Photo Credit: Joel Cuello, Ph.D.
Yesterday's 80th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor reminded of my memories of the world War II as a child growing up in Panay Island, Philippines. The war has affected million of lives all over the world including my own. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been if Pearl Harbor was not bombed. I would have not been able to experience my childhood years in the small town where my mother was born. I would have been raised in a modern small city with all the conveniences and not knowing how to survive in the jungles of Panay Island without running water and electricity.
Again this year to celebrate this 80th anniversary of the start of WW II, I am reposting the following article for your reading pleasure. If you have read this before, my apologies, but remember There are no winners in war, all are losers.
"Childhood Memories of the Japanese-American War in the Philippines"
The Bataan Death March
"War is a terrible thing to happen. Few among us have heard the stories
of civilians in the war zones. I saw and lived the anxieties and horrors
of the Japanese-American war through the eyes of a child. This article
(Part 1 of the trilogy) received the ViewsHound
Gold Prize of $50 in 2011. ViewsHound is now a defunct writing site formerly based in UK.
Life in the time of war is a difficult experience for a child. All
school and play activities are interrupted. Survival amidst the chaos
becomes a paramount goal in life. Our family had to uproot ourselves
from the comfort of home and move several times to the hard life in the
countryside. We had to avoid the conflict and the bombing in the city.
We chose a life of peace and quiet away from the invading Japanese
troops. Due to the language barrier, the Japanese instilled order and
dominance of the conquered using fear, by hurting or killing innocent
civilians, resulting in the rise of the resistance movement. For every
day that passes, there was the dream of peace, but during the lengthy
war period, one had to expect the worst before anything good happened.
Before the war started, we lived a comfortable life in our home in the
city of Jaro, Iloilo located in the central Philippine island of Panay.
My father had a dental practice and we had our farm landholdings around
the province. It was 13 days before my 7th birthday when the Japanese
bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii in the morning of December 7, 1941.
On that evening, Japanese planes had taken off to attack several targets
in the Philippines, which was then an American colony. It was the start
of the Japanese invasion of the Philippines, and the reign of fear was
about to begin.
I was in 2nd grade at the Jaro Elementary School when Japan started
bombing the bigger cities of the country. When we heard the terrifying
news, my parents became concerned for our safety and decided to get out
of the city, a possible bombing target.
They chose to move to our farm in the small town of Barotac Viejo,
Iloilo, my mother’s ancestral town 60 kilometers north of Jaro. It was a
time of panic, chaos and fear over what was to happen in the city. We
were about to leave our cherished home and anxiously head to the
unfamiliar and unknown.
Within a couple of days all the essential items we could bring were
already packed. All the furniture and the huge and heavy items were left
behind. My mother had all her china and silverware buried in the
backyard for safekeeping.
We found out later that our house was bombed and totally destroyed. All
the furniture were either destroyed or stolen. All the china and
silverware was dug up and stolen. Despite the losses, we were grateful
that we made a wise decision and survived unharmed.
For a short period we settled in a small farm house of our tenant in a
remote district of town. As the war progressed, we were informed that
the Japanese forces had penetrated most of the big cities in the country
and were starting to occupy smaller towns. My father was a captain and
dental officer of the newly organized Philippine guerrillas, an
underground resistance movement to fight the Japanese. As a precaution,
he decided to move our family a second time, to the jungle in the
interior of Panay Island.
We had to walk for three days through the woods of the jungle, cross
over numerous creeks and climb over mountains with the help and guidance
of our farmer tenants. Our trek ended and we settled in a hidden valley
lined by a creek with clean running water. Our tenants built us a hut
for shelter made of bamboo and nipa palm, an outdoor kitchen and a
dining area.
They used a bamboo cart pulled by a water Buffalo to bring us supplies
of rice, salt, sugar and other spices regularly. In the valley we
cleared the land to plant vegetables, corn and sweet potatoes. We also
raised chickens and ducks for eggs, pigs for protein and goats for milk.
One of the scariest events while living in the jungle was when our pig
livestock were preyed upon by a python snake measuring about 30 feet
long. It was pitch black at night when we heard our two pigs squealing
out loud in fear. My father instructed our helper to inspect the pig pen
using a kerosene lamp. He saw the snake strangling one of the pigs. He
struck and killed the python using his machete and a piece of wood,
sadly, our small pig also died. That whole week we had protein in our
meals. It was proof that the jungles of Panay are inhabited by dangerous
pythons.
We had no pet with us. I chose the chickens and the goats to become my
pets. I raised one of the chickens; it slept with me, got attached to me
and kept trailing me wherever I go. My mother tolerated my unusual pets
because I had no peers my age aside from my younger brother.
To continue with our education, my father home schooled us together with
two of my older cousins. For four hours each day we were taught
arithmetic, spelling and history. We were lucky to have brought with us a
few books on Philippine and US history. Whenever our tenants brought us
food supplies, they would update us on news about the status of the
Japanese occupation.
Late in the war when the Japanese brutality and atrocities appeared to
have stopped, we moved again from the jungle to a seaside village. We
stayed at the house of another tenant. My father warned us not to talk
to any stranger, and if asked, to avoid giving our real last name of
Katague and instead provide an alias which was Katigbak. There were
unverified rumors that the Japanese had a list of names of all the
guerrillas, which might have included my father. Some traitor Filipinos
worked as spies for the Japanese by pinpointing the guerrillas in
exchange for favors.
One day, we saw a platoon of uniformed Japanese soldiers armed with guns
and bayonets passing by our village. My brother and I watched them
march while hiding in the bushes. I knew their brutal reputation towards
the natives, and I was afraid of us being seen and getting in trouble. I
was relieved that nothing happened and they continued with their march
to the next village.
A terrible incident happened to about 30 of my maternal relatives while
we were living in the jungle. They were similarly hiding and living in
the jungle on a mountain ridge next to us. They were killed by the
Japanese soldiers who discovered and penetrated their location with the
help of the spies. A handicapped relative in a wheelchair was spared.
During the massacre, she fell on the creek and must have been left for
dead. She lived to tell the tragic story. This is only one example of
many atrocities that was committed by the Japanese to the Filipino
civilians.
When General MacArthur landed in Leyte on October 1944, it was the
happiest day for the Filipinos, the Americans were back to save us from
the Japanese tyranny. The Japanese troops started to retreat and
surrender. The chance for peace in the Philippines was welcomed with
excitement. The schools were planning to reopen. There was no more need
to live in hiding and in fear, and to lie about one’s name. We were able
to live free from the oppressors.
From the seaside village we moved to another district much closer to
town where we built a bigger house. At the back of the property was a
hill, and on a clear day, from the top of the hill you could see the
nearby island of Negros. We used it as an observation hill where we
could watch the Japanese and American planes flying and then fighting
each other. My brother and I witnessed two planes attacking each other,
with one plane being blown to pieces and burning as it fell from the sky
to the sea between Panay and Negros islands. It was a thrilling
dogfight show to watch, although we never found out the victor.
When school reopened, we were required to take a test to determine which
grade level we would qualify for. I passed the test for a 4th grade
level. I was merely in grade 2 when war broke out. In short, I completed
six grades of elementary in only four years of schooling. In class, I
was two years younger than most of my classmates. I was thankful for the
result of my father’s patience in home schooling us while living in the
jungle. At last we were able to go back to our school, new home, and
live the life of what was left of my childhood years in peace.
Always remember that there are no winner of wars. Everybody are losers!!"
