Footnote to a slogan

October 15, 1955

Footnote to a slogan
by  Frederic S. Marquardt

ON AUGUST 10, 1943, in MacArthur’s headquarters in Brisbane, Australia, Courtney Whitney, then a colonel in charge of the Philippine section, sought permission to use the slogan, “I Shall Return—MacArthur,” on articles to be infiltrated into the Japanese-occupied Philippines. MacArthur responded, in a penciled note at the bottom of a memo, “No objection.”

But if there was no objection in Brisbane, there was plenty in Washington. In November 1943, I was asked to head up the Office of World Information in the southwest Pacific. I agreed on the condition that General MacArthur, whom I had known in prewar days, actually wanted me in Australia. When he sent a favorable reply to the Pentagon, I began preparing for the trip. It was January 1944, before I could get my shots, select the men who were to go with me, and receive a thorough briefing on what the OWI had to offer in the way of psychological warfare. Late in December (1943) I stumbled across the “I Shall Return—MacArthur” file in the OWI headquarters in New York.

From the file I learned that shortly after Whitney got his clearance for the slogan, he asked the OWI in Sydney to produce substantial quantities of cigarettes, chewing gum, chocolate bars, and sewing kits. All were to be carefully packaged and would bear the “I Shall Return—MacArthur” slogan along with the crossed Philippine and American flags. Mike Stivers, who was head of the Sydney OWI office, asked New York OWI to deliver the goods. Then started a series of orders and counter-orders that must have set a record.

Every time the production people in New York were ready to award an order for, say, ten thousand packs of cigarettes with the slogan on them, the policy people in Washington would stop the order. Washington OWI claimed it was against national policy to build up a single theater commander. New York OWI simply wanted to get the job done. The resulting orders and cancellations must have made the purchasing officer dizzy.

The real objection in Washington, of course, was that MacArthur was a potential candidate for the presidency. No one with any standing in the Roosevelt administration wanted to be responsible for anything that might result in MacArthur’s aggrandizement. The fact that the propaganda was to be used among Filipinos, who would not vote in the American elections, did not seem to make any impression on Washington.

I decided I would go to Australia until this issue was settled, and, if it was settled adversely, I decided I would not go at all. I had no political interest in the matter, but I knew that Whitney had struck on the best possible slogan for use in the Philippines. Each time the slogan “I Shall Return—MacArthur” turned up in the Philippines it would be worth more than a million words poured into radio transmitters beamed at a country in which there were very few short wave receiving sets.

After several requests for a top-level conference, I met with Robert Sherwood, who was director of the overseas branch of OWI, and Joe Barnes, who was in charge of the Australian operation. As persuasively as possible I told them of the magic of MacArthur’s name in the Philippines, and of the need for a slogan that could be understood by 18 million Filipinos speaking scores of different dialects. Both Sherwood and Barnes knew enough about the ways of publicity to concede the truth of my argument. But they expressed doubts about the advisability of boosting a commander in any single theater. I pointed out there was no comparable situation in any other theater. They said MacArthur might not survive to return to the Philippines. I said I had a hunch he would be around for a long time to come. They said we might not go back to Japan by way of the Philippines. I quoted Roosevelt’s “There are many roads to Tokyo. We shall neglect none of them. “Finally Joe Barnes turned to Sherwood and said, “Bob, I think Fritz is right. Let’s O.K. the Sydney request.”

“O.K.,” said Sherwood. Then to me he said, “At least you ought to get credit for this when you get to Brisbane.”

When I got to Brisbane I found Mike Stivers had done what any sensible man on the scene would have done. He went ahead and used the slogan on locally produced chewing gum and non-meltable chocolate bars specially produced for the tropics. He produced Volume Number I of Free Philippines, with MacArthur’s picture and the “I Shall Return” slogan on the cover. There was one mistake on it. The Philippine flag showed the blue stripe at the top, in spite of a convention that in time of war the flag is turned upside down and the red stripe is on top.

I never told Sherwood and Barnes that their decision was late if proper. Nor did I tell MacArthur or Whitney of the foot-dragging in Washington. We went ahead and got the other supplies from the United States, and Whitney sent them into the Philippines through Commander Chick Parson’s submarine fleet. The Free Philippines magazine ran through 10 numbers. The final issue had one major change. The slogan was changed to “I Have Returned—MacArthur.”

As history has shown, the political impact of using the slogan was nil so far as the American vote was concerned. I did convince a lot of Filipinos that the United States would keep its word. It sparked the only effective guerrilla movement in the Far East, and one of the most effective in the entire world.

On one occasion, General Whitney had a little trouble with his radio network. Lt. George Rowe, an ex-Manilan who served in the Navy during World War II, volunteered to man a radio station and weather bureau on Mindoro. He was outfitted in Australia, given a group to work with, and told to select the call letters for his proposed Mindoro station.

The central radio transmitter for all of the guerrilla stations was located at MacArthur’s headquarters and used the call letters ISRM. The significance was clear. The letters meant “I Shall Return—MacArthur.”

Rowe, with a sly exhibition of navy humor, asked that his stations be assigned the letters IHRR. But Whitney figured out the meaning of those letters—”I Have Returned—Rowe.”

Lieutenant Rowe was given another set of letters. But he had the last laugh. When he established his station on Mindoro he called it Camp Nimitz, after the commander in chief of the American navy forces in the Pacific. Whitney was too far away to do anything about this exhibition of lese majesty.

There is one amusing epilogue to the “I Shall Return” story. After Luzon had been liberated and the Philippine campaign was coming to an end, the OWI closed up its office in Brisbane. Like the army, it no longer needed Australia for a base of operations. The Australians, so happy to see us come, were equally happy to see us go. They were naturally anxious to get their country back.

The OWI rear echelon—we were quite military for a bunch of civilians—packed up the furniture and files. One unused bundle of “I Shall Return—MacArthur” leaflets was tossed on to the truck heading for the pier. It fell to the ground, and a passing pedestrian beat the OWI man to the broken bundle. He picked up a leaflet and read, “I Shall Return—MacArthur.”

“I bloody well hope not,” said the unhappy Aussie.

Coalition ticket wins by landslide, September 21, 1935

September 21, 1935

Coalition ticket wins by landslide

Quezon and Osmeña carried into office on huge wave of votes—even Manila votes for Senate President:

Burying all opposition under an avalanche of votes, the coalition ticket of Manuel L. Quezon for president and Sergio Osmeña for vice-president on Tuesday overwhelmingly won the first national elections ever held in the Philippines.

Although the victory of Quezon and Osmeña had been a foregone conclusion, even their closest followers were surprised by the coalition strength shown in such bitterly contested districts as Manila and Cavite, where General Aguinaldo was expected to show the most strength, and in the Ilocano provinces, where Aglipay was admittedly at his best.

