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CONTENTS
Vol. 12, No. 3: JulySeptember 1980
Robin Broad - Our Children are Being Kidnapped
Jose Maria Sison - The Guerilla Is Like a Poet / Poem
Robert B. Stauffer - Philippine Normalization: The Politics of
Form
Robert L. Youngblood - The Protestant Church in the Philippines
New Society
Craig G. Sharlin - A Filmmaker and His Film / Cinema Review
Charles W. Lindsey - Marcos and Martial Law in the Philippines by
D.A. Rosenberg / A Review Essay
Rob Steven - The Japanese Working Class
Nini Jensen - Nakane Chie and Japanese Society / A Review Essay
Ronald Suleski - Ameyuki-san no uta by Yamazaki Tomoko / A
Review
Kenzaburo Oe - A Strange Job / Short Story translated by Ruth
Adler
BCAS/Critical AsianStudies
www.bcasnet.org
CCAS Statement of Purpose
Critical Asian Studies continues to be inspired by the statement of purpose
formulated in 1969 by its parent organization, the Committee of Concerned
Asian Scholars (CCAS). CCAS ceased to exist as an organization in 1979,
but the BCAS board decided in 1993 that the CCAS Statement of Purpose
should be published in our journal at least once a year.
We first came together in opposition to the brutal aggression of
the United States in Vietnam and to the complicity or silence of
our profession with regard to that policy. Those in the field of
Asian studies bear responsibility for the consequences of their
research and the political posture of their profession. We are
concerned about the present unwillingness of specialists to speak
out against the implications of an Asian policy committed to en-
suring American domination of much of Asia. We reject the le-
gitimacy of this aim, and attempt to change this policy. We
recognize that the present structure of the profession has often
perverted scholarship and alienated many people in the field.
The Committee of Concerned Asian Scholars seeks to develop a
humane and knowledgeable understanding of Asian societies
and their efforts to maintain cultural integrity and to confront
such problems as poverty, oppression, and imperialism. We real-
ize that to be students of other peoples, we must first understand
our relations to them.
CCAS wishes to create alternatives to the prevailing trends in
scholarship on Asia, which too often spring from a parochial
cultural perspective and serve selfish interests and expansion-
ism. Our organization is designed to function as a catalyst, a
communications network for both Asian and Western scholars, a
provider of central resources for local chapters, and a commu-
nity for the development of anti-imperialist research.
Passed, 2830 March 1969
Boston, Massachusetts
Vol. 12, No. 3/July-Sept., 1980
Contents
Robin Broad 2
Jose Maria Sison 9
Robert B. Stauffer 10
Robert L. Youngblood 19
Craig G. Scharlin 30
Charles W. Lindsey 33
Rob Stel'en 3g
Nini JellSen 60
Ronald Suleski 66
de 68
Correspondence
Address all correspondence to:
BCAS, P.O. Box W
Charlemont, MA 01339
The Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars is published quar
terly. Second class postage paid at Shelburne Falls, MA 01370.
Publisher: Bryant Avery. Copyright by Bulletin of Con
cerned Asian Scholars, Inc., 1980. ISSN No. 0007-4810,
Typesetting: Typeset (Berkeley, CA). Printing: Valley Printing
Co. (West Springfield, MA).
Postmaster: Send Form 3579 to BCAS, Box W, Charlemont,
MA 01339.
"Our Children Are Being Kidnapped"
"The Guerilla Is Like a Poet"/poem,
Philippine" Normalization": The Politics of Form,
The Protestant Church in the
Philippines' New Society
. "A Filmmaker and His Film"/cinema review.
Marcos and Martial Law in the Philippines
ed. by D. A. Rosenberg/review essay.
The Japanese Working Class
Nakane Chie and Japanese Society/
review essay.
Ameyuki-san no Uta by Yamazaki
Tomoko/review.
"A Strange Job" /short storr trallSlated by
Ruth Adler. . .
The Bulletin ofConcerned Asian Scholars is distributed to
bookstores in the U.S.A. by Carrier Pigeon, a national
distributor of radical and feminist books and maga
zines. If you know of stores that should sell the Bulletin,
ask them to write to Carrier Pigeon, 75 Kneeland St.,
Room 309, Boston, Mass. 02111 U.S.A.
"Our Children Are Being Kidnapped!"
by Robin Broad
The people of Bukidnon* are talking. They whisper their
stories to me-in jeepneys riding, in rivers bathing, in fields
plowing. One story is repeated time and time again. It becomes
their theme: "Our children are being kidnapped," they say.
"Each night during the full moon, some disappear. We hear
jeeps, company jeeps, driving slowly down the road. And,
afterwards, children are missing."
"Why?" I ask each teller. "Why is this happening?"
Different lips mouth similar answers. "It is that big corpor
ation building here," they reply. "It has built bridges that have
killed mermaids," continues one. "It has built buildings that
have disturbed the tree spirits," says another. "Its development
has angered the gods of nature, and so, in return, they demand
human sacrifices from the company owners. They ask for our
children." Sometimes it is Imelda, President Marcos' wife, who
is said to make the contract with the angered mermaids. Some
times the Japanese businessmen, sometimes the American cor
porate owners, sometimes the rich and powerful Filipino fami
lies.
One hears the story whispered over and over again.
Throughout Bukidnon, at each site of a large corporation, at
each big development venture. The story begins to swim in
one's head. Always there. Always the background script for
what one sees happening in Bukidnon.
Is the tale true? On a literal level, perhaps not. But on a
mythical level, undoubtedly so. The people of Bukidnon are
wise. They see what is occurring around them. They see the
destruction that corporations leave in their wake-the ecologi
cal and the human damage. They see the tremendous costs
associated with this form of development. They see the harm to
their land, to their families, to their whole way of life.
The story of sacrifices, of blood offerings, stands as their
theme.
*The province of Bukidnon is located on the island of Mindanao, the southern
most and largest island in the Philippines.
Member of cultural minurity of Bukidnan. Mindanao-dre"cd for
PANAMIN touri,t ,how Photo by R. Broad.
Take one case, that of Del Monte's local affiliate, the
Philippine Packing Corporation (PPC):
In the 1920s, Del Monte's Hawaiian plantation seemed
threatened by a plague of insects, and it sought the security of
greener pastures elsewhere. In 1926, Del Monte began its pine
apple plantation on about 10,000 hectares of land in Manolo
Fortich, Bukidnon. Within four years, a cannery was opened
nineteen miles away in Cagayan de Oro.
The terms of the plantation lease could not have been more
inviting. Although by Philippine law a private corporation may
~ w n only 1,024 hectares, the National Development corpora
tIOn (NDC) was formed by the Philippine government to hold
public agricultural land in excess of this amount for the corpora
tion. PPe's lease with NDC, signed first in 1938 and later
renewed in 1958 for thirty more years, required it to pay a
nominal rental fee, based on the value of raw pineapple pro
duced. Most of PPe's profit, however, is made on its canned
goods, not on the raw pineapple. Moreover, the price pegged for
this computation is 12 pesos* per ton- the 1938 value.
PPC grew. And grew. And grew. By the 1970s, it stood as
the largest food company in the Philippines and as the number
one exporter of pineapples and bananas, two of the Philippines'
top ten foreign exchange earners. Its plantations now yield
tropical fruits, tomatoes, cucumbers, and asparagus, as well as
2
bananas and pineapples. Eight hundred hectares of land in land speculator who had never seen the piece of land he claimed
central Bukidnon grow PPC rice on what is considered to be one as his own,
of the most successful largescale rice growing operations in the
Philippines. ** One of the country's biggest cattle feedlots be
longs to ppe.
With all this, by 1974, PPC, the 37th largest foreign
controlled corporation in the Philippines, was looking to expand
out from its original plantation. PPC's goal was the 14,000
hectares of the Pontian Plain in the municipality of Sumilao,
Bukidnon. The plain, lying just east of the original plantation,
had been partially under ranch lease, but, by the sixties, was
subdivided and released for agriculture. PPC moved in quickly.
The land survey commenced in 1974, and in 1976 the corpora
tion launched operations. A road to the area was started, and
planting began. By 1978, 6,000 of the 14,000 hectares were
PPC's; two thirds of this were already planted with pineapples,
tomatoes and papaya.
PPC seemed set on even further growth.
At the same time, the Pontian Plain remains the site of 5
barrios (Vista Villa, Ocasian, Puntian, San Roque, and Kulase)
with a population of371 families, 80 percent of whom are native
Bukidnons, one of the cultural minorities. t The families claim
the very land on which PPC workers are planting their pineapple
suckers: 371 families, 2259 individuals.
These are the statistics, the bare facts. Figures are im
portant to the story, but they miss much. The real story is a story
of the natives and their fight against this growth, against a type
of development that refuses to consider them as more than mere
statistics. These are families like yours and mine. That man who
works his land-he is a man like your father. His hands callous
like yours and mine do. That crying child sheds tears like you
and I. That woman-she is a mother with all the fears, the
worries, the love that your mother had.
It is a story of people like Carlito Sumagpi.
A horse stops outside the house in San Roque. A man,
young. and slender, walks inside. He looks directly into our
faces. "How can you help me?" he asks.
This, Carlito Sumagpi. Carlito who has been farming six
hectares of land in San Roque under tax declaration since 1966.
It was his hands that toiled over the two hills of jackfruit, the
fifty hills of bananas, the one marange, four avocados, and corn
and abaca. This, his cultivation, his life since 1966.
Carlito knew enough to apply to the Bureau of Lands for a
title, and he did so repeatedly. His first attempt was turned
down. At 17, he was too young to be a titled land owner. But
once he was no longer too young, the rejections still came. And
PANAMIN (Presidential Assistant on National Minorities),t
supposedly set up to aid natives like Carlito, was no help either.
In the meantime, the land was titled in 1975 to Ramon Gaspar of
Kisolon, Sumilao, who in turn leased it to ppe. Ramon Gaspar?
"A notorious land speculator;' comes the answer from a mem
ber ofthe Kisolon Sangguniang Bayan. A land speculator whose
lawyer just happened to be the very lawyer employed by ppe. A
* At the time of writing (1979), US $1 = 7 pesos approximately.
** This is in keeping with the Corporate Farming decree, issued on May 27,
1974, requiring corporations with 500 or more employees to grow or purchase
Carlito fought. He filed protest after protest with the Ma
laybalay Bureau of Lands, always receiving promises of action,
but, in reality, always finding inaction.
PPC waited until January 14, 1978, to move on its claim,
On that day, Max Magdaleno, a PPC canvasser, and two secur
ity guards came to Carlito' s field to begin the pineapple cultiva
tion on four hectares, Carlito approached them, questioning.
"PPC orders," was the reply. Carlito begged them to stop, to
wait for a Bureau of lands decision on his protest. "PPC or
ders," was the reply.
Carlito plowed off his own land.
"How can you help me?" he repeats. We walk to his field,
to see the land that he plowed only to have it replowed by PPC,
to see his house, his fruit trees, his corn plants. He stops in front
of a patch of green onion plants. "Take them!" he says dis
gustedly to some of the barrio girls who have accompanied us.
He points to the onions. "You might as well take them."
These are now PPC fields, these four hectares. PPC's, by
matter of force.
Carlito talks of using force to retake what is his, of planting
corn in the PPC furrows. PPC, however, lets it be known that it
has put chemicals in the soil that will kill the corn seed. Corn
seed is precious. And so the four hectares sit, waiting for
pineapple suckers to be planted.
Yes, PPC has offered to pay Carlito for his "improve
ments" (house, fruit trees, and the like). A thousand pesos or so
for all his sweat. Carlito snickers. It is his land he wants, not the
money. "If I have land, I can always take care of myself."
Carlito's land-his child-has been kidnapped.
As has the land of others. The statistic of 2259 indi viduals
in the PPC expansion area doesn't tell much. But with each, one
finds another tale of exploitation.
You people, you there behind the statistics, you come to
tell your stories.
Wilfred Marquez, you who have returned to your farm in
Vista Villa only to be held at gunpoint by PPC guards and
charged with the theft of your own corn. It is PPC land now, my
friend. It has been taken. And should you try to return again,
you will be shot. Are you content now with your job as a
part-time laborer at PPC? You, who labor on their land, while
their pineapples grow on yours.
You, Mr. Jeremis, man of twenty-two, you who have
toiled at San Roque for the past eight years of your youth. Where
is your house now? Carried off by PPC personnel so they could
cultivate your land, was it? After all, PPC did lease those six
hectares from a land speculator, and they did pay you 1,500
pesos for your improvements. What more could you want, my
friend?
Alena Listohan, you young orphan, you who inherited four
hectares of the plain from your parents. What has happened to
your inheritance now? How did Vicente Cadigan, PPC security
guard, obtain the Bureau of Lands title to your land, your
t Approximately two-fifths of the Mindanao-Sulu population of over 10 million
belong to the cultural minorities.
enough rice to feed their employees. Companies like PPC are finding that this
:;: PANAMIN is headed by Manuel Elizalde. a member of one of the live
can indeed be profitable.
wealthiest families in the Phi lippines.
3
parents' one gift? Ah, Alena, driven off your land to watch
pineapples planted in your wake.
You, Julianna Pasuelo, were you surprised when you re
turned from visiting your daughter that day, when you returned
to discover that the com you had planted on the three hectares
you rented from the farmer Sumanghid was no more, and that in
its place was brown soil, freshly plowed by PPC? Didn't the 500
pesos the farmer gave you soothe you? You, my friend, do you
think the farmer should have warned you in advance that he was
renting the land that was your life?
Sergio Paelden, you whose thirty years were ended by the
shots of three Sumilao policemen. Why were you walking
towards the municipal hall that day? Why did you clutch a bolo
(knife) in one hand and a plastic bag with your land papers in the
other'? Could it be that you were angry, my friend, angry
because your land at San Roque had just been leased to PPC by
another person?
You, farmers of Vista Villa, you whose com was trampled
by 400 head of PPC cattle. You had refused to lease the land to
PPC. And so PPC fenced its cattle nearby, and the cattle "es
caped" to wreck your crops. You, do you believe that a com
pany like PPC doesn't know enough to use steel bars for its
fences? Angered, you filed a complaint against PPC and the
absentee landlord, Jose Neri, charging harassment and unfair
labor practices. You three farmers, did you begin to feel help
less and powerless in your fight against PPC? Is that why you
eventually dropped the complaint and accepted the consolation
prize of 3,000 pesos and job promises that PPC offered you?
You, my friends, are you content, or do you miss the land that is
yours?
You, Fedal Suminao, you who have plowed your six
hectares since 1946. You who keep plowing, waiting, expecting
PPC to pounce. You, one of the ten men from San Roque who
say they will stand up to ppc. Ten against the power of a
multinational corporation intent on expansion. Ten who, like
Carlito, are kept alive by their land, not by money.
You, who live on the land, who as tillers ofthe land should
own the land. While instead Bureau of Lands hands out the land
titles under Free Patent or Homestead applications to others,
others who have never even seen that land- to Tirso Pimentel,
for instance, the Provincial Land Assessor, or to Jaime Pilotion
and Cadigal, PPC employees, or to persons working for the
Lims, those land speculators from Cagayan de Oro City. You
farmers to whom PPC offers to pay only for "improvements,"
if they offer to pay you anything at all before they push you out.
How much can you take, my friends? How much before you
explode?
On October 21, 1975, Higinio P. Sunico, the Chief of the
Land Management Division of the Bureau of Lands in Manila,
wrote a letter to the Sumilao "Sangguniang Bayan" (elected
assembly). From Manila, came the words:
According to investi{?ation ... about 70% o/lands in San
Roque are left abandoned; most ofthe lots are applied for by
absentee applicants; the abandoned lots are presently oc
cupied by persons other than the applicants; and some lots
are titled but unattended by the owners.
The letter continues, ending with a recommendation that:
. . . applications filed by absentee applicants be cancelled
and the lands covered thereby be allocated to the actual
occupants. Steps are now being taken by this Office to cancel
those applications accordingly. Regarding the entry and
occupation by some people on abandoned lots without the
consent and knowledge of the owners thereof. it is informed
that such act may be subject to further court litigation.
The words sound good. But they remain merely words,
like the words of various resolutions by the Sangguniang Bayan
itself.
On February 26, 1976, for instance, the Provincial Sang
guniang Bayan of Malaybalay passed a resolution ordering PPC
to ' 'temporarily suspend fencing of their rented lots and to pull
out temporarily existing fences giving way to the occupants to
cultivate in the meantime pending settlement of the conflict. "
Words.
On March 25, 1976, Felix Dela Cerna introduced a resolu
tion to Ferdinand Marcos in the Municipal Sangguniang Bayan
of Sumilao. The resolution was to decree capital punishment for
land speculation. The resolution passed, but the penalty was
changed from "capital punishment" to "a stiff penalty."
Words.
On April 20, 1976, the sixty families of the Barrio Pontian
condemned the Municipal Sangguniang Bayan for not imple
menting the resolution it had passed to limit PPe's expansion
area to 5,000 hectares. The people had come to know the futility
of such words, the meaninglessness of such promises. "Mayor
Sumbalan [of Sumilaol has connections with PPC," they whis
per. "There will always be words and no action."
Words can soothe a population for only so long.
The pressures on the small farmers of Sumilao are great.
They are pushed. They are shoved. Those who refuse to move
face the threat of having their rights-of-way cut off by PPC.
Those who continue to try to get land titles through Bureau of
Lands are told they must wait, or that they have no witnesses, or
that they are lacking the proper forms, or that their lands have
already been applied for, and, eventually, that they will be given
titles only if they promise to lease to ppc. And there in the title
of the land it says just that: I am the tiller and occupant of this
land provided I lease to Philippine Packing Company.
What about those who finally sign the lease, the Crop
Producer and Grower's Agreement? Their signature is affixed to
a ten page document of such intricate English that it is highly
unlikely that any know what they are signing. PPC can afford
the best legal minds, and the Crop Producer and Grower's
Agreement is testimony to their brilliance. In 25 paragraphs, the
lawyers produce what is in effect a lO-year lease, with PPC
maintaining the sole option to extend for another 16 years. The
lease does permit the farmer to grow the pineapple himself and
sell it to PPC for a share in the profit-provided he can meet all
of PPe's specifications. It is, however, the "producer" (PPC)
that "shall be the sole judge as to the amount and suitability of
equipment and labor and materials necessary and other im
provements required for an efficient and economical agricul
tural operation." And what small farmer has the capital or the
experience to do this? Who has the money to build a road if PPC
says it is needed? Who can afford the high-priced fertilizers PPC
deems necessary?
4
Should the grower discover he cannot meet these specifica
tions, he is directed to a letter that is attached to the Agreement.
There he signs a statement saying that the Agreement has' 'just"
been concluded "but due to the technical ability involved to
grow these crops and the sizeable amount of finances and
equipment needed, I cannot comply and meet this particular
condition. In view of this, I am giving the Company or your
representative the absolute authority to take over the entire
area ...
"
Clearly, PPC expects this letter to be signed. "Do you ever
buy pineapples from individual farmers?" I ask Henry Reyes of
the PPC Research Department. "Oh, no," he laughs. "Ba
nanas sometimes, but never pineapples. They don't have the
technical expertise." "What about this profit sharing?" I ask
Angel lavellana, a top PPC executive. "Oh that," he laughs.
"That's just for legal purposes. No farmer would understand
those terms. In fact, when we talk to them about the agreement
in the local dialect, we use the word that means lease. We're
really renting the land."
Without any real profit sharing, the people are given little
for their land. Two hundred pesos per year per hectare of arable
land, and 2 pesos per hectare of nonarable land is the price the
contract eventually sets. PPC, of course, is the sole judge of
what is defined as arable and what nonarable. And so, in San
Roque, one can see slightly sloping lots that have been classified
as nonarable, supposedly to be used as rights-of-way, but,
indeed, planted with just as many pineapple suckers as adjacent
flat areas classified as arable.
Again and again in the Agreement, the producer is given
the sole right to judge. The grower's books may be subject to an
audit by the producer's representatives. The producer's books
are completely restricted from the growers. The producer has
the right to terminate the contract at the end of any cycle.
Moreover, should "regulations or restrictions of any govern
mental authority" bind him, the producer may "be excused
from performance by reason of inability to perform:' The cards
are all stacked in favor of the producer. The grower gets little
except the right to continue paying the property taxes. And yet,
either not knowing better or not seeing himself as having any
other choices, he, the owner and tiller, signs.
But he does not merely sign the Agreement and the cover
letter. He also signs the bottom of eight blank pages. These are
for a map of your land, he is told by the representatives of the
company. The blank pages are perplexing. Why not have the
map drawn before the paper is signed? Why must it be a true
signature and not just a label by PPC? Why must it be signed at
the bottom of the page, and not at the top? The farmers, not
knowing better, sign, sign without questioning. Will the pages
be filled with lease extensions in later years? One can only wait
to see. "Not only have you just signed your land away,"
explains a local priest, "but you have signed away your wife
and seven children. "
Yes, your children are being sacrificed.
And you are being turned out from your land to join a
population of landless agricultural laborers.
Another family wants to tell tales of PPC and its land
grabbing expansion. Another Bukidnon farmer, trying to feed
his family from the Pontian Plains.
I go to the house to talk, to hear the story. It is night, the
dark, quiet night that those with electricity will never know. We
sit and drink coffee and eat rice cakes. Around us, the children
play. We sit and talk, But this time everything about PPC is
described as being wonderful. This time, there seem to be few
problems, few irregularities. This time, PPC seems the farmers'
friend.
I rise to leave. The farmer motions to a teenage boy who
comes toward me. "This is my nephew," the farmer says. "He
is visiting us. His father works for ppc."
The pieces fall into place. The people are scared. They
know PPe's power. They know it all too well. And they are
scared, some of them. Understandably, they are scared.
The PPC officials sit at their desks in a compound of white
buildings behind a tall fence at Camp Phillips, Manolo Fortich. I
pass through the gate and by the unifonned security guards.
Today I will be given an official tour of the PPC grounds. "Only
San ROljue. Bukidnan: subsistence farm in area "here DelMonte is
expanding (Broad).
because you're a young and beautiful girl-and negotiable,"
one of the secretaries confides to me. "You know, they
wouldn't do this if you were a boy. "
The Red Ford pickUp truck takes me first to the pride of the
PPC executives-Cawayanon, the executive compound. Large
suburban-type houses painted pretty colors sit behind plush
green lawns. One or two cars are parked in each driveway. We
pass the homes slowly. My guide is the most talkative here.
"This is Mr. Moran's house ... This is Mr. lavellana's house
. . . This is. . ." We stop at the clubhouse to watch the golfers
tee off. And back again past the homes. "This is Mr. Javellana's
house," my guide reminds me. "This is Mr. Moran's house
. . . This is ... " The compound is tightly guarded. It is
undoubtedly supposed to be the highlight of my tour.
We drive more quickly through the other housing areas. At
each, the buildings get smaller and smaller. The fancy exteriors
fade to weathered wood. The lawns disappear. Driveways be
come fewer. Cars are not to be seen. Electlic lines are no more.
5
The homes stand in neat rows, as if on graph paper, closer and
closer together. One can guess the level of the workers in each
compound. Here, the supervisors. Here, the office staffs. Here,
the drivers. Here, the field laborers.
The truck turns onto the grid of dirt roads that pass through
the plantation-through pineapple plants as well as papaya,
tomatoes, and other vegetables. The workers are in big straw
hats and netted masks, their faces hidden. They stoop over,
weeding, picking, checking. "Progre'ss," my guide notes suc
cinctly. He points to the line of workers, throwing the picked
pineapple from one to the other until it reaches the truck bed.
And then he points to another set of workers who follow a large
vehicle with wide wings of conveyor belts. The boom harvester,
PPe's newest joy. The workers bend over, plucking the pine
apple, placing it on the conveyor. No more tossing back and
forth from one to another. Mechanization. Speed. "Progress."
It is hot in the truck, much hotter outdoors. I look up to the
noonday sun. I watch them, bending over time and time agai.n.
The more fortunate receiving the minimum wage, I. II pesos an
hour. And only that for fulltime workers. Most of those outside
sweating receive the pay of the casual worker, less than 7 pesos
a day. But they and their families still have to live, a cost the
National Economic Development Authority (NEDA)* esti
mated in 1976 to be 45 pesos per day for a family of six.
My guide looks at his watch. "Too late," he notes. We do
not have time to travel through the pineapple plants to San
Roque, to the site of the expansion area. "Too bad," he says.
"The sunset is beautiful there."
You do not really want to talk to the workers, " the parish
priest at Camp Phillips has told me . 'They are biased. They will
not tell you the truth. If you want to know the facts, you must go
to the PPC office. "
The executives sit there, behind their desks, sit there
amidst all kinds of bound volumes filled with information that
they clearly have been instructed not to divulge to outsiders.
"How many workers do you have here at the plantation?"
I ask Angel Javellana who is in charge of the expansion program
in Sumilao.
Mr. Javellana, dressed all in white, smiles from behind his
desk, and explains that he's not very good at remembering
figures. The books remain closed. Both cattle and people are
under his domain, and he confesses, "I forget if I'm counting
heads of cattle or people. "
"How many hectares do you have here at the plantation?"
I ask time and time again.
It is a secret-highly confidential information. The figures
stay hidden within the pages ofthose books. "Oh, I don't really
know, maybe about 5,000 hectares," offers lavellana . , 11,000
arable hectares," says Marcelino Chan, Senior Department
Head of the Research and Development Division. "12,000
hectares owned and 4,000 more leased," guesses Henry Reyes,
one of the men in Chan's department.
And the expansion area?
"About 1,000 more hectares of arable land," Reyes says.
"I'm not good at statistics," Javellana repeats. "Maybe about
4,000 more hectares." He goes to a map on the wall to point out
the Ponti an Plain area, and explains to me why the whole
landgrabbing story is false. As he sees it, if his company were
* NEDA is the highest economic planning body in the Philippines.
really landgrabbing it would already control the whole contigu
ous area. But it doesn't. There are still individual farmers
scattered here and there. Point proven: PPC is not landgrabbing.
Wage levels?
., Most people are in the bracket above two pesos an hour, "
Reyes summarizes, after explaining the three categories of
workers-fulltime regulars whose base pay, as of April 16,
1978, is 1.64 pesos per hour, intermittent regulars whose base
pay is 1.50 pesos per hour, and seasonal regulars whose base
pay is 1.25 pesos per hour. No mention of the nonregular labor,
the casual workers, who make up 3,000 of the 5,000 plantation
workers. Three-fifths of the labor force, three-fifths whom PPC
executives find so easy to dismiss from their minds.
As Javellana sees it, the base pay for the regular workers is
1.54 pesos per hour. He explains that the base wage must be
negotiated with the union. "Don't say this too loudly, " he adds,
explaining one aspect of the labor situation in the Philippines
that is beneficial to PPC, "but, unlike the United States, we
don't have to negotiate anymore than this [the base pay]."*
The subject of wages is quickly changed. After all, what
are mere monetary wages that do not take into account all the
nonmonetary benefits for which a worker at PPC is eligible?
J avellana expounds on these: housing. . free water ... power
allowance ... subsidized schooling ... hospital (free up to a
certain point) ... pension....
"Do all workers get housing?" I question.
No, it turns out. Not really. PPC, you understand, has
expanded and a shortage of housing has resulted from this
growth. "Sound investment policy," Javellana explains. It just
would not be economically wise to put too much money into
new housing all at once. So, for example, only 24 homes in the
supervisors' compound are available for 45 eligible families.
Those left out will be given housing in the next lower' level
enclave. And the extra from there will be placed back one more
level. And so on, until it is the bottom segment of laborers who
are left without housing. "Many of them do not want to live here
anyway," Javellana offers. "They like to live in their own
barrios where they have always lived." Problem solved in his
mind. But what of the inequality of salary that thus results? The
lowest paid get the least benefits-no housing, no free water,
no power allowance.
What of legal arrangements with the Philippine
government?
Each man mentions the Laurel-Langley Agreement, the
Parity Agreement, which gives Americans the right to own land
in the Philippines. ("They gave us our independence and we
gave them this in return," goes the saying.) "It's just expired, I
think," says Reyes, "but (there are) exceptions for some com
panies, of course."
And the lease agreement with NDC that expires in 1988?
Javellana chuckles. He's not worried about that one. After
all, 'TII be retired by then. "
* A study by the accounting finn Sycip, Gorres, Velayo and Company com
pares the cost of labor throughout Southeast Asia. In almost every occupational
classification. the wages in the Philippines were the lowest. This low level of
wages has undoubtedly been strengthened by General Order #5 of 1972 which
prohibits strikes, assemblies, and collective bargaining.
6
Philippine Packing office again. Once more inside the tall, In March of 1978, it happens. Javellana and six others*
w'ell-guarded fences. To another desk in another department. come to San Roque. There is an air of temerity in the group of
"Asparagus," says the man behind this desk to me. He farmers who await them. Some Tanduay rum has flowed. Some
shame is put away. Some feeling of powerlessness leaves.
Together, there can be strength, even against ppc. The group
from Sumilao is ready.
"We demand to know your connections with the Bureau of
Land," says one of the 25 San Roque residents present. He
laughs aloud.
"And Carlito. We demand justice for Carlito." lavellana
looks to Carlito, asking his yield per hectare. "One kaban,"
Carlito answers honestly. He is promised compensation for that.
But money was not what Carlita Sumagpi wanted.
More demands come. "JavelIana's lips kept trembling,"
one observer tells me. Is it true? It does not matter really. All
that is important is that in the people's eyes they were trembling.
The people grew in stature and strength in their own view
grew enough to make a PPC official's lips tremble.
"It is an American company," Javellana repeats over and
over again, as if wiping away all blame.
Results of the confrontation? Answers to the petition the
people presented to the PPC representatives that day? As yet,
there is little in terms of concessions by PPC. But promises of
more confrontations. And the roots of solidarity among the
farmers of San Roque.
Outside the window, the barrio people weed the com. One
man sings a beautiful Visayan song, "Ngano?" "Why are my
people suffering?" it asks. He sings, seemingly to himself, but
really to the others.
He sings. And then there is silence.
"How do we get united?" he asks the people around him.
"In heaven," answers an old woman, bent over, hacking
at the weeds.
"But how do we get to heaven?" he asks.
There is silence. The people move about the rows ofthe tall
plants. Looking to each other. Silently.
"No," the man continues. "It has to be here. It must be
through acts here. "
There is silence. And then it is strains of "Ngano?" that
again fill the air. But this time, he does not sing alone.
Another man. Another pair of tattered pants. Another
"Bukidnon My Home" t-shirt. Another pair of calloused
palms, of muscular arms. Another pair of mud-stained feet.
* Included in the PPC contingent were Villanoy, the assistant to Javellana in the
Sumilao expansion program; Macaranas, in ~ h a r g e of feed operations; Abella,
the Barrio Development head; Magdaleno, an ex-barrio captain; and the canvas
ser and security guard from Vista Villa.
,
Dole
....
I
looks at me seriously, solemnly, and explains his dilemma. It
seems that PPC has begun to grow asparagus for the local
market. But, somehow, Taiwan asparagus is being imported to
the Philippines and sold more cheaply. "Smuggled in illeg
ally, " he suggests.
He continues, for this is only part of the asparagus prob
lem. "Filipinos do not yet eat asparagus very much." He looks
to future advertising campaigns to change this unhappy fact.
1 "Indeed," he muses, "Why shouldn't they eat asparagus every
d
ay.
?"
We talk further of advertising and of the awards PPC has
won for its past advertising campaigns. He points to an ad
posted on the cabinet door-a blonde-haired, dungaree-clad
woman lounging amidst the green; a Del Monte insignia in the
lower corner. He smiles. Perhaps there is hope for the aspara
gus market yet.
PPC's other markets present little problem. In fact, at 33.4
percent, its profit rate is extraordinary. The bulk of its money is
not made in the local markets but on its exports. Fresh pineapple
is shipped to Japan, while most of the canned product ends up in
Europe or the United States. Two out of every three cans of
pineapple in the United States are from the Philippines. And
what of the IO percent of PPC's goods that are sold locally?
Well, Del Monte appears to have few problems here either.
After all, those cans on the local shelves include the ones that
would not meet foreign health standards.
I
I
Still another family.
The father sits beside me. A man of some twenty-nine
years. Of dark skin. Dark penetrating eyes. He sits there,
I
wrapped in Muslim cloth, wrapped against the cool mountain
air. A Bukidnon like Carlita. A Bukidnon like the majority of.
the people who are being pushed by ppc.
"I am teaching my daughter irreverence," he tells me.
I look at him silently, questioningly.
"I can give her little," he continues. "I am poor. My
people are poor. But my heritage, my culture, must survive.
And so I give her irreverence. Because my people have been too
filled with shame to fight. They have felt too inferior to other
peoples to push back. And so I teach my daughter irreverence.
So she will stand up and fight for what is hers and what is ours."
The people of San Roque become angry. With anger comes
more boldness. They demand a confrontation with PPC officials
in charge of the expansion area, demand that these officials
come to San Roque to hear what they, the people, have to say.
D61e
CONTAINS CRUSHED PINEAPPlE AND PINEAPPlE JUICE
DISTRIBUTED BY CASTLE I COOKE FOODS
SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94111
ADIVISION OF CASTLE COOKE INC. !
HONOLULU. HAWAII 9lI802
PACKED AT DOLE PHllIPI'INES INC.
POLOMOL OK. SOUTH COTABATO
REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINES
pqODUCT OF THE REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINES
7
NUTRITION INFORMATION
PER SERVING SIZE 1CUP WITH JUICE; CONTAINS APPROX I SERVING.
CAlORIES 140 CARBOHYDRATES 35 GRAMS
PROTEIN 1GRAM FAT . 1GRAM
PERCENTAGE OF U.S RECOMMENDED DAILY AlLOWANCES (U.S. RDA) a
PROTEIN .. * RIBOFLAVIN 1%
VITAMIN A 1'1, NIACIN 2%
VirAMIN C 10% CALCIUM 1%
THIAMIN . 10% IRON .. '. 4%
*CONTAINS LESS THAN 2% OF THE U.S. ROA OF THIS NUTRIENT.
Another set of eyes filled with frustration and fatigue, flashing
with anger as his words begin.
"We, the people, give them a whole full platter," he says
of the encroaching corporation. "We serve them a full platter,
heaping full, for them to feast on. And what do we get in return?
One small measly teaspoonful. "
This time, the teaspoonful of which he talks is given not by
PPC, but by another of the agribusinesses invading the cultural
minorities of Bukidnon. That is, PPC is not an isolated case.
Unfortunately, there are others who repeat the saga of ppe.
The man talks of the Construction and Development Cor
poration of the Philippines (CDCP). In 1974, CDCP bought an
old ranch in Don Carlos, Bukidnon. The government changed
the lease from a pasture lease to an agricultural one, and CDCP
began growing rice and com under the Corporate Farming
program. It also kept livestock, and, by 1976, was growing
sugar for the nearby Bukidnon Sugar Corporation (BUSCO).
Like PPC, CDCP soon began to itch for expansion. It
increased its holdings to 4,000 hectares. This next year another
1,000 hectares is to be added. The expansion program hit
Maraymaray, a barrio of 80 families and 2,000 hectares. And
there, one sees the landgrabbing tactics of these big develop
ment ventures at work once more. It was the barrio captains that
COCP bought off to canvas the people and convince them to
leave their land. After all, they were told, it is useless to stay:
COCP will control all rights-of-way; you farmers will need a
pass to go through; you just won't be able to continue farming
here.
Not surprisingly, CDCP was able to acquire much of
Maraymaray. Its renting price was between 200 pesos and 250
pesos for the first year, with the promise of a yearly increase.
Most people, however, opted to sell the land-at CDCP's price
of 1,500 pesos per hectare for titled land and 1,000 pesos per
hectare of land untitled but under tax declaration-rather than
rent. Like PPe's Crop Producer and Grower's Agreement,
CDCP's conditions of rent made the people uneasy. The com
pany appeared to be given all the power. For example, ifCOCP
chose to install improvements on the rented land, it seemed
virtually impossible for the farmer to get out of the rental
agreement.
And so they sold. Except for twenty families, twenty who
will stand up and fight for what is rightfully theirs.
There is also talk of the San Miguel Corporation* coming
into Sumilao to grow coffee, although some say it is being
scared off by what it sees happening nearby at PCe's expansion
area. San Miguel has, nonetheless, already acquired 200 hec
tares. Estimations are that the company needs a total of 2,000
hectares before its operations would be profitable. It seems that
San Miguel is impressed with the success of PPe's leasing
contract, and would like to use something similar. In fact, word
has it that San Miguel is trying to get its hands on a copy of that
very Crop Producer and Grower's Agreement so it too can profit
from the legal minds at PPC.
A $48 million sugar mill with about 23,000 hectares for
milling contracts has also made its way into Bukidnon. This is
the Bukidnon Sugar Corporation (BUSCO), supposedly owned
by Robert Benedicto, although it is rumored that behind
Benedicto is Marcos himself. With BUSCO comes one more
national development project that is depriving the cultural mi
norities, this time the Manobos of southern Bukidnon, of their
lands.
In March 1976, twenty-five Manobo families were evicted
and brought to the Quezon parish school. Theirs is a story of a
weary fight against the powers of large corporations. The farm
ers had long lived in Barrio Butong in Quezon. Some were born
on those lands; others had tilled the soil for over 20 years. The
land. they thought. was theirs.
And yet, in 1974, the court, terming the Manobos squatters
on ranchland, decided in favor of the rancher Escano. The court
argued that the land, as forest land under special use, was
properly leased for pasture purposes, not agricultural. The rea
soning is intriguing-especially in light of the fact that Escano
turned around and sold the land to BUSCO for its sugar cane.
The 25 families stayed. They were not to be moved so
easily-at least not until they were given a place for resettle
ment. Even as BUSCO moved in, they stayed. They stayed
amidst constant harassment by BUSCO security guards as well
as by the local PCs (Philippine Constabulary). They stayed,
moving to their roofs when their doors and windows were nailed
shut. They stayed-until they were informed of an agreement
between Governor Lopez, the PC, and BUSCO that their
houses would not be destroyed until each family was resettled
on six hectares of land, with a house and a carabao. Only then
did they sign.
Words again. Mere words and promises. Easily broken.
On March 17 and 18, 1976, their homes were demolished
by the sheriff and 12 armed men. And the people, those 25
families? No six hectares. No home. No carabao. Only the
ground to sleep on during that cold, windy, rainy night, and, the
next day, the Quezon parish school.
Their neighbors, 40 more Manobo families, tell a similar
story. BUSCO had purchased their ancestral lands from Escano.
110 110. Panay hland: three U.s. ,oda companies compete atop old
Spani,h huilding. In ttlreground. a jeepney
* In 1976, SMC ranked fourth among Philippine corporations in net sales.
8
"The Guerilla Is Like a Poet"
by Jose Maria Sison*
The guerilla is like a poet
Keen to the rustle of leaves
The break of twigs
The ripples of the river
The smell of fire
And the ashes of departure.
