By Nena Cervantes

How do you hold a sunbeam in your hand?  You can’t because it is seen and sensed.  Sunbeam casts out shadows, its ultraviolet rays disinfect and its warmth makes people happy.  You only have to ask people with seasonally affective depression.

Certain people transmit energy to others.  Some people, like psychological vampires, suck life out of others in order to “live”.  Behn’s extroverted energy radiated like sunbeam dancing on a flowing stream.  His passion for art, his compassion for those who have not, sparked controversy even friction.  He rubbed some people the wrong way, a friction akin to flint stone rubbing against a hard object.  Eventually the friction creates fire.

How do you hold a sunbeam in your hands?  Try, first of all.  Next, allow its warmth to penetrate into your hand, then to course up your arm and throughout your body.

Whether friend, colleague, political activist, artist, professor or sibling, people who talk or write about Behn recall him with warm respect.  Their recollections of him possess an unwitting sense of humor as though reminiscences were sunbeams of mirth, or wit, or passion.

Behn knew how to keep secrets, so please, do not expect me to talk firsthand about his political activities.  When it came to keeping secrets, his lips were as silent as a tomb.  However, I can regale you what friends and fellow activists have told me about him.  And, most certainly, I am able to talk about him as a brother, as the ninth of 11 siblings.  These are my remembrance of a sibling’s past.

In the Bible, Jacob gave his last son the name of “Benjamin” to express hope for strength.  Likewise, my parents named their ninth child, “Benjamin” thinking he would be their last son.  The birth of a third son thwarted their intention but Behn did live to be a hope for strength.

“Maverick” is a word I learned directly from him after he had read a volume of an encyclopedia at the U.P. Diliman Library.  Initially, “maverick” referred to unbranded cows, and then the word developed another meaning:  an unorthodox or independent minded person.  Behn was a maverick, who marched to the beat of a different drummer.   For example, he insisted that his full name be pronounced the Spanish way, where the letter “j” sounds like an “h”.

Our older sister, Priscilla, described him as a “non-conformist and a rebel”.  In other words, a maverick.  These are her recollections of Ben, the boy, who chose to name himself Behn in adulthood:

My brother was a non-conformist and a rebel who had no fear of standing up for his beliefs.  During the war, when the Japanese captured us, we were brought back to our home in Iloilo City by car.  (Someone said it was our own car confiscated by the Japanese, but I do not know for sure).

Mother and the younger children were in the car with the Japanese officer, while Father and the older ones were transported in a lorry surrounded by Japanese soldiers with fixed bayonets.  As our car passed a row of people shouting “Banzai!” Ben shouted back.  “No, not banzai!  Shut up!”  He was only four years old!  Yet, he understood that banzai was a Japanese battle cry extolling their Emperor.

Then, as we approached our home, he told the English-speaking Japanese officer that he had a machine gun.  The officer inquired if he could see it.  “Sure!” Ben replied, and immediately ran into the house.  Petrified, we all waited.  Soon he was back shouting “Tra …ta…ta… you’re dead!”  We had forgotten about his toy machine gun.  The Japanese officer smiled and patted him on the head.

In his youth, Behn was skinny and self-conscious of his scrawny frame, but a frail outward appearance disguised the inner strength that personified him in adulthood.  Newspaper photos attest to his valor.  He set personal safety aside to be an activist by example.  During Martial Law, newspapers photographed him at the front line of demonstrations where people were most vulnerable to the blow of a night stick, the butt of a rifle, bullets, or tanks.  He is photographed with defiance written on his face, usually with one arm raised, fist clenched, and sometimes, locking arms with wives of politicians who opposed Martial Law.

Yet he was afraid of mice.  As a child, I remember him perched on a 6-inch wide cap of the bottom handrail, screaming at the top of his lungs, after seeing a mouse scurry by.  The very mention of the word “rat” made the hair on his arms stand up. He was incarcerated in two notorious prisons of the Philippines:  In 1975, at Camp Crame, site of the Philippine Constabulary, now Philippine National Police, and in Camp Bagong Diwa in Bicutan, Taguig.   He never spoke about his ordeals.  Wanting to protect his family, he could be more silent than a tomb.  Sonny Albino, paid tribute to his former teacher, mentor and director by stating that “Behn was at the forefront of the struggle against Martial Law.  He was tortured, frequently arrested and jailed by the authorities.”

In 1977, at Bicutan Rehabilitation Center, a major detention centre, Behn fomented awareness in prisoners of their potential as artists, as activists; to sublimate raw anger into art and to savor freedom through artistic expression.

He whiled away the hours in prison ingeniously.  Behn would stage impromptu plays, casting fellow activists and other prisoners as actors.