Osmeña leads all

In Manila, where minority leanings have always been pronounced, Senate President Quezon polled a total of 25,454 votes to Aguinaldo’s 10,236 and Aglipay’s 4,503. In many towns in Cavite where it was expected that the general would walk away with the honors, the coalition ticket ran neck-and-neck with the favorite son. In Ilocos Norte Bishop Aglipay had things all his own way, but in other Ilocano provinces it was a nip and tuck fight. In the Visayas the coalition ticket ran ahead of the opposition, although in some of the Bicol provinces Aguinaldo was showing strength on the face of early returns.

But it was not Senate President Quezon who received the most votes in Tuesday’s election. It was Senator Osmeña, coalitionist candidate for vice-president, who ran well ahead of his running party, largely due to the ineffective candidates presented against him.

Although fear of uprisings and disturbances could be noted on every hand previous to the election, no official word of any serious disturbances was received on election day.

Extreme vigilance on the part of police and constabulary, in addition to the heavy rains which fell throughout most of Luzon on election, was held responsible for the quietness which prevailed everywhere.

In his Pasay home the future president of the commonwealth received the election returns as rapidly as they could be gathered. When it became certain that he had been elected, Mr. Quezon issued the following statement:

“I am overwhelmed by the result of the election. I am more than grateful to my people for their generous support and confidence. The thought uppermost in my mind now is the great responsibility that this election entails. With God’s help I hope I will not fail my people.

“The results of the election show our people have placed their faith in the platform and men of the coalition. The Filipino people expect us to build the firm and solid foundation of the Philippine republic.

Aglipay in cinema

“In this hour of triumph I am thinking only of the great task before me and I seek God’s help to meet the grave responsibilities that have been placed upon my shoulder by my election as the leader of this nation.

“My heart goes in deep gratitude to my people who have so generously honored me.”

The results were a severe blow to General Aguinaldo who had issued a statement on the eve of the voting declaring: “Whatever may be the results of the election, I trust that the will of the majority will be respected.” Following the tabulation of results, the general said: “It is incredible…electoral manipulations….My duty to the public has not yet been terminated.”

Bishop Aglipay, unworried by the election results, attended a Manila cinema alone on election night. When the returns were in he sent a telegram congratulating President-Elect Quezon.

End

Mr. Dick, August 13, 1988

August 13, 1988

“Mr. Dick”

By Teodoro M. Locsin

OF the dead we should speak only good, we are told, which makes it difficult—for how are people to tell whether we are doing only what is proper or telling the truth?

In the case of Mr. Dick, it is doubly difficult, for he distrusted praise, or, to be precise, he was wary of its insidious effect. He liked it, I suppose, as much as any man, but with this difference: he felt it was weakening; it made you pleased with yourself. When things are going well, he would say, that is the time to be worried. A most canny Scot!

And there is this further point: To praise a man with whom one was so closely associated is, somehow, to praise oneself, and as he would say, self-praise is no praise. Yet, I must say it, now or never, the earth having received its “honored guest.” He was the one great man I knew.

A difficult man to work with, for he demanded, it sometimes seemed, too much from you. You forgave him only because it was obvious that he demanded even more from himself. To see him in terrible pain with every movement an agony, still doing his work, day after day, year after year—it was impossible to find excuses for any failure to do the best you could.

“Do not grow old,” he would say, and, sometimes, when the pain was unbearable, he would cry: “Let me die.” But the next morning he would be at his desk as usual—though he had to be half-carried there—working for the FREE PRESS. He never spared himself. He would not be a burden; he must earn his keep! What was important to him was not how he felt, but the magazine, which had for him a kind of transcendent existence apart from the people who composed it.

He had the quality of disinterestedness that marks the man one could call great. His temper was explosive, but his anger was never spiteful; it was impersonal; he did not know hate. We nurse our wrath to keep it warm, as the Scottish poet, Robert Burns, would put it, but the anger of Mr. Dick, provoked by some mistake, did not last long. “I have a vile temper,” he would apologize. His anger could pierce like a sword, sharp and cold, but it left a clean wound; nothing festered. He was never mad at the man but the act.

He made of the public interest a kind of mystique, which he would have his magazine solely serve. The general good was his own particular creed, and he equated it with truth and justice. It seemed to him the mark of a noble man that he should concern himself not merely with his interest but with the interests of others. It is the peculiar purpose of the press, he thought, to seek out such a man and give him praise—and go after his vicious opposite.

A lot of people talk about serving the public interest these days, of course, but what made Mr. Dick different was the fact that he meant it. Tired expressions and mere common-places, which one would avoid because so many had made use of them to deceive, regained authority on his lips. Shopworn phrases seemed newly made; old saws turned into “modern instances” through the force of example and belief. He was what he said.

“What’s his racket?” one thinks when somebody speaks of the “general welfare” and the “common good.” But words were, to Mr. Dick, meant to express thought, not hide it. He pretended to nothing he was not. He would not even think of doing it. Having known him, it was an almost painful experience listening to some public figure invoke the public interest while promoting his own; you are embarrassed by the transparent attempt to impress, by the obvious lies.

“Damn it,” he said impatiently once to an acquaintance who was trying to convince him that he was not guilty when he quite plainly was, “Damn it, can’t you tell the truth?”

He was a measure for other men. In most of them one found something contemptible, something not quite straight. Though the years bent his body until he walked, or shuffled, with his face to the ground, nothing else in Mr. Dick bowed.

Let us honor if we can

The vertical man

Though we value none

But the horizontal one.

Because he meant what he said, Mr. Dick had a reality most people do not have. The outline of the man was sharp and clear, that of others shifty and vague. He had the definition of rectitude. The dishonest continually change shape. Thus, thieves, who convert what does not belong to them into their own, assuming the substance of others, take, in Dante’s vision of hell, reptilian forms, becoming lizards and snakes. But the honest do not change; they are always themselves.

Rectitude, it should be noted, is not the same as being righteous, which is repulsive. To be straight is not to be smug. Mr. Dick was the most humble of men as he was the most upright. And if he seemed the embodiment of the decorous and correct, he was also, when his work was done and dinner was waiting and the company good, the mellowest of human beings. A drink or two would set him reminiscing. (The iron grew soft in the warmth of a Martini.) The sentimentalist had the upper hand.

Let the record be set straight. Mr. Dick enjoyed a good drink. He never pretended he did not. For some 50 years he did not touch a drop—having promised his mother he would not, but with middle age he felt he could handle a cocktail as well as the next man. He drank in moderation, but the legend would have him totally abstemious. Advertising liquor, however, was something else, and the FREE PRESS gave up a small fortune each year of its life turning down liquor ads. It served to buttress its independence. Advertisers who would dictate to the paper were rendered impotent, for how could they really hurt the FREE PRESS? If it could turn down legitimate liquor advertisement, why should it “play ball” with them just to get their business? Mr. Dick made principle somehow work. This is not easy.

“Let your spear know no brother,” he would quote from an upstanding man in public affairs early in the century. If you must fight, fight for a cause—impartially. Not that he loved a fight, for its own sake. He would neither run away from nor be rushed into a fight. “Everybody loves a dogfight,” he would say, while he debated whether a battle was necessary. Fighting for the sake of fighting is silly!

A man fought for a cause; to fight for any other reason was to be not a fighter but a bruiser.

