puyat, “we should immediately start preparing for the next one.” Somebody has already been putting that idea to practice, in case the NPs haven’t noticed.

Puyat still had, last week, for campaign souvenir, the hoarseness of the candidate. The two “wonder boys” of these elections, Roxas and Diokno, were still vigorously audible. Both gallantly said that the big factor in their wins were their wives, who attended to campaign minutiae. Diokno added that his children (he has eight) were a big help too: “They didn’t fall sick!”

As for the country, it looked as if a skyful of trash had been dumped on it: collapsed arches, tattered streamers, rusting tin plates, and an autumn litter of brown leaflets scattering in the wind. Walls and posts looked leprous with the rot of stickers. Worse than teen-age naughtiness were the gross splotches with which politics defaced the land. No public surface, not even the paving of the streets, escaped the tar or paint of propaganda. The gaudy billboards still stood, no longer lit up; but whatever the words on them, they all now sadly or gladly said the same thing:

“Tapos na, pare, ang butó-butó!”