In a tribute to Behn, Satur Ocampo said the following about him:

Behn transformed the Bicutan Detention Center into a theater.  Behn convinced political prisoners to stage Aurelio Tolentino’s classic play “Kahapon, Ngayon at Bukas.”  He was strict as a director and insisted on rehearsals and they managed to put up the production, complete with props, costumes and makeup.

Unwittingly, prison guards who watched these plays gained insight into the injustices that activists fought against.

In January 1985, public transportation drivers organized a nation-wide strike against the cost of rising gas prices.  Since Lino Brocka and Behn were members of a negotiating panel against the rising cost of gas prices, they showed their support by attending the demonstration.  Both were arrested, charged and detained in the Quezon City jail, where he playfully designated himself and Lino as “mga bulaklak ng City Jail”.  Both were eventually released.

Lino told me that while in jail, Behn complained incessantly about smelly feet until finally, in exasperation, Lino retorted, “We’re not at the Hilton!”

Behn knew the power of words.  He recalled that military officers, at Bicutan, interrogated him in English.  Whenever the officers asked a question, he would correct their grammar, object to their choice of words and pronunciation, until the “interrogation” went off track and the focus became the improper use of English.  Whenever his interrogators asked questions in poorly worded English, Behn would say, “Do you mean to ask say…”  then rephrase their questions. “I ended up interrogating myself,” he said with amusement.

During Marital Law, the term P.O.V. or public order violators referred also to political prisoners.  Behn objected to this derogatory term.  Satur Ocampo recalled that, one day, Behn confronted a military officer and told him, “Don’t call us P.O.V.’s.  The truth is, you arrested and detained us because we have a different point of view.  P.O.V.”  Those who heard him roared in laughter.

Mama brought homemade food to him while he was in prison.  Visiting her son, meant risking her own life since visitors were known to “disappear”.  She told me that he’d complain about the food she cooked, especially his favorite dishes.  To me, it wasn’t about her cooking skills but a way for him to flex his assertiveness when feeling powerless.

Unfortunately, in 1985, he no longer savored home-cooked meals in prison, for Mama had passed away in 1979.

As mentioned earlier, Behn was as silent as a tomb when it came to secrets.  Only through a photo that José Maria Sison sent after Behn’s demise, did I discover that Behn had visited him in Utrecht in the Netherlands.  Not once did he mention Utrecht while staying with family in Germany.  A silence intended to protect all.

Why does he continue to elicit love and respect, in equal measure, 12 years after his passing?  As I grapple with this question, my eyes swell with tears, my heart swirls with emotions, first affection, then admiration, then mirth, then sadness, then anger!  Look around, injustice remains rampant!  A new generation must pick up the flag for the mighty who have fallen!

Behn was inherently empathic.  He identified with the outsider and felt for them.  I became aware of Behn’s compassion while I was a teenager.  One Christmas Day, as was customary, the whole family sat in the living room while Papa propped himself beside the Christmas tree where presents were stacked.  He would pick up a gift, read the gift tag aloud so everyone would know the giver and the recipient.  Even the household help received presents.  While Papa distributed gifts, Behn’s head would turn constantly to the servants lingering by the edge of the living room.  Finally, Behn leaned over, nudged me and said:  Look at them! They’re away from their families and yet they’re happy for us!

I looked beyond the circle of relatives and saw the cook, the house maids, the laundress and the driver grinning ear to ear.  Yet only Behn perceived that they were away from family on a very special holiday.   I felt such shame for having been oblivious of them.  Those who have, sometimes have no room in their hearts for those who have not.

Behn elicited laughter.  Laughter releases tension, frees minds to be creative.  It taps the child in a grown-up.  Laughter boosts morale.  That is why the U.S. Armed Forces send comedians such as Bob Hope, and Hollywood personalities, like Marilyn Monroe, to entertain combat troops.

Children are inherently creative but as they begin schooling, social expectations slowly inhabit their imagination and fence it in.  Somehow, Behn managed to keep his inner child and allowed it to romp in the sand box of art.  He provided an ambiance where the caterpillar burst out of an inhibitive cocoon, to be transformed into a beautiful butterfly.

When we were children, we lived about four blocks from Dewey Boulevard (now known as Roxas Boulevard).  Once in a while, one of us would suggest a ride on the double-decker bus with a route skirting Manila Bay.  Naturally, we chose the open-air, upper deck, where we could watch the sun set, see American aircraft carriers, cars whizzing by, and people strolling along the shoreline.  Suddenly, Behn instigated a waving frenzy.  He put on dark glasses and began to wave at passers-by as though he were General Douglas MacArthur.  Taking his cue, one sister, pretending to be Queen Elizabeth II, raised her right hand and slowly rotated her wrist.  Our brother, Tony, stuck a crispy, rolled wafer pastry (barquillo) into his mouth, then formed the letter “V” with his right index and middle finger, reminiscent of Winston Churchill.  I waved frantically, in an attempt to imitate Minnie Mouse.