He loved a clean blow. Say it if you must, in the public interest. If in doubt, cut it out. Never insinuate.

When a writer allowed his political feelings to get the better of him and damned a president by calling a previous one “not a swine,” Mr. Dick was furious.

“Would you have said he was not a swine if you did not mean to suggest that the other was?”

He was, indeed, a man to reckon with. If, for your own purposes, you tried to get around him, you would find it was useless. Sooner or later, you would be confronted with the truth and have to face, after him—yourself.

He thought of you as a man, not as a subordinate, and if you acted as you should, there could be no issue between the two of you. Sometimes, when he seemed too demanding, you would ask yourself what his game was? What was behind that formidable front? In the end, you would realize he had no game at all. It is impossible to see through most men, to see through the virtuous show, to see the man himself. In the case of Mr. Dick, one could not see through him because he was all there right in front of you. He believed in being true to certain things, and that, perhaps, was what made him seem incredible. How could he possibly mean it? But he did.

He believed in fairness, and carried his belief to what may seem to others fantastic lengths. When he was already ailing, he had to make a long trip by car to face trial on a libel charge. There were three of us on the back seat: Mr. Dick, our lawyer, then Rep. Emmanuel Pelaez, and myself. I was in the middle, Mr. Pelaez at my left, Mr. Dick at my right. We started early in the morning. The congressman had the sun on his face but did not mind. Mr. Dick, however, did, and half-way between Manila and Baguio told the driver to stop the car.

“You have had the sun on you half the way,” he said to Mr. Pelaez, showing his watch. “Now it is my turn. It is not right that you should be inconvenienced all the way. I can’t allow it.”

“But Mr. Dick,” the congressman protested, “I don’t mind the sun at all.”

“I can’t have you as you are all the way from Manila. I would not feel right.”

“Mr. Dick, you are an older man, and not well…”

“Please, humor this old man then.”

And slowly, painfully, the change in places was effected half-way between Manila and Baguio.

When he was not hard at work, or exploding over some mistake, his manners could be courtly and elaborate. Praise did not come casually from him. A note of appreciation would be as carefully composed as an essay, with words stricken out for others more precisely to the point; you knew exactly for what you were being praised. (You also knew exactly what you were getting hell for.) There was nothing lax about the man.

One never presumed on anything with him.

“That’s not the way I do business!” he once said, and the man he said it to never forget it.

“Order is heaven’s first law,” he would say. And order would reign on the desk of the man the note was sent to.

He had no use for servility; it could not be trusted. He would tell his staff with relish the story of the Englishman who went to America to look for work and, having found a place in a factory, immediately asked: “Who’s the management here? Whoever it is, I’m against it!”

He had a difficult life. He would speak of the bitter poverty of his childhood and of his father’s untimely death, leaving his mother as the family’s sole support. (She was known, among an honest people, as “the honest widow Dick.”) He would recall the early days of FREE PRESS, how he had a table in the office for a bed. His only indulgence was a single bottle of soft-drink at the end of the week. (How he looked forward to it!) It was hard going, indeed.

And there were his clashes with the American authorities. An American captain, or something, challenge him once to a duel. (He liked Taft. “It was at a banquet when Taft, with clenched hand and a trembling voice, said: ‘The Philippines for the Filipinos!” F. Theo. Rogers and I were for Philippine independence and when we entered a restaurant we would hear them say, “There go those sons of bitches Rogers and Dick!’”) He did not know, he would say, how the FREE PRESS would have survived without the unsolicited help of Mr. Rogers…

He was always talking of his association with Mr. Rogers—and Don Alejandro Roces, Sr., of the Manila Times. Last week, at the necrological services of Mr. Dick, Joaquin Roces said of his father’s friend:

“Time is too short for us to record here the early career of his plain-speaking magazine, which in the span of a few short years gained the position of monitor for the government and the nation. But the time is never too short to omit mention of R. McCulloch Dick, the uncompromising Scot who maintained the simple creed: ‘The people can never be wrong.’

“In the spirit of tolerance that he brought to his task, there was always room for the little man who sought justice—but there was not an inch of space for the powerful in the land, the tycoons of government, the men who sat in the seats of the mighty-whether they were Filipinos or Americans—if they were not on the people’s side.

“R. McCulloch Dick was not the most tolerant of men where his most cherished ideals were concerned. There was a sign on the door of the FREE PRESS editorial rooms: ‘No crooks or grafters need apply.’ It may have been invisible, but it was there.

“R. McCulloch Dick left for us a heritage. It is not a formula for making money fast; it is not a prescription for getting close to the powers in the government. Those who accept it will be accepting a burden to carry—the burden of the journalist’s duty to the people.

“And this is a burden, indeed…

“My late father used to tell this story: It appears that Mr. Dick, toward the end of the Harrison administration, noted that the Governor General had been absenting himself from his office altogether too much. He opened an editorial campaign that shook the rafters in Malacañan. The governor, using his vast powers, ordered the deportation of the fighting editor-publisher. When the latter’s personal friends—among them my father and others whose opinion Mr. Harrison respected—intervened, the deportation order was rescinded, and Mr. Dick remained to steer of course of the FREE PRESS for the next 42 years. And never, before or since those eventful days in 1918, has the FREE PRESS ever taken a backward step from the ideas of R. McCulloch Dick—“The people can do no wrong!”

“This, then was R. McCulloch Dick: the man who had so much to give, and who gave it all to the people. He gave not because he was forced to give, but because he loved the people so much that he could not conceived being in opposition to anything that could possibly benefit them.”

Mr. Dick got in trouble, too, of course, with the Filipino authorities. Only fear of public opinion stopped the Liberal administration from deporting him. (Many of those whom his paper had hit the hardest would say, even as they hit back, “I have nothing against Mr. Dick himself.” And last week, at the necrological services, the press secretary of President Garcia was there to pay Mr. Dick tribute: “When future generations of our people ask who Mr. R. McCulloch Dick was, let it be said that he was a friend—a true friend of the Filipino people!”) But enough of his battles with the authorities.

“His many unreported deeds of kindness and generosity earned for him the love of his poor and unlettered neighbors who looked up to him not only as a man who was ever ready to champion their rights but also as one who was always there to help them meet their most pressing needs,” said Jose R. Arcangel of the National Press Club at the necrological services. “It was a touching scene, indeed, at the mortuary where he lay, to see fisherfolk from Malabon render their simple but eloquent tribute to the man who had been unsparing in his benefactions to them.”

He did what he had to do “without fanfare.” The story is told that when a correspondent of the American magazine Time was going to publish about him, Mr. Dick pleaded with the man to leave him alone. “I will pay you not to write about me.” He hated publicity raised hell with Don Alejandro Roces, Sr., when a picture of them together during a fishing trip appeared in Don Alejandro’s paper.

He was a fighter, but a shy one. He fought—but only for what he considered the people’s good. When he spoke of their plight, it was with an urgency that came from direct contact. He lived among them, among the poor—as those discovered who saw for the first time, at his burial, the house where Mr. Dick lived. The poor were all around him. How could he disregard their need?