The guerilla is like a poet.
He has merged with the trees
The bushes and the rocks
Ambiguous but precise
Well-versed on the law of motion
And the master of myriad of images.
The guerilla is like a poet
Enrhymed with nature
The subtle rhythm of the greenery
The outer silence, the outer innocence
The steel tensile in-grace
That ensnares the enemy.
The guerilla is like a poet.
He moves with the green brown multitude
In bush burning with red flowers
That crown and hearten all
Swarming the terrain as a flood
Marching at last against the stronghold.
An endless movement of strength
Behold the protracted theme:
The people's epic, the people's war.
* Sison is a Filipino poet and historian who has been detained. tortured and held
incommunicado since November 1977. This poem was supplied by the Philip
pine Research Center in Connecticut, U.S.A.
il
And once more, the company brought with it harassment and
destruction. This time, however, it was the PANAMIN main
office that sent,the orders to have the Manobos taken off their
land. PANAMIN, the supposed friend of the cultural minor
ities, ordered their evacuation. And so they were trucked in a
BUSCO vehicle like cattle, and dumped at the Quezon public
school and Catholic chapel. Dumped and left there. With little
food, little medicine, little shelter. It was there they lived for one
month. One long month.
Their promised resettlement did eventually come. They
were squeezed into the Dalurong PANAMIN reservation, a
1,300 hectare area which accommodated 200 families and was
to accommodate an increasing number of evicted Manobos.
Here again, BUSCO is the winner. PANAMIN plans for Dalu
rong include having the Manobos plant sugar cane on the sur
plus land (What surplus land? one wonders.)-and sell it to
BUSCO.
Justice?
Your lands, lands of years of life and death, grabbed by
BUSCO. And you, left to live and die in strange, new lands
while growing cane to feed the very mill that destroyed you.
1-alml), In San RllljUe I Broad I.
Rufo (" Dodong" ) Honongan, leader of the farmers at San
Roque, sits on the wooden bench there in the kitchen. His feet
are bare. His pants ragged. His face and arms deep brown from
the Bukidnon sun. A half-empty bottle of Tanduay stands in the
center of the table, stands in the middle of the five of us.
He looks at me. Our eyes meet and lock. "We will win, "
he says in slow, carefully enunciated English. His eyes flash.
His smile widens. It is a grim but sure smile. "We must win for
our children. "
There is silence.
He takes a gulp from his glass.
It is his voice that breaks the hush. "I will die for my
children's future. " He fingers the glass, but does not lift it to his
mouth.
The voices seem to explode.
No, we will not allow the sacrifice of our children-of our
land-and of our heritage-and of our very existence-to
continue.
Our children are being kidnapped.
We must fight for them.
9
j
Philippine "Normalization":
The Politics of Form
by Robert B. Stauffer
Third World nations, on the whole, have amply demon
strated that they cannot produce the ambiance for the democratic
institutions they inherited from their former imperial rulers. In
such poor nations, class cleavages are widening as a result of
structurally conservative development policies adopted by the
ruling elites in collusion with the First World. Elite attempts to
limit "politics" to the symbolic level, safely played out in
institutions largely insulated from any popular sharing in power,
have been frequently repudiated. Popular demands for struc
tural change in these countries have induced national elites to
dismantle representative institutions and to tum to more coer
cive methods of control.
There is mounting awareness of the unqualified horror of
Third World political repression, its massive, quantitative toll,
and the central role played by the United States in creating the
instrumentalities for destroying mass participation in politics
and for supporting such regimes. That awareness has led to
increasing public and private pressure, for a sharp break with
such practices.
As the linchpin in a global system that denies the right of
politics to those at the bottom and brutally represses attempts to
mobilize people for substantive change, the United States has
faced a formidable task. How could it fashion a global policy to
recapture something of its post-Vietnam "lost claim" to moral
leadership in the world and yet not weaken the repressive
regimes in the Third World that were the base of the capitalist
world economy? The answer provided by Carter has been sim
ply to reproduce on the world level a symbolic politics similar to
that utilized within the United States. Employ an untarnished
ideal-human rights in this case-as symbolic proof of
America's commitment to a new order in the Third World,
while making certain it would not be used to alter the structures
and uses of power internally and trans nationally .
The record of the American government's cynical attempt
to capture an emerging world public opinion of human rights for
its own use is still being written, even though many are becom
ing conscious of the blatant hypocrisy underlying its applica
tion.
2
Hopefully the American attempt will fail, since the revul
sion against political repression based on government-sanc
tioned terror is global, touching countless people. Victories in
narrow, specific areas-as in the winding down of murder by
"death squads" in Brazil's current "decompression" period,
or in the freeing of many political prisoners in Indonesia-may
blunt the edge of the human rights movement, especially since
so much of the movement is based on a narrow definition of
those rights. The prevailing definition carefully omits the
economic and social dimensions, and settles for an absence of
certain actions without demanding the presence of others.
The Phillippine campaign to "normalize" politics seems
to fit within the American attempt to regain the initiative at the
global level by seizing on a moral issue-human rights-and
using it in a highly selective and symbolic manner. In its
Philippine form, "normalization" seems to stress the purely
formal aspects of politics, to give less attention to human rights
issues associated with political prisoners (except to make much
of those released even as others are newly imprisoned). The
United States reinforces that form by not applying sanctions
despite the violations of the rights of political prisoners in the
Philippines.
This largely symbolic approach seems already to have
failed to convince the foreign media that anything significant
has been changed in the Philippines. Even less convinced are the
Filipinos who have had to live with the cascading economic
crises that have been their lot for the past several years, and with
the mounting evidence of a deepening corrosion in the New
Society brought on by the arrogance of power, the corruption of
the First Family, the militarization of society, etc. With open
talk about civil war commonplace, normalization can scarcely
be viewed a success.
Philippine Setting
For the past three years there has been talk in the Philippine
mass media about "normalizing" politics.
3
While there has
been almost no public discussion of what normalization would
look like when completed, each new modification in political
structure and practice is presented as a further step in the process
10
of achieving nonnalcy. A new referendum, an election, an
opening of a powerless assembly, a release of a group of
political prisoners, a shift to a greater use ofcivil courts for trials
of detainees-each is presented as a major step towards nonnal
ization. It is almost as if the process has become the goal, a sort
of Holy Grail component in the politics of the New Society; its
leader, meanwhile, makes the search for nonnalcy a major
theme in his articulation of public policy.
Any analysis of the Philippine attempt at nonnalization
must begin with a brief overview of the current political system
that is, putatively, being transcended. 4 It is a regime that fills the
mass media with messages of hope and accomplishment while
holding finn to the use of repression as an appropriate tool for
ruling;5 it is a regime that constantly proclaims its legality and
its adherence to constitutionalism and also simultaneously gov
erns on the basis of a myriad of presidential proclamations,
orders, decrees, etc., large numbers of which are not published
or are kept secret. 6 It is a regime committed to an ever increasing
rationalization of the associational life of the private sector
through corporatism, and, more importantly, to "develop
ment" above everything else. 7
This commitment to development is so overriding and so in
accord with the developmental models pushed by the regime's
transnational allies (the international aid dispensers, the foreign
banking community, and the multinational corporations) that
much of what has just been attributed to the regime has been
justified in its name. The demands of the foreign participants in
any Third World nation seeking rapid development are extreme
ly high and are well known. They demand political stability, a
favorable "investment climate," "liberalization" of the eco
nomy, etc. The internal consequences of the demands are also
becoming better known. To produce a "package" internally
that will "sell" externally, a Third World nation will, if it had
experienced a relatively open politics earlier, have to enforce
depoliticization on the public. This is necessary for at least two
central reasons. (I) Since all the externally-generated develop
ment models assume a conflict-free environment within which
experts decide on priorities for development, any previous
public involvement in affecting the outcomes of such decisions
must be ended. (2) Since the development model generated by
the transnational development community dispenses costs and
benefits in a grossly asymmetrical manner, depoliticization is
absolutely necessary to keep those who receive only "costs"
from demanding justice.
The regime-type that results from this confluence of de
velopmental interests has long been discussed, especially
among those concerned with Latin America. This discussion
has produced a number of definitions for the type, two of
which- "bureaucratic-authoritarianism"
8
and "associated
dependent development"9- capture the main meanings. More
recently the same phenomenon in Asia has bt<en subjected to
analysis, with considerable agreement among the various au
thors on the broad outlines of the type. 10 The discussion of the
Asian variant has, let it be noted, led to greater analytical clarity
and to an alternative description of the type: "repressive
developmentalist regimes." 1 1 All the authors agree that the
Philippines under martial law falls centrally within the ideal
type.
What then can nonnalization mean in a regime that can best
I be typed as "repressive-developmentalist?" All indications
point to a continuing absolute commitment to developmental-
ism despite the costs 12 and to mounting tensions generated by
both the successes and the failures of the attempt. In the face of
these fonnidable constraints, one can only marvel at Marcos'
brilliant political maneuvering.
13
In fact, one is reminded of
Churchill's version of an old saying: "Dictators ride to and fro
upon tigers which they dare not dismount. " The breathtakingly
swift overthrow of the Shah of Iran and of Somoza in Nicaragua
is vivid testimony to the existential reality behind this conven
tional wisdom, but even the transfonnations in recent years in
Greek, Spanish, and Portuguese regimes discount the notion
that an incumbent authoritarian leader is likely to survive the
process of system transfonnation to a more open politics. 14
As already implied, there are, of course, other short-tenn
solutions to the nonnalization dilemma. One can seek outside
confinnation that the regime is acceptable, nonnal, even demo
cratic. 15 This sort of confinnation is relatively easily obtained
by favored client states under conditions of crisis. At the very
height of the Carter human rights campaign, for example, his
chief spokesman, lody Powell, suggested the infinite flexibility
of that concept by tenning the murderous Mobutu regime of
Zaire" a moderate government. " 16 Moreover, since the OECD
nations have long had warm, close relations with selected Third
World nations, the overwhelming majority of which are at best
authoritarian polities, nonnalcy becomes an even more mooted
issue.
Whenever asked when he will lift martial law, Marcos
has just restated his intention to do so. Pressured by
the opposition late in 1979, he promised that "after 18
months, if the economic crisis has not worsened, I will
consider the matter of lifting martial law."
Another short-tenn solution is to carry out a campaign of
minor, cosmetic changes within the system and to label them as
marking major advances in nonnalization and democratization.
This seems to have been done in the Philippines. In examining
these changes in detail, let us begin by looking at the question of
nonnalization in the Philippines as articulated by Marcos and
others.
Philippine Normalization: The Marcos Position
In his many speeches as a senator, later as the president,
and still later in his books, Marcos has talked at length about
democracy. During much of the martial law era-imposed
September 21, 1972-he argued that his move to "crisis gov
~ r n m e n t " advanced democracy as did the new participatory
institutions he created to replace those overthrown. Critics at
home and abroad insistently refused to buy the argument, how
ever, that "voting" in national martial law referenda in which
there were no alternatives constituted the exercise of democratic
citizenship. Likewise voting for the membership in the new
barrio-level Barangay Assemblies hardly seemed like the exer
cise of democracy when the effective leadership at the local
government level remained in the hands of officials who owed
their positions to Marcos and were tightly controlled through
several central government administrative agencies.
II
1
I
Unable to convince his critics that his existing set of martial
law institutions represented a satisfactory "democratic" system,
Marcos began in late 1976 to admit the failure by talking about
nonnalization, always in a framework that implicitly admitted
the gap between his martial law rhetoric and reality.
Talk about nonnalization became commonplace in 1977.
continued through 1978 and 1979, and can be expected to
remain on the Marcos agenda in the immediate future. During
the early part of this period emphasis was placed on the creation
of a new national assembly; since the 1978 national elections
more attention has been given the question of local elections and
the lifting of martial law .
The latter two issues illustrate the rich manipulatory pos
sibilities inherent in nonnalization. Marcos repeatedly stated his
willingness to hold local elections, and often promised them for
relatively specific dates only to alter those dates later under one
or another escape clause he provided himself. 17
On one occasion in 1978 he gave a somewhat more candid
explanation for not holding these elections. After stating that he
had no intention of calling local elections immediately, he went
on to say:
We have not recovered from the divisiveness of the last one.
To speak of local elections now is to invite disaster. For it
would guarantee the rechanneling of the energies ofthe IBP
As many in the opposition have pointed out, the lifting
of martial law in itself will not bring profound changes.
It will also be necessary to dismantle the complex maze
of presidential rules that have restructured the Philip
pine polity.
(Interim Batasang Pambansa) members and of the citizenry
towards factionalism and petty party or group conflicts.
Members of the IBP and our citizenry would be more in
terested in the victory of their local political organizations
than in the task ofthe IBP. 18
This view of politics, if adherred to strictly, would, of
course, preclude there ever being local elections-or national
for that matter. To expect elections to take place without '"fac
tionalism" and party and group conflict is to hold to a view of
politics that may well accord with authoritarianism, but not with
democracy. 19 In another speech at about the same time Marcos
revealed more of his view of politics when he complained about
the 1978 election campaign in these words: '"It has compelled
the First Lady and me to move into the hustings to protect not
only the good name of our family-not only the President, the
First Lady, and our children- but also the entire government. "
After making clear his disapproval of having been forced to
defend his policies publicly, he went on to say: " ... [Hjow can
you now stand up before any other country and say that our
people are politically mature and that we are democratic and
that we conduct our politics with dignity if not elegance?"
(emphasis added). 20
Anxious that the form of Philippine elections should pre
sent a proper picture of dignity and elegance for foreign view
ers, Marcos indicated in 1978 that he would remove all local
officials whose constituencies had lost trust in them and who
had revealed themselves as inefficacious. Only after he had
replaced them would he consider holding local elections. More
over, he went on to state that" ... even more important to
political nonnalization than the mere calling of elections, is the
strengthening of the structure and administration of local gov
ernment. "21 Local elections were finally held (January 30.
1980), dramatically called the end of December, 1979 nearly a
full year before any previously mentioned date. Much of the
opposition boycotted the elections or were prevented by Marcos
from fielding slates of candidates. Consequently the local elec
tions produced a 98% victory for his Kilusang ng Bagong
Lipunan (New Society Movement-KBL), but not the digni
fied and elegant form of electoral democracy that he seems to
need. Rather, the elections produced widespread charges of
vote-buying, ballot box stuffing, intimidation, violence, and
corruption. 22
Whenever asked when he will lift marital law , Marcos has
just restated his intention to do so. Pressured by the opposition
late in 1979, he promised that "after 18 months, iftheeconomic
crisis has not worsened, I will consider the matter of lifting
martial law." 23 He added that he also needed martial law
powers' to complete the "cleanup" of the government and to
"find a peaceful solution to the Mindanao secessionist prob
lem," issues that should provide sufficient cover for an endless
delay in fulfilling his promise.
As many in the opposition have pointed out, the lifting of
martial law in itself will not bring profound changes. It will also
be necessary to dismantle the complex maze of presidential
rules that have restructured the Philippine polity. If Marcos
retains his presidential powers' 'for life," as he apparently will,
he will have complete authority to reimpose similar constraints
in the future. Moreover, the whole repressive machinery of the
"intelligence community" has been expanded under martial
law-there are now some seven civil and military intelligence
networks currently keeping tab on Filipinos
24
-and can be
expected to continue after the fonn of civil society has been
restored.
False Starts
Before examining in more detail what Marcos says he
thinks the nonnalization of politics in the future should entail,
let us review the various false starts. He sought a suitable
representative form through which an assembly could share
those legislative powers he saw fit to confer on them. His initial
plan, incorporated in the constitution of 1973 that was accepted
in open voting by hastily convened citizens' assemblies, was to
generate an interim legislature made up of two groups: a) those
members of the abrogated Philippine congress who would af
finn leyalty to the new constitution and agree to serve in an
interim National Assembly; and b) all those in the Constitutional
Convention who voted affirmatively for the final version of the
document. Marcos soon discarded these plans, perhaps remem
bering the heavy political costs he had had to pay to manipulate
the Constitutional Convention delegates prior to martial law . He
also may have pondered the fact that non-overlapping member
ships would have made for a very large legislative body. After
12
toying for a time (1973-1975) with the possibility of building a
national structure directly on his newly created Barangay as
semblies, he moved to create a complex structure of local
councils-Sangguniangs-culminating through successive
levels in a national federation and holding several huge national
meetings to discuss the question of national representative
bodies. At almost the same time Marcos created a Legislative
Advisory Council, made up of ex-officio officers and others
appointed by himself. Within a month of creating that council
(in September 1976), he held a national referendum largely to
amend the constitution to provide for a type of interim national
assembly other than the one provided for in the constitution. 25
Once that amendment had been passed and elections announced,
the main question of normalization was whether or not Marcos
would permit an opposition to contest the election. Subsequent
Iy, everyone wondered whether the Interim Batasang Pamban
sa (IBP) created by that election would tum out to be more than a
hollow shell ensconsced as it was by the summer of 1978 in an
elegant new parliament building, richly outfitted with all the
trappings of wealth and power.
The answer to the first question is now well known. Limit
ed campaigning by the opposition was permitted by Marcos in
Manila and in one or two other major cities. When the elections
-at least in Manila-clearly threatened to expose the total
rejection of urban Filipinos of the New Society, the martial law
regime resorted to massive fraud to assure the victory of its
(KBL) slate.
26
Immediately after the election the opposition
was crushed through mass arrests and other forms of repression,
although a handful of non-KBL assemblymen from southern
districts does sit in the IBP.
The answer to the second question cannot be as final
because the Interim Batasang Pambansa is only now finishing
its second year of life. Marcos views its existence as proof that
normalization has been almost completed. As he stated in his
address at its opening in June 1978: "Today, we manifest in
formal form a shift from authoritarianism to liberalism against
the trend of history which claims the irreversibility of the drive
towards authoritarianism and centralism."27 He went on to talk
about the continuing' 'normalization of our political life; , and
noted that "perhaps most important ... this Assembly is itself
a manifestation of it." 28 Later in the same speech he expressed
the view that" [W]e face in this Assembly the culmination of the
challenges and trials that had engaged our historic congresses of
the past, the fateful test of our national capacity for making
constitutional democracy our unfailing instrument to national
vitality and progress. "29
In the same address, however, Marcos made clear to the
IBP assemblymen that he alone had the ultimate power, that his
power did not flow from a political party with a majoritarian
mandate to rule. As he phrased it, " ... by their generosity, our
people have given me a direct constitutional mandate, "30 a
permanent life grant that, as a result of a plebiscitary referen
dum, "vests in the incumbent President and Prime Minister the
continuing power to legislate." Marcos saw fit to include the
point in his welcoming speech to the Assembly members. He
continued by saying he hoped that he would not have "to
deprive the Interim Batasang Pambansa the opportunity to
discharge its legislative authority," but that he would use his
"standby powers to effect necessary and urgent legislation"
should the legislature not act in an "alert and competent"
fashion. The "principle of standby powers for the presidency"
was immediately repeated and tied with the need to "secure
stability of government. " That requisite, in tum, was immedi
ately linked with a warning that" ... it is hardly the intent of
our people that the sharing of power diffuse the national will to
develop and modernize. "31 Armed with a continuing commit
ment to developmentalism-with all the power that ideology
gives to the executive branch, backed up by its technocrats, and
at the expense of the legislative-and clothed in constitutional
legal isms designed to give credence to his claim that he per
manently holds ultimate power in the Philippine political sys
tem, Marcos opened the New Society's first legislature.
To date the record of the Interim Batasanf Pambansa is not
impressive. Long periods of time have been spent in organiza
tional squabbles; more has been spent over matters of pay and
travel allowances. Since the planned IBP Record has not yet
been published, only newspaper accounts of the work of the
Assembly are available to evaluate its work. One summary of
laws passed at the end of the first regular session suggests
that not a single item of any significance survived: only bills
changing the name of a town or creating a new one, or making a
change in licensing regulations-tasks that might well have
been accomplished administratively without overstepping the
boundaries of regulatory competence- were signed into law. 32
Moreover, the flow of presidential decrees, orders, proclama
tions, etc., continues. 33
What the short-term experience suggests is that Marcos has
created a legislature more in keeping with those found in other
Third World nations committed to the same developmental
strategy. Like the congress of Brazil, the IBP can be expected to
playa "legitimating role for the regime, "34 and to be well-paid
and extravagantly housed and provisioned as part of the bargain.
Normalizing the regime includes the vitally important poli
tical act of defining what the new normalcy will be. Marcos has
made it clear that the new normalcy will include a legislature
that, while democratic inform, will, like the elections, be safely
under authoritarian controls. As one of the handful of opposition
assemblymen put it: "The IBP is a puppet parliament and a
democratic facade for an authoritariam regime. "35
Much has been said about Marcos' political attitudes in this
discussion of normalization because he is central to the whole
program. Before moving on to examine the positions held by
other Filipinos on the subject, I would like to probe a bit deeper
13
I
I
[
into his political values. He holds up as an ideal his "crisis
leadership" as a guide to the type of leadership he expects to
work towards with the Interim Batasang Pambansa. He con
stantly warns against divisiveness, against any "bifurcated vis
ion of the national future, "36 against factionalism and "politi
cal combat to the detriment of public welfare, "37 and he says he
seeks a politics that is calm, mature, and that is conducted "in
the spirit ... of elevated democratic dialogue. "38 His model of
politics all came together in his reactions in public criticism
the first that he has had to face since imposing martial law nearly
six years earlier-during the 1978 election campaign. As al
ready noted he voiced irritation and resentment that he and
Imelda had been forced to "move into the hustings" as he put it.
He did not remain content with voicing his pique: rather he
moved to the attack and charged that the criticisms directed at
him in the campaign were all part of a plot by the Communist
MlInar) opc:ratlon 10 Mara"" I Cn),. MlOdanao. Photo b)' L Wa,hburn
Party of the Philippines' 'to create a revolutionary situation. " 19
He then went on to claim that his intelligence agencies had
prepared a report: "I have in my possession this report which
contains this political transmission coming from the higher
headquarters of the Communist Party ofthe Philippines. "40 The
phraseology will call up bitter memories from Americans who
remember back to the era of McCarthyite repression in the
United States.
Philippine Normalization: The Opposition View
This is not the place to attempt to outline the beginnings of
the much needed analysis of the various groups in the Philip
pines who have been working since 1972 to end martiallaw.
4t
There is, of course, a considerable literature on the Communist
Party of the Philippines, after which detailed analysis drops to
nearly zero. There are papers on the Church opposition to
martial law ,42 on the opposition press and on labor in the New So
ciety,43 and certainly considerable foreign press commentary,
none of which has yet been pulled together. What I will attempt
here is a survey of the considerable areas of agreement relative
to normalization contained in the statements of various opposi
tion groups.
Once Marcos had decided to build normalization around
the Interim Batasang Pambansa (October 1976) and elections
of assemblymen, discussions of the subject began to appear in a
number of circles. The service clubs provided one venue for
elite participation in the debate. Jovita Salonga, for example,
gave a speech at the Makati Rotary Club in June, 1977, in which
he called for the full dismantling of martial law , the granting of
total amnesty to all political prisoners, and the complete restora
tion of press freedom. 44 (This speech was in answer to Marcos's
claims at the time that liberalization of the regime had already
assured the protection of human rights.) A few months laterTito
Guingona, speaking before the Ermita Lions Club, hammered
the point home even more firmly by arguing that to equate
normalization with merely lifting martial law would not be
enough. He demanded that all the presidential proclamations,
decrees, orders, etc., be repealed along with the structures that
they had created. He ended with the plea "Let us indeed return
to normal, but let us do so in substance-not just in trappings."4s
Somewhat later in the same year-November 30, 1977
a number of individuals roughly representing this same point of
view issued a "Citizens' Manifesto" in which they reviewed
the repressive record of the martial law regime, analyzed the
issues facing the people in the forthcoming referendum, and
recommended that people boycott that referendum and press for
free and honest elections at all levels, under an amended con
stitution if nece'ssary and with martial law suspended.
46
These
demands are currently part of the program of this same group's
more recent organizational form, the National Union for Demo
cracy and Freedom (NUDF), created early in 1979.
During the period leading up to the 1978 IBP elections, the
National Democratic Front spoke directly to the issue of normal
ization in these words contained in its ten-point program: 'The
pledge of 'normalization' by the fascist dictatorship is a big lie.
Elections under its dispensation cannot but be a farce. These can
be no different from all previous 'referendums' which have
mocked the people's sovereignty and democratic processes."47
Prior to the 1978 elections the Communist Party of the
Philippines issued a lengthy memorandum in which it con
demned the "campaign" ofthe "U.S.-Marcos fascist dictator
ship ... (to) restore 'normalcy' in the country."48 The mem
orandum claimed that the "campaign" sought to use the Philip
pine elections and the establishment of the IBP as a "victory" of
the Carter administration's "human rights campaign." Further,
the normalization campaign was pictured as ". . . intended to
deceive national liberation movements throughout the world
into thinking that U.S. imperialism is changing its stripeS."49
The CPP ended by urging voters to boycott the elections. And
although the same memorandum attacked people like Salonga
and others as leaders of the "reactionary camp," Salonga at
about the same time gave an address in which he charged that the
,.Batasang Pambansa. . . is nothing more than a rubber-stamp
legislative body, whatever the high-sounding pretensions of
either the candidates or the high officials of the Government. . .
14
Regardless ... of whether elections are held or not ... there
will be no real change in the system of government ... The
President calls the system ... 'constitutional authoritarianism.'
The more precise term for it, of course, is dictatorship."5o
This brief overview shows a common and acute awareness
of the manipulative aspects of the elections and the IBP. It also
outlines the two major axes of the struggle: the one between
Marcos and the combined opposition, and the second between
the differing opposition groups. Armed resistance by the New
People's Army is increasing while the Moro National Liberation
Front [MNFL] continues to defy Marcos' armed forces. New
pressures have come from groups such as the NUDF and from the
Church. All seem well aware that the legitimacy and authority
of the regime has eroded as economic crises have pressed in and
as the contradictions of the development model have produced
their heavy costs. And together they are further evidence that the
prospects for normalization becoming more than an exercise in
symbolic mystification remain slim.
The Transnational Politics of Normalization
The usual hurdle of government secrecy makes any full
account of American involvement in recent Philippine politics
impossible to research or write. Enough has been pieced to
gether by now, however, to establish firmly the American sup
port given Marcos both prior to imposing martial law and since
the start of the New Society. 51 Less clear is the role the United
States has played in the normalization campaign. As has been
noted, the CCP memorandum during the 1978 elections cam
paign charged that the United States had been pushing the
creation of the Batasang Pambansa and the elections for its
assemblymen so that it could legitimize the many gains that
Americans had made in the Philippines under martial law. 5 2
During the same election period the Civil Liberties Union of the
Philippines (CLUP) issued a statement on the elections and on
the IBP in which it noted that the American ambassador to the
Philippines had decried the lack of any institutionalization in the
New Society to handle problems of transition" ... if and when
the current arrangement passed:' The CLUP statement went on
to claim that the United States government was putting pressure
on Marcos to create a parliament to achieve this '"institutionali
zation:'53
Since the full normalization campaign in the Philippines
has been played out during the Carter administration and against
the backdrop of his' 'human rights" program for other nations,
some brief mention must be made of its visible features. A group
of American legislators took the Carter program seriously and
pushed to have the Philippines included among those nations
from whom military assistance would be withheld because of
violations of human rights. The Carter administration had re
fused to include the Philippines on the list because of national
security interests. The best that the legislators could achieve was
a very minor symbolic cut in the total aid package for the 1979
budget. When in the spring of 1979 the same group attempted to
repeat their message of displeasure to the White House and to
Marcos, Carter directly intervened and applied strong pressure
to make sure that Congress voted all of the enlarged (up 163%)
"aid" (largely military) package for 1980, newly promised
under the 1979 military bases agreement. 54 The supine Con
gress gave him the full amount. 55
The primary use of the Carter human rights package in the
Philippines seems always to be directed to immediate political
concerns of the United States. It seems apparent that the human
rights issue was used to push the Philippines towards the form of
normalization already described, in the belief that a purely
symbolic approach would work and that the "gains" of martial
law could through this tactic be institutionalized. After the 1978
elections, excepting for a brief flurry of American legislative
resentment over the way the Marcos regime severely damaged
the democratic facade by arresting some 500 people the day
after the election (including many of the small handful of people
who had dared to stand as opposition candidates), the human
rights issue came to be used frequently in the haggling between
the U. S. and the Philippines over amendment of the bases
agreement. Critics in the U.S. Congress, generated largely
around the human rights issue, were used as a weapon to push
The primary use of the Carter human rights package
in the Philippines seems always to be directed to im
mediate political concerns of the United States. It seems
apparent that the human rights issue was used to push
the Philippines towards the form of normalization
already described, in the belief that a purely symbolic
approach would work and that the "gains" of martial
law could through this tactic be institutionalized.
t
t-.larav. i
15
I
I
I
Marcos to accept a figure for use of the bases that was far short of
what Marcos reportedly had been promised at the end of 1976.
AU. S. senator is said to have infonned Marcos that any larger
figure would never pass the U.S. Congress 56
With the January 7, 1979, signing of the agreement be
tween the two nations under which the United States would
continue under new tenns to use military bases in the Philip
pines, the Americans conferred on the Marcos regime new
public approval. Except for the "slip" on April 8th following
the 1978 elections, the Philippine government delivered all that
the Americans needed-the appearances of democracy and the
bases. The United States appears happy with this politics of
fonn, a conclusion that approaches a tautology. 57
Conclusions
To reiterate, since President Marcos has retained an abso
lute commitment to a continuation of "crisis leadership" (now
to be shared on his tenns and under his control with the 8ata
sang Pambansa) nonnalization turns out to be merely an at
tempt to institutionalize
58
the existing repressive developmental
regime in new symbolic fonns that do not compromise the
central organizing principles of that regime. Nonnalization seeks
to provide pennanency and legitimacy to the New Society by
claiming that substantive changes have been made in its political
culture and decisional framework while all the time maintaining
unchanged the defining features of that polity.
This is certainly not to say that the "nonnalized" New
Society will not "succeed"; finnly "institutionalized" regimes
of this type provide moderately long periods of "stability"
before being swept away. A few survive the transition crisis
accompanying the death of the supreme leader and proceed later
to redefine the content of the inherited political fonns. In most
cases, however, the search for stability in poor societies. mas
sively exploited both from without and by local elites. must be
chimerical.
Finally, although direct evidence is sparse, transnational
allies have been part of the politics of nonnalization.
59
The
various international funding agencies have from the start show
ered the Marcos regime with money and support, clearly indic
ative of their approval of the developmental policies guiding the
New Society. While there is no public record of any pressure
coming from that source in the nonnalization campaign, the
most important voice in those agencies is the United States. By
signing a new agreement with the Philippines on the use of
military bases, the United States has given a stamp of approval
to the results of the nonnalization campaign. The decision to
sign rather than to stretch out the negotiations indefinitely gave
public notice that the United States government thinks that the
New Society will be relatively pennanent. Moreover the U.S.
support demonstrates that, even in an era of' 'human rights:' the
lynchpin of the transnational system is quite content to accept
fonnalistic democratic institutions and procedures-the poli
tics of fonn- as appropriate for one of its favored Third World
allies.
It seems improbable, however, that a policy that has failed
so frequently elsewhere will succeed in the Philippines, espe
cially under conditions of heightened economic crisis, mount
ing armed resistance, and broad-based opposition coupled with
the spreading feeling of regime decay. Symbolic politics works
badly enough in the United States. When applied in a transpar
ently dishonest manner, as in the Philippines under the policies
of nonnalization, and under conditions of mounting economic
crisis and militant opposition, it may well serve to hasten the
overthrow of yet another repressive-developmentalist regime. *
Notes
* A preliminary version of this paper was presented at a meeting of Asian
Studies, Pacific Conference (ASPAC), June 15, 1979. at the Evergreen State
College. Olympia, Washington.
I. See Murray Edleman for an analysis of symbolic politics in the United
States: Political Lanliuage. Words That Succeed and Policies That Fail (New
York: Academic Press, 1977), and his earlier books.
2. Several political cartoonists-Feiffer and Trudeau ("Doonesbury")
- have exposed this hypocrisy in bitter-almost gleeful-explorations of the
depravity involved in the Administration's cynical use of human rights for its
foreign policy objectives. For a comprehensive and serious treatment of the
subject, see Noam Chomsky and Edward Herman, The Political Economy of
Human Rights (Boston: SouthEnd Press, 1979) in two volumes. An excerpt
from their study appeared in the Bulletin ,,(Concerned Asian Scholars. Vol I I,
No. 2 1979), pp. 40-68.
3. The theme of normalization began to appear in the period leading up to
the October 1976 referendum at which time the new constitution was amended
to make way for the Interim National Assembly (Batasang Pambansa).
4. See Kit G. Machado for a fine earlier analysis of the normalization
campaign and of the political situation, "The Philippines in 1977: Beginning A
'Return to Normalcy'?", Asian Survey, 18:2 (February 1978).
5. See the Report of an Amnesty International Mission to the Republic of
the Philippines (London: Amnesty International); The Decline of Democracy in
the Philippines (Geneva: International Commission of Jurists, 1977): and Wal
16
13
den Bello and Severina Rivera (eds.), The Logistics ojRepression (Washington,
D.C.: Friends of the Filipino People, 1977).
6. See Bishop Francisco F. Claver, The Stones Will Cry Out (Maryknoll,
NY: Orbis Books, 1978), p. 178. For a remarkable insight into the intratechno
cratic politics of "decree-making:' see Raul P. de Guzman and Associates.
"Citizen Participation and Decision-Making under Martial Law Administra
tion: A Search for a Viable Political System," paper presented to a conference
on The Political Economy of Development in the Philippines, December 1974.
7. See the author's "Philippine Corporatism: A Note on the 'New Soci
ety' . " Asian Sur...ey 17:4 (Apri I 1977), and, for a discussion of the ideology of
developmentalism. "Philippine Authoritarianism: Framework for Peripheral
. Development' ," Pacific Affairs 50:3 (Fall 1977).
8. Guillermo ODonnell. Modernization and Bureaucratic-Authoritari
anism: Studies in South American Politics (Berkeley: University of California,
Institute of International Studies, 1973).
9. Fernando Henrique Cardoso, "Associated-Dependent Development:
Theoretical and Practical Implications," in Alred Stepan (ed.). Authoritarian
Brazil (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), and Fernando Henrique
Cardoso and Enzo Falette, Dependency and Development in Latin America
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979).
10. See especially the paper by Kit G. Machado "AuthOIitarianism in
Southeast Asia: Depoliticization as an Approach to Problems of Conflict and
Power," paper presented at the American Political Science Association meet
ing, September 1978. Also the author's "Philippine Martial Law; The Transna
tional Politics of an Authoritarian Regime," Current Affairs Bulletin (March
1979), and Joel Rocamora's "The New Authoritarian Ideology in Southeast
Asia," SOlltheast Asia Chronicle 65 (November-December 197B).
II. Herb Feith. "Repressive-Developmentalist Regimes in Asia: The
Search for Hope." paper presented at the Poona Conference of the World Order
Models Project, July 1978.
12. When the World Bank pulled back in late 1978 from funding the Chico
River dams because of mounting world pressure concerned over the high human
costs to the 100,000 Kalinga people affected, it was reported from Manila that
Marcos had sounded out the Soviet Union as an alternative source and that the
Russians had indicated a willingness to provide the funds. AnI( Katipunan,
December 1-5. 1978.
13. See David Wurfel, "Martial Law in the Philippines: The Methods of
Regime Survival," Pacific Affairs 50: I (Spring 1977) for an insightful analysis
of this politics. Marcos has long relied on public opinion polls and massive
public relations campaigns at home to help' 'manage" the public. More recently
he has contracted with an American public relations firm - Doremus and Com
pany-to improve the regime's image in the United States. Philippine Libera
tion Courier, March 10, 1978, p. 6.
14. See John H. Herz. "On Reestablishing Democracy afterthe Downfall
of Authoritarian or Dictatorial Regimes:' Comparative Politics 10:4 (July
1978).
15. One can also attempt brazenly to redefine reality, e.g., by claiming
that the New Society does protect human rights, a tack that Marcos has taken at
many international meetings held in Manila. and that one of his top technocrats
Gerardo P. Sicat. recently took in statements to the press while on a trip to the
United States. Cf. Honolulu Star Bulletin. November 8, 1978, pA8.
16. Washington Post. May 19. 1978, quoted in Geoffrey Barraclough,
"The Struggle for the Third World," New York Review. November 8, 1978,
pA8.
17, One version of the pledge for holding local elections was made in
September 1979 at which time he also mentioned the possibility of holding
national elections for a permanent national assembly in 1984. Manila Journal,
October 29-November 4, 1979, p. I. Also see" 'Normalization'-A U.S.
Marcos Charade," for an analysis of the protracted on-again, off-again promises
by Marcos of local elections. The analysis concludes that they had been post
poned because Marcos feared that they would be used by the Manila-based elite
opposition to gain strength in the countryside. Philippine Liberation Courier.
February 23,1979, pp. 6-7.
18. The President/Prime Minister's Address at the Inaugural Session of
the Interim Batllsang Pambansa. June 12, 1978. Official Gazette. June 19,
1978, p. 4784. Outside observers of the election generally agreed on an alterna
tive view of reality. one in which massive fraud was used by the government to
assure its landslide victory. For the accounts of two highly respected scholars
each of whom was on the scene during the elections, see George McT. Kahin.
"Testimony on the Philippines" before the Subcommittee on International
Relations, House of Representatives, April 27, 1978, and Carl H. Lande. "The
April 7th Election in Manila. A Brief Report," Philippine Studies Newsletter 6:3
(June 1978).
19. Interestingly and revealingly, Marcos stated in late 1978 that he had
set as a prerequisite to the holding of local elections the formation of a
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manufaetllTlng leather good,,, and machine ,mJ
motoreyrle p;lrh, na<.,h hulh, ,111U golf and textunz('d fX1lyesteT
All making fur cxport to the All makmg prohts Smlill \'ilmJeT then
that aTC m:lkmg the
move there l'Vl'ry Jay.