At the Manila International Airport (now Benigno Aquino International Airport), a mischievous side of Behn would spring out like a Jack-in-the box.  Suddenly, there he was, waving randomly at tourists boarding their plane.  He’d continue waving until confused individuals would wave back reluctantly, an expression of “where have we met before?” written all over their perplexed faces.

Behn was creative.  On one occasion, he and I were seated at the dining room table passing idle time away.  On his left hand was a malleable old fork, on his right hand a pair of pliers.  While chatting, he bent the handle of the fork into an arch, then, ever so slowly, he bent the pointed ends of each tine upward into tiny u-shapes.  “Look!” he said gleefully, as he placed a postcard on top of the bent tines.  He had converted an old fork into a small picture stand. Sonny Albino observed this side of Behn firsthand.  “When the production of U.P. Repertory Company encountered problems, even technical ones, he led in finding solutions.  Once, when we couldn’t find a sound clip of the sounds made by factory machines, we went to a colleague’s house, we turned on the Osterizer [a blender] and simultaneously we drummed at steel pipes.”

As a student, Sonny saw how Behn “would break out into a song and dance number in front of the class as if he was onstage.”  Behn’s talents and eccentricities glittered like a multifaceted disco ball at the center of the room.  His extroverted personality and wit sparkled in social gatherings.  At parties, he danced the boogie with rhythm and grace.  Occasionally he’d burst into song — probably because, in his teens, he sang in the choir of Central United Methodist Church.

Later on, he became active in the Cosmopolitan Church.  I’m guessing that he joined Cosmopolitan Church during the Martial Law years and may have been one of 90 political prisoners released through Paglingap (compassionate care) which ministered to the needs of political detainees and their families.  The organization was organized in 1975, by Círilo A. Rigos, the outspoken Pastor of Cosmopolitan Church, and Senator Jovito Salonga.

Behn refrained from being crude.  Filipinos know that “Putang Ina” is a common expression uttered to insult someone’s mother.  His way of avoiding the expletive was to say, “mother of Tang” followed by a chuckle in self-amusement.

In spite of his religiosity, Behn didn’t ask God for help during a car accident.  As their car slid perilously into a ditch, Efren Yambot prayed to Mary and Jesus for help while, Behn kept yelling, “Oh shit! Ooh shiiit!  Ooooh, shiiiit!!”  So much for not being crude!

One day, out of nowhere, he told me, “Einstein believes in God, so who am I to question His existence?”  Eventually, he did.  According to José Maria Sison, Behn became a signatory Communist.  At first glance, a connection between the two men seems improbable, until you realize that, in their student days, Behn and JoMa were active members of the U.P Dramatic Club.  His compassion for the marginalized grew in tandem with his friendship with JoMa.  Behn questioned, read, and analyzed until he became a revolutionary comrade.

JoMa Sison paid tribute to Behn by saying, “His professional achievements, his artistic works, have been imbued with and given direction by his deep concern for the toiling masses of workers and peasants and the need for national and social liberation.  His 1976 film “Sakada” is an excellent depiction of the suffering and struggles of the farm workers of Negros.  It is an outstanding artistic creation in the service of the people.”

Behn adored stained glass.  He’d suck in his breath deeply whenever he saw an exquisite one inside a church, inside a museum or even on the page of a book.  To me, inhabitants of the Philippines represent the stained glass in Behn’s life.  Strewn over 7,100 islands, the Igorot in the north, the Magindanao in the south, the Mangyan of Mindoro and the Aeta, speak different languages and dialects, have unique cultures yet all are Filipinos.

Stained glass glows when the sun shines upon it.  Like the many brave Filipinos who dared to speak out against injustice, Behn was a sunbeam who shone a light on a country struggling.  Like his name, he was a hope of strength, a sunbeam that pierced through a cloudy day.

How do you hold a sunbeam in your hand?  You feel its warmth, accept its life-giving properties and enjoy it while it shines.

For all his faults and frailties, those who knew him up close, and personal, regarded Behn with profound, palpable affection and respect.  Such was the magnitude of his life that his funeral became a political rally.  He epitomized the meaning of his name, Benjamin, “hope for strength”.  Now that’s a tough act to follow but worth emulating!

Note: The author is the sister of late artist and activist Behn Cervantes.