Many of our nationalists speak of the Filipino people and their needs most passionately, yet live in a world completely apart, a world of privilege and wealth. What can these know of the people? Mr. Dick was with the Filipino people in life and death. He is buried in the cemetery of the town of Malabon, Rizal, across thousands of miles from his native Scotland and 87 years later he came to find his final rest there.

He stood by what he said, bearing witness to his words by his deeds. Sincerity and disinterestedness marked his life, and an unqualified devotion to an ideal of the press as a force for the general good. “The truth will set you free,” he would say, believing it. He would permit no compromise. “We are no hucksters,” he would say to his staff. Thinking of him, one thinks of “those who were truly great.” Surely he is of their number—

Who wore at their hearts the fire’s center.

Born of the sun they traveled

A short while toward the sun,

And left the vivid air signed with their honor.

He lived long but never faltered in his journey toward the light and the air is vivid with his honor.

End

When President Quezon broke into tears, 1947

When President Quezon broke into tears
by Lt. Col. Emigdio Cruz

PRESIDENT QUEZON could not believe that the men he had left in charge of the government had betrayed him and turned disloyal to the United States. Then the question of succession to the presidency had come up, and he wanted, if possible, to consult the Filipino people and the men in the government in Manila regarding it. Although the constitution definitely provided that the Vice-President automatically would succeed to the presidency on November 14, 1943, that provision had been drafted and approved when the exigencies of war had not even been thought of, Quezon’s health was very poor, but he did not wish to run the risk of being charged with having deserted his post of leadership in time of great peril. He had left his nation in defeat and disaster to undertake the dangerous trip across the ocean to America, not to seek refuge or rest, but to work for its early liberation. He felt he had to continue to serve his country until his people decided otherwise. Consideration of health and family were secondary. Therefore, it was imperative that he should get some direct, trustworthy word from those left behind. He had to know their wish in the matter, for their wish would be his command.

Early in the morning of April 28, 1943, after the usual Mass in the private chapel of the Quezon suite in the Shoreham Hotel, the President remarked that he was not satisfied with the people he had sent to the Philippines because they had not succeeded in getting into Manila. He said that he was at a loss on whom to send.

It was then that I volunteered to go, saying that I would like to return to the Islands.

The President asked me if I was in earnest and if I was really willing to undertake the mission, which would very probably cost me my life. I answered that I was very willing to take the assignment. The President then said that since I was one of the family physicians, I should ask the permission of Mrs. Quezon, who was then listening without saying a word.

Mrs. Quezon, who regarded me as one of the family, was reluctant to let me go. She said I was not trained for such a mission. She was afraid that, like those who had gone before me, I would fail to reach Manila.

Still, I felt I could not convince myself of having contributed anything to the war effort if I did nothing more than serve the President in my capacity as a physician. So I told Mrs. Quezon that since we were already in the States where we had all the hospital facilities and the best doctors, I thought I was no longer of any use to the family. Nothing would make me happier, I told her, than to undertake the mission.

Mrs. Quezon, who was like a mother to me, gave her consent with tears in her eyes.

That same morning, the President sent a cable to Gen. MacArthur. Two days later, he announced that General MacArthur had answered: “Cruz is all right. Send him over.”

The personal and official instructions of the President and his family were given to me. As per instructions, I reported at Ft. Hamilton for embarkation.

I arrived in Australia on June 9. I reported to the headquarters of General MacArthur. He gave me a friendly welcome, and I gave General MacArthur the secret message and letters of President Quezon.

I left Perth, Australia on June 19, 1943. When Zamboanga was sighted the skipper called me up to look through the periscope. The island did not look any different from other Pacific islands, but knowing that I was looking at one of the islands of my country, which I thought I might never see again, I was overcome with joy and could not help shedding tears of happiness.

When I got to Manila I stayed for several days more, contacting some more of the men I had been instructed to see. I started back with the documents given me by Roxas hidden at the bottom of a bamboo trunk and covered by boxes of cigars, handbags, and wooden shoes.

The return trip to Australia which took 10 days was uneventful.

When I returned to the United States, I found the President very ill in bed. He was terribly excited. With tears in his eyes, he congratulated me upon the successful accomplishment of my mission.

I gave him a verbal report of my mission. I told him that the people wanted him to remain at the head of the government for the duration of the war, that they were loyal and were expecting that they would be liberated soon. My arrival in the Philippines, I said, convinced those I had met that the islands had not been abandoned, and that liberation from the Japanese yoke would soon be effected.

President Quezon was deeply moved. He asked me about Laurel. I replied that General Roxas thought that Laurel was honest in his conviction that what he (Laurel) was doing was in the best interests of the Filipino people. President Quezon said, “I agree with Manoling in his opinion of Laurel.”

I gave him General MacArthur’s message not to concern himself with anything except his health so he could take part in the landing when MacArthur returned to the Philippines. He smiled and told me he was awarding me the Congressional Medal of Valor as per recommendation of General MacArthur. He said I was the first and only Filipino to receive the medal of valor, the highest decoration of the Philippines, and he was presenting it to me with full satisfaction over the accomplishment of my mission.

The President appointed me permanent major and promoted me to the temporary rank of lieutenant colonel. I had an assignment in the Surgical Service of Walter Reed Hospital, but the condition of the President had taken a turn for the worse, and it was decided that I should stay with him as he was moved from one hospital to another in search of a drier climate.

On the morning of August 1st, 1944, I entered the room at a quarter to eight to relieve Dr. Diño. The President was awake and reclining against the back rest. He asked me to read the Sermon on the Mount to him.

After I had finished reading, the President snapped his fingers and pointed at the back of his left wrist. I looked at my watch and said, “time for the broadcast, Mr. President,” at the same time turning on the radio.

“Gen. MacArthur made a successful landing on Noonfar just 600 miles from the Philippines,” came the announcement. Almost simultaneously we clapped our hands. “It won’t be long now,” he said, and told me to step out of the room as he needed the attendant. I stayed in the lobby just outside the door, looking for the President’s favorite passage in the Bible.

All of a sudden I heard a noise. I rushed into the room and found the President coughing spasmodically, with blood coming out his mouth and nose. He was being held by the attendant. When I got near his side he said, “Trepp.”

I rushed downstairs and called Dr. Trepp and dashed to the chapel and told Mrs. Quezon to pray hard for the President.

Then I went up again and gave the President stimulants. I requested Dr. Diño to call up Dr. Hayes.

Dr. Trepp was holding the President, who was at that time in a very cyanotic condition. His pulse became very weak, so I went down and called Mrs. Quezon.

Mrs. Quezon and the children entered the room. She tried to go to the bedside of the President. The President waved her aside to spare her feelings. Then I saw the President gasp so we turned him upside down to get the blood clots out of his air passages. A big clot was recovered. I started giving him artificial respiration. I was still astride him giving artificial respiration when Dr. Hayes arrived. The President breathed a few more gasps. He died fifteen minutes after ten o’clock in the morning of August 1st, 1944.