Til <lllrnLt Ulmp,mll'\ like
these, amlllkc y()urs, (() milke the
Bataan Export Zone tru!)
onenf the mo\t c,lpual
Investment 10 thc cntlTc
world, the governmcot of the
hilS "pent O\'l'l SHill
Il1Jiho!l to level mountaln\,
r;IZl' fill movc
relm,ltl' \'dLlgc\,mu In thl'lT pLlel'
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cenllT ,1l1J ,lltIXllT\' hotel
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l\nJ thl'\ 'vc Jone m()fC mueh morl'
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A pTime 1l1lTntlVC ltkc plentiful. C;l..,!Iv-tr:llrlnhk Illl'XI'l'Il'd\T L1hnr I r he
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PIli" tmport,ll11lneentn'l'\ llkc no duty. or t;lX, on Imports of productIOn rel,ltcd 11),llCI'I,I!\ ,lI1d
eqUipment LIke no l'xpmt tax J'..(I I1Htnll'lp,d or proVInCial taxc!o>_ Accdenlted dcprccI.H11111 of llxl'd
A fI lic"war nct Uff\'(llier Preferential treatment on foreIgn CXl!I,IO,t.:l' ,lnd f11l,llllll1g
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June 12th. Phlllppinc lnUl'jll'nUl'IKl' 1 )a\', ,IUU contlnl!lng until July "lI), you don t ha\'c tn go 10 thc
Phlllppmc, tocxplorl' IhI.' Ihl' Ibtaan Export Proees.\mg Zone. The g()vc:rnllleI1t ImnJ.2:Jllg
Bataan to you, lt1 Ihe fOlIl1I)! ,l\lCX!l1hll ,It the New York PhilIppme Center.
\(l clillle on 111, '>IT the exhibit anu get an!o.weT\ to ,Ill \'(lllr fnlnl
Zone ofhl'1ilk Or, If you can't make It, lust drop "",\ note un \'OUf
l'()mp;my kttl'Thc;lu your manufacturing ,lre.1 imd ... ,1OJ wc'll
scnd YOll ,In mform,\t]()I1,ll brochure that will hll you In on "omeot the Lll't\ mu
should know ,lboul1he R,l1aan Export Proeessmg Zone,
-ij" ':-, all to: InformlltlOn OffH:er, B,lt.wn [XPllrt
4\ ' -I Zone txhlbl1, rhlilppme Center, .:;.;(, Fifth .A.vcnue, "lew Yurk. 1\ Y 1ll),\(1
r MondilY fUlle 1.Jlh moth Ihe gwnd ()I Ihi' BuIIlO}) Lo/Jt'
---,1, EX}J1/JJI III tht' New York l'hlilPjllI1C CCnILT()ll .J1th dIU] .Jhth
.....- 1(mwrrn\\, fUIlt' 121h TlJdrb d dllj'
('()mmc/JlfJrrIII! tile tllt(']1/I(JIl (.1 Ihe Ih('Oncn/ .. ()
11t , , III vile YOtllrldilllC min the CcrHCI <iIlY/IIIl(' tn'ill JUIll' l.Jth
, . "" . -... /n fuh- 30lh IlIU] the", Inl{'(lrtJHJI cvenh ,;:JIIl [1\
Jingle majority party," Manila Journal, October 29-November4, 1978, p. 2,
emphasis added. Elsewhere he has indicated that he would like the Kilusang
Bagong Lipunan (the New Society Movement-KBL) to be that single majority
party and for it to " ... build the nation which is dignified, which is truly
independent, which now has a plan for a destiny." Official Gazette, May 14,
1978, p. 3788-K. Speech to the National Federation of Sugar Cane Planters held
during the 1978 election campaign.
20. Both quotations from a speech given at a meeting of the Kapisanan ng
mga Brodkaster sa Pilipinas, March 27, 1978. Official Gazette. May 15, 1978,
p.3788-W.
21. Speech to the Interim Batasang Pambansa. op. cit .. p. 4785.
22. See Ang Katipunan, February 16-29, 1980, p. I, and Jovito R.
Salonga. "An Analysis of the Last Local Electoral Exercise and Its Implica
tions," Wednesday Forum (February 13, 1980)
23. Manila Journal, October 29-November 4, 1979, p. I.
24. Claver, op. cit .. p. 186, note 6. In another discussion oflifting martial
law Marcos said he was preparing for the event by", . updat(ing) the National
Security Code, which should enable us to ensure national security and stability,
without constant recourse to extraordinary measures in the event of crisis;'
Interim Batasang Pambansa address. op. cit .. 4788 (emphasis added). The
implications of the statement suggest a concern again with/orm: the externals of
martial law will eventually be done away with but the solid, authoritarian reality
will remain.
17
25 .See Behnda A. Aquino. in the New Society: Barangay
democracy ... paper delivered at the Association of Asian meeting.
1977. for an excellent anal)'sb up to the end of 1976.
26. Lande that between 60-80 percent of voting age
population were against the administration and for the opposition. Op. Cit .
27 Op. Cit .. p. 4768. empham added.
28. Ibid .. p. 4781-2.
29 Ibid .. p. 4789.
30. Ibid .. p. 4789.
31 Ibid .. p. 4783 for all other quoted material in paragraph (emphasb
added).
32. Philippine Sunday Express. December 10. 1978. p. 2 for a list of the
bilb While it true that the pre-martial law also passed its
of trivial bills. it also devoted to major public a
legblature in comparison with other Third World although
power in the pre-martial law of presidency. For a fuller
discussion. see the author's' 'Philippine Congress: Causes of Structural Change:'
Sage Professional Papers: Legislative Series: 90-024 (Beverly Hills: Sage,
1975).
33. As documented in the Official Gazette.
34. See Robert A. Packenham, "Legislatures and Political Development,"
in Allan Kornberg and Lloyd D. Musolf (eds.) Legislatures in Developmental
Perspective (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1970), especially pp.
527-529, "The Legitimation Function."
35. UP Collegian, June 28, 1979. The quote is from Assemblyman Reu
ben Canoy of the Mindanao Alliance.
36. Interim Batasang Pambansa address, op. cit .. p 4783.
37. Ibid., p. 4784.
38. Kapisanan ngmga Brodkaster sa Pilipinas speech, op. cit., p. 3788-W.
39. Ibid .. p. 3788-W.
40. Ibid .. p. 3788-X.
41. An excellent beginning for such an overall analysis is Makibaka. Join
Us in Struggle' (London: Blackrose Press, for Friends of the Philippines,
Holland, 1978).
42. See Robert Youngblood, "Church Opposition to Martial Law in the
Philippines," paper presented at the 1977 meeting of ASPAC, and "The
Protestant Church in the Philippines' New Society," elsewhere in this issue.
43. Belinda A. Aquino, "The Opposition Press in the Philippines," paper
presented at the 1979 meeting of ASPAC, and Elias T. Ramos, "Recent Labor
Policy Developments and the Filipino Labor Movement:' paper presented at the
1979 ASPAC meeting, 1979.
44. "For a Credible Rights Posture." The Philippine Times. September
1-15,1977,p.5.
45. "Nonnalization?" The Philippine Times. October 16-31, 1977, p.
26.
46. "The Citizens' Manifesto," The Philippine Times, December 1-15,
1977, p. 5. Signed by Jovita R. Sal.onga (Chainnan), Gerardo Rozas, Salvador
P. Lopez, Felix Perez, Justice Calixto Zaldivar. Justice Jesus Berrera, Pastor
Cirilo Rigos.
47. On the Ten-Point Program of the National Democratic Front, Prep
aratory Commission, National Democratic Front, November 12, 1977 (Manila:
Solidarity Publishing House, 1978). p. 3.
48. "Our Stand on the 'Interim Batasang Pambansa' and the 'Election' of
April 7, 1978." Ang Bayan, March 3, 1978, p. I.
49. Ibid .. p. 3.
50. "Public Accountability," Speech delivered before the Rotary club of
Manila, March 9. 1978. The Philippine Times. March 30. 1978, p. 10.
51. See the author's "Philippine Authoritarianism," op. cit .. and Bello
and Rivera, op. cit., for example.
52. Cf. the section "Who Will Benefit from the Creation of the IBP?" in
"Our Stand ... ," op. cit., pp. 2-3.
53. "U.S. Behind April 7 Vote. Says CLUP," The Philippine Times,
March 15, 1978, p. I.
54. Ang Katipunan, April 16-31, 1979. p. 6.
55. Despite documentation of continuing use of torture on political prison
ers. In addition to the items cited in note #5, seeClaver, op. cit .. and Kahin, op.
cit. The Department of State "Report on Human Rights Practices in Countries
Receiving U.S. Aid" (Report Submitted to the Committee on Foreign Relations
U.S. Senate and Committee on Foreign Affairs U.S. House ofRepresentatives.
96th Congress 1st Session, February 8, 1979) documents continued repression
in thePhilippines through 1978. More recent reports indicate that 1979 marks no
break in the pattern.
56. The senator was Daniel K. Inouye. who made a special trip to Manila
in October 1978 to make this point to Marcos. Honolulu Advertiser. January 3,
Member of Civilian Home Defense Force (Washburn).
1979, p. 20. Inouye had earlier ingratiated himself to the Marcos administration
by pointing out the poor human rights record the U.S. had in relation to the
Philippines, and by arguing that the U.S. should not expect the Filipinos to
adhere to as high a human rights code as Americans, an argument that has
frequently been made inside the Philippines by apologists for the authoritarian
regime. The figure finally reached on the bases agreement reportedly was a total
aid package of half a billion dolars stretched over a five-year period (The
Philippines Daily Express, Janury 8, 1979, p. 7 for the text ofthe Carter letter to
Marcos making the commitment).
57. In his brilliant analysis of the "legitimation crisis" faced by advanced
capitalist nations, Jiirgen Habennas argues that all these nations currently
practice a politics based on fonnal democratic institutions and procedures that
elicits mass loyalty but avoids participation. As he summarizes the argument:
"This structural alteration of the bourgeois public realm provides for application
of institutions and procedures that are democratic inform. while the citizenry
... enjoy the status of passive citizens with only the right to withhold acclama
tion." Legitimation Crisis (Boston: Beacon Press, 1975), pp. 36-37, emphasis
added. Acceptance of this Western type of "constitutional authoritarianism"
rests on continued relatively high payoffs and the continued acceptance of the
political culture as legitimate. He argues, however, that with the continued
erosion of the underlying traditional value system and the increased necessity to
manufacture synthetic values to justify the system. the "natural" quality of the
political culture is being undennined, and, hence, the way being prepared for a
massive crisis in legitimacy. These arguments hold even more immediately for a
country such as the Philippines lacking as it does the great wealth to buy loyalty
and attempting to create legitimacy rather than merely to hold on to it.
58. In the sense that Huntington uses the tenn in Political Order in
Changing Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968). As a number of
people have noted, the New Society borrows heavily from that source for its
inspiration.
59. For an analysis of this larger system see the author's "The State and
TNCs in the Third World," paper prepared for the Third World Studies Pro
gram, University of the Philippines, December. 1979.
18
The Protestant Church
in the Philippines' New Society
by Robert L. Youngblood
Just as in the case of the Catholic hierarchy, most Prot
estant church officials supported the declaration of martial law
in September 1972 by President Marcos. Many Protestant bish
ops and pastors agreed with the President's analysis of the dire
threat to the Republic posed by the Communists, the Muslim
secessionists, radical students and workers, and "rightist" oli
garchs, and they applauded his pronouncements on socio
economic and political reform. I The noticeable lack of concern
by church leaders over the loss of civil liberties and freedoms
that accompanied the President's proclamation underscored the
basic conservatism of both the Catholic and Protestant churches
in the Philippines. Typical of the reaction of supportive Prot
estant officials were the statements of Bishop Estanislao Q.
Abainza, General Secretary of the United Church of Christ in
the Philippines (UCCP), praising the "enforced discipline" of
the New Society and enjoining Filipinos not to "minimize" the
"positive effects" of martial law . 2
While the dominant reaction has been supportive of the
President, Protestant church officials are no more united in their
attitude toward the New Society than the Catholic hierarchy.
Part of the disunity is no doubt due to the large number of
different Protestant denominations (at one time numbering more
than 2(0) in the Philippines even though Protestants comprise
less than three percent of the population. But perhaps more
important is a fundamental disagreement among Protestant
church leaders over the morality of martial law and the efficacy
of the policies of the Marcos government. The President clearly
gave Protestants cause for concern in the early days of martial
rule by closing church schools and radio stations (though most
were reopened soon), by arresting staff members of the Philip
pine Ecumenical Council for Community Organization
(PECCO), and by detaining leaders of Protestant organizations
such as the Philippine Student Christian Movement (KKKP). 3
These acts against Protestant organizations and social activists
as well as other actions of the government and military strength
ened the resolve of a "prophetic minority" of Protestants, who
closely parallel and cooperate with a similar (though larger)
minority in the Roman Catholic Church, to speak out against the
Marcos regime. 4
The activities and statements of activist Protestants under
martial law is the central focus of this article. Though their
numbers are small and their activities often adumbrated by those
of the Catholic Church (which represents 83.4 percent of the
population), they are important for two major reasons. First,
Protestant activists, like their Catholic counterparts, represent
one of the few remaining institutions capable of opposing mar
tiallaw, since the President abolished Congress, jailed many of
his political opponents, placed his close associates in control of
the news media, and has ruled by decree since September 1972.
Second, many of the larger Protestant churches are closely
allied with sister churches in the United States and are members
of the World Council of Churches, and, with some exceptions,
they draw their members disproportionately from the middle
class.
5
Thus the activities of Protestant church officials and
prominent laymen often receive more attention in the interna
tional press and by the Philippine government than their actual
numbers would ordinarily justify.
Questions about martial law raised by activist Protestants
are identical to those raised by activist Catholics. At the heart of
the conflict is a disagreement with the President about the
morality of martial rule, with those most critical feeling that any
imminent danger to the Republic that may have existed in 1972
has long since passed. A closely associated belief is that au
thoritarian rule and a heavy reliance on foreign investment to
improve the economic and social welfare of Filipinos is under
mining a basic commitment to democracy in the Philippines
while not improving the standard of living of the masses. They
also deplore the loss of freedoms and civil liberties that has
accompanied martial law as well as human rights abuses, such
as detention for subversion in the absence of formal charges and
the torture of political prisoners. By criticizing the regime and
cooperating with activist Catholics, Protestant church officials
and laymen have increasingly come into conflict with govern
ment and military officials.
19
The Context of Protestant Opposition
Protestant opposition in the Philippines is part of a world
wide reevaluation among Catholics and Protestants concerning
the role of Christianity in dealing with unjust political, eco
nomic, and social structures that inhibit man's full human de
velopment, particularly in regions of the world plagued by
poverty and exploitation. Theologically, the reevaluation marks
a shift away from the purely spiritual aspects of Christianity to
greater stress on the social justice features of the Gospel. Politi
cally, it represents a reaction to the failures of liberal democracy
and developmentalism and the appearance of repressive regimes
in much of the third world since World War II. 6 Significant
support for eradicating unjust structures in the Philippines
comes from recent Papal encyclicals, documents of the Asian
bishops' conferences and various Catholic organizations in the
Philippines, and, to a lesser extent, from statements of Asian
and Filipino Protestants and Protestant organizations. Of im
portance also are the writings of Latin American theologians of
liberation such as, inter alia, Paulo Freire, Gustavo Gutierrez,
and Jose Bonino, and the examples of activist church officials
and laymen abroad such as the late Father Camilo Torres of
Columbia and Bishop Daniel Chi and Kim Chi-ha, the poet, in
South Korea.
7
Beginning with Pope John XXIII's Mater et Magistra
(1961) and Pacem in Terris (1963) and the Second Vatican
Council's Gaudium et Spes ( 1965) the Roman Catholic Church
demonstrated a growing concern with social justice in the
world. And again in 1971 the church stressed its stand against
injustice with the publication of Justice in the World by the
Third Synod of Bishops in Rome. Similarly, Pope Paul VI
spoke of structural injustices within and between nations in
Populorum Progressio ( 1967) and of the need for liberating the
poor in Evangelii Nuntiandi (1975). At the same time, however,
Paul VI warned against the use of violence, except under extra
ordinary circumstances, to rectify' 'wrongs to human dignity. "
Pope John Paul II likewise cautioned against the resort to
"socio-political radicalisms, " but rejected conditions of "sub
jection and dependence" in his 1979 visit to Latin America. 8
The Asian bishops in a 1970 meeting attended by Paul VI
and again at the 1974 Federation of Asian Bishops' Conferences
(FABC) meeting in Taibei underscored the need to eradicate
unjust structures and uplift the poor, while the Catholic Bish
ops' Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) has issued a number
of pastoral statements on social justice and development since
1971.
9
Even more active in support of the poor are the Associa
tion of Major Religious Superiors of the Philippines (AMRSP),
individual religious orders such as the Jesuits, the Maryknoll
Fathers, the Good Shepherd Sisters, and two organizations of
the CBCP: the National Secretariat of Social Action, Justice and
Peace (NASSA) and the Share & Care Apostolate for Poor
Settlers (SCAPS). And prior to martial law, the Philippine
Priests Incorporated, an organization representing mainly dioc
esan priests, through its publication, the Philippine Priests'
Forum. called for reforms and an end to injustices in siding with
the needs and aspirations of the poor. \0
The influence of liberation theology and the political ac
tivities of Christians abroad, especially Asian Christians, are
manifest in the Philippines. Materials on liberation theology are
available in mimeographed publications circulated by activist
Christians as well as in academic journals and books. Signifi
cantly, the woof and warp of Latin American liberation theol
ogy is evident in the intellectual fabric of a number of prominent
Filipino theologians. For example, Antonio Lambino, a Jesuit
theologian, argues that social injustice can be characterized as a
., structural sin" permeating all aspects of man's social relation
ships and that "effective Christian love" must be "manifested
in solidarity with the poor and the oppressed, in sharing their
struggle to liberate themselves from unjust structures of soci
ety." Thus he rejects, as do liberation theologians in Latin
America and other activist Christians in the Philippines, the
, 'unreal, other-worldly ... theory of salvation which is hope
lessly alienated from man's actual existence." He stresses,
instead, human liberation and development now. I I Addition
ally, references to the struggle of the Latin American guerrilla
priest, Camilo Torres, appear in the writings of Father Edicio de
la Torre, and the persecution of Bishop Daniel Chi and Kim
Chi-ha in South Korea drew rebukes from members of the
Philippine Catholic hierarchy and received widespread public
ity among activist Christians in the Philippines. 12
The social action profile of Protestants in the New Society
is generally low. While there are exceptions, such as the pro
grams of the Commission on Development and Social Concerns
of the National Council of Churches of the Philippines, the
Wednesday Fellowship, the Philippine Ecumenical Action for
Commllnity Development (PEACE), and the activities of cer
tain progressive pastors and laymen, the efforts of Protestants in
the area of social justice and support for the poor are often
obscured by the activities of progressive Catholics. Part of the
lower visibility of the Protestants is no doubt due to smaller
numbers and a desire to work in an ecumenical context. But
perhaps more important is the fact that most Protestant denomi
nations in the Philippines were founded by American mission
aries, and as a result, acquired the religious practices and social
orientations of the mother churches. Theologically, stress is
20
placed on personal salvation: the attainment of individual purity
rather than involvement "in the struggles of overcoming evil in
the world." 13 Thus, according to Emerito Nacpil:
--- -- ...
T t f ~ Ct:LL41? 13()()I\ t1()J)
To be a good Christian one must be active in the internal
affairs of the church, helping the pastor in his work and
coming to church services and meetings regularly and sup
porting generously the financial responsibilities of the
church. He is a good layman who is active in the church as a
religious fellowship and not as a member of the people of
God who must live out the Gospel in the world. 14
This spiritual orientation inhibits active involvement in the
world beyond being personally charitable and an exemplary
Christian. Clearly, few Protestants are in the forefront of those
demanding fundamental structural changes in the Philippines,
for much of what they find wrong with the New Society could be
remedied by ending martial law and returning to a liberal demo
cratic system of government. Just as Beatriz Couch reports for
Latin American Protestants, Filipino Protestants, when con
fronted with economic and political problems, tend to identify
with developmentalism and reformism in contrast to radical
solutions. IS
The lack of radicalism among Protestant activists in the
New Society is reflected in Protestant theological writings, and
is attributable in part to the class backgrounds and education of
Filipino theologians and pastors. 16 Many Filipino Protestant
pastors come from the country's small middle class, and most
attended theological schools run or funded by American mis
sionaries or, in some cases, received advanced training in the
United States. While a few activist Protestant pastors and lay
men are affiliated (or in sympathy) with groups considered
subversive by the government, for instance the Christians for
National Liberation (National Democrats) or the Partido Demo
kratiko-Sosyalista ng Pilipinas (Social Democrats), most Prot
estants opposed to the Marcos regime are moderate and tend to
speak out in an open, though often defiant, manner. 17 Thus on a
left to right continuum, with the National Democrats, who
support the communists, on the far left and the backers of the
President, such as Bishop Macario V. Ga, head of the Philippine
Independent Church, on the far right, the majority of Protestant
oppositionists would cluster around the center among Old Soci
ety politicians such as former president Diosdado Macapagal
and Liberal Party President Gerardo Roxas. Yet some indica
tions suggest activist Protestants are becoming more receptive
to the arguments of liberation theology that favor changing
unjust social, economic, and political structures as frustration
with martial law grows in the face of rising prices, an expanding
crime rate, increasing graft and corruption, and a continued
curtailment of civil liberties. Recent reports from Manila also
indicate that moderate opposition forces, including activist
Protestants, are working to resolve differences in an attempt to
unify against the government and are now supporting groups
that advocate the armed struggle. 18
Protestant Church-State Confrontation
Any euphoria felt by Protestant ministers and church offi
cials about the imposition of martial law was quickly diluted by
the arrest of Protestants engaged in social justice work among
rural peasants and the urban poor and by the detention of
Protestants working in organizations critical of the government.
21
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The arrest in 1973 and 1974 of Protestant activists like Dr.
Nemesio Prudente, former President of the Philippine College
of Commerce and a prominent Methodist lay leader, Reverend
Toribio Cajiuat of the United Methodist Church in Rizal, and
Pastor Cesar Taguba of the UCCP raised the concern of Pro
testant church officials. Prudente was detained because he ad
vocated the violent overthrow of the government and associated
with student activists; Cajiuat because he also advocated the use
of force against the government, was allegedly involved in
subversive activities, and, as minister of the Highway Hills
Methodist Church, used the pulpit and church facilities to
spread his views about martial law; and Taguba because of his
social justice activities, such as organizing miners in the moun
tain provinces, and his criticism of the government. Prudente
was eventually released as was Cajiuat after 135 days in deten
tion without charges, while Taguba, also detained without
charges, remained in jail for over two years and was tortured
with electric shock and physical abuse, which resulted in his
confinement in a neuropsychiatric ward of a military hospital. 19
Incidents such as these as well as the general loss of civil
liberties-perhaps most acutely felt by the middle class
prompted activist Protestant ministers and officials to protest
certain aspects of martial law . In October 1973, for example, an
ecumenical group of 113 pastors and priests, stressing their lack
of association with communists and reactionaries, signed a
letter to Marcos asking that freedom of the press be restored and,
if necessary, that new and tougher laws be written to insure
against "false, unfair presentation of both news and com
ment. "20 The National Council of Churches in the Philippines
[NCCP] (representing the Convention of Philippine Baptist
Churches, Iglesia Evangelica Metodista en las Islas Filipinas,
Iglesia Evangelica Unida de Cristo, Iglesia Filipina Independi
ente [Philippine Independent Church], Philippine Episcopal
Church, the Lutheran Church in the Philippines, the Salvation
Army, the United Methodist Church, and United Church of
Christ in the Philippines) not only endorsed the free press letter
of the ecumenical group in its annual meeting in November
1973, but it also raised questions about jailings without formal
charges being filed and the torture of political prisoners. The
NCCP also criticized the First Lady's urban beautification pro
gram in Manila and asked that the ejection of squatters and the
demolition of their shacks be suspended until a viable relocation
program was developed. And finally the Protestant assembly
called for an investigation of Japanese penetration ofthe Philip
pine economy. 21
The NCCP's challenges to the government were followed
in December 1973 by a Protestant manifesto calling for an end to
martial law and by a letter in January 1974 to the Minister of
Foreign Affairs, Carlos P. Romulo, asking for clarification of
the Treaty of Amity, Commerce and Navigation with Japan.
While recognizing many of the initial gains of martial law, the
manifesto signed by the Protestant pastors quoted from Marcos'
Notes on the New Society ofthe Philippines that martial law was
only "a temporary constitutional expedient" and from presi
dential statements that indicated the emergency in the country
no longer existed. The manifesto also pointed to a growing
sense of' 'fear and mutual suspicion" associated with the estab
lishment of a "command society." Protestant ministers
sharply questioned Marcos' decision to sign the Japan-Philip
pine treaty in light of bipartisan political opposition to it since
the Garcia Administration (1957-1961) and in the absence of
provisions to protect the Philippine economy from Japanese
exploitation. They pointed to European and American difficul
ties with Japanese exports and asked rhetorically how a develop
ing economy like the Philippines could compete with Japan
without special guarantees. 23 Evidently some of the concerns of
the pastors accurately reflected Philippine anxieties about deal
ing with Japan, for the Marcos government signed a renegotiat
ed treaty with Tokyo in May 1979.
24
The government's confrontation with activist Protestant
clergymen and church officials came to a head in June 1974 with
a Philippine Constabulary (PC) raid on the home of Reverend
Paul Wilson of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and
the arrest of a number of foreign missionaries and top leaders of
the NCCP. The foreigners detained included Wilson, his wife,
Marilyn, and their IO-year-old son, James, and the Reverend
Harry Daniel, an Anglican minister and resident of Singapore,
who is Associate General Secretary of the Christian Conference
of Asia. Among the Filipino religious officials arrested were:
Reverend La Verne Mercado, a Methodist and Executive Sec
retary of the NCCP, Reverend Roman Tiples, Jr., an Aglipayan
and chairman of the NCCP's Self-Development Division, and
Ibarra Malonzo, a lawyer and commissioner of the NCCP's
Commission on Participation and Development, who was also
formerly active in Christian youth activities. The PC also went
to the homes of Reverend Henry Aquilan, Executive Secretary
of the NCCP's Commission on Development and Social Con
cerns, and Ms. Carmencita Karagdag, Youth Secretary of the
Christian Conference of Asia and formerly with the NCCP. In
the absence of Reverend Aquilan and Ms. Karagdag, the PC
picked up Aquilan's secretary and driver and four members of
the Karagdag family, including a sister, Josefina, who was later
reportedly tortured by the military. The same evenings as the
arrests the offices of the NCCP were searched and a quantity of
church records were removed.
Two days later at a meeting of the Church-Military Liaison
Committee (CMLC) (established in November 1973 to resolve
conflicts involving the military and church officials) "the mili
tary refused to discuss the arrests or give any reason for them;'
but later claimed they were due to the presence of Dante Simbu
lan, an alleged communist and arch-critic of the Marcos regime
but evidently a friend of Reverend Daniel, at the home of the
Wilsons.
25
The PC also claimed they discovered quantities of
"subversive" literature at the Wilson home and the NCCP
headquarters. General Ramos stated that Simbulan, as a leader
of a "Maoist faction of the Communist Party, " was "trying to
drive divisiol) in the Armed Forces" by convincing servicemen
to defect and that Karagdag, Wilson, and Daniel were members
of a Communist Party group "infiltrating" the NCCP.26 The
Wilsons felt that the arrests reflected Marcos' increasing irrita
tion with the social justice and human rights activities of Prot
estant ministers and laymen, while Protestant activists in Manila
also suggested that the NCCP resolution to abolish martial law
and restore civil liberties passed at the November 1973 annual
conference along with anti-martial law statements of Prot
estants at the May 1974 Agono Conference on development and
social concerns irked the government.
27
Still others theorized
that, since the Protestants pose no real threat to the government,
the raids were a warning to the more numerous activist Catho
lics. In this regard, it is interesting to note that similar raids were
carried out against Catholic activists and institutions in August
1974.
28
The Wilsons and Reverend Daniel were expelled from the
Phil ippines within days after their arrest. But by the time a small
group of Protestant clergymen responded to the military's action
in a "Statement of Concern and Appeal to Authorities" in late
July, Reverend Tiples, Attorney Malonzo, members of the
Karagdag family as well as others picked up in the raids were
still in jail. 29 In criticizing the government, the statement noted
that Muslim terrorists in the South received better treatment than
the pastors and NCCP officials, whose presumption of inno
cence is guaranteed in both the 1935 and 1973 constitutions, and
that the arrests violated a December 1973 CMLC understanding
whereby the military agreed to refrain from arresting any relig
ious person or raiding any church institution without first notify
ing the appropriate religious officials.
30
The Protestant minis
ters were joined by an entreaty from Cardinal Julio Rosales,
President of the CBCP and usually a staunch supporter of the
President, "that cases against Protestants, if any, be expedited
and not allowed to drag out." Condemnation of the raids and
jailings also came from the Governor and Congressmen from
Florida, the home state of the Wilsons, and in August from the
World Council of Churches in Geneva. 31
The official response of the NCCP's Executive Committee
appeared the following October. After noting the government's
"recognitions and courtesies," the statement pointed out the
raids violated the CMLC agreement of December 1973, de
fended the visit of Reverend Daniel to the Philippines on religi
ous grounds, and upheld the right of the church "to analyze and
understand existing ideological doctrines and theories" for Chris
tian education purposes. The Executive Committee, moreover,
denied fllatly that the NCCP was "ideology-oriented or moti
vated." 32
Although the UCCP issued a strong statement on human
rights and "against the perpetuation of one-man rule" at its May
1978 general assembly and the Episcopal Church published
pronouncements in 1977 and 1978 against increased militariza
tion in the mountain provinces, the predominant pattern since
the 1974 military assault has been for Protestant clergymen and
church officials to demonstrate more caution in criticizing mar
tiallaw. The NCCP has issued more oblique resolutions, e.g. on
the freedom of the pulpit, and concerning the New Society. 33
The trauma of the military raids and arrests no doubt contributed
to the election of more conservatives to the Executive Commit
22
tee of the NCCP, splitting the council on resolutions condemn
ing the government, and resulting in some activist Protestants
emphasizing more grassroots community organization work
rather than continuing to issue position papers on various as
pects of martial law.
34
To be sure, activist Protestants remain
committed to social justice and human rights, yet only occasion
ally have ministers spoken out individually in the past five years
and then their remarks have often been directed at such things as
the military's handling of the Muslim situation in Mindanao and
the government's China policy.35 One indication of the new
circumspection exercised by the activist Protestants is a reduc
tion in news coverage of their activities in the international
press. Another indication is the pair of rather mild statements on
church-state relations and the use of the pulpit issued by the
NCCP in February and September 1976. Though retaining the
right to offer "constructive criticism," the NCCP stressed the
need to lessen conflict and increase cooperation with the govern
ment and underscored the importance that statements from the
pulpit (whether critical or not) be derived from a "proper
interpretation" of the scripture.
36
Thus, rather than act alone
and risk certain (and probably effective) government repres
sion, activist Protestants have increasingly joined with liberal
Catholics in condemning the policies of the government and the
military.37 The advantage of protesting in an ecumenical con
text for the Protestants is the larger size and greater resources of
the activist Catholics, thereby reducing the probability of gov
ernment retaliation. 38
Protestant-Catholic Cooperation Against Martial Law
Activist Protestants have cooperated with activist Catholics
in a number of areas against the policies of the Marcos govern
ment since 1972. As indicated previously, 113 pastors and
priests sent a note to the President in November 1973 asking that
freedom of the press be restored. This was followed in De
cember 1973 by another letter to Marcos from a group of
Protestant ministers and Catholic priests questioning the con
tinued detention of prisoners (including prominent Filipinos
such as Jose W. Diokno) against whom no formal charges were
filed. The ecumenical group attacked the government's deten
tion policy from two perspectives. First, that the 1973 constitu
tion guaranteed "all persons ... the right to a speedy disposi
tion of their cases" and that "the accused shall be presumed
innocent until the contrary is proved, and shall enjoy the right
. . . to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation
against him" and "to have a speedy, impartial, and public
tria!." Second, that the continued detention of political prison
ers was not only unfair to them but also an undue hardship on
their families, who were innocently suffering. 39
Since then, activist Catholics have gone on to establish a
Task Force for Detainees (TFD) in January 1974 and to publish
a monthly newsletter and three annual reports in 1976, 1977,
and 1978 on political prisoners in the Philippines. The NCCP
organized an ecumenical group to help political prisoners and
their families.
4o
Both Protestants and Catholics have deplored
the torture and abuse of prisoners by the military. For instance,
the ecumenical Citizens Council for Justice and Peace in Davao
City complained to Minister of Defense, Juan Ponce Enrile.
about alleged torture of detainees by the national Intelligence
RIC': tara.:.:,. north.:rn LUlon I R Broad).
23
Security Agency (NISA). Reportedly, young Filipinos in the
Davao area were being arrested mysteriously and taken to "safe
houses" (residences not under official military jurisdiction)
where they were subjected to "tactical interrogation," a euphe
mism for torture. 4 t Frequent allegations of military misconduct
against civilians finally prompted Antonio Mabutas, the con
servative Archbishop of Davao, to issue a pastoral letter in
August 1979 denouncing the' 'wave of killings, raids and tor
tures" occurring in Davao City and the province of Davao del
Sur.42
The government has countered the charge of Protestant and
Catholic clergymen that freedom of the press no longer exists in
the Philippines by claiming that the press under the New Society
is simply more responsible than it was before martial law.
Government .officials have even chided the press publicly for
being too timid, but at the same time, they have neglected to
encourage the press to give full and accurate coverage of politi
cal opposition to the regime. Articles on the opposition that have
appeared tend to put the government (especially the President)
in a favorable light. 43 Officials have also downplayed the fact
that the news media are now under the control of relatives of the
First Lady and close associates of the President. "Press free
dom" in the New Society, moreover, has not stopped the regime
from harassing foreign con:espondents for writing stories criti
cal of the government. There is presently a bill before the
Interim National Assembly (Batasang Pambansa) that would
ban Western journalists from entering the country. Marcos
opposes the bill, yet he nevertheless feels the foreign press
engages in distorted reporting on the Philippines.
44
The re
gime's hostile attitude toward international press coverage of
the Philippines was underscored in late 1979 by the furor in the
Manila press over unflattering articles appearing in foreign
publications on the seventh anniversary of martial law . 45
On the issue of illegal arrests and torture of political prison
ers, President Marcos and Minister Enrile have repeatedly
claimed that there are no political prisoners in the Philippines
because all of those arrested have committed some offense
including subversion, which Enrile has defined as speaking or
acting against the government. They state that it is not the policy
of the government to torture prisoners. Marcos again empha
sized that the Philippines had jailed no one because of political
beliefs during Vice-President Mondale's May 1978 visit, and,
through a palace spokesman, reiterated this claim in April 1979
in response to statements made by Sister Marianni Dimaranan,
head of TFD in the Philippines, during an Associated Press
interview in the United States. 46 Protestant and Catholic groups
have expressed disbelief of the President's assertions about
political prisoners as well as skepticism of the government's
claim that cruelty on the part of the military will be punished,
stressing that few of those accused of torture have been con
victed and sentenced.
47
Though admitting that some abuses
have taken place, the government has often tried to bolster its
position by pointing to threats to the Republic from various
groups including "religious radicals," the "Christian left," and
a "Christian ecumenical group seeking to consolidate all forces
opposed" to the regime.
48
To stress the government's sincerity
on human rights, the President announced in March 1978 the
jailing of 300 military personnel and the firing of more than
2,000 for mistreating and torturing detainees. The following
December the Ministry of National Defense revealed that over
3,000 officers and men were severed from the services between
1974 and 1979 for misconduct, especially against civilians. The
government also moved quickly in August 1979 to investigate
Archbishop Mubutas' charges of military brutality in the Davao
area.
49
Activist Protestants and Catholics have together denounced
the government's crackdowns on clergy working among the
rural peasantry and urban poor and the periodic deportation of
missionaries. The Catholic hierarchy, as mentioned previously,
condemned the June 1974 raid on the NCCP and the deportation
of Protestant missionaries, while activist Protestant ministers
called the deportation in January 1976 of two Italian priests,
Fathers Francis Alessi and Luigi Cocquino, for alleged subver
sion "a palpable denial afjustice." All the Italians were guilty
of, according to the Protestant statement, was identifying"them
selves with the needs, the struggles and the aspirations of the
poor and the weak in the slums and squatter areas of Manila,"
which conflicted with the government's forcible relocation of
squatters in the name of economic development and urban
beautification. 50 Immigration authorities responded, however,
by reducing visa extensions of foreign missionaries from five to
one year, denying that any intimidation was intended.
5
I
A number of economic policies of the martial law govern
ment have been attacked by activist Protestants and Catholics.
Much of the intellectual impetus for the clergy's disagreement
comes from Latin American liberation theology. Central to the
argument is the claim that Jesus, himself a member of the
working class, sided with the oppressed and taught that salva
tion was impossible in the absence of economic equality and
political freedom. Since institutional injustice represents vio
lence (vialencia blanca) on the people, it can justifiably be
countered by violence from the people. 52 It is necessary to break
down the control of the old landed aristocracy, military domina
tion, and the influence of foreign business interests if one is to
realize true Christian egalitarianism. Thus the Marcos govern
ment's reliance on foreign investment and western-styled de
velopment schemes that overlook immediate human needs in
the name of economic development have come under increasing
scrutiny from both activist Protestant and Catholic religious
groups.
An ecumenical group called Christians Concerned about
the Philippines, for example, commissioned the New York
Corporate Information Center (CIC) in 1973 to investigate the
relationship between American investments and political de
velopment in the Philippines. The report concluded that while
martial law is good for American corporations, it is so at the
expense of a Philippine nationalist sentiment demanding ac
countability of American business and an end to U. S. domina
tion of certain sectors of the economy. 53 Similarly, Protestant
and Catholic activists established an ecumenical secretariat to
expose delegates (primarily those representing non-governmen
tal organizations) attending the UNCT AD V meetings in Manila
during May and June 1979 to the social and economic ine
qualities in the Philippines. The secretariat provided position
papers and organized field trips for the delegates. A planned
public seminar on the Philippine economy at the Philippine
Christian University, however, was broken up by the Manila
police, resulting in injury and about 50 arrests. 54 Protestant and
Catholic clergymen have also coordinated their efforts against
specific government enterprises such as the Chico River hydro
electric project which will reportedly flood the villages of 10 to
15 thousand Kalingas and Bontocs. Bishop Francisco Claver, an
outspoken critic of martial law and a Bontoc himself, and
Protestant groups have over the past few years organized ecu
menical conferences to discuss the issue and obtain the views
of tribal members. Strong tribal resistance has temporarily de
layed the project, and it has been reported that the New People's
Army (NPA) is organizing among the Kalingas and Bontocs
because of government manipulation through the Presidential
Assistant for National Minorities (PANAMIN)Y What con
cerns opponents of the dams is a feeling that alternati ve sites less
damaging tb ancient rice terraces and sacred burial grounds have
not been fully explored and that government promises of reset
tlement and full compensation will be as disastrous for the
Kalingas and Bontocs as the Pantabangan Dam was for over
9,000 Filipinos dislocated by its construction in 1974. Fanlilies
were evidently resettled in hill areas unsuitable for farming with
inadequate provisions for alternative employment. Other gov
ernment promises to provide free services for specified periods
24
and to compensate for lost properties were not kept. 56
The government's response to religious concern about the
activities of multinational corporations has been to emphasize
the overall strength of the economy, though admitting to prob
lems in certain sectors, and to reassure church critics that for
eign investment is important to the country's continued eco
nomic growth. The government's response to conflict over the
Chico River project has been twofold. First, Marcos replaced
PANAMIN with a regional task force, canceled one of the
proposed dam sites, and ordered the relocation of 1,000 families
affected by the project. Second, the President increased the
military's presence in the Kilinga-Apayo area to counter the
influence of the NPA. Concerned Protestant and Catholic relig
ious activists nevertheless remain skeptical of the benefits of
foreign multinational corporations, and problems surrounding
the Chico River project remain unresolved. 57
Ecumenical cooperation has led both to the formation of
groups that have met regularly to discuss martial law policies
and to the organization of other groups that have opposed
Marcos' periodic referendums, the April 1978 Batasang Pam
bansa elections, the January 1979 local elections, and other
aspects of martial law. A good example of the former is an
ecumenical prayer fellowship that meets weekly in various
Protestant churches in metropolitan Manila. Frequently led by
Cirilo Rigos, pastor of the Ellinwood-Malate Church and a critic
of the government, the fellowship often listens to supporters as
well as opponents of martial law .58 Likewise, activist Protestant
and Catholic clergymen along with other prominent citizens
sent an open letter to Marcos urging guarantees for a free and
honest referendum in July 1973, while a similarly constituted
ecumenical group jointly signed a manifesto requesting that
certain conditions of freedom and honesty be met prior to and
during the President's third referendum in February 1975.
