“Sabi nila, masuwerte kayo, makakalabas na kayo. Paano mo masasabing suwerte iyan, eh wala naman kaming kasalanan, tapos tinapos namin yung definite sentence (They tell us, you’re lucky to be discharged. But how can they say we are lucky when we did not commit any crime, yet we had to finish the definite sentence),” said Julito.
In 2001, the Tobias brothers, Julito and Ramil, had been on the list of political prisoners recommended for release in an agreement between the peace negotiating panels of the government and the National Democratic Front of the Philippines (NDFP). The release of the political detainees was among the confidence-building measures between the two panels. President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo signed their release papers.
Modesto recalled that in 2002, they were called before then Justice Secretary Hernando Perez who read out the list of political prisoners to be released. He said their hopes were high that they would be among those to go home.
“Pero nang magtawag na ng pangalan…ay, wala. Hindi pala kami kasama (But when they called out the names of those to be released, it turned out we were not included),” he recalled, sadly.
Their names were again included in the 2004 Oslo Agreement signed by the government and NDFP peace panels. But the government still did not release them at that time.
The Dec. 11 release order also applied to Bartolome, who had been detained separately at the Iwahig Penal Colony in Palawan.
Losses and gains
After being imprisoned for so long and so far from their families, Modesto and Julito have lost contact with most of their relatives. Only Ramil, who was a diligent letter-writer, managed to keep in touch with his siblings. He even courted a penpal, Juliet, whom he eventually married. Ramil was fetched by his siblings immediately after his release.
Modesto meanwhile said he is yet to get in touch with his children, the eldest of whom was only eight years old when he was arrested and imprisoned. Only three of his seven children are still alive. Two died of illnesses before his imprisonment, and the other two – aged one and seven – died in 1991. They now have their own families, he said. Even his wife, 17 years younger than him, left him in 1993 for another man.
His youngest, Claire, tried to visit him in 2002, but she was refused entry by the jail guards, because they said she was a minor. “Nang magpalit ng direktor, naghigpit sila. Kahit naroon na sa computer ang pangalan niya, hindi siya pinapasok.” (Under a new prison director, they became stricter. Even if her name appeared in the computer, they did not let her visit me.)
Modesto said he is uncertain if his now-grown children would take him in after 17 years. “Baka sumbatan nila ako dahil naiwan ko sila noong maliliit pa sila. Kaya itatanong ko muna sa kanila kung tatanggapin pa nila ako ngayong matanda na ako (They might blame me for having left them when they were still little. So I would have to ask them first if they would take me in now that I am already old),” said Modesto.
Julito is the youngest of six children. His mother died in June this year while his father passed away in 2001. He said that he learned about their deaths from other people.
“Yung nasira sa akin, yung pagtingin sa lugar namin, iba na ang pagkakakilala, ex-convict na. Nagkaroon ka ng batik, dahil sa kagagawan ng ibang tao, dahil sa paglabag sa karapatan mo. Napakahirap nang ibalik noon (They had ruined my reputation in my community, I would now be seen as an ex-convict. I have been stained, because of what other people have done, because of their violation of my rights. That’s something very hard to bring back),” Julito said.
He said that he is consoled by the fact that among the ranks of the organized, political prisoners are highly respected, having been imprisoned for holding on to their political beliefs and having endured torture and hardships in prison.