Quezon’s greatest triumph

August 1, 1962

Quezon’s greatest triumph
by Col. Benvenuto R. Diño
M.C., Retired

AT THE headquarters of the Philippine government-in-exile, a suite on the third floor of the Shoreham Hotel in Washington, D.C., President Manuel L. Quezon, who since early in the century had been fighting for his country’s complete independence, formulated plans for the final round of what he called the “good fight”—which would achieve for him his life’s greatest triumph. He was a very sick man; for him time was running out. It was the autumn of 1943.

Quezon was in a good position to bargain for his country. This position was clearly shown in a closed-door conference held on October 10, 1943.The meeting was called to discuss the date of Philippine independence.

There was no question as to the nature and the granting of Philippine independence. The date, too—July 4, 1946—had long been approved by an act of the U.S. Congress. But now there was a move among U.S. policy makers to postpone the date because of the war and the Japanese occupation.
Quezon, fighting against an old enemy—tuberculosis—realized that here was another fight looming up. “Why,” he asked, “despite all the efforts we have made in this war, should the independence date be again postponed?” He called the move “sloppy and ridiculous.”

There was no question, however, that Quezon would use all his skill in this fight. He summoned up all the strength left in him, although it might greatly hasten his death. Quezon prepared himself by devouring books, especially Hayden’s “The Philippines—A Study of National Development,” to weigh and measure just exactly what the Americans thought of the Filipinos. As Quezon sat there for interminable hours, and I read these books aloud to him, he would gaze at the ceiling, considering possibilities and counting his assets.

There was no doubt at all that the prestige earned by the Filipino people by their brave stand in Bataan and Corregidor were the two aces in his hands. He knew, too, that the U.S. pledges were two sparkling kings. What about the unopened cards on the table? He weighed all possibilities with care.

Quezon, of course, knew what his opponents would do. He had friends among them, whose idiosyncrasies he knew. Some of them could be relied upon to support him. There was Henry L. Stimson, secretary of war, former secretary of state and governor–general of the Philippines. There was Senator Hawes, co-author of the abortive Hare-Hawes-Cutting Law, who was now a very close confidante of Quezon.

Quezon banked, too, on his Washington experience as former resident commissioner.

Confident and smiling, Quezon awaited Roosevelt’s emissaries on that sunny October morning.

First came well-groomed, well-fed Judge Samuel Rosenman, President Roosevelt’s special adviser. Carrying a brown leather briefcase, the stocky Rosenman had the air of a Wall Street executive coming to deal on behalf of his firm—the United States government. The deal involved 115,707 square miles of real estate called the Philippine Islands.

Following him was hawk-nosed, leather-faced Secretary of Interior Harold Ickes. With him was his reliable aide, Undersecretary Fortas, who was in charge of territories and insular possessions.

Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, Quezon’s old friend, was ushered in. Slim and old, he still carried that stamp of patriarchal authority that he had when he was the fatherly governor–general of the Islands. With him was Milliard E. Tydings, the suave senator from Maryland. Dressed in a cutaway suit, the co-author of the Tydings-McDuffie Law seemed groomed for a very important state occasion.

The conferees took the seats arranged about Quezon’s bed. Quezon looked like the seasoned poker player that he was as he regarded his guests.
Judge Rosenman delivered a message from Roosevelt saying that Philippine independence would be granted after the Japs were driven out of the islands. It further mentioned that military air and naval bases would be retained in the Philippines, after the war.

Stimson added: “My greatest concern here is that I am worried that this immediate independence will have an adverse effect on the Filipinos.”
Quezon snapped: “When the question is about the effect of independence on the Filipinos, I am the man qualified to know that. More than any American or Filipino, I know the desires of my people. And besides, why should the element of Japanese presence in the Philippines be considered when, even if the war outlasts the year 1946, we shall be independent just the same, Japs or no Japs?”

It was Rosenman’s turn to speak. “That is a very important point. Why should we think of the Japs’ presence in the Philippines? If, even with the Japs still in the Philippines, we have to give them their independence, why don’t we give it now?” Apparently, Rosenman was already batting for Quezon.
Then Rosenman added: “What about the military reservations?”

Quezon snapped: “If you yourselves include that provision, the independence of the Philippines will be like that of Manchukuo.”

Quezon’s point was clear and decisive. If the provision for the retention of U.S. bases in the Philippines after her independence was included in the resolution without the consent of the Philippine government, it would be tantamount to having a puppet-style independence.

Quezon vindicated the rights of Philippine sovereignty. For, if the provision about military bases were to be included in the resolution, the Philippine sovereignty would be greatly enhanced. It would imply recognition of the technicality that U.S. bases were in the Philippines only upon the consent of the Filipinos themselves.

The emissaries of President Roosevelt certainly never expected to be outmaneuvered, but Quezon had them cornered, on their own grounds, using their policies and rules against them.

It was agreed by everybody present that the date of Philippine independence should be honored, regardless of Japanese occupation; and that American military and naval bases should be retained in the Philippines after independence, but on the behest of the Philippine government itself, for the mutual protection of both the P.I. and the U.S., as well as for the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.

After brisk pleasantries, the Americans left the scene of what was a conference debacle for them. There was some back-slapping as Vice-President Osmeña assured his life-long opponent and rival: “Este es el mejor triumfo de su vida.” 

It might be objected that Quezon employed arbitrary tactics. No one doubted, however, that Quezon’s actions were sincere, motivated as they were by an incomparable nationalism that his people would long remember with pride and gratitude.

Indeed, the members of the Philippine government-in-exile have reason to congratulate themselves as they share the triumph of their ailing president. However, there was no room for unallayed rejoicing, for if Quezon was able to achieve this unprecedented victory, it was because of the strength of his legacy—the good name and prestige won by Filipino heroes in Bataan and Corregidor, men whom we could never forget.

Aguinaldo opens campaign, June 8, 1935

June 8, 1935

Aguinaldo opens campaign

Announces extensive platform during meeting at Cavite—plans campaign throughout provinces

Pledging “the early restoration of our glorious Republic” and the fulfillment of his 44-plank platform before a relic of the revolution, a banner tattered “not by age but by the bullets of enemies,” General Emilio Aguinaldo proclaimed his candidacy for the commonwealth presidency Sunday. The aged warrior’s acceptance speech was made before a small crowd liberally estimated at 5,000, in Cavite, Cavite, at the Paseo del Reparo.

Besides Catilinarian attacks on the present leadership, Don Emilio presented a 43-plank platform, later to be reinforced by a 44th, advocating among other things a shorter transition period before independence, reforms in the government structure and improved relations between labor and capital with a view to reducing expenditures and taxation.

Party leaders mum

“I do not have any political party behind me,” cried the Veteranos’ candidate, “my party is composed of the humble sons of the people, flattered before elections and forgotten after triumph. What more could I ask for?”

Majority as well as minority leaders in the legislature declined to comment on the general’s attacks on the coalition an his virulent accusations of official corruption. Of the kilometric platform proposed, Rep. Francisco Varona declared: “There is nothing in the platform that is not included in the platforms of the present political parties.”

General Aguinaldo is leaving next Sunday.