59
Other activist Protestants joined the AMRSP in calling for a
boycott of the referendum. In the same month, former senator
J ovito Salonga, a prominent Protestant layman and a sharp critic
of the regime, and Father Horacio de la Costa, a noted Jesuit
historian, issued a manifesto, signed by 133 prominent Fili
pinos, critical of martial law. 60 Again Filipino clergy and lay
leaders, calling themselves Concerned Citizens for Freedom
and Justice, urged civil disobedience and postponement of the
October 1976 referendum until civil liberties were restored. A
year later another group of ecumenical activists called for a
boycott of the December 1977 referendum on Marcos retaining
the dual powers of President and Prime Minister after the in
terim national assembly elections in April 1978.
61
Despite the
combined efforts of activist Protestants and Catholics, Marcos
won overwhelming victories in all the referendums and defeated
all the opposition candidates of the Lakas ng Bayan (LABAN,
literally "Strength of the Nation") in the April 1978 parliamen
tary elections and again won in the January 1979 local elections.
However, according to the foreign press, the Batasang Pamban
sa elections were marked by considerable fraud, resulting in
additional religious protests and jailings by the government. 62
And, calling elections under martial law a farce, LABAN boy
cotted the local elections, which, reports from Manila suggest,
were marred by irregularities. 63
***
Lal-.e Lanao. Mindanao cL. Wa,hburnl.
Marcos and Protestant Opposition Abroad
Before the raid on the NCCP hierarchy and the expUlsions
I
of the Wilsons and Reverend Daniel, Protestant opposition to
martial law outside of the Philippines was almost nonexistent.
This was especially curious in the United States where one
would have expected more concern to be expressed. Only a few I
articles, most notably those by Reverend Richard Deats, ap
peared that were critical of the regime. 64 But the military's clash
with the Protestants and the subsequent deportations briefly
focused Protestant world attention on the Philippines. The
Marcos government, as mentioned earlier, was denounced by
,
the Geneva-based World Council of Churches and Reverend
Wilson testified before Congressman Donald Fraser's Subcom
I
J
mittee on International Organizations in May 1975 and before
Senator Hubert Humphrey's Subcommittee on Foreign Assis
tance in December \975. Before the Fraser committee, Wilson
focused on the political prisoner question. He recounted having
"witnessed physical abuse and torture" while under detention
and described conditions for Filipino prisoners as poor and
overcrowded. Many detainees wait long periods (sometimes
years) to have their cases investigated and then are released
provisionally, after they' 'pledge support to the present govern
ment and agree not to talk to domestic or foreign media rep
resentatives." In his own case, Wilson indicated he was not
tortured physically but was never charged formally (though the
charge sheet registered "suspected subversive"), and was de
25
nied access to his attorney. He stated further that many Filipinos
feel that Marcos could not last "30 days without the continued
assistance and endorsement of the U. S. Government. " In con
clusion he recommended to the Fraser committee (and again
before the Humphrey committee) that there be a suspension of
U . S. military assistance to the Philippines until human rights are
observed.
65
In May 1976, the Fraser committee again heard testimony
from Protestant clergymen on human rights violations in the
Philippines. This time Reverend Larold Schulz, Executive Di
rector of the Center for Social Action of the United Church of
Christ, reported on what he called' 'cruel inhuman and degrad
ing treatment and punishment of political prisoners." He
claimed the response of officials to questions about abuses was
"that torture has provided the government with a great deal of
information" about "other persons hostile to the regime." He
was likewise critical of the general thrust of reforms in the New
Society, suggesting they were often just public relations gim
micks. And he asserted that the "paramilitary training" of large
numbers of Filipino youth included "informing and intelligence
gathering activities." Schulz came away from his brief visit to
the Philippines feeling that the country was unstable and that the
U. S. should disassociate itself from the Marcos government. 66
The U.S. National Council of Churches, after the 1974
raids and deportations, also released figures on political prison
ers in the Philippines and the World Council of Churches at
tempted to fund five social activists to attend the United Na
tions-sponsored Human Settlements Conference in Vancouver,
B.C., during May and June 1976.
67
Among those barred from
leaving the Philippines was Trinidad Herrera, an organizer of
squatters in Manila slum areas and President of Zone One Tondo
Organization (ZOTO), who went into hiding to avoid arrest.
Eventually captured, detained, and allegedly tortured by the
military, Herrera's release was secured in part by the protest of
church activists in the U.S. The officers accused of torturing
her, however, were acquitted and Herrera was charged with
subversion.
6x
And in August 1977, Don Luce, Co-Director of
Clergy and Laity Concerned, and Ramsey Clark, former At
torney General of the United States, were funded by the Anti
Martial Law Coalition and the Friends of the Filipino People to
attend the World Peace Through Law Conference in Manila.
They reported on military suppression of a counter-conference
at St. Theresa's College in Manila and on their visit to a military
"safe-house. "69 In later testimony to the Fraser committee,
Clark indicated that no representatives of the Philippine media
attended his Manila press conference (out of approximately 30
newsmen in the room) and that, in his opinion, "justice is the
fugitive" in the Philippines.
40
Individual Protestant churches in the U.S. have taken
stands on various aspects of martial law since 1972. For exam
pie, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) adopted a human
rights resolution on the Philippines at its 1975 general assembly.
A group of ministers representing III Presbyterian churches in
the greater Detroit area voted in November 1976 to ask Presi
dent-elect Carter to cut American support to the Philippines.
Similarly, the Northern California conference of the United
Church of Christ (UCC) passed a resolution at its annual confer
ence in May 1977 "deploring the suppression of human rights in
the Philippines and calling on the U.S. government to withdraw
all economic and military aid to the Marcos regime. "41 The
National Council of Churches in the U.S. also criticized Cesar
Chavez' acceptance of an award from the Marcos government
and his laudatory remarks about martial law while in Manila in
July 1977.72 Informal newsletters and occasional reports on
conditions in the New Society are circulated by some Protestant
denominations in America, and the UCC provides space in
Washington, D.C., for the anti-Marcos Friends of the Filipino
People. Protestants have also organized ecumenical groups,
e.g., Church Coalition on Human Rights in the Philippines,
headed by Reverend Wilson, to monitor human rights violations
and to protest the continued presence of U. S. bases in the
Philippines.
73
It should be pointed out, however, that in response to the
accusations of Protestant church officials and ecumenical ac
tivists in the U.S. as well as to the recent reports of the U.S.
Department of State on human rights in the Philippines, the
Marcos government has stressed its continuing commitment to
civil liberties and human rights as well as emphasized its con
demnation of torture. The government has stated further that
freedom of speech, press, religion, assembly, and movement
internally and abroad continue to be respected. Reports to the
contrary, according to the government, are essentially inaccu
rate and often self-serving, based on preconceived ideas and
short visits to the Philippines.
74
Manila's irritation over con
tinued criticism from the U. S. on the human rights issue was
evident in the reaction of Marcos and Romulo to a fracas
involving Filipinos and the police in June 1978 at the Philippine
Center in New York City. Romulo charged the police entry to
the Center "without any search warrant" was a "violation of
diplomatic immunity" and "an assault on human rights" and
that Filipino employees' 'were handcuffed and beaten by Amer
ican policemen." The President said the incident "makes
friendship with the United States more difficult by the day. "
Washington apologized for the incident, while Romulo insisted
on redress for the violations of the New York police. 75 And at
the meeting of the International Law Association in Manila in
August 1978, Marcos indirectly chided the United States by
saying that an interpretation of human rights in the restricted
sense of political and civil freedoms was equivalent to using
human rights as a vehicle for a' 'new moral imperialism." Such
an interpretation is especially galling, the President continued,
in light of the developed countries' unwillingness to distribute
more equitably resources worldwide and to assist third world
nations.
76
Conclusion
Although activist Protestant pastors, church officials, and
laymen have criticized martial law , they are very much a minor
ity in the Philippines and the U.S. The majority of Protestant
ministers and church officials, like the majority of their Catholic
colleagues, either support the government or remain silent. And
even among the activist Protestants there is no unanimity: some
see martial law as immoral while others are opposed only to
certain policies of the government. But at the same time, it
should be stressed that Protestant activism is in a constant state
of flux. Many who supported martial law or took a "wait-and
see" attitude in the beginning are disenchanted after seven
years, and some reports suggest that the fraudulence ofthe April
1978 Batasang Pambansa elections prompted a reevaluation of
opposition tactics. Most activist Protestants see change in re
formist and developmentalist terms, but a growing number,
26
rather than criticize individual programs of the government in
hope of influencing change, are now working to overturn the
fundamental structures of Philippine society through com
munity organization work among the masses. They see martial
law as a predictable result of the Philippines' dependency status
in the international system. Thus more reforms are insufficient;
only a restructuring of Philippine society will lead to greater
social justice, economic prosperity, and democratic freedom.
While recognizing a debt to Latin American liberation theology,
activist Protestants argue that the Philippine situation requires a
unique Filipino perspective which will only come out of joining
the struggle on the side of the urban poor and rural peasants. 77
This orientation, however, has yet to be reflected in the main
stream of Protestant theological writings in the Philippines.
Protestant opposition to martial law, like Catholic opposi
tion, is nevertheless important, for it has forced the government
to be more accountable. It is unlikely, for example, that high
ranking officials of the government would either have publicly
1 admitted that abuses of detainees had occurred or reviewed
i
carefully the Chico River hydroelectric project's impact on
tribal peoples had not respected Protestant and Catholic relig
ious leaders spoken out. And the Marcos government's reaction
1
! to Protestant criticism has been similar to its reaction to Catholic
criticism: it has cracked down on occasion, but not consistently
I
i nor with enough force either to eliminate the activists or to
1
I
galvanize the Protestant churches into a united opposition. In
fact there are some indications that the NCCP raids and deporta
tions of 1974 have made the activist Protestants more cautious.
By allowing moderate criticism, the government has kept the
Protestants divided. Now it appears that many outspoken Prot
estant critics of the regime coordinate their activities with Cath
olic activists because of the greater size and resources of the
Catholic Church.
Perhaps because of President Carter's human rights policy,
Protestant opposition has taken on an added dimension of im
portance. Though activist Protestants are few, their statements
about human rights violations and the loss of civil liberties do
receive some attention in Washington. And crackdowns against
foreign missionaries, such as the expulsion of the Wilsons, only
serve to legitimizt! further the accusations of religious activists,
placing the Marcos government on the defensive. Moreover, it
appears that high-ranking officials of the U.S. government are
affected by reports from Protestant and Catholic activists about
human rights violations. Patricia Derian, Assistant Secretary of
State for Human Rights and Humanitarian Affairs, reportedly
"lectured" Marcos on human rights during a visit in January
1978, and Vice-President Mondale's May 1978 stop in Manila
included talks with critics of the government on this issue.
Earlier the U.S. Embassy quietly pressured Malacaiiang to
release Trinidad Herrera (at the urging of church groups in
America) from detention, and the Embassy is sensitive to the
fate of Benigno Aquino, Jr., Marcos' arch-rival, currently in
Fort Bonifacio under a death sentence for murder, subversion,
and illegal possession of firearms. 7K Concern for human rights
violations in the Philippines, however, neither prevented
Washington in December 1978 form agreeing to pay $500
million over the next five years for "unhampered military
operations" of U.S. forces from Subic Naval Base and Clark
Air Base nor blocked the signing of a new Philippine-American
trade agreement in November 1979.
79
Yet there are indications
that the U. S. continues to pressure Marcos on human rights and
political normalization in an attempt' 'to deflect ... criticism
of Marcos' one-man rule while securing U.s. interests in the
Philippines. "80 Thus it seems that Marcos will have to continue
to endure the criticism of activist Protestants and other religious
leaders, at least through the Carter Administration, if, as it
appears, he values good relations with Washington. "*
Notes
* This article is a revision of a paper presented at the annual meeting of the
Asian Studies on the Pacific Coast conference, Grand Hotel, Anaheim, Califor
nia. June 9-11, 1978. I would like to thank Jovito Salonga. Sheldon W. Simon,
and Marion Kline for their helpful comments at various stages of the analysis.
and Cirilo A. Rigos, G. Sidney Silliman, Plaridel Segundo, Edwin O. Fisher,
Jr., and Edwin M. Luidens for providing documents on the activities of Prot
estants in the Philippines.
I. Cirilo A. Rigos, "The Posture of the Church in the Philippines under
Martial Law," in Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, (ed.), Southeast Asian
Affairs. 1975 (Singapore: FEP International, Ltd .. 1975), p. 127.
2. Barbara Howell, "Martial Law in the Philippines: Religious Reac
tions." The Christian Century. November 22, 1972, pp. 12()()-1202. Bishop
Abainza has apparently modified his views on martial law since 1972, and for
awhile served on the editorial board of Dialogue, a publication of the Protestant
Wednesday Fellowship that is often critical of the government. He has also
allowed the headquarters of the ucep to be used for meetings critical of martial
law. But, according to some activist Protestants, the Bishop has never been
publicly critical of the regime and is seen abroad as supportive of the Marcos
government.
3. Ibid. The two Protestant radio stations closed in Manila were DZAS
and DZCH. DZAS, considered conservative, was reportedly allowed back on
the air by agreeing not to discuss politics, while DZCH refused to reopen under
such conditions and subsequently rented its facilities to acommercial company.
4. Richard Deats, "Philippine Church-State Struggle Intensifies." The
Christian Century, June 4, 1975, pp. 574-576; and Robert L. Youngblood,
. 'Church Opposition to Martial Law in the Philippines," Asian Survey, 18 (May
1978), 505-520.
5. Nena Vreeland. et al., Area Handbook for the Philippines (2nd ed.;
Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office. 1976). pp. 187-189.
6. Enrique Dussel, "The Political and Ecclesial Context of Liberation
Theology in Latin America," in Sergio Torres and Virginia Fabella, M.M ..
(eds.), The Emergent Gospel: Theologyfrom the Underside of History. Papers
from the Ecumenical Dialogue of Third World Theologians, Dar es Salaam,
August 5-12, 1976 (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978), pp. 175-192.
7. Paulo Freire, Pedagogy for the Oppressed (New York: Herder and
Herder, 1970); Gustavo Gutierrez. A Theology of Liberation, trans. and ed. by
Sister Caridad Inda and John Eagleson (Maryknoll. N. Y.: Orbis Books, 1973);
Jose M. Bonino, Doing Theologv in a Revolutionary Sititation (Philadelphia,
Pa.: Fortress Press, 1975); Camilo Torres, Revolutionary Priest: The Complete
Writings and Messages of Camilo Torres, ed. by John Gerassi (New York:
Random House, 1977); James P. Sinnott, M.M., "Silence-A Dictator's
Friend," Maryknoll, November 1977, pp. 15-19; Don Long, "Imperialism and
Repression: The Case of South Korea," Bulletin ofConcerned Asian Scholars,
Vol. 9, No.2 (April-June 1977),2-41; and John C. England, "Kim Chi Ha and
the Poetry of Christian Dissent," Ching Feng, 21. NO.3 (1978), 126-151.
8. Pedro S. de Achutegui, S.J., (ed.), Journey to Puebla: The Speeches
of John Paul II (Quezon City: Cardinal Bea Institute. Loyola School of Theol
ogy. Ateneo de Manila University, 1979), pp. 29 and 127. The recent Vatican
crackdown on liberal theologians such as Father Hans Kung in Germany,
Edward Schilllebeeck in the Netherlands, and Jacques Pohier in France and a
Papal address to Father Pedro Arrupe, Father General of the Society of Jesus,
concerning "secularizing tendencies" suggests that John Paul II is more con
servative on social justice issues than his two predecessors. See, for example,
Catherine Myers, "Some Theologians Fear Vatican Crackdown on Academic
Freedom," The Chronicle of Higher Education, January 14, 1980, p. II and
Robert B. Kaiser, "Jesuits' Chief, at Pope's Request, Orders an End of 'Short
comings,' " New York Times, December 7, 1979, pp. I, A 19.
9. Vitaliano R. Gorospe, S.1., (ed.), The Four Faces of Asia. A Sum
mary Report on the Asian Bishops' Meeting, Manila. November 23-29, 1970.
Theology Series, Number I (Quezon City: Ateneode Manila University, 1971);
Federation of Asian Bishops' Conferences and Third General Synod of Bishops,
Rome, 1974, Evangelization in Modern Day Asia II: Taipei. First Plenary
Assembly of the Federation of Asian Bishops' Conferences, 22-27 April 1974,
ed. by Digna C. Cacanay, R,S.C.J. (Quezon City: Cardinal Bea Institute for
Ecumenical Studies, Loyola School ofTheology , Ateneode Manila University,
1976), pp. 333-335; Report ofthe Philippine Hierarchy to the People ofGod in
the Philippines on Their Deliberations at the Annual Bishops Conference,
February 19, 1972, pp. 1-6; Pastoral Letter of the Catholic Hierarchy of the
Philippines on Evangelization and Development (Pasay City: St. Paul Publica
tions, 1973); Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines, Pastoral Letter:
Education for Justice, Manila, September 1978; and The Philippine Times,
November 12, 1979, p. 5.
10. See Philippine Priests Forum, 1969-1972, passim.
II. Antonio Lambino, S.1., "Justice and Evangelization: A Theological
Perspective," in Pedro S. de Achutegui, S1, (ed.), On Faith and Justice:
Contemporary Issues for Filipino Christians. Loyola Papers 5 (Quezon City:
Loyola School of Theology, Ateneo de Manila University, 1976), pp. 25-31.
12. Ediciode la Torre, S.V.D., "The role of the Priest in Social Reform,"
Philippine Priests' Forum, 2 (September 1970), 29-38; Signs of the Times,
October 10, 1975, pp. 3-6, October 17, 1975, pp. 3-8, April 16, 1976, pp.
13-14, August 7, 1976, pp. 24-25; and Ichthys, July 13, 1979, special issue on
human rights in Korea, 1978.
13. Emerito P. Nacpil, "The Philippines," in Gerald H. Anderson, (ed.),
Asian Voices in Christian Theology (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1976),
p. 119.
14. Ibid.
15. Beatriz M. Couch, "New Visions of the Church in Latin America: A
Protestant View," in Sergio Torres and Virginia Fabella, M.M., (eds.), The
Emergent Gospel: Theology from the Underside of History. Papers from the
Ecumenical Dialogue of Third World Theologians, Dar es Salaam. August
5-12,1976 (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978), pp. 193-226.
16. Douglas J. Elwood, (ed.), What Asian Christians Are Thinking: A
Theological Source Book (Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1976); and
Emerito P. Nakpil and Douglas J. Elwood (eds.), The Human and the Holy:
Asian Perspectives in Christian Theology (Quezon City: New Day Publishers,
1978).
17. For a brief description of the National Democrats and the Social
Democrats, see Sheilah Ocampo, "Seeking Integrity for Stability," Far East
ern Economic Review, April 27 , 1979, pp. 32-34.
18. The Philippine Times, December 17, 1979, p. 16; and personal in
terviews with religious activists, Manila, July 1979.
19. Alex Pescador, "An Overview of Philippine Church-State Relations
since Martial Law," Pahayag, (March 1975), pp 7-8; The Philippine Times,
May 15, 1974, p. 9; Toribio Cajiuat, "An Account of My Arrest and Deten
tion," Various Reports, November 15, 1974; CesarTaguba's letter to President
Marcos, June 12, 1976, Signs of the Times, June 26, 1976, pp. 10-12; Marion
Kline, personal letter; and personal interviews with religious activists, Manila,
July 1979.
20. The Philippine Times, November 15, 1973, p. 5.
21. Ibid., December IS, 1973, pp. 1.3,9.
22. Ibid., January 31, 1974, pp. 5, 8; and Ferdinand E. Marcos, Notes on
the New Society of the Philippines (Manila: Marcos Foundation, Inc., 1973), p.
vii. Mention of the temporary nature of martial law is left out of a revision of
Notes on the New Society of the Philippines, published primarily for foreigners
and included as Part Two, "The New Society," in Ferdinand E. Marcos, The
Democratic Revolution in the Philippines (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice
Hall International, 1974), pp. 109-218.
23. The Philippine Times, February 28, 1974, pp. 5-6; and Rigos, "The
Posture of the Church," op. cit., p. 130.
24. Philippines Daily Express, May 10, 1979, p. I; and Bulletin Today,
May II, 1979, pp. I, 13.
25. Frank Gould, 'Cracking Down on the Pulpit," Far Eastern Economic
Review, July 8, 1974, p. 10.
26. "Top Protestant Officials Arrested," Associated Press (Manila).
July 10, 1974 (mimeographed).
27. The Philippine Times, August 1-15, 1974, pp. 2, 25; and Gould, op.
cit., p. 10.
28. Pescador, op. cit., pp. 8-9; and Youngblood, op. cit., pp. 517-518.
29. "Statement of Concern and Appeal to the Authorities," July 1974,
pp. 1-5. By December 1974 all of those arrested. except Dante Simbulan who
eventually spent more than two years in detention, were released.
30. Cable from General Fidel Ramos to all zone, provincial, and other
commanders under his authority. December 3. 1973.
31. The ~ h i l i p p i n e Times, August 1-15, 1974, p. 2 and August 16-31,
1974, pp. 2, 21; and Pescador, op. cit., p. 8.
32. "NCCP Statement on the June '74 Incident," NCCP Newsletter, 4
(November-December 1974), 1-2.
33. Ichthys, July 21, 1978, pp. 5-6; Letter from Edwin M. Luidens,
Director, Committee for East Asia and the Pacific, National Council of
Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., New York, N.Y., May 23. 1978; and
personal interviews with religious activists, Manila, July 1979.
34. Personal interviews with religious activists, Manila, July 1979.
35. The Philippine Times, September 1-15, 1975, p. I; and Pescador, op.
cit., p. 9.
28
36. "Church and State Relations from the Perspective of the National
Council of Churches in the Philippines," adopted by the NCCP Executive
Committee, February 7, 1976; and "Statement on the Use of the Pulpit,"
approved by the Commission on Development and Social Concerns with author
ity from the NCCP Executive Committee, September I, 1976.
37. Letter from James E. Palm, a former missionary in the Philippines and
now Director, Stony Point Center, Stony Point, N. Y., April 25, 1978.
38. I am indebted to Marion Kline for pointing out that since Vatican II
Catholic-Protestant cooperation has become common in the Philippines and that
men like Cirilo Rigos, former senator Jovito Salonga, and others cooperate
ecumenically because they are in a common cause. Thus Protestant cooperation
with Catholics to avoid government retaliation, while perhaps important, should
not be overly stressed.
39. Constitution o/the Republic o/the Philippines (1973), Art. IV, Sees.
16 and 19; and The Philippine Times, December 31, 1973, p. 5.
40. The Association of Major Religious Superiors in the Philippines
(AMRSP), Task Force for Detainees (TFD), Political Detainees Update Philip
pines, AMRSP, TFD, Political Detainees in the Philippines (Manila, March 31,
1976), Political Detainees in the Philippines. Book Two (Manila, March 31,
1977), and Political Detainees of the Philippines. Book Three (Manila, March
31, 1978). The NCCP Ecumenical Ministry to Political Detainees and Their
Families is primarily supported by the Cosmopolitan Church (UCCP), the
Ellenwood-Malate Church (UCCP), the Central United Methodist Church, the
Salvation Army, and the Philippine Independence Church. Personal interview
with Protestant religious ofticial, Manila, July 1979.
41. The Philippine Times, September 1-15, 1975,pp. I, 17.
42. Pastoral letter of Archbishop Antonio Ll. Mabutas, August 16, 1979,
reprinted in MSPC Communications, No. 32 (October 1979), pp. 14-15.
43. See, for example, Philippine Daily Express, April 24 and 29, 1979,
pp. 1,6, May I, 1979, pp. 1,2; and Bulletin Today, September 24, 1979, pp. I,
8, October 12,1979, pp. I, II, and October 18,1979, pp. I, 14.
44. John Lent .. 'The Mass Media of Malaysia, Singapore, Philippines,"
India Press (January 1978), pp. 19-26; The Philippine Times, March IS, 1974.
p. I and March 31,1974, pp. I, 6 and November 16-30,1976, upp. I, 26;Far
Eastern Economic Review, July I, 1977, p. 14; Asiaweek, October 20, 1978, p.
13; and Manila Domestic Service, July 17, 1978, in United States Foreign
Broadcast Information Service (FBIS), Daily Reports, Vol. IV, Asia & Pacific.
45. "The Philippines: Powder Keg in the Pacific." Time, September 24,
1979, pp. 28-29,31; Sheilah Ocampo, "The Vultures and the Jungle King,"
Far Eastern Economic Review, October 19, 1979, pp. 42-44; and front page
articles in the Bulletin Today, October 3-6,8, 10, 1979.
46. New York Times, May 4, 1978, p. 13; and Philippines Daily Express,
April 29, 1979, pp. I, 6.
47. Youngblood, op. cit, pp. 513-516.
48. Juan Ponce Emile, "On Human Rights in the Philippines," The
Republic, (July 1-15, 1977), pp. 6-7: The Philippine Times, January 15,1974,
pp. 1,8: Far Eastern Broadcasting Corporation (FEBC), September 17, 1976
(FBIS).
49. Agence France Presse (AFP) (Hong Kong), March 30, 1978 (FBIS):
FEBC (Manila). December 10, 1978 (FBIS); and Bulletin Today, August 21,
1979, pp. 1,10.
50. "Protestant Churches Protest Deportation, Recent Arrests: A State
ment," Sign of the Times, February 20, 1976, pp. 20-23. (Emphasis in the
original)
51. The Philippine Times, April 1-15, 1976, p. 8.
52. T. J. S. George, "The Putsch Vs the Pulpit," Far Eastern Economic
Rel'iew, November 26, 1973, pp. 15-17.
53. Corporate Information Center for the National Council of Churches of
Christ in the U.S.A., The Philippines: American Corporations, Martial Law,
and Underdeveiopment(New York: 100C-North American, Inc., 1973).
54. Philippines Daily Express, May 15, 1979, pp. 1,6; and Ichthys, May
25, 1979, pp. 10-11.
55. Sheilah Ocampo, "The Battle for Chico River," Far Eastern Eco
nomic Review, October 20, 1978, pp. 32-34; The Philippine Times, April 16-30,
1976, pp. 5-6: and Ichthys, July 21, 1978, pp. 6-8.
56. Ichthl's, February 10, 1978, pp. 6-8.
57. For ~ n t r a r y views of foreign investment and the Philippine economy,
consult the exchange of letters between an ecumenical group of pastors and
priests and Gerardo Sicat, Director-General, National Economic and Develop
ment Authority. March 28, May 6,29, June 14, and August 7, 1974, in Various
Reports, September 12, 1974; The Republic. February 1-28, 1978, p. 2;
Ocampo, "The Battle for Chico River," op. cit., and Manila Domestic Service.
July 18, 1978 (FBIS).
58. Cirilo A. Rigos, . 'The Prophetic Ministry of the Church in the Philip
pines under Martial Law" (unpublished doctoral dissertation/project, San Fran
cisco Theological Seminary, 1976), pp. 103-110; and The Philippine Times,
April 16-30, 1976, pp. 5-6.
59. Rigos, "The Posture of the Church," op. cit., p. 129; The Philippine
Times, January 16-31, 1975, pp. I, 7, 18; and Bernard Wideman, "Marcos'
Sometimes Referendum," Far Eastern Economic Review, January 24, 1975,
p. 13.
60. A Representative Group of Citizens Devoted to the Cause of Truth,
Justice and Freedom, A Message of Hope to Filipinos Who Care. Manila,
October I, 1975. Reprinted in Philippine News, November 1-7, 1975, through
December 13-19, 1975.
.61. A Representative Group of Filipino Citizens, Mani/esto on Martial
Law and the Referendum of October 16, 1976. Manila, September 21, 1976;
The Philippine Times, October 1-15, 1976. pp. 1,20 and October 16-31, 1976,
pp. 1,27-28; AFP (Hong Kong), October 1. 1976 (FBIS): Katipunan ng Bayan
Para Sa Kalayaan (KABAKA), Alliance for Human Rights, and Philippine
Organization for Human Rights, The Citizens' Manifesto on the December 17,
1977, Referendum and the Five-Year Record ofMartial Law. Manila, Novem
ber 30, 1977. Reprinted in The Philippine Times, December 1-15, 1977; and
The Christian Science Monitor, December 16, 1977.
62. Rodney Tasker, "Marcos Ends a Fleeting Taste of Freedom," Far
Eastern Economic Review, April 21, 1978, pp. 10-13.
63. Asiaweek, January 25, 1980, pp. 24-26; and Henry Kamm, "Marcos
Claims Major Election Victories but His Opponents Cry Foul," New York
Times, February I, 1980, p, A4.
64. Reverend Richard Deats, now Director of the Interfaith Activities of
the Fellowship of Reconciliation, is a former Methodist missionary to the
Philippines and author of Nationalism and Christianiry in the Philippines as well
as numerous articles on martial law .
65. U.S. Congress, House, Committee on International Relations,Human
Rights in South Korea and Philippines: Implications/or U.S. Policy, Hearings,
before a subcommittee on International Organizations. 94th Cong., 1st sess.,
May 20-June 24, 1975, pp. 142-147; and The Philippine Times, December
16-31, 1975, p. 27.
66. U. S. Congress, House, Committee on International Relations, Human
Rights in Indonesia and the Philippines, Hearings, before a subcommittee on
International Organizations, 94th Cong., 2nd sess., December 18, 1975-May 3,
1976, pp. 63-66.
67. The Philippine Times, April 16-30, 1975, p. 19 and June I-IS, 1976,
pp. 1,9.
68. Philippine Liberation Courier, July 1977, p. 7; AMRSP, TFD, Politi
cal Detainees in the Philippines. Book Two (Manila, March 31, 1977), p. 5; and
Solidaridad II, September/October 1977, p. 4.
69. FFP Bulletin, Special Edition, September 1977; Philippine Liberation
Courier, October 7, 1977, p. I; and Report of an Investigating Mission to the
Philippines, Human Rights and Martial Law in the Philippines (Oakland, Ca.:
National Resource Center on Political Prisoners in the Philippines, 1977).
70. U.S. Congress, House, Committee on International Relations, U.S.
Policy on Human Rights and Military Assistance in Indonesia, Nit;aragua,
Philippines, Thailand, and Iran, Hearings, before the subcommittee on Interna
tional Organizations, 95th Cong., 2nd sess., February IS-March 8, 1978, pp.
139-143.
71. Signs of the Times, October 31, 1975, p. 39; Dialogue, March 1977,
pp. 58-59; and Philippine Liberation Courier, May-June, 1977, p. 2.
72. Solidaridad II, September/October 1977, p. 8.
73. See, for example, Newsleller, circulated by the Arvada Mennonite
Church, Arvada, Colorado; American Friends Service Committee, Interna
tional Affairs Reportsfrom Quaker Workers; and letter from Edwin M. Luidens,
op. cit.
74. U.S. Congress, House, Committee on International Relations, U.S.
Policy on Human Rights and Military Assistance in Indonesia, Nicaragua,
Philippines, Thailand, and Iran, op. cit., pp. 572-578.
75. Manila Domestic Service, June 15 and 21, 1978 (FBIS); and AFP
(Hong Kong), June 16 and 18, 1978 (FBIS).
76.Asiaweek, September 8, 1978, p. 18; Sheilah Ocampo, "A Matter of
Definition," Far Eastern Economic Review, September 22, 1978; South China
Morning Post, August 29, 1978, p. 24; and Manila Domestic Service, August
28, 1978 (FBIS).
77. Anonymous comments of Protestant religious activists on an earlier
draft of the article.
78. Youngblood, op. cit., p. 515.
79. The Philippine Times, January 6-12, 1979, p. 16; and November 12,
1979, pp. 1-2.
80. Sheilah Ocampo, "Seeking Freedom with Honor," Far Eastern Eco
nomic Review, January 25, 1980, p. 21.
29
Cinema Review
" A Filmmaker and His Film
by Craig Geoffrey Scharlin
I'm writing this review as a new-found devotee of film
maker Kidlat Tahimik and as an old friend of Eric de Guia. I say
this to layout my prejudices and at the same time to try to
explain my amazement at the transformation of Eric de Guia
into Kidlat Tahimik.
Throughout a beautiful spring and summer in 1970 Eric
and I spent many hours together in Paris, walking the boule
vards, sitting in open cafes drinking our espressos- most of the
usual things people do in Paris plus even romping together at a
bizarre festival held on the outskirts of Paris. Our favorite
meeting place, however, was Eric's apartment on the Ave. de la
Motte Picquet, where Eric had created his own special world.
In those days we talked about a lot of things, even the
possibilities of his someday becoming president of the Philip
pines. Why not? Eric seemed to possess the proper credentials
for such ambitious thoughts: University of the Philippines grad
uate and student body president, Wharton graduate and then a
research analyst for the "prestigious" O.E.C.D. (Organization
of Economic Cooperation and Development). Eric was even a
friend of former British Prime Minister Wilson's family with
whom he stayed in London.
However, we had other discussions, more often and of a
much more serious nature. We talked about Eric's frustrations
working at the O.E.C.D. preparing an extensive analysis of the
fertilizer industry of the Philippines. We talked about a play he
wanted to write, about a woman he loved in Germany, about his
desire to bring a jeepney (Philippine mini-bus) to Paris! A
jeepney to Paris? There was a fire burning inside of Eric and it
wanted to come out. Eric is short, very dark, with eyes and smile
that literally light up a room. He wanted the people of Paris,
whom he had grown so fond of, to understand the Filipino spirit
pent up inside him, the one that was crying from deep inside to
come out. Would the jeepney do the trick?
Well, I left Paris and didn't see Eric again for eight years. I
visited his family in Baguio, Philippines, several times but our
paths seemed to have just missed. I learned from his mother that
he had quit O.E.C.D., was working on a play and, yes, had
actually taken ajeepney to Paris.
MABABANGONG BANGUNGOT, a.k.a. The Per
fumed Nightmare, Le Cauchemar Parfume, Der Par
fumierte Alptraum, La Pesadilla Perfumada, a film by
Kidlat Tahimik, formerly Eric de Guia
Then to my surprise, about a year ago, I noticed quite by
accident, an advertisement that the Pacific Film Archives here in
Berkeley was showing a film titled The Perfumed Nightmare
made by one Kidlat Tahimik. I received a phone call the next
day and on the other end was Kidlat/Eric, saying he was in
Berkeley showing his film and looking for a place to sleep with
Fraulein Katrina and their son, the real Kidlat Tahimik. In Paris
when I needed a place to sleep it was Eric who opened his
apartment to me, and now, eight years hence, I could return the
favor.
But the person who came to my house was no longer Eric
de Guia, suit-and-tte economist and potential candidate for
President of the Philippines, but Kidlat Tahimik, short -cropped,
bowl-shaped lfugao haircut, sandaled feet, old baggy sharkskin
pants, Ifugao fertility ring hanging round his neck, a shirt that
was old and quite beyond description. The look in his eye and
the smile on his face told me immediately that the fire deep
inside had finally burst out.
The transformation of Eric to Kidlat, however, did not
completely become clear to me until after I had viewed his film,
Mababangong Bangungot-The Perfumed Nightmare. This is
the first film of Kidlat Tahimik who had no formal training in
filmmaking. The filming took place in early 1975 in the Philip
pines and in Europe. Kidlat readily admits that upon finishing
shooting in the Philippines and departing for Europe with a mass
of exposed and undeveloped footage, he really had no idea what
he had captured on film. It was only in the next two years that the
story of Kidlat Tahimik and his perfumed nightmare evolved on
the editing table in Munich, Germany. All the while, Kidlat was
simultaneously learning the metier of filmmaking.
Along the way Kidlat Tahimik has made a movie of major
importance. And this is not said subjectively. The kudos have
poured in from around the world, prizes from international film
festivals have already been presented. The Perfumed Nightmare
had its premier at the Berlin Film Festival on June 25, 1977,
where it was awarded the "Prix de la Critique Internationale,"
by the FIRPRESCI Jury (Federation internationale de la pre sse
cinematographique) composed of eleven film critics. This is the
30
award presented to the most outstanding film by a new film
maker. The film also received the Special Mention of the OCIC
(Catholic Jury) at the same festival, as well as the recommenda
tion of the Interfilm Jury (Ecumenical).
But the importance of Kidlat's efforts go far beyond these
fine awards. First, the film was completed with a miniscule
budget of about $10,000 and a gigantic budget of optimistic
energy. One story Kidlat loves to tell his audiences is about how
his film was talked about at the L.A. Film Festival: "In the
Philippines people always say, 'Oh, you have to see this new
American flick; it cost $25 million, it's really great!' And then I
found myself in the heart of American film industry, Holly
wood, where they actually make these $25 million dreams, and
people were saying, 'You've got to see this new Filipino film. It
only cost $10,000; it's really great.' "
Kidlat Tahimik has broken all the rules in regard to film
making, and particularly filmmaking in the Philippines, predo
minantly Hollywood-oriented, where it is not uncommon today
to see a top-rated Filipino movie stamped' 'This film was made
in U.S.A." just to increase the box office revenues. By so
doing, he has presented the world with an amazingly original,
engrossing and beautiful work. It would not be too far-fetched to
suggest that The Perfumed Nightmare is the first truly indigen
ous Filipino movie.