Among these were Sixto Lopez, grand old man of Batangas, Judge Anastacio Teodoro, Judge Justo Lukban, Emiliano Tria Tirona, Narciso Lapuz, Vicente Sotto, several generals of the revolution, and Miguel Cornejo, former presidential cock of the Fascist party, who retired in favor of General Aguinaldo.

The president of the short-lived Philippine Republic promises in his Declaration of Purposes:

The shortening of the transition period to three or five years;

The revision of the constitutional provision for compulsory arbitration so that the freedom of contract may not be impaired;

An effective reorganization of the government branches to secure efficiency and simplification;

A policy of strict economy, with its consequent reduction of expenditures and salaries. The salary of the president is to be slashed 50 percent;

Revision of the present taxation system, and introduction of land taxation based on the land’s productivity and not on its value;

A national lottery under government auspices;

Increased concessions to labor, in the form of living quarters, opportunity for advancement, and low rents;

Reformation of the present educational system with a view to making it vocational and nationalistic;

The establishment of a system of national defense;

The protection of basic agricultural products from adverse trade movements here and abroad.

It is generally granted that the old-timer’s chances are slim. Handicapped by lack of organization ad financial support, Aguinaldo’s only chance seems to lie in the unification of the different discontented elements of the country.

But Don Emilio seems to be ready to undergo “great sacrifices and privations” and in his speech called on his followers to be “inspired by the example of those heroes of ’96 who, with the ground for bed and the sky for roof and fruits for food, did not hesitate to fight for the cause of liberty.”

That the coming battle of ballots is another such struggle for liberty was made clear by the general when he climaxed a powerful attack on present conditions with the dramatic cry: “Farewell independence, goodbye democracy!”

Meanwhile, the majority and the minority parties have been reorganizing themselves. Conventions for the members of both have been called to discuss the proposed coalition.

It looks like the fight is on.

End

With the Quezon missioners in Washington, June 3, 1933

June 3, 1933

With the Quezon missioners in Washington
By James G. Wingo
Free Press Correspondent in Washington

All signs pointed to reconciliation as Quezon and Osmeña-Roxas factions met in Washington

Who said there was such a thing as a Quezon-Osmeña squabble going on? You said it—and you and you and you. And I said it.

But brothers and sisters, you ought to have seen these two illustrious sons of our beloved Islas Filipinas get off the train from New York one beautiful and very springy evening at Washington’s Union Station. All smiles and arm in arm these two men, whose political exploits have featured the history of their country for the last 25 years, responded to the warm greetings of about 50 of their compatriots residing in the great capital city by waving their grey fedoras over their rapidly greying heads.

Manuel Quezon, well-protected by a heavy grey overcoat, braved the extended hands of his countrymen and pumped heartily every one that blocked his path. Sergio Osmeña did likewise. But while Quezon’s face flushed with excitement, Osmeña’s registered his usual nonchalance and self-control.

Tame statement

Osmeña went to Paris with the determination to bring back to Washington a pleasant, untruculent, placated, open-minded Quezon. He appeared to have succeeded.

However, every member of the Quezon party, during those few exciting hours after their arrival, denied that there had been any compromise which might be feared by Elpidio Quirino or Benigno Aquino. But it can be truthfully said that a Quezon much tamer and much less melodramatic than we had expected dropped into our midst.

The prepared statement he handed out to ship reporters who met the Ile de France in New York was indeed a very tame one, a most non-committal conglomeration of words. Anybody who had not read Mr. Quezon’s declarations in Manila could not possibly tell from that Ile de France statement where the renowned Filipino leader himself stood on the Hare-act, that piece of legislation recently passed by Congress which prompted him to visit Washington at a most unpropitious time.

However, a dispatch broadcast by the Universal Service, a press service owned by William Randolph Hearst, said that Quezon had stated that he would head a campaign against the bill unless the economic provisions of the independence bill were altered.

Eloquent Quezon

As soon as Missioner Quezon and his party reached Washington on April 24 he told everybody how badly he felt about the stories published by all the New York papers. At his suite at the Willard Hotel an excited but still eloquent Quezon wanted Harry W. Frantz of the United Press, the only newspaperman besides your Washington operative who met the mission at the Union Station, to understand clearly that he had been misquoted. Senator Osmeña and the well-known newspaper editor Carlos P. Romulo also privately scored the inaccurate American newspapermen. Mr. Romulo, a valuable member of the Quezon mission, says that he was at the senate president’s side when he gave the interview to the New York reporters and he believe that they deliberately misquoted the Filipino leader.

What we who do not know much about the intricacies of missioneering can not understand is why Mr. Quezon, Mr. Osmeña, Mr. Romulo and others were so unduly perturbed by the stories in the New York papers when really what they attributed to the Philippine senate president is practically the same as the Quezon pronunciamientos in Manila.

Washington O.K.

As far as the Washington papers were concerned, the Quezon party did not have any reason to kick. On the day following the new missioners’ arrival, the Washington Post buried on page 2 a 59-word item furnished by the United Press, evidently written by Frantz, stating merely that Mr. Quezon and his party had arrived in Washington the previous night “to seek modification in the terms of the Philippine independence act.” Hearst’s Washington Herald, his Times, Scripps-Howard’s News and the Evening Star said absolutely nothing.

However, a few hours before the Quezon mission arrived in Washington, the News published an editorial attacking vigorously the Hare act and urging President Roosevelt to grant representative conference to the newly-arrived Filipinos. On that same day the New York Herald Tribune had an editorial praising Mr. Quezon highly although granting that “as a politician, Mr. Quezon naturally does not say all that he thinks and feels on all occasions.” The Herald Tribune urged him to come out clear on the independence act.

But in spite of all the perturbations caused them by the New York papers, the Quezon missioners were very glad to reach Washington and unaware that the first engagement of what was expected to be a great political war had been won by one Sergio Osmeña. The Quezon missioners had all gained weight. Mr. Quezon’s health showed amazing improvement. And they were all eager to find what’s what on this independence bill.

Roxas and the Press, February 22, 1947

ROXAS AND THE PRESS

February 22, 1947

News giants of pre-war days now in government service

By Inocencio V. Ferrer

President, Negros Press Club

NOWADAYS when newspapermen meet, they usually talk with nostalgia about Malacañan press conferences when Manuel L. Quezon was the “Big Chief”; others of the days when Sergio Osmeña hardly gave press conferences and reporters depended mainly on Malacañan press releases to satisfy the hunger for news of the then newly liberated readers of the Philippines; but their tete-a-tete often ends with a wise-crack at the expense of the so-called liberal administration! But whether or not one looks back at those days with longing and remembrance,—those days will never come back, and President Manuel A. Roxas is at Malacañan to stay and to perform the acts and deliver the sttements which are the daily headlines of the newspapers of the nation.

It is worthy of note that many newspapermen do not seem to see eye to eye with the President on matters of national concern. Many a post-liberation columnist has made and continues to make a name for himself and circulation for his paper by discoursing on the alleged sins of the present administration, or the frailties of the New Leader. Nevertheless the cold, naked truth is that, under the Roxas administration, members of the press are winning recognition and honors never before accorded them under any other president of the Philippines.