Secondly, by making this movie Kidlat has thrown off his
colonial bonds and given us such a clear and revealing picture of
a Filipino, told by a Filipino, from deep in his heart, that we
cannot help but marvel at his accomplishment. Rarely has an
artist created such an accurate self-portrait.
The film is about a young Filipino, Kidlat, who earns his
living driving a jeepney. The jeepney is the Filipino people's
taxi. Originally made from the thousands of U. S. army jeeps left
in the Philippines after World War II by the Americn forces, the
jeepney is one of the best examples of Filipino native genius
adapting to the 20th century. The Filipinos took these discarded
machines used for war and turned them into a most useful social
vehicle. They lengthened the back so many people can pile in
and they decorated the entire vehicle to give it a feeling of life.
One of the most memorable scenes in the movie was shot inside
the Sarao Jeepney factory in Manila. Possibly the Rolls Royce
factory in England is the only other car company in the world
that still really produces hand crafted bodies. Kidlat's camera
takes us on a tour of this most remarkable factory, skillfully
blending the melodic beat of Kalintang Ifugao music with the
pounding and shaping of the jeepney body by the Filipino
craftsmen. Kidlat's voice comments proudly in the background
that at the height of the oil crisis, while the production of
international automakers was on the decline, the Sarao jeepney
factory was increasing its production to a record number of five
vehicles a week!.
As the young jeepney driver, Kidlat is obsessed by a dream
of visiting America, and especially Cape Canaveral. He always
listens to "Voice of America" on the radio in his barrio, where
he is also president of the Werner Von Braun Fan Club. He
writes letters to "Dear Mr. Voice of America" requesting "the
first words your great American astronaut said when he landed
on the moon."
Kidlat's camera follows his jeepney on its daily route
giving the viewer a most revealing and intimate impression of
daily life in a Philippine barrio.
When you make a feature-length color movie for under
$10,000 you don't hire actors. The people in the movie are all
just playing themselves and seem to be having as much fun
letting Kidlat capture them in their daily routines as Kidlat
seems to have making the movie.
In the best sense of cinema verite Kidlat uses a flash-back
to show the day of his own circumcision at the age of 12. To film
this most remarkable scene Kidlat went back to his father's
barrio in the province of Laguna to photograph the actual scene
as it still takes place today in a forest just outside the barrio. By
juxtaposing such varying images as the "Voice of America"
permeating the background noise of the barrio with the poignant
circumcision scene, Kidlat helps the viewer better understand
the contradictions that play such an important role in forming
the gestalt of today's Filipino.
One day Kidlat's dream to visit the "promised land" is
fulfilled. An American buys Kidlat's jeepney to take with him as
o
s
PHILIPPINES
FILM FESTIVAL
c.YQc:ll ~ Z = -
A Jeepney Reproduced from a T-,hin that 'Aa' ,old by Kidlat to help
ddray CO'h.
a promotional gimmick and employs Kidlat to accompany him,
first to Paris and eventually to America. Kidlat is fascinated by
the modem technology of Paris, where his job is filling up the
chewing gum machines owned by his American millionaire
boss. Kidlat befriends a Parisian street vendor of eggs whom he
calls Lola (Grandmother). She tells him of her fears that she
cannot survive the market that is being flooded by cheap syn
thetic eggs. One day he goes to visit Lola and she is no longer
there. Tlte space where she parked her cart is soon to be de
molished to make way for an expanding supermarche across the
street!
Kidlat also makes a pilgrimage to Germany, the "land of
Werner Von Braun," where he helps a pregnant Bavarian wom
an in 9istress. And finally Kidlat is offered the chance to be the
first Filipino to fly supersonic aboard the Concorde flight from
Paris to New York.
31
But little by little Kidlat's colonial-based dream of utopia
becomes a perfumed nightmare. He eventually discovers that in
the world outside his barrio there are plenty of supermarkets and
supertechnologies but no superparadise.
Kidlat Tahimik has not made a film that deals with political
issues per se. If you are looking for a film that talks directly
about martial law in the Philippines, the effects of Western
imperialist exploitation on a third world country, malnutrition,
revolutionary political organizations or even nuclear power
plants being built on the side of an active volcano, you are not
going to find it in The Perfumed Nightmare. Kidlat's film is a
personal tale about the growth and change of one individual.
This is not to say however that The Perfumed Nightmare is
apolitical. Far from it. Kidlat seems to be acutely aware of the
environment in the Philippines he is photographing. He never
misses the most subtle nuances which his shots of the Philip
pines contrast markedly with his shots in Europe, which seem a
bit staged and stylized. Kidlat can comment most perspicuously
on martial law by photographing a marching contingent of
uniformed public nurses and commenting that everyone is rep
resented in this parade-even "those who promote uniform
ity." Another example of Kidlat's skillful eye and use of the
understatement to highlight a political and economic reality
happens while Kidlat is relieving himself next to his jeepney just
off the highway. The camera zooms back to reveal a large
billboard just across the road with the familiar American cow
boy and the slogan "Marlboro Country" printed in enormous
letters.
The Perfumed Nightmare, as a highly symbolic moral play,
has the audacity to have a good time with some very serious
political issues. The American businessman, played by Kidlat's
lanky German cameraman, is attired in the scenes in the Philip
pines in long black knee socks, khaki shorts, a smallish ranger
hat and "shades." Over 6' 3" tall, the American entrepreneur
his legs literally pushing his bony white knees right out of
Kidlat's jeepney as he rides to Manila with Kidlat and a jeepney
filled with an assortment of people and animals-is poignantly
comical. The entire scene becomes hilarious when the Ameri
can, for comfort, chooses to ride on an old rickety bamboo cart
being pulled by the jeepney. The Australian film critic Mari
Kuttna has compared Kidlat's style to that of the young Buster
Keaton and in scenes such as this Kidlat's satirical genius is
most evident.
Before making The Perfumed Nightmare Kidlat had as
sociated with the German filmmaker Werner Herzog and has
even appeared in Herzog's Kaspar Hauser in a cameo role as a
roving minstrel. His performance was unique because in it
Kidlat plays the Ifugao nose flute, one of the most hauntingly
beautiful of instruments, in what must be the only exposure of
this indigenous Filipino instrument to the Western world. Kidlat
has obviously been strongly influenced by Herzog; you see it in
the imagery used in telling his tale, the seriousness of his
political statements and his humor.
Kidlat Tahimik has woven his amazing tale around two
sayings which are spoken and symbolically reenacted through
out the film. "You are the master of your vehicle; only you can
tell it where to go" is played out by Kidlat, jeepney driver par
excellence, and his Sarao jeepney: a Filipino Don Quixote with
the jeepney for his trusted steed. But in this tale, the windmills,
those illusory foes of fear and misunderstanding most of us
spend our lives battling against, are the images of a Filipino's
colonial-life mentality. Kidlat takes us along on his quest to be
the master of his own vehicle.
The second saying, "When the typhoon blows off its
cocoon, the butterfly embraces the sun," comes from a Filipino
folk tale, and becomes a fulfilled prophecy for Kidlat. Born Eric
de Guia in 1942, he continued to sleep in his cocoon of Ameri
canized dreams for "33 typhoon seasons." By making this film,
the sleeping typhoon learned to blow again. Kidlat says, "See
ing myself on the editing table screen, forwards, backwards, a
thousand times, a hundred thousand times, I began to under
stand the nature of my perfumed nightmare." Thus, Eric de
Guia found himself reborn as Kidlat Tahimik. He has seen the
reality of his dreams, his colonial-formed mind's-eye image of
the world. But Kidlat was not destroyed by what he saw. By the
typhoon forces of the tale he has told he has been liberated and
now can embrace the sun, his Filipino spirit.
To put it quite simply, Kidlat Tahimik has made one hell of
a film. Unfortunately, because of the uniqueness of the product,
most distributors are unwilling to "take a chance" with it and it
is unlikely to be viewed in most U.S. cities. Since it was the
surprise hit at the Berlin and L.A. film festivals and has been
favorably screened several times at the Pacific Film Archives in
Berkeley*, as well as highly praised by director Francis Ford
Coppola (The Godfather, Apocalypse Now), the film will be
distributed by Coppola's production/distribution company
Zoetrope. It is possible to obtain a copy of The Perfumed
Nightmare by contacting Tom Luddy at Zoetrope Studios, 916
Kearny St., San Francisco, 94133.
Kidlat has mentioned that The Perfumed Nightmare might
be his first and last film. He is still in the process of deciding
whether or not filmmaking in itself is a perfumed nightmare. But
if he decides to make another film, ideas will not be lacking, for
Kidlat is fascinated by the Filipino native genius. He loves to
mention during a conversation and often as a parting salutation,
"Who invented the yo-yo? Who invented the moon buggy?"
For those readers not up on such matters, both were invented by
Filipinos. Currently, Kidlat is following up the true story of a
Filipino expatriate living in Poland, a genius at designing and
building airplanes and other wonderful things out of bamboo.
Sound improbable? No more so than a film about a jeepney
driver who dreams that someday he will truly be the master of
his own vehicle. Kidlat Tahimik's dreams, the dreams of dis
covering a true Filipino spirit, are worth thinking about. *
* Since Berlin the film has been shown at the following festivals: La Rochelle,
Locamo, Edinburgh, San Sebastian, Toronto, Rotterdam, Johannesburg, Prix
de I' Age d'Or of Brussels, Thames (London), Belgrade, San Remo Festival de
Film d' Autour, Carthage, L.A. International, Havana International Festival for
Young People's Cinema and Hong Kong International.
32
Review Essay: The Philippines
by Charles W. Lindsey
The five papers gathered together in this book examine
events leading up to the declaration of martial law in the Philip
pines by President Ferdinand E. Marcos on September 21,
1972, and the nature of the authoritarian regime that has been in
power since that date. They were first presented at the 1974
meetings of the Association of Asian Studies, although the
editor indicates that they have been updated to include relevant
events through May, 1978.
Three of the papers have specific topics: the constitutional
ity of Marcos' rule, land reform, and the media; the other two
are more general in scope. All but one of the authors approach
their subjects by comparing events with the pronouncements of
President Marcos and his martial law government. Each finds
that the words deviate from the reality, and they attempt to
explain why this is the case. Only one, however, seriously
investigates why Marcos declared martial law in the first place;
the rest begin their discussion from the fact that he has imposed a
dictatorship. Although all are critical, the nature and extent of
their criticism varies considerably.
Each paper provides the reader with a considerable amount
of information. On the other hand, the level and quality of the
analysis varies, with the first two papers going little beyond a
recounting of the facts. Since the majority of the papers do not
begin with an explanation of why martial law occurred and they
discuss different topics, it is difficult to make substantive com
parisons among them, except perhaps in their assessment of
why there is the gap between the reality and the pronouncements
of the martial law regime. Nevertheless. the volume provides a
good, if somewhat uneven, introduction to martial law in the
Philippines.
The statement by Marcos announcing the declaration of
martial law, the declaration itself, eight other related official
documents, and statements by and about opposition groups are
included in the fourteen appendixes. The eight official docu
ments relate primarily to the article on the constitutionality of
martial law, as does the /lrst of the opposition group documents
(the Report of the National Committee for the Restoration of
MARCOS AND MARTIAL LAW IN THE PHILIP
PINES, edited by David A. Rosenberg. Ithaca: Cor
nell University Press, 1979.315 pp.
Civil Liberties in the Philippines). It and the other opposition
documents were included not so much because of their direct
relevance to the papers collected together in this volume, but
because they are, according to the editor, "major opposition
statements, which are not readily available to the general read
er."(25)
In the first article, "Ideology and Practice in the 'New
Society,''' Jose Veloso Abueva compares the reality of martial
law with the political and economic ideals articulated by Presi
dent Marcos. the need to democratize political power and wealth
to achieve equality. In showing that under martial law both
political and economic power have become even more con
centrated, Abueva surveys a wide range of issues, including
those that are the topics of the following three papers, and he
provides the reader with considerable information. However, he
undertakes little analysis as to why martial law was declared or
why there is a gap between statement and reality.
A major part of Abueva's concern is the present lack of
communication within the system, and he compares the present
situation unfavorably with pre-martial law days. "For all its
imperfections the Old Society was characterized by intra-elite
competition, protest movements, exposes in the 'oligarchic'
media, and periodic campaigns and elections-all of which
enabled the incumbent leaders to know what various groups felt
about their leadership and performance." (75) True as some of
this may be, one must stretch the imagination considerably to
think that the elite competition that existed prior to martial law
was in any meaningful sense responsi ve to the needs of the rest
of the population.
The author presents data on government revenue and ex
penditure, foreign borrowings, the balance of payments, ex
ports and imports, foreign and aggregate investment, wage
rates, taxes, inflation, and land reform. Much of the data can be
viewed as an indictment of martial law economic policies.
However, apart from noting that wealth has become more con
centrated and that the living standards of the masses have fallen
(64-65), Abueva neither analyzes the data nor draws obvious
33
conclusions. Two examples might be useful.
In noting economic setbacks in 1975, he cites Marcos as
having placed the blame on "the evident vulnerability of the
national economy to international economics, especially be
cause of its newly bolstered export orientation." (65) Abueva
then passes to a discussion of how Marcos handled the public
relations of the "setback" without mentioning the implications
for economic policy: if the economy is to suffer from increased
vulnerability to the vicissitudes of the international economy,
how correct is the martial law policy of orienting economic
activity increasingly to the international market?
Abueva points to the significant fall in real wages of both
skilled and unskilled workers since Marcos first became presi
dent in 1965. He then goes on to say that" the government cites
the lower wages in the Philippines as a comparative advantage
in attracting foreign capital even as labor's right to collective
action for their economic welfare, including the right to strike,
had been reduced by presidential decrees." (65) These facts are
referred to as "obstacles" to the government's goal of redis
tribution of income, not as obvious contradictions to the goals of
democratizing wealth and reducing poverty.
In the last section of his paper, "The Reformer's Dilem
rna:' Abueva does raise the question as to why there is the gap
between ideology and performance, but his conclusions do not
appear to get to the heart of the matter. He believes, on the one
hand, that "usually a new constitution soon symbolizes a new
order that tends to be more authoritarian than the one it has
displaced:' and. on the other. that the technocrats and the
guided media only tell Marcos what they think he wants to hear.
(70. 75) The author retains a faith in Marcos' ability to accom
plish his articulated goals: "[n]o other than Marcos, who has
developed a comprehensive ideology of societal change. now
has the power to initiate a process of [reform] in earnest. ..."
(82-83) After reading Abueva's article. it is difficult to believe
that Marcos has any such intentions or that the gap between
ideology and practice is the consequence of his being shielded
from reality.
Rolando V. del Carmen addresses the question of the
constitutionality of martial law (Marcos stresses that it is) and
the changes that have occurred in the judiciary. In his article,
"Constitutionality and Judicial Politics." del Carmen focuses
on three Supreme Court cases challenging the legitimacy of
Marcos' rule. presenting information not only on the decisions
themselves. but also on the political environment in which they
were made. One of the more interesting aspects of his legalistic
approach is the logic del Carmen resorts to in order to rational
ize. if not defend, both the constitutionality of martial law and
the viability of the Philippine judicial process.
The first case, which dealt with the constitutionality of
martial law itself, was decided "[alfter a curious two-year
delay" in favor of Marcos. "Thus," del Carmen says, "for
jurisprudential purposes, the issue of the constitutionality of the
martial law proclamation has been sealed and settled." (89)
The second case dealt with the ratification process of the
new constitution. The Supreme Court had been hearing argu
ments when Marcos declared the new constitution had been
approved. The court then dismissed the case as "'moot and
academic,' " affording what del Carmen describes as "a conve
nient way out of a legal dilemma." (94)
The last case challenged the validity of the new constitu
tion. In an interesting division of the question, the court ruled
that the constitution had not been "validly ratified with substan
tial compliance of the people," but there were insufficient votes
to declare that the new constitution was not in force. Del
Cannen rationalizes this as obtaining' 'pragmatic legal results
without unduly provoking powerful enemies or forthrightly
forsaking idealistic allies." (95-96)
Earlier in his article, del Carmen quotes a former close
advisor of Marcos, Primitivo Mijares, as claiming that "the
whole referendum [on the new constitution] was 'rigged.' " (93)
At another point he cites part of the opinion of two of the
Supreme Court justices as to why the new constitution was in
force: "'if a new government gains authority and dominance
through force, it can effectively be challenged only by a stronger
force; no judicial dictum can prevail against it:" (99) This
might give the average reader some cause to doubt the legiti
macy. as well as the legality, of the entire process, and the
author agrees but only to a point. "The position of the new
constitution may be difficult to glorify jurisprudentially and
taxing to analyze legally, but its pragmatic wisdom is clear."
(97) In the end he concludes that "[tjravails and setbacks
notwithstanding. the Philippine Supreme Court is there to stay."
( 112) It would not seem unreasonable to ask, for what purpose?
One month after the declaration of martial law, Marcos
issued presidential Decree No. 27 declaring "the emancipation
of all tenant farmers as of this day." Benedict J. Kerkvliet sets
out to investigate the meaning of this decree in his article,
"Land Reform: Emancipation or Counterinsurgency?" He
finds that although Marcos has accomplished more land reform
between 1973 and 1976 than in the preceding seven years of his
rule, and one might add, than other land reform efforts, the
policies of the martial law regime parallel those earlier efforts
and the results are similar: there is little improvement for the
peasantry. The reason, Kerkvliet suggests, is that the purpose of
34
land reform is protection against rural unrest; its implementation
is dominated by elites at the top of government with little
participation from villagers; it is very narrow in focus (limited to
rice and corn lands in which holdings are more than 7 hectares);
and the program is structured in such a fashion that many
potential beneficiaries will probably lose out in the long run.
( 113-114)
Kerkvliefs discussion of the complications of the land
reform program and the difficulties that this presents for the
peasants is particularly interesting.
First, he estimates that even if land reform were completely
successful, only 34 percent of all tenant farmers and only 8
percent of all landless peasants as of 1972 would be affected,
and many of the nation's largest land owners would be un
touched. In addition, while it claims to be promoting land
reform, the government is at the same time encouraging land
concentration and agribusiness, allowing foreigners into the
production, processing, and marketing of agricultural products
where previously these areas had been largely limited to nation
als. (129-132).
Second, over the 15-year period during which the tenant
must pay for the land (at attractive prices from the landlord's
perspective), he cannot sell it nor does he acquire any equity. He
must join a government-sponsored cooperative, contribute to a
fund guaranteeing amortization payments, adopt many of the
"modern" farming practices associated with the green revolu
tion (increasing production costs), and pay real estate taxes. The
result of these requirements is most probably to push the farmer
into greater debt. Kerkvliet goes through some representative
calculations to show how near the margin tenant farmers are and
the financial difficulties they would face under land reform
conditions if they experienced a crop failure or other calamity.
(115,134-139)
As a program to emancipate the peasants or to reduce the
gap between rich and poor, the current land reform efforts are
unsuccessful. As a program to reduce agrarian unrest, to pro
vide for political stability, and to legitimize martial law, Kerk
vliet believes they may have had a measure of success, although
he suggests this may not continue indefinitely. (141)
David A. Rosenberg begins his article, "Liberty versus
Loyalty: The Transformation of Philippine News Media under
Martial Law," with brief discussions of the history and meaning
of freedom of the press and of the development of the press in
Southeast Asia. After independence the Philippines was the
only country in Southeast Asia in which the media did not come
under government control to some extent. This freedom, Rosen
berg suggests, was not balanced by responsibility. (151) During
the 1960s the Philippine media came more and more under the
control of oligarchic groups who used it to pursue their own
economic and political interests. Marcos attempted throughout
his presidency to inhibit press criticism directed against him and
to obtain favorable coverage. Largely unsuccessful in this en
deavor, he acted swiftly when martial law was declared. The
media was shut down overnight; media figures were arrested;
and strict government controls were instituted. Three official
reasons were put forth to legitimize these actions. Rosenberg
analyzes the substance of these arguments, suggesting that they
don't stand up to scrutiny. The reasons he puts forth for rejecting
the first two are persuasive, but his argument against the third is
less convincing.
First, it is alleged that the press harbored communists and
communist sympathizers and that these subversive elements had
to be removed. However, none of those in the media that were
detained at the onset of martial law had charges placed against
them, and no evidence was ever put forward to substantiate this
accusation. (161-162)
Second, it is emphasized that the oligarchic structure of
control of the news media had to be dismantled. Interestingly,
the only newspaper publisher arrested was the one who did not
have major economic interests outside the media sector, al
though other publishers with widespread economic interests
who had opposed Marcos were closed down. In addition, the
news media that established itself under martial law is not broad
based in ownership; rather it is controlled by relatives or friends
of Marcos. The concentrated, even oligarchic, structure of me
dia control remains.
The third reason given for restructuring the media was that
it is to become, in the words of Presidential Decree No. 191,
" 'an effective instrument in the attainment of social change,' "
(169) Since the declaration of martial law, there has been an
expansion of the government information service and the crea
tion of regulatory commissions and guidelines for the press to
follow. However, Rosenberg suggests the restructured press has
been largely uncritical of Marcos and of government policies,
and its credibility is low. How the media is to be used as a social
change agent "remains ambiguous." (171) Rosenberg may be
correct in his assessment, but this does not rebut the argument
that Marcos wishes to use the media to effect social change. The
question is, what type of change and for whose benefit?
The author suggests that there is little evidence to support
the articulated reasons for the restrictions of freedom of the
press. The best explanation, he believes, is that of a government
attempting "to establish and strengthen its powers under a
martial law regime of dubious constitutional legitimacy ." (172)
In concluding, Rosenberg acknowledges that there exists a
potential conflict between the view of the press which em
phasizes civil liberties and the one that emphasizes the press as
t
an agent of national development. He believes that a return to
the ex treme libertarian nature of pre-martial law press is neither
expected nor desired by Filipino journalists, but neither do they
desire a continuation of the present situation. The author argues
that "[n]ational unity and popular participation in the nation
building effort would be better served by a spontaneous di
versity of opinion ..." and that" [m]ass communication is a
two-way process; it involves both message and reply, informa
tion and feedback." (178-179) Precisely how this would work
out in practice, and what type of political and social structures it
would require is not spelled out, however.
Robert B. Stauffer approaches his study of martial law
from a more theoretical perspective than the other authors and
with a view to tying domestic struggles to the world economy. In
"The Political Economy of Refeudalization" he attempts to
extend the work of those who deal with dependency and domi
nation and center/periphery relations "to include conditions
under which inter-system relationships contribute to the de
struction of indigenous representative political institutions and
the creation of an authoritarian regime." (182-183) Stauffer
calls refeudalization the process of reimposing "a set of rela
tionships ... between developed and underdeveloped coun
tries . . . that sustain the asymmetrical distribution of values
between the groups."
The author argues that to move from a democratic polity to
35
I
refeudalization accompanied by authoritarian rule, certain pre
requisites must occur. And after the installation of a dependent-
authoritarian regime, its institutionalization requires that certain
tasks be performed. He discusses each of these in tum. It is
unclear, however, to what extent they are abstractions from the
Philippine case and to what extent they are more generally
applicable.
Stauffer proceeds to document how the preconditions were
established prior to the declaration of martial law and to what
extent the new regime has been able to institutionalize itself.
Where the other articles had focused on Marcos' actions and the
response to them, Stauffer examines martial law in the context
of a struggle over the direction of the entire development strate
gy of the Philippines. Nationalists are portrayed as much more
than simply anti-Marcos. Stauffer speaks of a split in the busi
ness community "that saw some entrepreneurs move into the
nationalist camp. . . . Others apparently became convinced that
the development strategy offered by the technocrats. . . was to
their best interest. Both groups, however, joined on one line of
policy: they opposed the power of the chief defender of the
status quo, the sugar bloc." (193)
Stauffer explores the creation of new institutions (the new
role and importance of the military and the technocrats), the
establishing of stronger links between domestic actors and for
eigners, and the demise of the power and significance of many
pre-martial law groups (the media, student groups, Congress,
and local and provincial political officials). But he says, "What
is surprising about the new order in the Philippines is that it has
held back from building the other institutions [apart from the
militaryI typically associated with the authoritarian model, in
stitutions to provide for a carefully controlled form of citizen
participation." He goes on to say that "[ilt seems unlikely that
full institutionalization of the dependent-authoritarian system
can take place until this is done." (20 I, 204)
Stauffer conceptualizes what has taken place in the Philip
pines "as a process in which a small group of Filipinos, repre
senting groups closely allied with Americans and other foreign
interests, overthrew the existing political system and imposed
authoritarian controls over the rest of Philippine society .... It
is through these transnational networks that direction is given to
the dependent-authoritarian system, meaning given to refeudal
ization." (209) ......
It would be interesting to know if the other authors in this
volume accept Stauffer's account of the forces that gave rise to
martial law. One could then proceed a step further to ask in what
way the events that they have described are related to these basic
forces at work in Philippine society.
Important issues surrounding the Marcos regime are not
explored in depth in this book. Muslim, communist, and other
resistance movements were mentioned by the editor as impor
tant omissions. One could have hoped that the economic forces
at work in the New Society had been given more attention. It is
not that the economy was ignored; Abueva, Kerkvliet, and
Stauffer dealt with economic issues. Their concerns, however,
were not the economy as such, but its impact on political forces.
As it is, however, the book provides the reader with a
considerable amount of information on several important is
sues surrounding the declaration of martial law and the Marcos
regime. The analysis is uneven in places, as we have tried to
point out, but on the whole Marcos and Martial Law in the
Philippines is a good introduction to this period in Philippine
h l ~ . * ~
Some People of Mindanao,
the Philippines.
Photos by Lindy Washburn.
37
The Japanese Working Class
by Rob Steven*
The Japanese working class has the reputation, largely in
the Western bourgeois press, of being notoriously hard
working, loyal to its employers, and lacking in class conscious
ness. Western managers envy their Japanese counterparts for
the" harmony and cooperation" that is supposed to characterize
industrial relations in Japan, but few of them have any idea why
this supposed harmony exists. Even the Japanese bourgeoisie
tends to attribute it to cultural values which are unique to Japan
and which cannot be exported.
However, a truer explanation lies in the role that tradition
ally important attributes of persons-rankings by sex, age and
education-play in channeling them into classes and into frac
tions within the working class. Because members of the bour
geoisie, the middle class, and the labor aristocracy are over
whelmingly middle-aged men from prestigious educational in
stitutions, differences between classes take on the same form as
differences within the working class. The power of the ruling
class and the above-average conditions of the labor aristocracy
seem to have the same origin: the sex, age, and education of the
individuals themselves rather than the positions they occupy in
the process of production. Differences between classes there
fore become less visible, and Japan looks more like a stratified
society than a class society.
The strong loyalty Japanese workers tend to show to their
employers, as well as their overwhelming sense of rank, are
direct results of the process by which people are channeled into
classes. Because the same types of agents go into the same types
of positions, the real determinants of class power lie concealed
behind the visible attributes of persons. The dominance of the
ideology of the traditional family and of one's rank in it there
fore results from the fact that the personal attributes which
accord rank in the traditional family are also the ones which
* This is the second segment of Rob Steven's lengthy study of Japanese
capitalism which we have published in the Bulletin. "The Japanese Bourgeoi
sie" appeared in Volume II, No.2 (1979), available for $3.50. We will give a
bulk rate to those who wish to use either article (or both) in classroom assignments.
grant access to ruling class positions. In more theoretical terms,
it is only because traditional family relations function as produc
tion relations that the ideology of the traditional family can
become dominant. t In other words, the dominance of "rank
consciousness" is ensured by the ruling class positions oc
cupied by persons of traditionally high rank. However, because
such persons also occupy the upper fractions of the working
class, differences between workers and managers come to look
just like differences among workers and therefore lose their
salience. To show why this is no more than the form assumed by
class society in Japan requires examination of the real determ
inants of fractional divisions within the working class and of the
reasons why agents are channeled into them according to age,
sex, and education. I do so in some detail for each of the three
main fractions: the labor aristocracy, the mass worker, and the
reserve army.
Theory of the Structure and
Composition of the Working Class
From the outset it must be emphasized that all three frac
tions of the working class are in the same fundamental relation
ship to the capitalist class as a whole. Together they function to
produce the social surplus and promote the circulation of the
total social capital under the direct domination of the capitalist
class. The distinctions between them are not based on different
degrees of proximity to the ruling class or on different levels of
income. Rather, their different levels of income result from the
different roles capital in general requires the working class as a
whole to play in order to assist the expanded reproduction of the
capitalist relation. The fundamental law of capital accumula
tion-that within industries, between industries, and in the
economy as a whole, development is uneven and is frequently
interrupted by crises and dislocations-separates workers into
three groups corresponding to the three main (contradictory)
things the working class must be in order to prevent uneven
development from destroying the capitalist relation. This rela
38
tion could not survive uneven accumulation if exactly the same
agents (persons) were required to fulfill all three functions
simultaneously.
To identify these functions, I examine the three main
effects on the working class ofcapital accumulation. The first is
the development of the collective worker through the concentra
tion and centralization of capital in large corporations, that is,
the growth of monopolies through the reinvestment of profits
and through mergers and takeovers. Since the division of labor
is greatest in large enterprises, the function of producing the
whole commodity belongs to the worker as a whole, or to the
collective worker. Once this happens, the contradiction be
tween social production (the fact of a cooperative labor process)
and private appropriation of the product becomes sharper and
can threaten the capitalist relation. Moreover, since workers are
brought together in large numbers in giant corporations, they
can be more threatening if they organize. To minimize the
growing threat of revolutionary working class action, capital
must at the very least stabilize their standard of living to ensure
their loyalty to capital.
If the first thing the working class must be is willing to
accept a relationship whose contradictions are becoming
sharper, the second results from the effects of uneven accumula
tion within industries. Since this process is one of constant
attempts by capitalists in each industry, either to gain a pro
ductivity advantage over rivals (by introducing more efficient
techniques) or to catch up to a productivity disadvantage, more
concentrated and centralized capitals will continually coexist
with smaller less productive capitals. I showed in a previous
article how the survival of the latter depends on their paying
lower wages than the former.
2
From the point of view of capital
in general, this wage difference is essential, since the more
threatening workers in monopoly firms are more likely to re
main loyal if they have some material basis for seeing them
selves as privileged. Uneven accumulation within industries,
therefore, both creates some of the conditions for working class
loyalty, by giving the most advanced workers the greatest mate
rial stake in capitalism, and it requires sizeable wage differen
tials among the working class as a whole, that is, a mass of
low-paid workers in the large number of non-monopoly firms
that necessarily exist side by side with the development of
monopolies.
Finally, the working class must adapt to uneven accumula
tion of capital in general, that is, the periodic depressions in
which the tendency for the rate of profit to fall manifests itself.
At various times masses of workers must become unemployed
for considerable periods, but they must remain available for
re-employment when accumulation begins to pick up again.
Marx referred to this as a reserve army role, and we discuss it in
more detail when we examine the Japanese reserve army.
Clearly, it is impossible for the same persons to be all of
these three things 'at the same time, and in Japan, as in other
capitalist countries, the working class has been divided into
three corresponding fractions. They are products of the dynamic
laws of development of the fundamental relationship between
the capitalist class and the working class. However, they can
only be seen as traditional or natural divisions of rank to the
extent that persons move into them according to the attributes
which confer rank in the traditional famify. Divisions within the
working class appear to be no less natural than divisions be
tween classes, because what are considered natural divisions
within the traditional family-sex and age-allocate family
members into different classes as well as into different fractions
of the working class. To what extent and why has this
happened?
The Structure and Composition of the
Japanese Working Class
(a) The Labor Aristocracy
Rapid accumulation and the consolidation of Japanese
monopoly capital around the time of the First World War was
the most important development which produced a labor aris
tocracy in Japan and gave it its characteristic form. Productive
forces were unleashed to an unprecedented extent and led to two
forms of class struggle which stood in the way of further ac
cumulation. The first was the opportunity seized by the limited
supply of workers with the skills and experience required to
operate the new technologies to bid up wages by frequently
changing jobs. In some cases, capital had to face an annual rate
of labor turnover of 100 percent and even used gangsters either
to compel workers to return or to kidnap workers from rivals.
Although the situation had been serious well before the war, it
became intolerable afterwards. Carefully worked out agree
[T]he fundamental basis of one's livelihood appears to
be the type of company one works in rather than one's
relationship to the means of production. Workers'
loyalty to their employers therefore becomes not
simply loyalty to their company, but a sense of rivalry
with workers in other companies. Because of the re
production ofso many elements of the family ideology,
the company assumes the form of a traditional family,
and class conOict is smothered beneath the form of
rivalry among companies.
ments by employers to prevent "piracy" of one another's work
ers were not adhered to, and some permanent solution was
desperately sought after. The second form of class struggle
which intensified after the war was an escalation of strikes by
the now unionized collective worker, strikes which reached
tidal proportions in 19 19.
It was as a result of the intensification of these forms of
class struggle that capital consciously introduced an employ
ment system to deal with the labor aristocracy. Rather than
discuss the various components of this system historically, I
only outline its central present-day features, many of which
were consolidated during the post-World War II period of rapid
accumulation.
3
The problem it was designed to solve was how
to retain a stable supply of trained workers who would not resist
accumulation in the monopoly sector. Workers in this sector had
to be made loyal to capital and prevented from withdrawing
their labor power through strike action or through switching
employers. The solution to the problem was gradually worked
out in class struggles after many years of trial and error. The
reason for the present system's relative success, at least during
boom periods, lies in how it combines a material basis for
39
workers' loyalty with elements of the traditional superstructure
which demand the loyalty of inferiors to superiors.
The major material components of the system are various
methods of deferring wage payments for workers who are loyal
to capital. The most effecti ve of these methods is the system of
payment by length of service, since few workers will risk the
promise of a secure living wage after some fifteen years of
service by engaging in industrial action that might result in a loss
of their jobs and seniority. To make these deferred wages
ideologically acceptable, capital confines new recruits to
school-Ieavers and university graduates, so that payment for
length of service takes the form of payment by age. The capi
talist enterprise thereby takes the form of a traditional family,
which in return for loyal service also provides a secure position
in the family hierarchy.
The function of the deferred wage is concealed not simply
by the familial system of ranking by age, but also by the
traditional roles assigned to the sexes. Since women who have
children leave their jobs at least long enough to lose their
seniority, most of them are separated from the labor aristocracy,
and their "deferred" wages are seldom paid.
Table 1
Monthly Payment, by Age, Sex,
Education and Firm Size
(1976)
Monthly Payments ()
Sex and Non-Monopoly Monopoly
Education Age Capital Capital
22 95,800 101,000
Male 25 116,400 133,300
University 35 174,500 220,800
Graduates 45 229,400 328,000
55 275,600 406,700
18 80,200 81,400
Male 25 116,100 126,500
High School 35 165,000 193,500
Graduates 45 209,900 262,800
55 248,100 334,500
Female 18 77,200 79,000
High School 25 101,200 104,100
Graduates 30 115,900 120,900
35 130,700
15 69,000 70,000
Male 25 111,500 119,800
Middle School 35 151,100 166,000
Graduates 45 186,400 202,500
55 231,100 233,300
Female 15 66,800 68,600
Middle School 25 96,400 99,000
Graduates 30 107,900 111,200
Source: Chingin romu kanJi kenkyujo shocho [Head ofthe Wages and Personnel
Management Research Institute]. Furukawa Noboru ed . Chingin kento shiryo:
1977 nendokan 11977 Research Materials on Wages] (Tokyo: Nihon Horei.
1976), p. 324.
What separates the labor aristocracy from the mass worker
is the former's employment by monopoly capital, which, be
cause of its more advanced productive forces, is both required to
and can afford to provide a much more solid material basis for
workers' loyalty than can non-monopoly capital. But because
educational achievement (either the standing of the institution
attended or the degree of success in a company entrance exami
nation) allocates male workers into monopoly and non
monopoly firms, the different conditions of employment in the
two sectors seem to result from the different educational qualifi
cations of employees. Insofar as education also channels males
into different classes, it makes divisions among workers look
like divisions between workers and managers. Table I shows
how far this is true of salary and wage differentials.
It is remarkable how divisions between classes and divi
sions w i t ~ i n the working class take on the same form of strata
bases on sex, age, and the "standing" of the firm employed in.
For example, the salaries of middle-aged male university gradu
ates, who by this time typically tend to enter the middle class or
the bourgeoisie, are lower than the wages ultimately received
(after many years of deferment) by elderly m'}le workers. Both
seem to be paid on the same basis of rank in the familial
hierarchy, whereas in fact the former is increasingly paid out of
surplus value for performing the function of capital. Also im
portant to note is that, with the exception of women workers
whose position in the reserve army makes the type of firm they
are employed by irrelevant, deferred wages in monopoly firms
are much greater than those in non-monopoly firms. Though
men in both might have similar starting wages, the difference
increases with length of employment and with education.
Education therefore serves, not merely to reproduce class
agents and to legitimize class society, but to legitimize the
allocation of workers into the labor aristocracy and the general
mass. A worker in a non-monopoly firm is assumed to be less
productive, not because he works with less advanced technol
ogy, but because he went to the wrong school or did not obtain
the right grades. The educational background of a company's
workers thereby seems to justify it as a first-, second-, or
third-rate company, just as education seems to lie behind dis
tinctions among members of a company. Moreover, because
different levels of productive forces in monopoly and non
monopoly firms result in different pay scales between them for
all employees, the fundamental basis of one's livelihood ap
pears to be the type of company one works in rather than one's
relationship to the means of production. Workers' loyalty to
their employers therefore becomes not simply loyalty to their
company, but a sense of rivalry with workers in other com
panies. Because of the reproduction of so many elements of the
family ideology, the company assumes the form of a traditional
family, and class conflict is smothered beneath the form of
rivalry among companies.
The ideological effects of recruitment to the bourgeoisie,
the middle class, and the labor aristocracy through competitive
examination are fairly straightforward. However, it is not yet
clear why, if ruling class power stems from the ownership and
control of capital, and if the above-average conditions of the
labor aristocracy stem from the above-average technologies of
its employers, recruitment to these positions should be by edu
cational achievement. The reason, it seems, lies in the dual
function of education: to legitimize capitalist relations and to
impart scientific knowledge, which is part and parcel of de
40
I
I
veloping productive forces, to the only possible bearers of that workers require. The historical origins of company welfare and
!
knowledge, namely, labor power. Monopoly firms therefore recreation facilities reveal unambiguously that their major pur
I
I
i
I
I
i
I
,
i
1,
recruit by competitive examination because the above-average pose was to bind the worker to his/her company. Capital has
techniques they employ require above-average technical knowl consistently opposed state intervention in this area, and so long
edge. But they also do so in order to legitimize the better as state welfare continues to lag behind company welfare, a
conditions of their workers, the majority of whom in practice worker who chooses or who is compelled to leave a large
require no more skill than workers in non-monopoly firms. For company loses very much more than his/her seniority wages. A
most workers in the monopoly sector, more advanced produc lifetime's savings for old age and emergencies can be ruined in a
tive forces mean a higher division of labor and therefore a few years at current rates of inflation, and employment in a
reduction in the skills actually required on the job. For them, non-monopoly firm secures at most only about half the welfare
recruitment by competitive examination has much more to do s/he previously had: on average monopoly firms spent
with ideology and work discipline than with the skills displayed 367,846 per worker on welfare in 1975, while non-monopoly
in the examination. firms spent only 157,987.