Consider the following facts, for instance. Recently a leading political commentator in the United States hailed the Philippines as the recognized leader of dependent nations and oppressed peoples of the world and as ranking sixth among more than fifty signatory nations of the United Nations. These honors came to the Republic largely because of General Carlos P. Romulo, permanent Philippine delegate to the UN, who is one of the most versatile editors the Philippines has ever produced and, in pre-Pearl-Harbor days, was publisher and editor-in-chief of the now defunct DMHM newspapers of Manila. Another DMHM newsman who has been the recipient of the bounty of our Liberal administration is former Press Secretary Modesto Farolan, the first Philippine Consul-General to Hawaii. Farolan was formerly general manager of the DMHM.

Diplomatic Service

A check-up of the roster of diplomatic and consular offices established by the Republic reveals the amazing but gratifying fact that, as a general rule, a former Manila newspaperman is on the payroll. The Philippine press is ably represented on the staff of the Philippine Embassy at Washington, D.C. by former Pangasinan Congressman Narciso Ramos, a former Manila reporters; A. L. Valencia, president of the potent Manila Press Club and former Bulletin star reporter; and Pilar N. Ravelo-Guerrero, also formerly of the pre-Tojo Bulletin. Newsman Ramos is minister-counsellor, while Associated Press Correspondent Valencia is Ambassador Elizalde’s public relations spokesman.

And who does not remember Salvador P. Lopez who used to preach to newspaper readers via the Herald’s “So It Seems” column? Well, if you do not know, Lopez is in New York City now; a member of Ambassador Romulo’s staff. Also with Romulo in America is former Manila reporter Renato Constantino.

Felixberto G. Bustos, free lance journalist and author of the book that helped Roxas to the presidency, is on the staff of the Philippine consulate in New York City and his boss is former Justice Jose P. Melencio, himself a writer of some distinction.

With Other Bureaus

When the Philippines sent Senator Salipada K. Pendatun and others to the UNESCO conference at paris, a newspaperman was in the entourage in the person of United Press correspondent Rodolfo L. Nazareno. J. C. Dionisio, short story writer and West Coast journalist, is at present with Consul-General Roberto Regala in San Francisco.

Not all writers and reporters are as gifted as Carlos Peña Romulo or as lucky as those who have landed sinecures abroad. Other have to stay at home and keep the printing presses rolling. There are, however, some who are doling praiseworthy work in the government service. Outstanding among them is personable, veteran Bulletin reporter Johnny C. Orendain, who, as President Roxas’ Press Secretary, is the official Malacañan spokesman. Private secretary to the President is Federico Mangahas, he who wrote the perfect prose of the “Maybe” column of the Tribune of yesteryears. Then there is D. L. Francisco, ace FREE PRESS feature writer, whose exposes and “unsolved mystery” articles were arresting the attention of the nation when FREE PRESS Staffman Leon O. Ty and I were still trying to find our journalistic souls by writing poetic trash for campus magazines. Francisco is the PRO (public relations officer, to you) of the Manila police department. Another writer with the police department is Delfin Flandez Batacan who, before his promotion as technical assistant to Malacañan Police Adviser Angel Tuazon, was in the legal section of the Manila police.

I am sure many FREE PRESS readers have been wondering what has happened to Leon Ma. Guerrero, Jr., who, as Totoy, used to thrill them with “Times in Rhymes” and, as himself, gave them those spicy and meaty stories and articles of the pre-war FREE PRESS. I have been told that Leonie is alive but he is busy with protocols and diplomacy now at the department of foreign affairs. Also at the foreign affairs office is former newsman Carlos Quirino; while Manila columnist Teodoro L. Valencia is the secretary of the Philippine board of censorship for motion pictures.

Provincial Journalists

I understand Ligaya Victorio Reyes and Leopoldo Y. Yabes are now members of the present bureaucracy; and that Poet Fred Ruiz Castro is now a colonel and head of the judge advocate general service of the Philippine army, while his chum and co-worker on the Collegian staff, Macario Peralta, Jr., is now a retired one-star general and the chairman of the Philippine veterans’ board. Writer Nicolas V. Villaruz is now special prosecutor of the People’s Court; while former College Editors’ Guild vice-president Arturo M. Olarga is justice of the peace of Manapla, Negros Occidental.

Even provincial journalists and editors have not been overlooked, so it seems, by the President. Publisher Fernando Lopez of the Times of Iloilo is the present mayor of Iloilo City, while former Commoner editor Vicente T. Remitio is the mayor of Bacolod City. Former News Clipper editor Melanio O. Lalisan, of Bacolod City, is assistant provincial fiscal of Negros Occidental and with him are assistant provincial fiscal Jose. T. Libo-on and Special Counsel Joaquin Sola who have been active in Negros journalism and still are as members of the Negros Press Club, an association of editors and writers of Negros Occidental.

Roman Holiday

But the highest honor ever paid by President Roxas to a reporter was that given to the late Benito M. Sakdalan, veteran metropolitan newspaperman who figured in a sensational case a year ago. The President personally and officially lamented his death and Executive Secretary Emilio Abello and Press Secretary Johnny C. Orendain paid him tribute and joined in his final rites.

And when one calls to mind that everytime the President goes on a junket trip he inevitably takes with him a retinue of reporters and newsphotographers, verily it can be said that under Roxas the press and the writing fraternity are having a Roman holiday.

Free Press straw vote will feature reelection, May 6, 1939

May 6, 1939

Free Press straw vote will feature reelection

ONE of the liveliest political topics of the day, and one on which virtually everyone has an opinion, is the reelection of President Quezon. Advocated intermittently almost from the day Mr. Quezon took his oath of office, the reelection issue assumed formidable shape last week when Assemblyman Quintin Paredes openly sponsored it. The Philippines Herald whooped things up by advocating reelection in a front page editorial. Several assemblymen have prepared bills to amend the Constitution. And for the first time, President Quezon has remained significantly silent.

The national assembly, by a vote of three-fourths of all its members, may propose an amendment to the Constitution or call a convention for that purpose. Such an amendment must be approved by a majority of the votes cast at an election, at which the amendment is submitted to the people for ratification. It must also be submitted to the President of the United States for approval. If the latter approves the amendment or fails to disapprove it within six months from the time of its submission, the amendment shall take effect as part of the Constitution.

Feeling that the issue of reelecting President Quezon is a very vital one, and realizing that in the final analysis it is the Filipino people who must decide whether or not President Quezon will be reelected, the Free Press has decided to conduct a scientific, nationwide straw vote on this issue.

This weekend, 12,500 ballots will be mailed to responsible, property-owning citizens in every province in the Philippines. The ballots are apportioned among the provinces on the basis of the population of each province, as reported by the census taken this year. Due to the extra political strength of Manila, an additional 700 ballots are being distributed in the capital. The answers will be tabulated as soon as they are received and published in forthcoming issues of the Free Press.