4
Table 3 provides a general picture
The deferment of wages by age is the single most important of the facilities that have been built up in the two sectors.
material condition which ties workers to their companies, but it The material conditions which give the Japanese labor
is by no means the sole condition. Another form of deferred aristocracy its specific form do not, however, exclude certain
wages is the system of twice-yearly bonuses which represent the contradictory elements. Although the employment system in
withholding of wages for periods of up to six months. However, monopoly firms is frequently seen as one of guaranteed lifelong
because the amounts increase with each of the "familial" forms employment and social welfare, even in boom periods the
assumed by fractional divisions within the working class, guarantees have definite limits. These derive from the fact that
bonuses serve three functions in addition to securing workers' capital's total wage bill depends more on the average age of its
loyalty. The most important is that they are a convenient means total workforce than on the absolute number employed. For
of cutting the value of labor power without reducing regular example, two workers under twenty-five cost less than one over
wages. Since in monopoly firms they comprise from 20-30 fifty. This is why new recruits are almost entirely confined to
percent of workers' total annual income and are presented as a young graduates and schoolleavers, and why total wage costs
type of profit-sharing for high productivity, they offer consider can actually fall in a boom where the workforce expands
able scope for manipulation by capital. For example, bonuses rapidly. However, the reproduction of this happy state of affairs
were cut by an average of 5 percent in 1976.
4
The second has required placing a relatively low upper-limit on the age,
additional function of bonuses is that workers tend to save out of soon after fifty-five, by which workers in the labor aristocracy
them for old age and for the education of their children, and they have to retire. To continue the seniority payments and job
thereby release cheap money to capital through the banking security beyond that age would cause two main problems: a
system. Finally, since bonuses in non-monopoly firms comprise possibly rising average-age of the workforce and insufficient
a smaller proportion of annual income than in monopoly firms, tlexibility in being able to adjust its absolute numbers to any
they allow pay differentials between the two to look narrower unevenness in the rate of accumulation.
than they actually are, as revealed by Table 2. Monopoly capital has therefore made a rigid distinction
Apart from deferring wages, capital employs one other between so-called "regular employees" (unmarried females
main material incentive, namely, the system of company wel and males under the age of about fifty-five), and various types of
fare, which is most highly developed in monopoly firms. The "temporaries." But because workers move from one group to
discrepancy between what they. and what small firms can offer is the other when they retire, the reproduction of a sizeable propor
particularly significant in the provision of cheap company hous tion of the reserve army is out of the labor aristocracy, and
ing and medical facilities, since housing and medicare are powerful forces are generated in opposition to those which
among the most costly as well as most essential wage goods secure the loyalty of the latter to capital. When the same work-
Table 2
Bonuses and Basic Wages by Firm Size
(1975, OOO)
Indices: largest
Firm Size A B
...1L
firms = 100
(Operatives) Wages Bonuses A+B A+B A B A+B
Under 30 1,495.2 274.3 1,769.5 15.5 81 35 67
30-99 1,520.6 459.8 1,980.4 23.2 82 58 75
100-499 1,571.5 533.8 2,105.3 25.4 85 68 80
500-999 1,685.1 650.1 2,335.2 27.8 91 82 89
Over 1,000 1,864.4 788.8 2,635.2 29.9 100 100 100
Average 1,575.1 455.1 2,030.2 22.4 85 74 77
Source.' Kokuzeichii chiikan kanbii siimuka [Chief Secretary of the General Affairs Section of the Natiollal Taxation Agency], Zeimu tokei kara mila minkan kyuyo
no jittai [Private Incomes as Revealed in Taxation Statistics] (Tokyo: Okurashii insatsukyoku, 1976), p. 13.
41
Table 3
Availability of Company Welfare by Firm Size
Housing
Family
Unmarried
House Buying Incentive
Homeowner Layaway
Housing Loan
Medical & Health Care
Hospitals
Clinics
Medical Offices
Preventive Medicine
Family Medical Check-ups
Living Support
Barber Shops, Beauty Salons
Purchasing Facilities
Nurseries
Employee Canteens
Food Provision
Mutual-aid Credit
Marriage
Birth
Death
Disease
Accident
Private Insurance System
(premiums borne by employer)
Culture, Sport, Recreation
Libraries
Gymnasiums
Athletic Grounds
Seaside, Mountain Lodges & Ski Resorts
Rehabilitation Facilities
Tennis Courts
Swimming Pools
Cultural Clubs
Athletic Clubs
Athletic Meets
Pleasure Trips
Others
Employee Shareholding
Supplemental Labour Compensation
Insurance
Supplemental Health Insurance
(Extra payment above legal minimums)
Total of
all firms
47.0%
34.9
34.8
4.5
18.8
3.2
8.3
24.9
58.2
2.4
3.8
9.6
1.8
33.3
27.7
94.7
87.4
94.0
86.2
77.2
46.6
22.1
3.4
10.9
15.1
16.0
11.4
2.8
31.5
56.5
15.3
88.4
7.8
31.1
21.3
Large firms Small firms
(over 5,000 employees) (30-99 employees)
93.9% 42.2%
89.9 28.8
96.5 28.2
74.9 1.0
93.9 10.8
31.3 2.2
74.3 3.8
85.4 \8.2
95.6 52.\
37.4 1.I
50.3 1.3
70.2 4.1
12.0 0.8
79.2 27.4
62.2 22.9
98.0 93.2
90.6 85.2
98.2 92.2
88.9 83.6
96.2 72.0
48.8 48.2
75.1 14.2
54.1 2.0
84.5 5.0
73.3 9.8
95.6 9.4
86.5 4.0
48.8 1.3
94.7 19.5
95.3 46.5
71.9 9.1
64.3 91.5
55.3 5.8
93.6 23.8
98.8 14.8
Source: Katsumi Y akabe, Labour Relations in Japan: Fundamental Characteristics (Tokyo: International Society for Educationallnfonnation. Inc. Japan, 1974),
p.64.
42
Table 4
Total Economically Active Population* by Age, Education, and Firm Size, 1974 (1,000 persons)
Firm Size Education
1-9 School
University
10-99 School
University
100-299 School
University
Over 1,000 School
University
Total School
University
Source: Shugyo kozo kihon chosa hokoku. p. 60.
* Persons who are also studying are excluded.
ing class agents are made to fulfill two contradictory functions
required by capital accumulation, albeit at different times in
their lives, the performance of both roles might be threatened.
What has held the contradictory demands on the loyalty of the
labor aristocracy in balance has been the postwar boom, which
has allowed capital to provide job security until, and a living
wage towards the time of, retirement, and that, after this,
temporary jobs have been easy to get, even if at lower wages
than before.
An analysis of the composition of the labor aristocracy
requires identifying those working class members of public
corporations, the civil service, and monopoly firms who receive
the material benefits already outlined. This requires the exclu
sion of two main groups of workers: ( I) all the different types of
temporary, part-time, and day laborers who have no seniority
and therefore no overriding reason to knuckle down in order one
day to receive deferred wage payments; (2) almost all women
workers, since most of those whom the company regards as
"permanent" are under thirty-five and unmarried. They will
"retire" when they marry and will never receive their deferred
wages. Most married women are over thirty-five and are only
hired on one or another temporary basis. The only women in the
labor aristocracy are the small number in monopoly firms who
never marry.
If we break down the total economically active population
according to the main superstructural forms that channel the
Japanese into classes and class fractions, we can get a general
picture of the size of the labor aristocracy. Table 4 does this by
firm size, age, and education (that is, the main elements apart
from sex).
Although some firms with fewer than 1,000 operatives are
in the monopoly sector, the clearest cut-off point for this sector
is firms larger than this and government. Since almost all
persons in these sectors are employees, to get a rough estimate
of the labor aristocracy we must subtract the members of the
bourgeoisie, the middle class, and the reserve army. If the first
two largely coincide with university graduates, and the third
with men over 55 and women (of whom there were about 2.7
15-34
5,884
639
4,087
729
1,569
405
1,058
740
17,519
3,839
Age
35-55
9,309
645
3,923
476
1,232
207
1,397
790
19,056
2,881
over 55 Total
4,649 19,841
277 1,562
1,238 9,245
173 1,378
309 3,091
46 659
315 2,771
96 1,626
7,011 43,585
725 7,445
million in 1974), the aristocracy would be about 5.6 million.
But because these include some other types of temporary worker
and the members of the repressi ve state apparatuses (in all about
a million), the aristocracy is left with approximately 4.5 million
persons.
Since a precise estimate of the size of the labor aristocracy
is not possible until we have a clear idea of how many workers in
the monopoly sector are in the reserve army, detailed estimates
are made only after we have examined the conditions of the
mass worker in the massive number of non-monopoly firms
scattered throughout the country.
(b) The Mass Worker
If the labor aristocracy is a product of advanced productive
forces, what determines and characterizes the mass worker is
employment by less concentrated and centralized capitals.
Though all workers are in identical relationships to capital in
general, the fact of uneven development among the many capi
tals that constitute it requires a division of the working class
according to the types of material conditions the different capi
tals are able to provide. Differences in these conditions
wages, bonuses, welfare, and so on-are not the cause of the
divisions within the working class, but the effects of the funda
mental cause: uneven accumulation and the continual coexist
ence of backward with more advanced capitals. Wages and
conditions are not determined independently of the rate of
accumulation, but by that rate, and differences in wages and
conditions are the effects of different levels of productive forces
resulting from different rates of accumulation. The more back
ward capitals ..with below-average technology can only continue
to exist so long as they provide below-average working condi
tions to compensate for their technical disadvantages. Although
uneven rates of accumulation among industries have also re
quired some compensating differences in working conditions,
the major differences are between monopoly and non-monopoly
capitals in 'all industries.
Tables 2 and 3 have already shown the extent of the
variations in wages, bonuses, and welfare conditions. The dif
43.
ferences do not, however, correspond to different needs to
provide a material basis to secure workers' loyalty, since the
deferment of wages is practiced by both monopoly and non
monopoly capital. Rather, the differences correspond to un
equal abilities to withhold wages. In order to attract young
workers in the first place, non-monopoly capital must offer
starting wages which are comparable to starting wages in the
monopoly sector. By doing so, the proportion of the total wage
which it can defer is reduced, and with it the ability to use
deferred wages as a means of securing workers' loyalty. The
starting wages of all workers are not very different in large and
small firms, but the differentials widen with length of service.
However, non-monopoly capital's reduced ability to se
cure workers' loyalty by means of material incentives does not
mean that it has had significantly greater problems of industrial
conflict. This is partly because in most cases the more backward
productive forces in small firms have not yet created a division
of labor and a collective worker with the power to make larger
wage deferments necessary. The greatest problems of worker
indiscipline have been in medium-sized firms, which cannot
compete with monopoly capital's wages, but which have con
siderably socialized the labor process in factories that bring
together fairly large numbers of workers. 6 Elsewhere, and in
creasingly as firms become smaller, the familial form assumed
by class relations in Japan is reproduced as much by actual
personal contact between workers and bosses as through the
structure of material incentives.
What the employer in a small firm cannot provide in
material conditions he provides in genuine personal concern.
Although he* is typically more authoritarian and reactionary
than the global capitalist (or the hierarchy which performs
capital's function in the monopoly sector) he is also more
respected, since the loyalty he cultivates is to himself person
ally. Since he is personally seen as the provider of his workers'
livelihood, the familial form of the capitalist relation is repro
duced more purely than in the monopoly sector. Even most
incorporated non-monopoly firms are largely owned by single
families, and the head of this household appears as the head of
an extended family which includes all his workers. Class rela
tions therefore more thoroughly assume the fonn of familial
relations, particularly since some of the workers will be actual
relatives, either younger sons and daughters, or more distant
kin. The material basis of the employer's use of extra-economic
coercion (the traditional ideology demanding loyalty and obedi
ence to him personally) is therefore a much closer correspon
dence between family relations and production relations than
exists in monopoly firms. The boss is both employer and head of
the household which owns the firm.
The form of class action assumed by the mass workers'
difficulty in reproducing his/her labor power on non-monopoly
wages and conditions is not typically strike action, which is seen
and treated as a mark of gross ingratitude to the employer, but a
greater propensity to change jobs in search of better conditions.
Rates of labor turnover in the non-monopoly sector vary widely
and have been known to reach enormous proportions. A 1972
study of small firms in Tokyo revealed that almost 60 percent of
employees in commerce and services, and 42 percent in manu
facturing had changed jobs twice.
7
In the 35-45 age group, the
annual rates of turnover are almost three times as high in the
non-monopoly as in the monopoly sector, reflecting workers'
reduced incentives to stay on in small firms even after acquiring
some seniority (but well before retirement age when all workers
have to leave anyway). The absolute rates of turnover are higher
in both sectors for the under 35's, that is, before workers receive
a stake in their seniority, but large differences between the
sectors remain.
One form of deferred wages which has not been mentioned
yet and which reinforces the pressure on the mass worker to
"vote with his feet" is his retirement pay. Some firms provide
only lump sums, while others separate the total amount into a
lump sum and a division of the remainder into annual payments
stretched over a number of years. In either case, monopoly finns
can withhold large amounts from ordinary wages to pay for what
appear to be very generous handouts. 8
Apart from these and other types of withheld wages, which
together result in much wider real differentials between the
monopoly and non-monopoly sectors, workers in the latter must
endure at least two additional disadvantages: longer working
hours and higher risks of industrial accidents. Table 5 indicates
the extent of the difference in hours as well as the difference in
the number of working days per month.
Longer working hours in small firms fonn a major means
by which non-monopoly capital compensates for its technical
backwardness, almost the entire burden of which it places on the
working class. Although functionaries must put up with lower
salaries than their counterparts in the monopoly sector, they are
nonetheless responsible for ensuring that workers accept the
conditions capital can afford, not least exposure to industrial
hazards. Table 6 shows how these hazards increase as finns
become smaller. In a small firm with about 40 workers, one will
have an accident every year, which means that at some stage
during their working lives most workers will be affected. How
ever, in firms with over 1,000 employees the rate is only about
one worker every three or four years, and few will be affected.
Since in all respects the conditions of the mass worker are
vastly inferior to those of the labor aristocracy, strategies for
class struggle depend greatly on the relative size of each frac
tion. However, because there is some mobility between small
and large firms as well as from regular to temporary jobs, these
estimates must await analysis of the reserve army.
Table 5
Average Number of Working Days and Hours
Worked per Month, by Firm Size, 1975
Hours
Firm Size Days Total Ofwhich fIXed
(Operatives)
Over 500 20.9 166.6 155.8
100-499 21.7 171.9 160.6
30-99 22.3 164.4 165.8
5-29 23.4 182.7 172
Source: R6d6 daijin kanbO t6kei j6h6bu [Statistical Information Bureau of the
Secretary of the Ministry of Labour, Maitsuki kinro tokei chosa sogo hokokusho
[Composite Report on the Monthly Survey of Employment Statistics] (Tokyo:
R6d6 daijin kanb6 t6keij6h6bu, 1976), pp. 75,93.
* Japanese employers are overwhelmingly male.
44
(c) The Reserve Army
The function of the reserve army is to allow the usual forms
of uneven development, which require reducing the value of the
working class' labor power and shunting workers in and out of
the labor process, to occur without threatening capitalist rela
tions. In Japan, this role has been played more effectively than
in most advanced capitalist societies and is a major reason for
the relatively smooth reproduction of capitalist relations in that
country. To clarify why this is so requires a detailed examina
tion of what a reserve army is and how it works.
Since uneven development takes three main forms, the
reserve army must play three corresponding roles. The first is
related to the widespread increases in accumulation that (under
appropriate conditions) can follow such cases of scientific or
technical progress as the invention of the steam-engine or the
motor car. Accumulation in a variety of industries can be favor
ably affected by such momentous advances in anyone of them.
However, a crucial condition on which this depends is whether
capital has at its disposal sufficient workers to man the expan
sion. To avoid drawing them from other capitalist enterprises
and either bidding up wages intolerably or provoking social
unrest through the rapid destruction of backward firms, a large
pool of latent workers must be available. So that the capitalist
relation is not threatened at its existing and increasingly weakest
point, the bulk of the workers needed for the new developments
must come from outside capitalist production. Their departure
from their previous productive activities can only avoid a seri
ous threat to capital in general if these activities are under pre
or non-capitalist relations.
However, the coexistence of rapid accumulation in some
industries, with modest and often declining accumulation in
others, will sooner or later lead to a social crisis unless the
difference is somehow gradually reduced. Industries, or capitals
within industries, that remain backward in the long-term will
need to disappear. To smooth over the transition, some workers
will have to float to and fro for a while, though it might be
possible for most to spend their working lives where they are.
Since capital will not require their reproduction, the new gen
erations of workers can move straight into the expanding sectors
and help smooth over the transition.
Apart from these epochal stages in capitalist development,
it is normal in any period for all capitals to make regular, even if
relatively small, adjustments to their work forces. Never sure of
what lies ahead, no capital can be certain that the exact number
of workers required one year will still be needed the next. For
For most workers in the monopoly sector, more ad
vanced productive Corces mean a higher division oC
labor and thereCore a reduction in the skills actually
required on the job. For them, recruitment by com
petitive examination has much more to do with ideol
ogy and work discipline than with the skills displayed
in the examination.
this reason as well, a pool of workers who are prepared to float
from one employer to another, regardless of wages or working
conditions, is necessary to the normal functioning of capitalist
production.
In addition to latent andjloating workers, about once each
generation capital requires large numbers of workers to be
shifted out of employment for extended periods corresponding
to the length of these extended depressions. They will become
stagnant, and because they have no form of subsistence, they
can be the most dangerous from capital's point of view. Even
outside conditions of general depression, some workers for
whom no capital can find a use will be laid off and form a
stagnant work force. Wherever possible, they must be somehow
recycled into the latent pool, so that they have some form of
subsistence to prevent their growth into a revolutionary force.
Each of the latent, floating, and stagnant groups of workers
is both a product and a condition of the normal process of
uneven development. Their main functions are to allow capital
to adjust the numbers of workers needed at any time to the
requirements of profitability, adjustments which involve con
tinual movements of workers in and out of employment. How
ever, profitability is also served by these shifts through their
effects on the value ofthe labor power of the working class as a
whole. The continual possibility of bringing in new workers
enables capital to prevent existing ones from bidding up wages,
and the reserve army as a whole ensures that the value of labor
power does not rise above what profitability can tolerate.
As a cushion for uneven development in Japan, the reserve
army has so far functioned close to the ideal. No large stagnant
reserve has built up, and workers who are no longer needed have
usually been converted into some or other latent reserve with a
relatively independent subsistence. Floating workers have been
available in sufficient numbers to permit fairly smooth adjust-
Table 6
Rate of Industrial Accidents by Finn Size
(Manufacturing, 1975)
Firm Size
Over 1,000 500-999 300-499 100-299 50-99 30-49
Accident Rate"
Rate of IntensitY'
1.64
0.29
3.23
0.34
5.14
0.43
8.27
0.48
11.91
0.74
15.81
0.91
Source: 1975 ROd6 hakusho. p. 286.
a. Numbers of persons laid off more than one day per million working hours. b. Number of days lost per thousand working hours.
45
Table 7
Strength of the Ideology Supporting the
Sexual Division of Labor
(1975)
Should Women Retire on Marriage or Having Children?
Naturally Inevitably No Don't Know
Men 22% 58% 12% 8%
Women 17% 61% 13% 9%
Source: Riidiishii fujin-shiinen kyoku [Women and Youth Department of the
Ministry of LabourJ, Fujin rodo no jilsujo [Conditions of Women Workers I
(Tokyo: Okurashii insatsukyoku, 1976), p. 75.
ments to uneven development. Furthermore, the working class
agents in the reserve army have on the whole been different from
those in the other two fractions, and the danger of united
working class action has been averted.
This last condition is important, because if all workers
stand a more or less equal chance of sinking into the reserve, the
danger that other fractions of the working class will make
common cause with the reserve increases. Fortunately for the
Japanese bourgeoisie, traditional familial relations have once
again come to the rescue and channelled workers into the re
serve army primarily according to age and sex. The insecurity of
these positions thereby takes the form of the insecurity of
particular persons-women and the old-in the family
hierarchy.
Although because of their relative predominance in certain
jobs and industries (for example, typists and the service in
dustry) women cannot fulfill all functions of the reserve army on
their own, they do so to a degree far in excess of their sisters in
other capitalist societies. They are particularly useful in the ease
with which they can be converted from a stagnant to a latent
reserve, since even when they are laid-off and cannot find jobs
they secure through their husbands a subsistence independent of
their own wages. Their role in the sexual division of labor in the
family also predisposes them to accept the status of latent
worker. A survey conducted in 1975 by the Office of the Prime
Minister confirmed that they are both prepared and expectetl to
sink into the latent reserve when they marry or have children.
Table 7 presents their answers to the question, "What do you
think of using marriage or having children as an opportunity
[sic] to retire'?"
Far from being an opportunity for working women, early
retirement allows capital to replace older and more highly-paid
workers with cheap new recruits. The widespread practice of
retiring women when they marry and have children therefore
simultaneously reproduces the latent reserve and uses it to keep
wage costs down. The young women who retire so willingly are
never paid their deferred wages, since when capital draws on
this latent reserve they reenter the workforce without seniority.
Neither do middle-aged mothers who have lost a few years'
"experience" ever acquire any real seniority, since even if they
work a full week, they receive the ambiguous status of "non
regulars" or "permanent temporaries." Table 8 shows that
middle-aged men and women who enter new jobs are treated
quite differently: some of the men's previous experience is
recognized, but the women are treated like young girls.
Because men who switch jobs before they reach retirement
age do not lose their seniority entirely, some can often get better
wages by doing so, particularly when they move from smaller to
larger firms. This type of labor turnover does not concern the
floating reserve, because capital cannot with impunity take the
initiative when it involves men under 55. What legitimizes
capital's initiative in the case of the floating reserve is that the
workers have all "retired." They can then be kept on or not, but
only at reduced wages and with the ambiguous status of "non
regular employee. " Since men and women "retire" at different
TableS
Women's Wages as a Percentage of Men's by Age and Length of Service
(1975)
Length of Service (years)
Age Average 0 2 3-4 5-9 10-14 15-19 20-29 30
-17
18-19
20-24
25-29
30-34
35-39
40-44
45-49
50-54
55-59
60
Average
92.7
91.1
85.3
75.5
63.9
55.9
54.1
56.1
53.5
58.2
66.4
61.4
92.6
92.7
84.1
68.2
55.1
51.1
50.3
52.4
50.8
60.1
62.6
86.6
91.9
92.5
85.8
73.9
58.2
53.6
52.3
54.2
62.8
58.1
66.4
70.7
91.7
89.7
86.5
75.4
60.0
54.0
53.9
55.0
55.8
56.2
63.9
69.7
85.7
87.4
76.7
62.9
54.3
53.1
55.2
53.9
57.3
63.9
68.3
83.6
79.5
67. I
58.0
55.6
57.7
57.6
59.2
63.6
67.0
77.0
76.5
68.8
62.6
62.9
63.7
66.9
71.1
68.1
72. I
76.5
69.3
66.4
64.3
67.9
72.7
69.4
71.1
81.9
82.1
73.5
71.4
68.9
73.8
85.2
96.2
90.4
85.4
74.5
84.5
Source: Fujin rodo no jilsujO. p. 58.
46
ages, the ages at which they enter the floating reserve are
correspondingly different. Only between the ages of 15 and 29
and again after 60, when both men and women are of pre- and
post-retirement age respectively, is there any comparability in
their membership of different fractions of the working class.
Table 8 shows that wage differentials are narrowest during these
years.
9
However, since the overwhelming majority of women
under 30 are never paid their deferred wages and can be retired
as soon as they marry, women are almost entirely in the reserve
army. Until retirement they form a reserve of cheap floating
workers; they then sink into the latent reserve for varying
lengths of time, and finally some re-enter the floating reserve.
Out of a total of eleven and a half million women employees in
1974, only about a half a million were in the 30-55 age group
and had never married. They were unambiguously outside the
reserve army.
To estimate the size of the female latent reserve, we must
first subtract from the total number of employees those who are
in the bourgeoisie and the middle class. Since in 1974, only
5.36 percent of persons listed in the census as managers and
officials were women,IO there were approximately 308,830
women in the bourgeoisie (this number is 5.36 percent of the
total bourgeois employees in the private and public sectors). If
we add to them the 1,154,498 females in the middle class
(mainly teachers and nurses) and ignore the 521,000 full-time
women in the 30-55 age group who had never married (most
were probably either bourgeois or middle class), the female
floating reserve would comprise about 10 million persons. If all
those in the favored age group who had never married were
outside the working class, the number would have been
10,119,672 in 1974.
It is impossible to attempt a similarly precise estimate of
the female latent and stagnant reserves, though some survey
data can provide a general idea of the numbers of women capital
can draw on. According to the government's 1974 employment
status survey, a full 7.7 million women, of whom only 856,000
had never married, were' 'wishing to work. "II
A rough division of these people into latent and stagnant
reserves can be made according to the extent of their alternative
sources of subsistence. We do so by examining the employment
status and annual income of the heads of their households,
though other sources of subsistence are possible. Table 9 sug
gests that most persons wishing to work are latent rather than
stagnant workers.
If under O.4 million a year was too low for a family's
subsistence and under I million was marginal, between one
and two million women and just under one million men seem to
have been in the stagnant rather than the latent reserve. Until
recently, therefore, Japanese capitalism has been able to recycle
unemployed married women through the sexual division of
labor in the family into the less threatening of these two groups
in the reserve army. We shall see below how the current crisis is
beginning to interfere with this process and how the working
class as a whole is affected by the changes.
Although women are overwhelmingly concentrated in and
form the bulk of the reserve army, they are not the only members
of it. They are joined by at least four categories of men: "non
regulars" (shokutaku), "part-timers" (rinjiko), and "day
laborers" (hiyatoi) in the floating reserve, and the unemployed
in the latent and stagnant reserves.
Table 9
Persons Wishing to Work by Sex and by
Employment Status and Income of Household Head
1974 (1,000 persons)
Employment Status
of Household Head Total Men Women
Persons without a job 1,723 833 890
Persons with a job 7,494 627 6,867
(annual income)
Under 0.4 million 158 23 135
0.4-1.0 million 1,023 121 902
Over 1.0 million 6,279 480 5,799
Not reported 35 3 32
Total Persons 9,217 1,459 7,757
Source: Shugy6 kiiz6 kihon chOsa hOkoku. pp. 236 and 240.
What distinguishes the rapid turnover of mass workers in
the non-monopoly sector from the floating of reserve workers in
and out of both sectors are the different reasons the two groups
have for changing jobs. The former leave largely at their own
initiative in search of improved conditions, while the latter
typically move out of regular jobs to less secure and remunera
tive ones because they are of post-retirement age. This is con
firmed by the reasons given by persons who changed jobs or
gave up work in 1974. The overwhelming majority of the total
over the age of 55 as well as women under 30 gave reasons
which had little or nething to do with any initiative of their own.
In the case of men under 30, only 27.5 percent fell into this
category. Table 10 reveals that, if we regard reasons for move
ments of workers as indicators of the class fraction to which they
belong, there is a very clear distinction between the mass worker
and the reserve army.
Among men over the age of 55, 71 percent of those who
changed jobs and 90 percent of those who gave up work seem to
be in one or other group in the reserve army. Since the male
members of this fraction of the working class are overwhelm
ingly elderly workers, we need to examine what happens to
workers after retirement. In general, they must change their
places of employment as well as the type of work they do,
receive some form of temporary status, and accept large reduc
tions in wages. According to a government survey of the per
sons (mainly men) who reached retirement age in 1967-1973,
63.3 percent had to move to jobs in different establishments,
and they went overwhelmingly to smaller ones than they had
been in before. Only 34.5 percent of these people did the same
type of work they had done previously, revealing that they are
used as mpinly unskilled workers, and almost 76 percent of
them received some or other form of temporary status: 66.7
percent became "non-regulars" and 9.2 percent "part-timers"
or "day laborers." A full 33.7 percent had spent some time
unemployed. I I Although lower proportions of retired workers
who remained on in the same establishments had to do different
jobs and accept temporary status, this applied to only 36.7
percent of the people who retired during the period. Table II
shows the average reduction in wages both groups had to accept
47
Table 10
Movements of Reserve Army and Mass Workers
by Age and Sex, 1974 (1,000 persons)
Age
Nos. % Nos. 5 Nos. 5
i) Persons who changed jobs* 1,102 100.0 852 100.0 169 100.0
Mass workers' 365 33.1 307 36.0 27 16.0
Floating workers
b
359 32.6 316 37.1 116 68.6
Of which Men* 633 100.0 586 100.0 143 100.0
Mass workers 251 39.7 213 36.3 21 14.7
Floating workers 174 27.5 211 36.0 102 71.3
Of which Women* 469 100.0 266 100.0 26 100.0
Mass workers 114 24.3 94 35.3 6 23.1
Floating workers 185 39.4 105 39.5 14 53.8
ii) Persons who stopped work* 1,016 100.0 678 100.0 482 100.0
Mass workers 103 10. I 94 13.9 19 3.9
Latent/Stagnant reserve
C
720 70.9 429 63.3 415 86.1
Of which Men* 145 100.0 126 100.0 279 100.0
Mass workers 37 25.5 18 14.3 9 3.2
Latent/Stagnant reserve 52 35.9 85 67.5 251 90.0
Of which Women* 871 100.0 552 100.0 203 100.0
Mass workers 66 7.6 76 13.7 10 4.9
Latent/Stagnant reserve 668 76.7 344 62.3 164 80.8
* Totals include persons who gave reasons other than the ones included in the classification.
a Mass workers were regarded as those who either changed jobs or gave up work because of the wages or conditions in their former jobs.
b Floating workers were seen as those who changed jobs for any of the following reasons: lay-offs. bankruptcies. the job was temporary, a family member was
transferred, marriage or child care, retirement. illness. and old age.
e Stagnant or latent workers are those who gave up work for any of the reasons in b. They are not distinguished, because whether or not they have an alternative
subsistence is not relevant here.
Source: Shiigyo kozo kihon chosa hokoku. pp. 258-261.
as they changed jobs.
Since the labor aristocracy which retires out of monopoly
Table 11
firms must tolerate massive wage reductions when it enters the
reserve army, there is an important material basis for working
Wage Reductions of Retired Workers, by Firm Size
class unity, which as we see below, is becoming firmer as the
1967-1973 (% Distribution of Persons)
crisis of Japanese capitalism deepens.
So far most male members of the reserve army have man Firm Size
aged to remain in the floating category, which in addition to % Wage Reduction
"non-regulars," includes what are known as "part-timers" and
(Operatives) Over 100% 25-100% 0-25%
"day laborers." These latter are closest to sinking into the latent
No reduction
(insofar as they have some form of subsistence), or worse still,
Over 5,000 18.9 43.4 2\.3 16.4
the stagnant reserves. Day laborers in particular are extremely
1,000-4,999 14.1 42.1 24.2 19.6
insecure, since they must somehow find work each day. They
500-999 16. I 34.3 22.5 27.1
tend to congregate in urban slums, such as the Sanya district in
Tokyo or Karnagasaki in Osaka, and are herded onto buses
300-499 12.8 31.2 22.9 33.1
100-299 20.6 24.1 14.9 40.4
employers send into the areas.
Day laborers come in all ages, though they are predomin
Average 16.9 41.2 22.2 19.7
antly middle-aged men who dropped out of the normal process
Source: Teinen totatsusha chosa no kekka, p. 28.
through which workers are fitted into the "familial" hierarchy.
One study of day laborers in the Sanya district revealed that out
of an average three day period, only 23.3 percent found work
48
Table 12
Estimated Size of the Japanese Reserve Army
by Sex and Sector of Employment, 1974 (000 persons)
Non-Monopoly Monopoly Total
Men Women Total Men Women Total Men Women Total
A. Floating 2,150 7,114 9,264 983 3,005 3,994 3,139 10,100 13,258
Non-regulars' 1,231 5,911 7,142 615 3,303 1,846 1,846 8,601 10,447
Part-timers
b
528 925 1,453 215 242 457 743 1,178 1,910
Day labourers 391 278 669 159 73 232 550 351 901
B. Latent 604 6,733 7,337
C. Stagnant 856 1,025 1,881
TOTAL RESERVE ARMY 4,559 17,877 22,476
The total number of women in this category is taken from the total number of women employees who are neither part-time nor day labourers (see Shugyo kOzo kihon
chosa hokoku, p. 62) and subtracting the bourgeois and middle class members. Their division into the two sectors is in the proportion in Ibid., pp. 94. 100. To getthe
total number of male non-regulars. I have subtracted only corporation directors from the male employees over 55 who were neither part-time nor day labourers. since
most capitalist functionaries are below the age of 55.
b The totals for both sexes come from Ibid., pp. 30 and 32. and they are divided into sectors according to the same proportions as are those persons who worked less
than 35 hours a week in 1974. for which see Ibid., pp. 94-100.
the full three days, 36.1 percent worked two days, and 13.4
percent remained on the streets. 12 Being used for mainly heavy
work, such as concreting or miscellaneous factory jobs, they
received about 2,900 a day in 1974, \3 which resulted in an
annual income of less than half of what other workers receive.
The distinction between non-regulars, part-timers, and day
laborers is primarily one of job security. A rough rule of thumb
is the notice they receive should lay-offs be required: about a
year for non-regulars, a month for part-timers, and of course no
warning for day laborers. In the case of unmarried women under
thirty, whom I have regarded as non-regulars even though they
are accorded regular status so kmg as they remain single (or at
least do not have children), this period is longer. The approxi
mately four million women in this category are perhaps on the
boundary between the reserve army and the other fractions of
the working class.
It is not possible to make estimates of the numbers of
persons in the Japanese reserve army, which turns out to be
surprisingly large in view of that country's reputation for "life
long employment. " This is done in Table 12 on the basis of date
previously provided and estimates explained in the Table.
So long as the stagnant group remains such a small propor
tion of the total (8.4%), the potential vulnerability of capitalist
relations in Japan will remain no more than that. Some 59
percent of the total are floating workers and have been able to find
jobs, while the family has taken the place of the agricultural
sector as a means of ensuring that otherwise stagnant workers
are safely in the latent reserve. 14 However, the large proportion
of women in the reserve army is a two-edged sword, since
women cannot so overwhelmingly perform both of the two main
functions required of a reserve army. Although they can carry
the burden of working at high rates of exploitation through their
low wages, they cannot on their own enable capital to regulate
the numbers of workers to the required degree in time of crisis.
This is because women do not do the whole range of jobs which
are affected by the crisis to the same degree as men, but are
concentrated in certain industries and occupations. Table 13
shows that these are largely clerical jobs in the service and retail
sectors.
Although the female reserve might be sufficient to allow
capital in certain unproductive sectors 1 S to tide over a prolonged
crisis, other sectors will require more than women and the
limited numbers of men in the floating reserve. Such a crisis
would also make it extremely difficult even for this number to
move from the floating to the latent(rather than to the stagnant)
reserve, since the normal process through which this is done in
Japan would break down in a prolonged crisis. Typically, re
tired male workers who cannot find temporary employment set
up petty family enterprises, but these tend to yield an income per
person engaged which is even less than what temporary workers
receive. Even in boom times, therefore, the sinking of retired
male workers into the petty bourgeoisie has been a less than
ideal means of converting stagnant into latent workers. 16 In a
prolonged crisis, the stagnant reserve is bound to build up, and if
its sex, age, and educational composition changes significantly,
it can become the focus of wider working class struggles. I
pursue this question once I have examined the organisation and
ideologies with which the Japanese working class must face the
crisis, and conclude this section with a summary of its structure
and composition.
As a means of ensuring the reproduction of capitalist re
lations,channelling the members of the working class into its
three main fractions on the basis of sex and education is superior
to doing so on the basis of age. This is because all workers
eventually become old and will sooner or later be subjected to
the demands placed on retired workers, while men who have
once obtained a prestige education need not otherwise experi
ence any of what being in the reserve army implies. The price
capital must pay for its ability to make class society take the
form of a familial-type stratified society is that the entire work
49
Table 13
Total Employees (excluding directors) by Industry, Occupation,
and Sex, 1974 (000 persons)
Industry
Primary
Mining
Construction
Manufacturing
Wholesale/Retail
Finance/Insurance/Real Estate
Transport/Communications
Electricity /Gas/Water
Services
TOT AL (excluding government)
Occupation
Professional and Technical
Clerical
Sales
Farmers, Lumbermen, Fishermen
Miners
Transport/Communications
Craftsmen/Production Process
Labourers
Protective Service
Service
(Regrouped)
Construction Workers
Total (including Government)
Source: Shugy6 kiizii kihon ch6sa hiikoku, pp. 30-35,44-45.
Table 14
Fractions ofthe Japanese Working Class
Total Number
(A) Economically Active 25,749,083
a) Labour Aristocracy 4,626,850
b) Mass Workers 7,864,233
c) Reserve Army (Floating) 13,258,000
(B) Economically Inactive
a) Latent Reserve 7,337,000
b) Stagnant Reserve 1,881,000
TOTAL 34,967,083
Men
415
118
2,857
7,449
3,408
812
2,693
275
3,1 \0
21,187
1,919
4,540
2,536
377
76
2,118
8,948
894
564
713
22,685
509
22,685
Women
215
20
426
3,681
2,618
684
362
37
2,897
10,940
1,252
3,808
1,191
208
5
174
2,904
461
14
1,456
11,473
113
11,473
Total
630
138
3,283
11,180
6,026
1,496
3,055
312
6,007
32,127
3,171
8,348
3,727
586
81
2,292
11,852
1,355
578
2,169
34,158
622
34,158
Women as
% of Total
34.1
14.5
13.0
32.9
43.4
45.7
11.8
11.9
48.2
34.0
39.5
45.6
32.0
35.5
6.2
7.6
24.5
34.0
2.4
67.1
33.6
18.2
33.6
ing class at some time or another gets a taste of being in the
bottom "strata." So long as accumulation does not falter too
greatly and male members of these "strata" can at least con
tinue to find jobs, this disadvantage of relying on age to conceal
class relations is more than outweighed by its advantages. Until
recently capital has used age along with sex and education
background to divide the working class into fractions, which
take the form of divisions within the traditional family: an
aristocracy comprising middle-aged men with the "best" educa
tion, a mass of less well-educated men, also in their prime, and a
reserve of women and elderly men. The correspondence be
tween the working class positions in each fraction and the super
structural attributes of the agents who occupy the positions,
although never perfect, has been close enough to guarantee the
appearance of divisions within the working class as resulting
from personal merits or failures, rather than from capital's
demands. Women and elderly men, for example, would blame
their sex and age for the conditions under which they work (or
fail or work).