On each ballot is the question: “Do you think the Philippine Constitution should be amended to permit the reelection of President Quezon?” Votes may be registered either as “Yes” or “No.” On each ballot will be typed the name of the province to which it is sent, but this is merely for the purpose of tabulating the final results by provinces. The vote will be a secret one and the voter will not sign his name. A stamped, self-addressed envelope accompanies each ballot, so that all the voter need do it indicate his opinion for or against the constitutional amendment to permit the reelection of President Quezon, place the ballot in the envelope and drop it in the mail. The Free Press will do the rest.

Previous polls

This will be the third big straw vote conducted by the Free Press, and with pardonable pride the Free Press can claim that its two previous polls turned out to be accurate forecasts of the people’s opinion.

The first truly nationwide straw vote on a large scale ever conducted in the Philippines was the Free Press poll on he Hare-Hawes-Cutting law, conducted in February and March of 1933. On that occasion, 10,000 ballots were mailed out and 65 percent of them were returned. Of the votes recorded, 56 percent opposed the Hare-Hawes-Cutting law. The first Free Press straw vote had accurately reflected public opinion.

Then, in August and September of 1937, shortly after President Quezon returned from Washington where he had flirted with the idea of independence in 1939, the Free Press sent out 12,500 ballots asking whether the people favored or opposed shortening the transition period. In this case, 67 percent of the ballots were returned. There was some raising of eyebrows when the final result showed 55 percent opposing and only 45 percent favoring the shortening of the transition period. Yet subsequent events showed that the Free Press poll had once more mirrored public opinion. Today virtually no one favors a shorter transition period, and quicker independence would not be accepted in the Philippines unless it were accompanied by substantial economic concessions.

Thus, with the record of two successful straw votes behind it, the Free Press now makes its third effort to find out exactly what the people think about a vital public issue.

It should be recalled that the ballots on the reelection of President Quezon are not being mailed to every voter. That is not necessary, where ballots can be sent to representative voters. Nor are all Free Press subscribers to receive ballots. Nor all assemblymen. Nor all school teachers. The idea is to get enough typical citizens to be able to reflect public opinion in general. And that can be done with 10,000 ballots as well as with 1,000,000. In fact, the famed Gallup polls in the United States “sample” public opinion by asking their questions of only 10,000 people (out of 130,000,000) and yet because those questioned are scientifically weighted, the Gallup polls have established the remarkable record of repeatedly forecasting election results with an allowable error of only three percent.

“Should the Constitution of the Philippines be amended to permit the reelection of President Quezon?”

That is the vital question at issue in the Philippines today, and that is the question which the Free Press is asking 12,500 responsible citizens to answer. Their opinions will be reported in the forthcoming issues.

Quezon and Osmena, April 22, 1933

April 22, 1933

Quezon and Osmeña

Discussions between leaders presage bitter fight over freedom bill

AFTER meeting amicably in Paris last Saturday and sailing for New York Monday aboard the s.s. Ile de France, Senate President Quezon and Senator Osmeña broke sharply over the question of accepting or rejecting the Hawes-Cutting-Hare bill when they settled down to a formal discussion of the matter on board the ship.

The following report of the rupture was cabled by Carlos P. Romulo, managing editor of the T-V-T publications, to his newspapers in Manila:

“Mr. Osmeña was presenting a point when Mr. Quezon, rising and facing his colleague, broke out passionately:

“‘Sergio, you and I are growing old. We shall soon pass away. Do you realize the tremendous responsibility you and I are shouldering in accepting a bill, the effects of which will tie the hands of posterity? It is mortgaging the future of our children! We are deciding their fate, knowing that when we are gone, we shall be unable to help them!’

“‘Do you realize,’ replied Senator Osmeña, maintaining his usual calm, ‘the tremendous responsibility we will be assuming in rejecting the bill, as a result of which America may stay in the Philippines forever?’

“‘I realize that,’ the senate president replied warmly, ‘but don’t forget that if America is in the Philippines today it is by force, and against our will. With her sovereignty she has assumed responsibilities, both legal and moral, to the Filipino people. But if we accept the bill she will remain in the Islands with our consent—exercise authority without any responsibility; and I for one am unwilling to give any sanction to it.’

“The first counterproposal offered by Mr. Quezon, and made public by him last night, is to accept the bill with reservations, enumerating in the resolution accepting the measure the amendments desired, and specifying that the bill is not acceptable until the amendments are enacted.

“Further discussion elicited the information that the original bill contained a clause providing only for naval reservations, but no military stations. It was Senator Hiram Bingham who, in the conferences on the bill between the Senate and the House, inserted a provision for military reservations.

“To this time of writing there seems to be no prospect of agreement between the two leaders. The discussions are continuing.’

The meeting of Quezon and Osmeña in the Gare de Lyons in Paris was an historical one. As the express train from Nice pulled into the station, Senator Osmeña was waiting to welcome his chieftain, against whose leadership he bids fair to revolt.

“¿Cómo está, chico?” was the welcome of the man on the platform to the man in the train.

“Muy bien, Sergio,” came the enthusiastic reply. “Veo que estás bien.”

Not since a group of statesmen representing Spain and the United States sat down at a peace table to draw up the Treaty of Paris had the French capital been the scene of a meeting so vital to the future of the Philippine islands.

Long have the team of Quezon and Osmeña ruled the internal political destinies of the Philippines. On occasion opposing each other, but generally pulling together like a team of thoroughbreds, they have stayed in power for a longer period than any national leader in any other country in which the people have the vote.

But as they met in that Paris railroad station last week, they stood diametrically opposed on the most important question the Filipino people have ever been called upon to answer.

There was no vote of disagreement in their friendly meeting. With all care, Senator Osmeña helped the Quezon family out of the station and into a taxicab. He followed shortly after in another cab, and the members of the party stayed at the same hotel.

That evening the gallant senator from Cebu entertained Mrs. Quezon at dinner, the senate president feeling indisposed to attend. For hours the two leaders conferred on the Hawes-Cutting-Hare bill, and as far as newspaper correspondents could gather their sessions were amiable. However, no formal statement was made, excepting on that “we cannot indicate what direction the conversation took”.

On Monday the entire party boarded the Ile de France for New York, and correspondents reported the possibility of some sort of a compromise being reached. The only direct word received in the Philippines was a message from Senate President Quezon to Sen. Elpidio Quirino, majority floor leader, who refused to divulge the full contents of the message.

Tantalizingly, he quoted the following statement from the Quezon cabal: “It does not mean that I have changed my attitude.” Manila newspapers interpreted the statement as they wanted to, some saying it meant that Quezon would continue his opposition, others declaring it meant that although his attitude was unchanged he had been forced to yield to the inexorable pressure of circumstances.

Senate President Quezon’s stay in Washington will be a brief one, the general belief being that he will begin his return trip to the Philippines, via the Pacific, in the latter part of May. With him, undoubtedly, will come Senator Osmeña, Speaker Roxas and the other weary missioners, all of whom are now feeling the pinch of reduced per diems and restricted expense money. In fact, the money appropriated by the last session of the legislature will be exhausted about June 1, although an overdraft such as was used last year will probably be resorted to in order to bring every body home.

End