50
On the basis of the estimates made so far, Table 14 presents
an overall picture of the structure and composition of the work
ing class. The key to the survival of Japanese capitalism there
fore lies not in its alleged provision of life-long employment but
in the fact that over half the economically active members of the
working class have been conditioned to accept the antithesis of
life-long employment.
Organization and Ideology
Only when the phenomenal form assumed by class rela
tions in fact becomes the capital-labor relation can the working
class constitute itself into a revolutionary social force. This
relation must not simply be determinant, it must also be domi
nant: classes must both exist and they must appear to exist. In
other words, class society must take the form of class society, so
that the most important determining influence on one's work,
one's income, and one's consumption, as well as on the persons
with whom one is brought together side by side in engaging
in these activities, is at the same time the most visible influence.
The essence of capitalist society, the creation and extraction of
surplus value, must be laid bare so that it can dominate the
minds, and not simply determine the lives, of the laboring
masses. 17
Bringing together the substance and the form of class rela
tions is not, however, simply a matter of propaganda, but
primarily of understanding the conditions on which their separa
tion is based so as to hasten the conditions of their union. We
have seen that the disjunction between the reality and the ap
pearance of Japanese capitalism is based on the functioning of
traditional familial relations as relations of production and as
relations among the members of the working class. Through the
traditional family's superimposition on the material forces which
regulate capitalist development, the coincidence of material
reality with familial relations determines the latter's dominance.
It is to be expected, therefore, that the organization and ideology
of the Japanese working class will reflect the familial form
rather than the substance of class relations in that country.
Organization
The most striking and notorious feature of trade unions in
Japan is their organization on the basis ofenterprises rather than
industries. Although the major enterprise unions* in any in
dustry might form loose associations, the latter do little more
than permit the exchange of information, while all negotiations
take place between the employers of each particular company
and its union, which is almost entirely autonomous in these
matters. The sole external consideration is the tendency to
confine what is negotiable to limits set by the top organizations
of the bourgeoisie, such as Keidanren, in consultation with the
state.
Since the dominant influences on union membership are
identical to the dominant influences on class formation (the
process by which classes assume their form), it is hardly surpris
ing that unions function primarily to control workers and to
contain class struggles rather than as vehicles of these struggles.
>I< Note that the US and Japanese usages of "enterprise union" differ. In the US,
the enterprise union might lie somewhere between a company union and a
business union.
The most important basis of union membership, which is also
dominant in the formation of the labor aristocracy and the mass
worker, is the status of regular employee. Union membership is
limited, not simply to employees in a particular company but to
its regular employees. Day laborers, part-timers, and persons
hired temporarily after retirement-that is, the entire reserve
army apart from young women (who are regulars in name
only)-are excluded. Employees destined for managerial posi
tions are included until they reach the rank of section manager,
while the jobs of defeated or retired union officials are kept open
at the level of seniority they would have attained had they not
assumed this position. Unions are not therefore organizations of
the working class, but of certain strata in the familial hierarchy,
beneath which class relations are submerged in each company.
It is no accident, therefore, that organized workers are
overwhelmingly in the labor aristocracy (the main exception
being young women to whom we return below). Since these are
potentially the most threatening workers and are in firms too
large for employers to create loyalties to themselves as individu
als, organizations are needed to personalize the family relations
for which material incentives could only lay the foundation. The
use of the company song is just one example or'monopoly
capital's quest for alternatives to non-monopoly capital's per
sonal touch.
The key to the survival of Japanese capitalism lies not
in its alleged provision of life-long employment but in
the fact that over half the economically active mem
bers of the working class have been conditioned to
accept the antithesis of life-long employment.
There is very little evidence that unions have had much
influence on levels of wages, which vary instead with firm size
and industry, that is, with variations in rates of accumulation.
Rather, company unions have been essential to securing the
labor aristocracy's compliance with such requirements offalter
ing accumulation as the recent cuts in real wages and in weekly
working hours. Without company unions, wages in the monop
oly sector could not be brought into line with the rate ofaccumu
lation as swiftly as they have been, particularly in the years
1972-1975. In the non-monopoly sector, this function is fulfilled
by the close personal ties between workers and employers, and
the former feel obliged to accept no more that what the latter can
afford.
The enormous discrepancy between the degree of unioni
zation in the monopoly and non-monopoly sectors therefore
results from very much more than the greater ability of the
collective worker in large factories to organize. It also has a lot
to do with the fact that unions in the monopoly sector are
tolerated by capital because they can be used to control workers.
Monopoly capital's response to militant trade unions has rarely
been an assault on unionism as such, but has almost always
taken the form of encouraging the development of a rival com
pany union, which can be used to bring workers into line. It is
extremely difficult for militants to form an effective organiza
51
Table 15
Numbers of Unionized Workers and Unions
by Firm Size, 1975
Firm Size Number of Unionists as % Number of Average Numbers of
(Operati ves ) Unionists of total Employees. Unions Persons per Union
Government 3,339,681 79.9 18,799 188.3
1,000 and over 5,226,963 67.6 13,960 374.4
300-999 1,365,469 44.1 6,750 202.3
100-299 1,023,031 27.2 10,110 101.2
30-99 454,009 8.4 11,645 39.0
Under 30 69,225 0.6 5,455 12.7
Other 912,022 2,614 348.9
TOTAL 12,590,400 34.9 69,333 181.6
Source: Nihon rOdo nenkan. 1977. p. 181; and Chusho kigyii to rOdo kumiai. pp. 305 ff.
tion, because the company is the only realistic level at which this
can be done, and since it will comprise only company em
ployees, its members are always subject to the control of their
employers. This means that the union can only exist on condi
tions which employers accept. IS Table 15 shows that the labor
aristocracy is almost completely organized in this way, since
over 90% of all unions are enterprise unions, and the total
employees column includes the bourgeois or middle class.
Only 3,445,776 of the total numbers of organized workers
in 1975 were women, predominantly those in the monopoly
sector who were of pre-retirement age. 19 Table 16 provides a
breakdown of unionized workers by industry and sex.
The regular status awarded to young women, which allows
them to become members of unions, does not in any way affect
their position in the reserve army since unions have enforced the
deferment of their wages and have excluded them when they
re-enter the workforce as non-regulars. Far from assisting young
female members, unions have subjected them to the political
and ideological domination of the labor aristocracy, without
allowing them the material advantages which this fraction of
their class has been able to exact.
As will be shown below, not all unions, however, have
been equally submissive to the requirements of their organiza
tional form, although the differences must not be exaggerated.
The unions affiliated with Sohyo (Nihon Rodo Kumiai Sohyogi
kai, or The General Council of Japanese Trade Unions), for
example, have in general been more militant than those affiliat
ed with Domei (Zen Nihon Rodo Sodomei Kumiai Kaigi, or The
Japan Confederation of Labour), the two major national federa
tions which loosely bring together associations of mainly com
pany unions in various industries.
2o
Ideology
There is little reason to doubt the general findings of a
number of bourgeois studies that the Japanese working class
sees the world primarily in terms of rank rather than class. 21 It is
widely documented that sex, age, education, and the size of firm
they are employed in are the uppermost considerations in work
ers' minds. However, since the most perceptive studies were
based on in-depth interviews or participant observation, they do
not tell us much about the relative dominance of the different
forms which class relations assume. Neither do they examine
variations in "rank consciousness" among different types of
workers. Though these gaps result partly from the questions
bourgeois scholars pose, they have as much to do with the
limitations of in-depth studies of small groups of workers.
While this method of probing ideas and feelings produces more
accurate information, its advantage turns into a shortcoming
when attempts are made to generalize about different types of
workers and the dominant influences on them.
Recognizing that written questionnaires can end up with
either incorrect or irrelevant information, I found that my survey
(of 459 employees in 53 companies of varying sizes)22 in the
summer of 1976-77 did help fill in some gaps. The sample was,
Table 16
Organized Workers, by Industry and Sex, 1975
Total Of which
Numbers Women (%)
Primary 114,431 11.6
Mining 65,517 7.0
Construction 676,366 15.4
Manufacturing 4,602,954 23.6
Wholesale/Retail 702,896 41.0
Finance/Insurance/Real Estate 961,382 55.2
Transportation/Communications 2,083,397 10.4
Electricity /Gas/Water 228,356 9.2
Service 1,545,389 42.2
Public Administration 1,420,047 32.8
Other 189,683 28.1
Total 12,590,400 27.6
Source: Fujin rodii no jittai. p. 83.
52
1
I
I
1
J
Existence of Classes
Bourgeoisie I
Middle Class
2
Working Class
3
ii) Antagonism of Class
Interests
Bourgeoisie
Middle Class
Working Class
iii) Existence of Class
Struggles
Bourgeoisie
Middle Class
Working Class
None/Little
Men Women
Nos. % Nos. %
117 86.7 4 66.7
47 73.4 3 50.0
86 64.2 65 65.0
112 83.0 3 50.0
40 62.5 I 16.7
82 61.2 42 31.3
48 43.0 2 33.3
26 40.6 3 50.0
59 44.0 38 38.0
however, too small to allow firm conclusions, but the results
suggest some interesting tendencies on questions not raised
elsewhere and on which I have been unable to locate more
reliable data. Three main aspects of class awareness were probed:
how far the existence of classes was recognized, how far class
interests were seen as contradictory, and the extent to which
struggles between classes were perceived. In each case replies
were grouped into two broad categories: minimal awareness and
considerable awareness (None/Little and Fair/Great in the Ta
bles). I did not contrast consciousness of rank and class, but
examined the relationship between class consciousness and the
various personal attributes associated with rank to see which of
these attributes is most dominant in concealing class society and
which can be employed in strategies to further an understanding
of that society.
Table 17 provides a general picture of the degree to which
class relations are concealed. It is interesting that all employees
were more prepared to recognize the dynamics of these rela
tions, the existence of class struggle, than to accept them as class
relations or to see antagonistic interests as the cause of the
struggles. In fact, the bourgeois members of the sample, per
haps not paradoxically, revealed the strongest tendency to deny
that classes either exist or have conflicting interests and at the
same time to realize that class struggles were a part oftheir lives.
As far as the workers were concerned, only about a third to
two-fifths could be described as having any understanding of the
struggles which just under half of them acknowledged to exist.
Since about 90 percent of the female but only 40 percent of
the male respondents were in the working class, one would
expect the different general experiences of the two sexes even
within this class to produce different degrees ofclass awareness.
Since working men must see many of their own sex in the
upper classes, they might be expected to be less class-conscious
Table 17
Class Consciousness, by Class Position and Sex
Fair/Great
Men Women Subtotal Total
Nos. % Nos. % Men Women
16 11.9 2 33.3 135 6 141
IS 23.4 3 50. 64 6 70
46 34.3 30 30.0 134 100 234
22 16.3 3 50.0 135 6 141
21 32.8 4 66.7 64 6 70
44 32.9 48 48.0 134 100 234
72 53.3 2 33.3- 135 6 141
34 53.1 2 33.3 64 6 70
64 47.8 44 44.0 134 100 234
than women. However, Table 17 suggests that this has hap
pened only to a limited degree, possibly because gender rela
tions obscure class relations through men's ideological and
political domination of women.
Only in their perceptions of contradictory interests do
female workers seem to be more class conscious than male
workers, while on the other two dimensions they appear to show
less awareness. This might be because of the difficulties im
posed on women to express their recognition of contradictions
in actual struggles. The implications of these findings, to the
extent that they are representative, are explored in the final
section of the chapter on strategy.
The degree to which age (also a form of class relations and
divisions within the working class) either conceals or can be
used to heighten class awareness is not immediately clear,
because age affects the sexes differently and together with
education channels some men in to the upper classes but most
women into the reserve army. Male workers are likely to exhibit
diminished class consciousness as they approach the age of
fifty-five, and women are considerably influenced by early
retirement and non-regular employment after that. Should my
small sample be representative, one could conclude that the
ideological and political domination of male over female work
ers diminishes with age and experience, and that one way to
fight sexism among workers is to emphasize the function of age
in the reproduction of the reserve army. Even though they enter
the reserve at different ages, the current crisis is bringing home
to male and female workers that "lifelong employment" is a
myth. To tackle capital on this question can provide both sexes
with positive common ground from which to wage united strug
gles, although middle-aged male workers seem to exert a greater
degree of ideological domination over young female than young
male workers. This problem is also relevant to the discussion on
strategy. 23
53
Table 18
Workers' Class Consciousness, by Firm Size
None/Little Fair/Great Total
i) Existence of Classes Nos. % Nos. % Nos.
Under 100 workers 33 55.9 24 40.7 59
100-999 50 62.5 29 36.3 80
Over 1,000 68 71.5 23 24.2 95
ii) Antagonism of Class Interests
Under 100 21 35.6 30 50.8 59
100-999 40 50.0 36 45.0 80
Over 1,000 63 66.3 26 27.4 95
iii) Existence of Class Struggles
Under 100 18 30.5 28 47.5 59
100-999 35 43.8 40 50.0 80
Over 1,000 44 46.4 40 42.1 95
The difficulty in trying to isolate the forms of class rela
tions which can most effectively uncover their substance is that
the processes through which class agents are produced are
inseparably linked. I have shown elsewhere, on the basis of the
same survey, that workers' class consciousness diminishes with
education. Since education, like sex and age, channels agents
into different classes as well as into different fractions within the
working class, those with the highest education (or the favored
age or sex qualification) are likely to have the greatest aspira
tions for class mobility, and they can exercise powerful ideolog
ical influences over less educated workers (as well as over
younger ones, and females). Table 18 provides some confirma
tion that the less educated mass workers in small firms are more
class-conscious than the aristocracy in the monopoly sector. The
physical separation of these workers in different companies
reduces the aristocracy's ideological dominance and seems to
produce wide differences in class consciousness.
It is impossible to tell how far membership in a company
union is an independent factor which suppresses class con
sciousness, since my sample included very few union members
in small firms and very few non-members in large ones. Varia
tions in class consciousness by union membership almost ex
actly coincided with variations by firm size. The unorganized
mass workers in my sample showed a much greater recognition
of the existence and antagonistic interests of classes than the
labor aristocracy, though their perception of class struggles was
more or less the same. Among the organized workers in the
monopoly sector, about 20 percent ofSohyo and Churitsuroren*
but only 10 percent of Domei affiliates revealed a strong class
consciousness when an overall score was computed from all the
relevant questions. This suggests that Sohyo has perhaps played
a less repressive role than Domei and Churitsuroren. but that it
has not raised class awareness to levels which certain militant
leaders might lead one to expect.
* The National Council of Independent Unions
Table 19
Forms of Redundancy, by Firm Size
1975 (% oftirms)
Firm Size (Operatives)
Under 21 21-300 Over 300
Refrain from recruiting 52% 77% 82%
Regulate overtime 36% 47% 73%
Increase holidays 35% 18% 18%
Layoff part-timers & temporaries 9% 34% 44%
Temporary layoffs of regulars 3% 33% 35%
Invite early retirement and 18% 31% 17%
layoff retired workers
Source: Chushij kigya to radb kumiai. p. 122.
In conclusion, my survey suggests that class awareness
among the Japanese working class, particularly mass workers
and members of the reserve army, is greater than bourgeois
studies (confined largely to the labor aristocracy) have found.
Although each of the forms assumed by class relations-sex,
age, education and firm size-to some extent conceals these
relations by making differences between classes appear the
same as differences within the working class, it also seems that
they can be used to heighten class awareness, particularly since
the crisis is eroding their ability to conceal. We therefore need to
examine how this is happening before some general points on
strategy can be made.
The Crisis and the Japanese Working Class
Although during the postwar boom the attributes of class
agents (sex, age, etc.) seemed to determine life chances to a
degree that left the real determinant, class position, in the
background, the crisis has been bringing the latter to the fore
through the growing inability of agents with the favored attri
butes to obtain what they had been promised. The immediate
effects of the crisis on the working class have been fewer jobs
and falling real wages, but these have so far overwhelmingly
taken the form of a crisis of an aging society, a point which even
a cursory glance at the press headlines cannot fail to bring out. 24
The reason why the crisis takes this form is that its impact
falls mainly on two groups of workers: school-Ieavers, who find
that capital refrains from hiring its normal quota of new recruits
(shiishokusha) , and retired persons, who cannot always get
second jobs (saishiishokusha). In order to prevent the numbers
of unemployed older workers from growing, pressure has been
mounting to postpone retirement, but to provide jobs for young
people and to avoid rising wage bills, capital is under an equal
pressure to encourage early retirement. So far, the burden has
been falling mainly on school-Ieavers and college graduates, but
the consequences of this are becoming intolerable. A prop
aganda campaign is being mounted to elicit public support for
54
Table 20
Annual Percentage Increases in Money Wages, Bonuses, and Consumer
Prices, by Firm Size, 1970-1975
Year Money Wages Summer Bonuses Winter Bonuses Consumer Prices
Large Small Large
1970 18.5 19.9 22.2
1971 16.9 18.3 13.7
1972 15.3 16.5 5.7
1973 20.1 21.1 23.9
1974 32.9 33.3 47.0
1975 13.1 14.4 7.4
Source: Chingin kenta shirya, /977, pp. 1,4; Chingin saran, /977, p. 361.
the state to resolve the contradiction, and capital is resorting to a
combination of short -term expedients, some of which are affect
ing even so-called regular employees. Part of the propaganda
campaign is somehow to sell the idea that "lifelong employ
ment" is a premodern institution which must be rationalized.
Table 19 shows the combinations of measures firms have been
employing to deal with' 'over-employment."
Since large firms are resorting to measures which affect
even the labor aristocracy, a material basis is being laid for
working class unity. In 1974-1975 the employment of regulars
fell by an average of 2.0 percent, though this concealed a fall of
7.5 percent in mining (a continuation of this industry's long
term decline), 5.7 percent in construction, and 5.4 percent in
manufacturing. Among manufacturing industries, the reduction
was 13.4 percent in textiles, 10.4 percent in lumber, 7.3 percent
in each of furniture and rubber, 8.9 percent in metal goods, 0.2
percent in electrical appliances, and 7.5 percent in precision
instruments.
25
In the same period, the proportion of total em
ployees who worked less than 35 hours a week increased by
16.3 percent (from 8.6 percent to 10.0 percent). 26 Although it is
difficult to show exactly to what extent the labor aristocracy is
being reduced to mass workers and the latter to the reserve army,
it appears that jobs have dried up in the monopoly sector and that
only the smallest firms have been able to create new ones.
It seems that all workers are being affected in one way or
another, though not entirely regardless of sex, age, and educa
tion, which cannot indefinitely obscure the determining role of
class position. Increasingly, even university graduates are be
coming sceptical about their chances of upward mobility. The
very basis of the legitimacy of Japanese capitalism is being
threatened, not simply because retired workers are finding it
hard to get non-regular jobs, but because of the growing scarcity
of regular jobs for young workers.
In 1976 Sony Corporation introduced a new scheme which
might foreshadow a more general response by capital. It re
cruited for a new plant only older workers between 50 and 60,
and offered them a basic salary which was only just over half
that paid to its regular employees in other factories.
27
The
reasons behind this decision seem to be closely related to an
important change in the role of boom-time reserve army agents.
Since reserve workers are conditioned to accept low job
security and below-average wages, one might expect them to
carry the main burden of layoffs and wage reductions during a
Small Large Small
25.2
14.2
9.3
30.9
43.0
0.4
19.2
5.2
16.5
42.4
27.4
-5.0
20.8
7.6
18.0
45.0
23.5
-2.4
7.3
5.7
5.2
16.1
24.5
11.8
crisis. However, although they must accept more of both, the
emphasis falls increasingly on the latter, while workers previ
ously outside the reserve are more and more singled out for
redundancy. The reasons why this change takes place are not
hard to find, because while layoffs threaten only the legitimacy
of capital in general, difficulty in cutting wages threatens the
survival of particular capitals. Once the very existence of the
latter is brought into question, members of the capitalist class
find it harder to place their common interests above their indi
vidual interests, and they tend to rely on the state to ensure that
this is done.
Sony Corporation's decision to keep on persons who might
otherwise have moved from the floating to the stagnant reserve,
and to allow persons who would have entered the labor aristoc
racy to become either mass or reserve workers, is quite consis
tent with capital'S interests, at least in the short-term: declining
profitability can be arrested by bringing in low-paid reserve
workers, rather than by replacing them with young recruits
whose deferred wages will have to be paid sooner or later. Since
low wages are capital's most pressing need in times of crisis,
traditionally low-paid workers are more likely to be the last to
lose their jobs as a recession deepens. 28 Unless organized work
ers can prevent this through effective struggles, it will also help
to bring about reductions in their wages and in the value of the
labor power of the working class as a whole.
Although, because large proportions of earnings comprise
deferred wages, it is difficult to calculate reductions in the value
of labor power, in Table 20 we can get some idea of this from the
annual increases in wages, bonuses, and consumer prices in
1970--1975.
The large annual increases in real wages to which workers
had become accustomed since the mid-1960s were reduced to
about 2 percent in 1974, and by 1975 they had ceased altogether.
A n n u a l l y ~ since then, bonuses have risen by about 3 percent and
wages by 8 percent, while inflation has remained in the region of
8 percent. The role of the reserve army in making possible these
cuts in real wages is revealed by a survey conducted in 1978 by
the Industrial Labor Research Institute. It noted that many firms
were following Sony Corporation and hiring part-time em
ployees as a "cheap and easily replaceable" labor force, and it
pointed out that part-time wages had risen by only 10 percent a
year since 1973, which was only about two-thirds of the in
creases regular workers had received.
29
Already in the years
55
building up to the crisis, 1970-1973, the wages of day laborers
as a proportion of those of regular workers fell from 43.7 to 38.6
percent. 30
Another recent survey, by the Ministry of International
Trade and Industry, showed that capital was preparing for a
second round of employment retrenchment, because the cuts
that began in 1974 had proved inadequate. These had reduced
the numbers of employees in the 250 major firms surveyed by
7.5 percent in the period March 1974 to March 1978.
31
The
expectation that further layoffs will be required confirms that the
Japanese bourgeoisie is shedding its illusions about a sudden
end to the depression and is preparing for a new confrontation. It
is gradually moving towards a strategy of keeping on traditional
reserve army agents, in order to raise the rate of exploitation,
and of allowing the labor aristocracy to bear more of the burden
of unemployment than was ever practiced during the boom.
Working Class Strategy
Our analysis of the working class suggests a number of
conclusions on possible strategies for revolutionary change in
Japan which need to be considered in the light of the Japanese
class structure as a whole.
Since the development of a revolutionary strategy is in
separable from the development of a movement to implement it,
I concentrate here on the conditions that aid the growth of
appropriate working class organization and ideology.
Although the relevant conditions can be divided into in
frastructural and superstructural, these do not necessarily cor
respond to separate processes or institutions, but to different
functions of what is often one and the same process or institu
tion. The function of the economic base is to ensure the repro
duction of the capitalist relation through the production, extrac
tion, and realization of surplus value, while the function of the
superstructure is the reproduction of class agents with the re
quired skills and willingness to do all of these things. There is no
reason why both functions should not be fulfilled simultane
ously by a variety of institutions or activities. For example, in
the production process, particularly through its allocation of
agents into jobs according to their sex, age, and education,
workers produce surplus value, they acquire relevant skills, and
they are socialized into familial ideology and organizations.
Similarly, in the circulation process, workers both imbibe ideas
through their consumption activities and they ensure the realiza
tion of surplus value.
Since the ideas workers embrace and the organizations
they form are inseparable from their day-to-day activities, rev
olutionary strategy requires identifying those activities, and the
conditions of engaging in them, which can further revolutionary
organizations and ideas. However, since the same activities
perform infrastructural and superstructural functions, we must
look to the economic base for the ultimate determinants of
revolutionary action in order to help build a revolutionary move
ment.
We have seen that family ideology and company unions in
Japan cannot be wished away, because both are rooted in the
way the familial attributes of class agents function simultane
ously as infrastructure and as superstructure. It is only because
age, sex, and education slot workers into the positions created
(and destroyed) by the process of capital accumulation that the
ideas associated with them can serve to legitimize Japanese
capitalism.
However, what our analysis of the working class has
shown is that to forestall a prolonged interruption of the ac
cumulation process, capital can no longer afford to allocate
agents into the different positions in the way it did during the
boom. Reserve army functions are now required of men and
women of all ages, and positions in the aristocracy, not to
mention mobility out of the working class, cannot be guaranteed
for all agents with higher education, even when this is obtained
in prestige universities.
Of the main attributes of class agents which conceal pro
duction relations, our analysis suggests that only age can be
exploited to help uncover them. This is because once acquired,
sex and education remain with one for life, and if they are
emphasized in any way as legitimate bases for special treatment,
they create contradictions among the masses which can divide
them into antagonistic camps. It is therefore crucial to see in the
growing insecurity of male workers with university education
the emerging conditions on which these sources of division can
be combated. Not until men and women with different levels of
education are more equally affected by the crisis will the de
termining role of class assume dominance over sexism and
educational elitism.
Of these two forms of working class disunity, gender is by
far the less difficult to overcome, because the material factors
that also make gender a form of class relations are not part and
parcel of the capitalist mode of production, whereas the material
factors that make education a form of class relations are much
more intimately bound up with the functioning of capitalism
itself. The questions raised here are important, because if essen
tial conditions of the working class organization and unity
needed for the revolutionary overthrow ofcapitalism include the
elimination of sexism and elitism, and if both are inseparable
consequences of capitalism itself, revolutionary change be
comes impossible.
The reason why sexism is not peculiar to capitalism lies in
certain material conditions which affect the reproduction of
class agents but which are not essential to the general laws of
capital accumulation, which concern the reproduction of class
positions. The single most important of these conditions is
women's biological function of bearing children, which so long
as it is also associated with their social function of rearing
children, predisposes women to serve as floating and latent
agents. Since their role in the nuclear family requires them to
move in and out of the workforce, they become unable to remain
in the same job long enough for similar proportions as men to
rise into the labor aristocracy or entirely out of the working
class. The central material condition of male power in the family
is therefore socially determined, because women's social role of
rearing children makes them dependent on men for most of their
subsistence requirements. Because most men do not leave their
jobs to assume domestic responsibilities, they can remain out
side the reserve army and have a more secure source of subsis
tence than women.
However, it is precisely because women can draw on part
of their husbands' wages for their subsistence that capital is
assured of women's reproduction and can pay them wages
below the value of labor power. In times of crisis, therefore,
other things being equal, capital will come to prefer lower-paid
women to higher-paid men. Only when this happens on a wide
scale, do conditions exist for child-rearing responsibilities to
move either more into men's hands (if carried out privately), or
56
(if two incomes are needed to support a family) to be socialized
old and young in Japan than in other capitalist societies. Bring
through the development of day nurseries as happens during
ing age to the fore can therefore uncover class relations, rather
*
wartime.
The biological function of bearing children might still,
under certain conditions, place men and women in unequal
social roles, but the equalization of child rearing and the as
sociated domestic toil can reduce such inequalities to only minor
questions. Making it possible for women to become regulars
also makes it possible for some to enter the upper classes. Such a
development, even though it is an essentially bourgeois reform,
is essential if sexism among the working class is to be eliminated
and class relations are to become more visible.
Unlike gender, however, technical skills are part of the
forces of production which belong to labor power. To wait for a
random distribution in each class of persons with different
technical skills is to wait for the abolition of classes themselves.
The same strategy cannot be adopted in dealing with educational
divisions among workers as can be used in overcoming differ
ences between the sexes, because the former requires a socialist
revolution and not simply bourgeois democratic reforms.
Will divisions among the working class then inevitably
assume the form of differences in technical skill? Not necessar
ily, because a period of prolonged capitalist crisis can homoge
nize the different working class positions and therefore under
mine the material basis on which the dominance of educational
differences rests. Once the large numbers of university-educat
ed workers who do not move out of their class are subjected to
the same job insecurities and wage reductions as other workers,
the infrastructural cause of the divisions will disappear, leaving
the superstructural form with nothing to ensure its reproduction.
Even though the upper classes will never include anything like
equal proportions of well-educated and less-educated persons,
the important thing is that the Japanese working class is coming
to do just that. Furthermore, the greater the proportion of work
ers with higher education the less will education appear as a
form of class relations. The appropriate strategy is not, there
fore, to support university graduates' demands for privileged
jobs, but to emphasize how a sacrifice of one's youth to acquire
a degree is irrelevant to the process by which classes are created.
Since of all the personal attributes of workers I related to class
consciousness, education emerged as the most significant, the
task of uniting the labor aristocracy with the rest of the working
class should not be underestimated.
The use of age in revolutionary strategy seems to be quite
different, not simply because all workers sooner or later reach
retirement age and are affected by capital's treatment of non
regulars, but because there are no material conditions which
peculiarly suit agents of different ages to fill particular class
positions. Established patterns, which were developed only in
response to certain forms of class struggle, can quickly change
when a crisis requires capital to adopt different solutions to
problems which arose out of a solution to some earlier problem.
That the current crisis so overwhelmingly takes the form of
a crisis of an aging Japan only shows how easy it is for people to
see divisions by age as based on "convention" rather than on
"nature." The growing effects of the crisis on workers of all
ages provides a unique opportunity to unite them, since all are or
will be affected whichever age group capital singles out as
special victims. Since even in the traditional ideology the parent
child relationship is stronger than the husband-wife relation
ship, there is a much firmer basis for common action between
than further their concealment.
Notes
I. See Maurice Godelier, "Infrastructures, Societies, and History,"
Current Anthropology, Vol. 19, No.4 (Dec. 1978).
2. Rob Steven, "The Japanese Bourgeoisie." Bulletin of Concerned
Asian Scholars, Vol. II, No.2 (April-June, 1979) pp. 12 ff.
3. For detailed historical studies, see Koji Taira, Economic Development
and the Labour Market in Japan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970);
Ronald Dore, British Factory-Japanese Factory (London: George Allen and
Unwin, 1973); and Sydney Crawcour, "The Japanese Employment System;'
Journal ofJapanese Studies, Vol. 4, No.3 (Summer 1978).
4. Shiikan Toyo Keizai, Chingin soran, p. 89.
5. Zaisei kin'yu tokei geppo, No. 295, pp. 46-47.
6. For a discussion of industrial conflict in medium-sized firms, see
Robert E. Cole, Japanese Blue Collar: The Changing Tradition (Berkeley:
University of Cali fomi a Press, 1971).
7. Tokyo Metropolitan Government, Minor Industries and Workers in
Tokyo (Tokyo Metropolitan government, 1972), p. 30.
Note 8:
Retirement Pay and Pensions, by Firm Size and Education
(1975, million)
Education and Firms with only Firms with Pensions and
Firm Size Lump Sum Payments Lump Sum Payments
(Operatives)
Lump Sum Present Value of
Total Pension
University
over 1,000 13.0 10.5 4.4
300-999 9.1 8.2 4.7
100-299 7.6 7.4 4.3
30-99 7.4 7.1 3.2
HighSchool
over 1,000 12.2 10.1 4.3
300-999 8.6 8.5 4.6
100-299 7.6 6.9 4.2
30-99 7.0 7.5 3.4
Middle School
over 1,000 10.0 8.2 3.4
300-999 7.8 6.8 3.7
100-299 6.6 6.3 3.9
30-99 6.2 5.6 3.4
Source: Chingin kento shiryo: 1977 nendokan. p. 69.
Note 9
Average Years of Employment
by Age and Sex, 1975
Age Men Women
-17 1.2 1.4
18-19 1.4 1.4
20-24 3.3 3.1
25-29 5.8 5.0
30-36 9.2 6.2
35-39 11.7 6.4
40-44 14.1 7.7
45-49 17.4 8.8
50-54 18.6 9.6
55-59 13.7 9.3
60+ 10.0 9.5
Average 10.0 5.4
Source: Fujin rOdo no jitsujo, p. 45.
10. Shugyo kozo kihon chosa hokoku, pp. 46 and 50.
57
II. Teinen tiitatsusha chiisa no kekka. pp. 5. 7. and 13.
PersOns Wishing to Work, by Age and Sex
Age Sex
Male Female Total
15-24 696 1,218 1,914
25-34 147 2,998 3.144
35-39 49 1,074 1,123
40-54 150 1,702 1,852
55-64 205 534 738
65 and over 213 232 445
Total 1,459 7,757 9,217
Source: Shugyii kiizii kihon chiisa hiikoku. pp. 229 and 233.
12. Nishioka Yukiyasu et aI., "Hiyatoi rodosha: San'ya no seikatsu to
rodo" ["Day Labourers: Life and Work in Sanya"], Shakai Kagaku Nenpo
[Social Science Yearbook], No.8 (1974),.36.
13. Maitsuki kinrii tokei chiisa sogii hiikokusho. 1975. p. 108.
14. During the prewar period of uneven accumulation, unwanted workers
could eke out a subsistence by returning to agriculture. However, the decline of
this sector in the postwar period has made such a solution impossible for large
numbers of workers.
15. These are sectors in which capital is converted from one form to
another, for example, from commmodity to money capital (that is, the retail
sector).
16. See the chapter on the petty bourgeoisie in my forthcoming Classes in
Contemporary Japan.
17. I am indebted to Maurice Godelier for this argument. See his "In
frastructures, Societies, and History."
18. The fact that company unions are used to control workers does not alter
the fact that they remain the sole organizations workers have. Since no form of
organization can transform workers into something different from what they are,
it is to be expected that they will, from time to time, use even company unions to
express their class interests. The ocurrence of militant strikes by company
unions does not therefore contradict the general point that company unions do
more to suppress than to facilitate class struggles.
19. Women union members comprised 29.0 percent of the total number of
women employees, while the corresponding proportion among men was 36.4
percent. See Fujin riidii no jittai, pp. 82-83.
None/Little
Men
Nos. % Nos.
i) Existence of Classes
Under 25 8 50.0 18
25-29 36 70.6 20
30-54 40 63.5 16
Over 54 2 I
ii) Antagonism of Class Interests
Under 25 5 31.3 23
25-29 25 49.0 II
30-54 27 42.9 10
Over 54
iiI) Existence orCla;, Struggb
Under 25 6 37.5 16
25-29 25 49.0 II
30-54 27 42') 10
Over 54 I I
Above
To interpret these data requires knowing something about the women in the
different age groups. Almost ali of those under 25 were unmarried and anti
cipated leaving their jobs by the time they turned 30, while the same applied to
about 60 percent of the 25-29 age group. Those older than this comprised almost
equal proportions of unmarried, married, and no-longer-married women, most
of whom could either not say when they might leave (44 percent) or thought this
would be between the ages of 50 and 60 (37 percent). Although the numbers of
persons in the different categories are too small to generalize, a change seems to
take place when women are transformed from nominally regular employees into
non-regulars. They apparently become more inclined than men to recognize
both the existence and the antagonistic interests of classes, but they seem to
submit to their inability to engage in effeciive struggles and increasingly deny
that class struggles take place.
58
Note 20
Affiliations of Trade Unionists, by Industry and
Major National Federations, 1975
Total Siihyii Diimei Shinsan- Churitsu Other
betsu Riiren
Total Numbers
( 1,(00) 12,590 4,573 2,266 70 1,369 4,705
Industry (%)
Agriculture 100 21.0 19.5 7.4 52.2
Forestry, Hunting 100 78.6 13.6 7.8
Fisheries 100 0.3 12.9 17.4 69.4
Mining 100 55.4 16.9 0.1 2.6 25.0
Construction 100 19.1 4.6 35.1 42.0
Manufacturing 100 18.1 29.9 1.3 16.0 39.7
Wholesale/Retail 100 7.8 22.5 0.1 4.1 74.0
Finance/Ins. 100 2.3 I. I 32.0 65.2
Real Estate 100 26.5 6.7 0.0 0.2 87.4
Transport./Commun. 100 59.1 20.9 0.4 0.6 24.1
Elec./Gas/Water 100 26.1 62.4 10.1 2.7
Service 100 57.0 4.2 0.0 0.9 39.0
Public Admin. 100 89.3 1.5 9.3
Other 100 27.4 8.0 0.1 1.5 63.1
Source: 1977 Nihon riidii nenkan, pp. 185-186. The Churitsuriiren. or the
National Council of Independent Unions, stands somewhere between the occa
sional militance of Sohyo and the rabid anti-communism of Diimei.
21. See, for example, the works by Ronald Dore, Robert Cole, and
Thomas P. Rohlen. For Harmony and Strength (Berkeley: University of Cali
fornia Press, 1974).
22. Of the 69 companies initially approached, 53 agreed to cooperate. and
of the 619 questionnaires distributed, 459 (74.2 percent) were returned.
Note 23
Workers' Class Consciousness, by Age and Sex
Fair/Great
Women Men Women Total Nos.
% Nos. % Nos. % Men Women
39.1 8 50.0 14 30.4 16 46
76.9 15 29.4 5 19.2 51 26
59.3 21 33.3 II 40.7 63 27
2 0 4 I
50.0 II 68.8 18 39.1 16 46
42.3 24 47.1 13 50.0 51 26
37.0 29 46.1 9 33.3 63 27
2 0 4
34.8 9 56.3 22 47.8 16 46
4 ~ . 3 ~ 4 47. 13 500 51 ~ 6
37.0 2') 46.1 9 33.3 63 27
2 0 4 I
24. See, for example, the series of articles on "The Graying of Japan" in
Japan Times Weekly. 13 January to 10 February, 1979.
25. Maitsuki kinrii tokei chiisa siigii hiikokusho, 1975. pp. 6--7.
26. Fujin riidii no jittai. p. 51.
27. Japan Times Weekly. 19June, 1976, p. 4.
28. A recent study of the reserve army in New Zealand. to which I am
indebted for a number of insights on the subject, also found that the functioning
of the reserve army changes in a recession. See R.M. Hili, Women. Capitalist
Crisis, and the Reserve Army of Labour" (Unpublished masters thesis, Uni
versity of Canterbury, 1979).
29. Japan Times Weekly, 18 November, 1978, p. 10.
30 Nihon Kyosanto chuo iinkai kikanshi 'keieikyoku [Bulletin manage
ment Bureau of the Central Committee of the Japan Communist Party], 1974
Seiji Nenkan [1974 Political Yearbook] (Tokyo; 1974), p. 264.
31. Japan Times Weekly, 2 December, 1978. p. 8.
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Mirton Osborne: Smllh,',w Asia: AIIIII/rodllc"'r." Hix/(}r\' (G. Allen & Unwin.
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Millon a,borne: Bl:lim' Kalllpucllea: Prt'llIdes 10 Tragedy (G. Allen & Unwin.
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M Nazif Mohib Shahrani: The alltl Waklli (Seauic:
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Wm. McCagg. Jr.. and B. Silver (!!d,.): S""iel Asiall E,hlli.. hOlllier.> (Pcrga
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Hok-Iam Chan: Li Cllih ( 1527-16(2) in Contcmporary Chine,c Hi,toriography
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59
Review Essay: Japan
Nakane ehie and Japanese Society
by Nini Jensen
Nakane Chie is probably the Japanese anthropologist best
known in the West, and Japanese Society the most widely read
of her books.! As such, it plays an important role in the West's
understanding of Japan. Although the book is supposed to be a
key to the post-war period, I have chosen to discuss it for two
other reasons: because of her reputation and influence and
because she places herself in a social anthropological tradition.
My main task will be to criticize her conception of pre-capitalist
social forms-in other words the social relations she character
izes as native or feudal/traditional.
In the preface Nakane comes across as an exponent of the
"uniqueness perception," which means she claims that Japan is
permanently different from other societies. R. Benedict and J.
Abegglen are among her allies:
They all describe Japan in terms Like loyalty, hierarchy,
duty, groupishness, and shame, and stress the immense
importance personal relationships have in Japanese society.
Since the bedrock norms, values and institutions differ so
radically, Japan will never become Western in essence,
though it may approximate Western ways in outwardform. 2
It is common to oppose this interpretation with the "con
vergence perception" which, among others, includes R.P. Dore
and R. Cole and claims "that there is a common arrangement
toward which all industrial and industrializing societies are
moving. .. With much sophistication and mystification this
view has been purveyed by what has come to be called 'modern
ization studies' . "2
But if one stays within this framework, an important point
might escape notice. This point is what both perceptions have in
common: their conceptual starting-points and their analytical
procedures both result in an apologetic for the capitalist mode of
production.
If one is to generalize and at the same time take into
consideration the above comments it can be claimed with a
certain fairness that the exponents of the "convergence percep
tion, " or modernization studies, emphasize what one could call
the material or "technological" background for the subsump
tion of production under capital. 3 They stress the superiority of
the capitalism over what came before, which may be called the
feudal, the traditional or, for that matter, the irrational system.
The exponents of the "uniqueness perception," on the other
hand, discuss social relations. values and individuals, the
rationality of which is taken as proven by the fact that they exist.
By virtue of such a basis of legitimation, the theory appears
impossible to disprove, and may seem more sophisticated than
the modernization studies, since its justification of the subsump
tion of production under capital builds on a procedure that
conceals this very sUbsumption.
While Nakane may be included in the group of uniqueness
exponents, she bases her rejection of the modernization studies
not on a critical evaluation of their theoretical approach but by
resorting to some of their analytical procedures.
The Social Structure
With the social structure (and its components, the social
relations) as her object of study, Nakane starts her analysis by
narrowing down her sphere of interest while at the same time
disavowing the dualistic inclination of the modernization
studies.
The fabric ofJapanese society has thus been made to appear
to be torn into pieces of two kinds. But in fact it remains as
one well-integrated entity. In my view, the "traditional" is
one aspect (not element) of the same social body which also
has "modern" features. I am more interested in the truly
basic components and their potentiality in the society-in
other 'Xords, in social persistence. (emphasis added) (ix)
This historically invariable relation, "the persistence"
the object of her analysis-is seen in personal relations. At the
same time, it reveals a society'S basic value orientation:
The persistence ofsocial structure can be clearly seen in the
modes ofpersonal social relation which determine the prob
able variability of group organization in changing circum
stances. This persistence reveals the basic value orientation
60
inherent in society, ana is the driving force of the develop
ment ofsociety.
There is a lack of clarity here regarding where to localize
the values that is not unusual in her analysis. Leaving this lack of
clarity aside for the moment, our attention is next drawn to the
kinship group "which is normally regarded as the primary and
basic human attachment [but which] seems to be compensated
in Japan by a personalized relation to a corporate group based on
work, in which the major aspects of social and economic life are
involved. " (7)
This group is constituted on the basis of a loosely-defined,
fixed principle, the "frame" principle:
Frame may be a locality, an institution or a particular rela
tionship which binds a set ofindividuals into one group: in all
cases it indicates a criterion which sets a boundary and gives
a common basis to a set of individuals who are located or
involved in it. ( 1)
The contrast to "frame" is "attribute":
Attribute may mean, for instance, being a member of a
definite descent group or caste. In contrast, being a member
of X village expresses the commonality offrame. Attribute
may be acquired not only by birth but by achievement. Frame
is more circumstantial. (2)
The two criteria are perceived as operative in any society,
but Nakane is interested in the relative degree of stress since this
is closely related to the values of a given society.
In the case that, as in Japan, the situational element is
stressed,individuals are brought into a social relationship within
a strong and lasting "frame" and groups will consist of indi
viduals with different "attributes. " Nakane then posits a need
for further strengthening of the "frame" because the most
elementary form of such a situational group is a "simple herd"
with no inherent internal cohesiveness. This can be accomp
lished in two ways which are in practice bound together.
One is to influence the members within the frame in such a
way that they have a feeling of "one-ness" .. the second
method is to create an internal organization which will tie the
individuals in the group to each other and then to strengthen
this organisation. (9)
In other words, positive steps must be taken to create this
feeling of one-ness. People are "led to feel" -atypical delicate
reference to underlying coercion-and the feelings become
both the goal and the means for strengthening of group solidar
ity. Below, in the section on oppression, we shall see that
Nakane minimizes the element of coercion, and instead stresses
voluntariness. Here I shall only mention that the way Nakane
presents her model, the components of it appear to explain and
legitimate each other. In any case, the conclusion is that this
feeling of one-ness' 'helps to build a closed world and results in
strong group independence or isolation." (20)
Nakane next turns to a central internal factor in the group
form in Japan, the way in which a group with differing attributes
can be tied together vertically" into a delicately graded order. "
That is:
If we postulate a social group embracing members with
various different attributes, the method of tying together the
constituent members will be based on the vertical relation.
Through an inexplicable mutation, what was a mere postulate
somehow becomes actuating principle:
The vertical relation which we predicted in theory from the
ideals of social group formation in Japan become the actu
ating principle in creating cohesion among group members.
(emphasis added) (25)
The vertical principle is placed in opposition to a horizontal one,
somewhat as follows:
a
b
/\
-c
group X (vertical) group Y (horizontal)
The basic structural difference between a vertical and a hori
zonal group is that in the former the relation between b and c is
missing or very weak, whereas "Y group's organization can
continue without the existence of a, because b and c are linked. '
(41-42) In the case of X, however, the constituents are all linked
by a, the absence of which would leave the other members
unable to organize.
The vertical relation of X has such an overwhelming influ
ence that even among individuals equipped with the same qual
ification there is a tendency towards differentiation, and "an
amazingly delicate and intricate system of ranking takes shape. "
(25) Furthermore, the ranking system is dominant, for "once
rank is established on the basis of seniority, it is applied to all
circumstances, and to a great extent controls social life and
individual activity. " (29)
In what I would like to call a "displacement," i.e. an
interchange of concepts; Nakane now argues that "without
consciousness of ranking, life could not be carried on smoothly
in Japan, for rank is the norm on which Japanese life is based.
(31) That is, Nakane has displaced the vertical relation by
consciousness of ranking, making the two phrases interchange
able.
N akane' s thesis is that no member of this set can make even
a partial change,
4
but that the only means of effecting change is
either by some drastic event which affects the principle of the
order or by the disintegration of the group. (29) Yet inelaborat
ing what this might mean, attention is centered on the leader
(44,45) and change is discussed as being dependent upon the
presence and the capability of the leader at point a between
contending parties b and c. Furthermore, in contrast with what
Nakane claimed above-that "the individual member cannot
change his relative position within the organization" (41)-we
are presented with a situation wherein "noting b's restiveness, c
may sense his opportunity, and, drawing closer to a, may
encourage tension in the a-b relation, eventually creating a
critical and unstable situation which will lead to a crisis." (47)
In the end the change, whether resulting in "the disintegra
tion of the group" or affecting "the principle of the order,"
turns out to be only temporary, as the vertical principle is
reestablished when the critical period is over. In other words,
the crisis situation can lead to two results: to reintegration
through seniority succession or to fission. The first one involves
the integration of a new leader in the group internally, succes
sion ordinarily going to the one who is not only the most senior
man, but who has the most considerable number of kobun
(subordinates). Thus, the vertical principle still holds. The
solution to the second type ofcrisis is either one in which a takes
(23) 61
c with him into exile from the group or in which b pulls out with
his "family and retainers" and forms a new independent group.
Again the vertical principle triumphs. (47-48)
Nakane can now line up the negative and positive char
acteristics of the group organized on the basis of frame:
From the above discussion two negative characteristics of
group structure X can be deduced asfollows; (I) the group is
always under the risk of internal fission, (2) it has a crucial
external weakness of not permitting 'co-operation between
groups. On the positive side, when the group isfunctioning at
its best the power and efficiency of X in concentrating and
mobilizing its members' energies can exceed that of Y, since
in X the ties binding individuals together are emotional and
stable. (57)
Nakane has argued in effect that any given order of ranking is
fragile, but the principle of ranking is persistent an,d brings
long-term stability, and above all is an unparalleled means for
mobilizing a group behind its leaders.
The implications become clear when one turns to Nakane' s
view of the social totality, that is, the structure of a society made
up of a multiplicity of such groups; "the overall picture ... is
not that of horizontal stratification by class or caste but vertical
stratification by institution or group of institutions. " (87) As
was true of the "simple herd" of individuals in the primary
group, so too "the entire society is a sort of aggregation of
numerous independent competing groups which themselves can
make no links with each other: they lack a sociological frame
work on which to build up a complete and integrated society. "
(102)
Phrased in this way, it is difficult to see which is the
superior social entity-the vertical principle or the principle of
competition. Nakane gets around this difficulty by representing
the ranking and the competition as conditional to each other.
Her resolution is once again accomplished through what I have
called displacement. In comparison with a caste society, Nak
ane writes:
. . . a Japanese group, the internal composition of which is
heterogeneous, has a character homogeneous with that of
many other groups. Hence there is no necessity for positive
relations with other groups; instead relations tend to be
hostile or competitive . ... Competition and hostile relations
between the civil powers facilitate the acceptance of state
power and, in that a group is organized vertically, once the
state's administrative authority is accepted, it can be trans
mitted without obstruction down the vertical line ofa group's
internal organization. ( 102)
This is a critical point in Nakane's analysis: atomistic individual
and group competition necessitate order and purpose being
transmitted from above. Japanese society is only made complete
and integrated through its leaders.
Finally, I would like to make a preliminary statement of
what I see as the basic constituents of her analysis. On the one
hand, she starts out from a conception of the individual as the
social atom, in the sense that individuals and their interrelations
provide the realm for the realization of freedom and equality.
Conceiving the relation thus, she is not alone among social
scientists,
S
but the point I wish to make here is that the focus
upon the isolated individual as the fundamental unit for grasping
the meaning of the abolition of "pre-modern" oppression has a
specific location in history, namely the capitalist era. In other
words, her analytical starting point is based upon a conception
specific to capitalism. Nakane chooses to illustrate this in Japan
through both competition and ranking.
On the other hand, the social relations- for example the
vertical relation and ranking-are concepts that do not in them
selves express freedom and equality. They seem rather to con
tradict freedom and equality, originating as Nakane says they
do, in precapitalist forms of sovereignty. This dilemma be
comes clear when Nakane herself presents certain objections to
them in her discussion of freedom. What is essential here,
though, is that whatever hesitations or doubts she might have,
they are wafted away by the spirit of capitalism, leaving us with
her starting point which was a view of the modern social struc
ture as the realization of free and equal individuals.
What makes her analysis ambiguous, however, is that
these two sides do contradict each other. Moreover, although it
is possible to discern these two elements, her analysis is com
plicated by the fact that it 'is not always clear when Nakane is
referring to one or to the other.
Nakane's Social Anthropology
Nakane calls her speech social anthropology, and prob
lems are supposedly dealt with through "structural analysis"
and not from a cultural or historical angle. Nakane justifies her
claim to the anthropological tradition by using the method of
cross-cultural comparison:
... I should restate the aim of this study-not to describe
Japanese society but to view Japanese social structure in the
light ofcross-cultural comparison ofsocial structures; this is
the concern of social anthropology which distinguishes it
from other social sciences. (148)
Thus Nakane proposes to combine structural analysis and cross
cultural comparison, but upon examination of her argument it
becomes clear that the latter enters into her analysis in only the
most simplistic way .
Throughout the book a number of sociological terms are
used in pairs which can be read as meaning "Japan-others"
frame-attitude, vertical-horizontal, homogeneous-heterogene
ous, gemeinschaft-gesellschaft, seniority-merit. What is actu
ally happening, on a more concrete level, is the opposition of
Japan to the rest of the world. The well-known anthropological
distinction between We and Them is translated to oppose Japan
to other societies, such as Europe, USA, India, China. In
Nakane's hands, the cross-cultural comparison becomes the
medium of an argument where the specific characteristics of,
half the comparison-usually Europe, USA, India or China
are postulated, then the argument is reversed, and the postulated
characteristics are used to establish the validity of the opposite
characteristics for Japan. (See, for example, pp: 69, 82, !O2
103.)
Precapitalist Social Forms and the Vertical Principle
Although Nakane's thesis is based on concepts specific to
capitalist society, she places herself in opposition to the dualism
of modernization studies. More exactly, she does not consider
"feudal" or "premodern" elements as incompatible with or
62
impeding modernization. On the contrary, she points to them as
functioning in or justifying modernization, and asserts that the
vertical principle is traceable to precapitalism. Historically the
span of her focus is wide. This does not seem to make much
difference in the end, since her perception of history is one in
which there are no structural differences and no transitions. The
vertical relation, rather, is lifted out of history and simultane
ously imbued with the basic character of being a relation be
tween equals.
Regarding her so-called native pattern, Nakane manages to
place the frail beginnings of Japan's "cultural homogeneity" in
the fifth century, eventually providing the foundation for the
"institutional homogeneity" established in the Tokugawa peri
od. On the whole, she tends to concentrate on feudal personal
relations of sovereignty which are presented as harmonious
relationships between two persons, and as mutually beneficial in
that "protection is repaid with dependence, affection with loy
alty." (64)
Linking cultural and institutional homogeneity in this way
allows Nakane to argue further on that "the existence and
persistence of native values [has been] manifested ever since the
feudal age in the relationship between lord and subject." (79)
When reference to the Tokugawa period is made, this kind of
"persistence" is emphasized, and history is presented as con
taining no transitions and no structural difference. The same
stricture applies to her indiscriminate use of terms like on
joshugi (paternalism, affectionism), ie (household), mura (vil
lage) and oyabun-kobun (superior-inferior). The relationships
referred to are formalized in that they are presented as being
applicable at any time in history. The augmented power of:
. . . the central administration, the roots of which were
already well established in the Tokugawa period, was an
essential basis for the rapid modernization which has taken
place since the Meiji period. The bureaucratic system of
this central administration has an organizational pattern in
common with the Japanese native social structure-the ver
tical organizational principle ofA . ( 103)
More bluntly, Nakane argues that "the basic system of modem
Japan was inherited from the previous Tokugawa regime and
that the modem changes of the Meiji period, which appear so
drastic, occurred without any structural change in terms of the
basic state configuration." (114)
Her presentation is full of contradictions, but the point I
wish to make is that Nakane establishes an ahistorical concept
unable to explain the history of or the present day course of
Japanese society. The concept of verticality in its postulated
pre-capitalist (feudal) essence rather is the historical result of
capitalist development. Nakane is right in her attempt to identify
the relations of authority and sovereignty as operative in the
"development" process, but, by making relations between free
and equal individuals her analytical starting point, she ends up
concealing economic exploitation as well as other forms of
oppression.
Oppression
Nakane expresses some uncertainty towards oppression,
although she does not use the term. That is, she is at times
critical of oppression as expressed in the ranking and seniority
systems, but her criticism is mediated through a more or less
formalized concept of freedom which turns out to mean "free
dom to compete." Her critique fades away in a legitimation of
the status quo through reference mainly to the voluntary nature
of established relations, the need for emotional satisfaction and,
finally, the practical functions of the vertical principle for lead
ership. Forgotten is the fact that people are "led to feel" and
that' 'social costs" are involved. (10, 32, 150)
More specifically, she ignores the degree of oppression in
the workplace that is concealed in so-called kazokushugi (fami
lism) or onjoshugi. Namely:
The attitude ofthe employer is expressed by the spirit ofthe
common saying, "the enterprise is the people." This affirms
the belief that the employer and employee are bound as one
by fate in conditions which produce a tie between man and
man.... Such a relationship is manifestly not a purely
contractual one between employer and employee; the em
ployee is already a member of his [sic 1own family, and all
members of his family are naturally included in the larger
company 'family." Employers do not employ only a man's
labour itself but really employ the total man, as is shown in
the expression marugakae (completely enveloped). (empha
sis added) ( 14-15)
Here, on the one hand, Nakane points to the precapitalist char
acter of the relation or, using anthropological terms, the embed
dedness of the economic relation in the social totality. On the
other, she claims the equality of the individuals involved, the
supposed historical result of capitalism.
In my opinion the familism and affection should be con
ceived of as an ideology functioning as a means of oppression.
They should be explained in terms of their function in stabilizing
and extending the accumulation of capital. In this connection
one could mention Byron Marshall, who cites three factors
facilitating the manifestation of familism and affection in the
factory.7 First, during the nineteenth century, workers came
from villages where the need for intensive work and cooperation
led to a form of group solidarity within and between families in
the villages.
The new labor force was thus well prepared to respond to an
ideology that stresses the subordination of the individual
interests to the good of the group particularly since it was
claimed that the group was modeled on the cooperative
family. (63)
Secondly, Marshall points to the small size of factories at
the time. In 1882 the average number of workers per factory was
thirty. Finally, there was a high number of women in Meiji
factories, and they were more likely to be obedient than men.
But to return to Nakane, she explains away the existence of
oppression by developing a dualistic concept of freedom in a
comparative setting; "in contrast to the Japanese system, the
Indian system allows freedom in respect to ideas and ways of
thought as opposed to conduct." (12)
The main point in regard to Japan is the restricting effect
the vertical principle has on verbalizing objections, in effect
producing self-censorship because "even if there are others who
63
share a negative opinion, it is unlikely that j?in to
gether and openly express it, for the fear that this might Jeopar
dize their position as desirable group members." (35) This curb
on open expression of thought is compensated by the fact that
Japan has the advantage of "great freedom of action," (81)
although the activity of the individual must in no case break the
limits of the group. (83) . . .
Nakane's discussion of freedom is not lImited to makmg a
distinction between "freedom of action" and "freedom of
ideas." She goes on to define freedom as the freedom to compete
and then concludes that the "net result" ofthe seniority system
versus the merit system is "rather evenly balanced," and to
claim that "the society in which class distinction is least de
veloped offers man more opportunities for free competition on
the road to success than class or caste societies." (104)
Free competition is not Nakane's last recourse in anticipat
ing objections. In spite of finding (13), fear and
hostility (103), force (131) and total submiSSion (103), she also
finds the system's basic legitimation in the voluntary nature of
the group and in the emotional 0: the group
Nakane insists that there is "neither Wish for opposition nor
realization of the function of opposition," (147) and that the
need for "warmth" in personal relationships gives the group its
driving force. Moreover it all works and "brings greater success
than any other type of group organization." (76)
even the individual can be freed from the stresses of competi
tion, since "for weak people the emotional security deriving
from the strong leader-follower relationship creates a peaceful
world." (73) Finally, however, she legitimizes the oppression
inherent in the vertical principle by stressing its extreme effi
ciency in accomplishing "communication from the top to the
lowest level." (52)
We can now return to the starting point, her confrontation
with the modernization studies:
In this sense it would not be proper to regard the Japanese
system as simpiy backward; on the contrary, given the condi
tions ofthe modern world, it may be said to be very efficient,
and may, in fact, be one of the reasons why Japanese in
dustry has been successful in developing to a point where it is
well able to compete with the advanced countries ofthe West.
(86)
Critics have pointed out, since the early days of Japan's
modernization, that Japan cannot press her claims to have
modernized until individual autonomy is given greater rec
ognition. But it is interesting to observe that the traditional
system, manifested in group organization, has
both the major driving force toward a high degree of m
dustrialization and the negative brake which hinders the
development ofindividual autonomy. (120)
The crux of the matter in this disagreement is how the two
sides characterize what has been identified here as feudal rela
tions of sovereignty and authority. Modernization studies focus
on the oppressive character of these relations with the purpose of
eliminating them, thereby creating the basis for the
of supposedly non-oppressive capitalist relations respect!ng m
dividual autonomy. Nakane, in contrast, sees these relations as
non-oppressive and as guaranteeing the realization of individual
freedom through the group.
Conclusion
This critique of Nakane has selected certain
to problems connected with anthropology and With the t;ranSI
tion from feudalism to capitalism, and with what are, m my
opinion, the central arguments of the book. The logical starting
point for Nakane has been found to offreedom.that
is distinctly capitalist. She deals With mdlVlduals,
between individuals, "Structures composed of these relations,
consciousness, values and norms, all based on a perception of
relationship wherein individuals are free and equal. In her
exposition, however, the principles of competition and vertical
ity distort the degree of oppression present in such
as seniority ranking and familism, resulting in a general veilIng
of economic, political or ideological oppression. In sum, Na
kane has made a highly political argument for the classless and
harmonious character of Japanese society.
One of the most fundamental objections of this paper to
Nakane's book is the insufficiency of the vertical relation-en
dowed as it is with an ahistorical character-in explaining the
transition from feudalism to capitalism, where the discussion
rightly belongs. Although her analysis is stated as
tural and not historical, she finds her explanatory pnnclple In
pre-C!il>italist society. She is, in this respect, concemed with
analyzing history, albeit in a most unhistorical way. For the
vertical principle expresses a character supposedly realized with
capitalism (i.e., freedom and equality) and at the same time it is
lifted out of history by way of its "persistence," in complete
disregard for transitions in history or structural differences be
tween pre-capitalism and capitalism.
Nakane is correct, however, in pointing to the central role
of the vertical relation and its importance in the transition from
feudalism to capitalism. But it is one thing to see the transition
as a transformation of feudal relations of sovereignty and au
thority in the course of their subsumption under capital which is
accompanied by the appearance of different forms of political
and ideological oppression and exploitation. It is quite another
to help perpetuate an ideology which postulates a theoretical
equality which enables one to conceptualize society as classless
and harmonious and thereby results in a concealing of oppres
sion in general. And this of course is what Nakane has done.
Formulating the problem thus brings us back to the ques
tion of uniqueness and the general tendency of the book to
juxtapose Japan to the rest of the world. At an abstract level, any
transformation from feudalism to capitalism can be seen as a
transformation of feudal relations of sovereignty and then sub
sumption under capital-but this is only one way to see the
transition. At a more concrete level-in the sense that Japanese
have been exposed to the ideology of familism, affectionism
and so forth ever since Meiji-Japan can be said with some
justification to differ from, for example, European
with th.eir more individualistic inclination. However, thiS must
be qualified with regard for the different periods in the transition
and for the ways in which these countries differ among them
selves. Nakane's analysis is faulty in this respect and I find her
justification for juxtaposing Japan against the rest of the world
very unconvincing because of its ahistorical approach and con
fusion of levels of abstraction.
In making her claim to have reached a deeper understand
ing of Japanese society, Nakane ascribes to herself an advantage
denied to her foreign readers-the fact that she is Japanese.
64
While I will not dispute that a knowledge of the Japanese
language is at present a virtual necessity for those who attempt
to "understand Japan," I hope that my remarks above will help
to demonstrate that there is more to it than simply being Japa
nese. In fact, insofar as she is a Japanese academic, Nakane has
to bear part of the burden for having molded the present superfi
cial Western understanding of Japan. But her influence has not
been due solely to her national origins. It lies elsewhere, primar
ily in the fact that her writing is very much at one with the major
tendency in the study of Japan in the West since World War II,
one which is particularly marked in modernization studies. This
is the tendency to reject the literature in Japanese which ana
lyzes Japanese society from the viewpoint of class exploitation
or oppression. Nakane and the exponents of the modernization
studies both carry a good deal of the responsibility for these
works not having reached the English-reading public.
Notes
I. Nakane Chie, Japanese Society. (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1970; England, 1974).
2. Joe Moore, "The Japanese Worker," Bulletin of Concerned Asian
Scholars, Vol. 6, No.3 (1974), p. 35.
3. In a more specific sense the forms of sUbsumption under capital implied
here take the direct sUbsumption under capital to imply capital having entered
the process of production. And, on the basis of this, distinguish between the real
subsumption (i.e. production of relative surplus value) and the formal subsump
tion (i.e. production of absolute surplus value). The indirect subsumption under
capital implies conditions where capital's appropriation of surplus value is
performed at the level of circulation (in other words capital has not entered the
process of production), the dominant forms of capital being commercial-and
usury capital. For further information see Boesen et aI. , Kapitalen og Bonderne.
Marxistisk Antropologi 2. Kobenhavn. (Capital and Peasants. Marxist An
thropology 2. Copenhagen).
Available from IPANA:
Also relevant to this point is Marx's discussion of the sUbsumption of
labour under capital.
The general features of the formal sUbsumption remain. viz. the direct
subordination of the labour process to capital, irrespective ofthe state of its
technological development. But on this foundation there now arises a
technologically and otherwise specific mode of production-capitalist pro
duction- which transforms the nature of the labour process and its actual
conditions. Only when that happens do we witness the real subsumption of
labour under capital. (Karl Marx, Capital. Vol. I, appendix, pp. 1034
1035, Penguin Books Limited, England, 1976)
4. During a description of the form that discussions take in Japan, and of
ranking's tendency to prevent "logical procedure" (36), one finds what could
be a more abstract argument for why Japanese groups are unlikely to reach a
compromise. At the same time Nakane hints that change may be brought about
via consciousness:
The premises underlying thesis-antithesis are parity and confrontation on an
equal footing which will develop into or permit the possibility of synthesis.
Because of the lack of discipline for relationships between equals. the
Japanese do not practise these three basic steps of reasoning and must
overcome great odds in order to advance or cultivate any issue brought
under discussion. (35)
Note. parenthetically, the form of argumentation that is so typical of
Nakane; the reason why a principle cannot be said to be valid in a certain
situation (eg. in the vertical group) is that the principle is valid in the opposite
situation (i.e. in the horizontal group).
5. For a discussion along these lines see Videnskab og Kapital (62-63),
Saemumrner I. Fagkritik (Kobenhavn, Aarhus). (Science and Capital. Special
issue I. Subjectcritique, Copenhagen, Aarhus). See also Korsch, K., Karl
Marx, revolutionaer videnskab (Kobenhavn, 1974). (Karl Marx, Revolutionary
science. Copenhagen). (31-33)
6. Harbsmeier, M., Om undertrykkelseog kapitalisme; Ms., Kobenhavns
Universitet. (Oppression and Capitalism; Ms., University of Copenhagen),
1978.
7. Marshall, B.K., Capitalism and Nationalism in Prewar Japan. The
Ideology ofthe Business Elite. 1868-1941 (Stanford University Press, 1967).
THE REAL FACE OF
P.o. Bo x 37, We,o;t.mo un:t, Qu.e..
Can.ada H3Z 2P1
INDIA'S IIDEMOCRACY"
Real Face of
India'. Democracy
A comprehensive document of
political repression In
India since 1947
I
,
Compiled by the Association
for Protection of Democratic
Rights (APDR), Calcutta
Translated and published
I
I
!
by IPANA
Price: '3 (plus 50$ postage)
t
,
DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE OF POLITICAL REPRESSION
IN POST-INDEPENDENCE INDIA
65
I
!
I
A Short Review
AMEYUKI-SAN NO UTA: YAMADA WAKA NO
SA TSUKI NARU SHOGAI (The Song of Ameyuki:
The Unluci{y Life of Yamada Waka) by Yamazaki
Tomoko. Tokyo: Bungei Shunshu, 1978. pp. 278. 850
yen.
by Ronald Suleski
Yamada Waka was a leader in Japan's feminist movement
during the 1920s and 1930s. The wife of a well-known profes
sor, she had access to the most progressive social and intellectual
circles in Tokyo at the time. While Japan moved through the
post-World War I decades with an upsurge of democratic thought
and then a slow march toward the militarism that was to result in
World War II, Yamada labored to raise the consciousness of
Japanese women about their potential to contribute to the build
ing of a better world and about the narrow roles society had
decreed for them. She published a number of books, lectured
widely in Japan and the United States, and opened a half-way
house for the rehabilitation of prostitutes.
During a visit to San Francisco in 1975, author Yamazaki
Tomoko learned by chance that Yamada, whose role in Japan's
feminist movement was already well known to her, had been a
prostitute in the United States just after the turn of the century.
The revelation seemed incongruous to Yamazaki; certainly it
would explain Yamada's interest in rehabilitating prostitutes,
but it was inconsistent with her reputation as an intellectually
aware author and social activist. Yamazaki was also intrigued
because her own earlier works dealt with young Japanese girls
who were sent to Southeast Asia in the 1930s and 1940s to
become prostitutes there. Her book Sandakan Number Eight
Brothel, * which established Yamazaki as a major feminist writ
er in Japan, was the recipient of a literary award and the basis of
a documentary film that raised much comment throughout Asia.
Yamazaki could not forget this new piece of information
about Yamada, and discreet inquiries revealed that others, too,
had heard stories about Yamada's life as a prostitute in America.
Driven first by curiosity and then by an emotional commitment
to tell Yamada's story honestly and fairly, Yamazaki set out to
discover Yamada's secret past. The resultant unconventional
biography she has written reads like a mystery novel. It traces
* Author Yamazaki Tomoko would like to communicate with interested fem
inists in the l!nited States. Her address is: 2-5-3 Kaki-no-kizaka. Merguro-Ku.
Tokyo. Japan
Yamazaki's search as she came upon the odd fact, the unverified
story, and the clues that slowly began to unravel the story of e ~
subject's life in Seattle around 1902. Seattle was a wide-open
town then, when men talked of going to Alaska in search of
gold, and the prostitutes who catered to white men, like Yamada,
were given higher status than those who serviced blacks or
Asians in the segregated brothels.
In the course of following each clue Yamazaki had many
strange experiences which she recounts in an engaging and
compassionate style. One evening the phone rang in her San
Francisco hotel room and a Japanese woman who said she was
77 years old began to speak. She had been a prostitute in the old
Chinatown section, she said, working in the hotels run by
Chinese businessmen. After many years she married and re
turned to "normal" life. She could never tell her children or
grandchildren about her past, yet wanted someone to know her
story before she died. When she was finished she thanked
Yamazaki and hung up the phone, having never disclosed her
name.
An old man, in his 90s and living in Seattle, worked in a
Japanese grocery store where Yamada Waka and the other
Japanese prostitutes from King Street frequently stopped. He
remembered Yamada coming by with friends to shop, and he
recalled for Yamazaki how some prostitutes began work just
66
t
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~
before noon in order to earn as much money as possible. They
would wait for their customers in the drawing rooms of certain
I
I
hotels. King Street is still there, some of the old buildings still
stand, and some ofthe older residents can recall the names of the
brothels: Eurkea House, the Eastern Hotel, and the Aloha House
where Yamada Waka worked.
In the final analysis, the reasons for Yamada Waka's secret
past are complex, perhaps more than anything the result of a
callous and an uncaring society on the one hand, and on the
I
,
other hand a young woman determined to survive. Born in
I
I
1879, the third of eight children in a poor family in Japan,
Yamada was forced into marriage at age 16 with a wealthy,
miserly man. Two years later she secretly left Japan and her
husband for America, the land of opportunity, only to discover
the contract she had signed in Japan committed her to work as a
prostitute in the United States. In 1903 she escaped to San
Francisco with a young Japanese newspaperman, then escaped
from him when he wanted her to continue working as a prostitute.
She found refuge in Cameron House, a Presbyterian mis
sion for ex-prostitutes in San Francisco, and then married Yam
ada Kasuke, a sociologist who ran a private school in San
Francisco. After the 1906 earthquake destroyed his school, she
and her husband returned to Japan. In 1937, after she had
become well known as a woman's rights activist in Japan,
Yamada Waka returned to the red light district of Seattle to
speak about the women's movement. The audience jeered when
she, an ex-prostitute, stepped on stage, but she waited until the
shouts died down, then told the crowd her difficult experiences
gave her the right to speak out on the women's issue.
The Song ofAmeyuki, already in its third printing in Japan,
will be translated into English and published in 1980 by Kodan
sha International. The book is an important commentary on the
recent past of the United States, and Yamazaki is an expert at
using the recollections of informants to recreate the setting and
atmosphere of the early days of the 20th century in America's
west coast cities. * She faithfully records the details of what life
was like for the Asian prostitutes who were definitely a part of,
yet were never accepted into, American society.
Yamazaki's carefully honed writing illustrates the sophis
tication with which Japanese feminists are speaking to each
other in investigations of their own past. Although Japanese
feminists are not as well organized as their American counter
parts, their numbers and their publications are increasing rap
idly and American feminists could only profit by promoting a
dialogue with their Japanese sisters. '*
Yamada WaJ..a and h ~ r hu,hand
67
A Short Story
"A Strange Job"
Kenzaburo Oe*
translated by Ruth W. Adler
I was heading toward the clock tower along the broad
pavement leading to Tokyo University Hospital and had reached
the intersection where the view suddenly opens up to a wide
vista, when I heard a lot of dogs barking. The sound came from
somewhere near a building under construction, its steel frame
work jutting up against the sky behind the swaying tops of the
saplings lining the avenue. Each time the wind shifted, the
sound of the dogs swelled violently as if the terrible clamor were
rising to the sky itself. Then the sounds would trail off, the
echoes lingering persistently in the distance. Every time I'd
walk along this road, head bent, shoulders hunched forward, I'd
strain my ears as I came to the intersection, half-expecting to
hear the dogs, although there were many times I never heard
them at all. But anyway, it wasn't because these howling dogs
aroused any particular concern in me.
Then, toward the end of March, I happened to see a job
notice on the school bulletin board and it was after this that the
sounds of these dogs insinuated themselves into my life, cling
ing and sticking to me like a wet cloth plastered to my skin.
I went to the hospital to check out the job, but the recep
tionist didn't know anything about it. Determined to find out, I
questioned the guard and he directed me to some wooden
storage sheds outside behind the hospital. There I found a girl
from the university and a student from one of the private col
leges standing in front of one of the sheds where they were being
given instructions by a sickly looking middle-aged guy wearing
boots. I went over and stood behind the student. Fixing his
heavy lidded eyes on me, the man nodded slightly and repeated
his instructions.
*This story, translated by permission of the author, was Oe's first published
short story and appeared originally in the Tokyo University News in 1957. It was
awarded the Gogatsusai Prize (May Day Award).
"We're killing a hundred and fifty dogs," he said. "We
got a professional dog killer over there who's getting things set
up. I'd like the job taken care of within three days, starting
tomorrow."
Some Englishwoman had written in to the paper about the
hundred and fifty dogs being kept in the hospital research labs
for experimental purposes, saying that it was a terribly cruel
thing. Besides that, the hospital had no provision in its budget
for the continued maintenance of these dogs and the research
program, and so it had been decided to destroy them immedi
ately and this man was supposed to take care of their disposal.
The man went on, telling us we'd no doubt also pick up a
bit about dissection and the behavior of dogs which could be
useful to us in our studies.
Then he advised us about clothing and the hours, and after
he had gone back into the hospital, we all walked together
toward the rear entrance of the school.
"The pay's great, isn't it!" the girl commented.
"You mean you're gonna take the job?" the private school
student asked in surprise.
"Sure. I'm studying biology and I'm used to dead
animals."
"'I'm taking it, too," he confided.
I stopped at the intersection and pricked up my ears, but I
couldn't hear any dogs barking. The evening wind blew through
the trees along the street whistling among the bare branches.
I ran and caught up with the others. The student looked at
me as if he were giving me the third degree.
""I'm gonna take the job, too," I announced.
The next morning I set out wearing a pair of green work
pants.
The dog killer was a short, but powerful, muscled man in
his thirties. I would bring the dogs to an enclosure which had
been erected in front of the storage sheds; the student would then
take the bodies of the dogs after the dog killer had dispatched
and skinned them and then deliver them to the man; the girl's job
68
was to wash and clean the skins. And so the work went on.
During the morning, we disposed of fifteen animals. I soon got
used to the job.
The dog yard was a large open space enclosed by a low
concrete wall. The dogs were tied to posts that had been set out
in a row about three feet apart. They were very quiet and docile.
After being raised and fed there for nearly a year, it seemed that
they had completely lost all fighting spirit and when I went
inside the wall, they didn't even bark. According to the hospital
orderly, sometimes the dogs would suddenly begin to bark
without any apparent reason and it might take as much as two
hours before they would calm down. Although they didn't bark,
they all turned to look at me the instant I came in. It was a weird
feeling to be stared at by a hundred and fifty dogs all at once.
Three hundred tiny images of myself reflected in three hundred
bleary dog eyes, I thought. It gave me the creeps.
They were a motley bunch of dogs. There was almost every
kind of mixed breed you could think of. Yet, somehow, they all
had a strong resemblance to each other. Tied to the posts were
big dogs, little pet dogs and, for the most part, medium-sized
brown dogs. But they all looked alike. What could the resem
blance be, I wondered. Was it that they were miserable looking,
emaciated mongrels'? Or was it that they were tied to those posts
without showing a spark of spirit'? That must be it. It's possible
we might even get to be like that, too! We Japanese students
we who had no solid fighting spirit and were bound together by
lethargy; we who all resembled each other in our lack of indi
viduality and noncommittal attitudes. However, I was just not
politically oriented. I was either too young or too old to be
enthusiastic about anything, including politics. I was twenty. I
was at a peculiar age. And besides that, I was just plain tired. I
soon lost interest even in the dogs.
But when I caught sight of an improbable dog which I
could only guess was a cross between a Spitz and a German
Shepherd, it looked so funny I could hardly contain myself. It
had the head of a Shepherd and soft, fluffy, bushy white fur
which was ruffled by the warm breeeze. I burst out laughing.
"Hey! Get a load of this mutt!" I called to the other student.
"This Spitz-Shepherd combination is a gas' No kidding!"
He turned away with a disgusted expression.
Grabbing hold of the rope, I yanked the funny-looking dog
away from the wall.
I pulled the dog inside the wooden fence where the dog
killer was waiting, club in hand. Quick as a flash, he hid the club
behind his back and started toward the dog with a great show of
indifference. Still holding on to the rope, I eased away, putting
an adequate distance between myself and the dog. With a
sudden swoop, the dog killer brought the club down on the
animal. The dog gave a piercing howl and fell over. It was so
brutal, it almost took my breath away. Then the dog killer drew
a broad butcher knife from his leather belt and thrust it into the
dog's throat and, after allowing all the blood to drain into a
bucket, he skinned the animal with amazing dexterity. As I
watched him, I was conscious of the odor of the still warm blood
of the dog and I felt strangely agitated.
What a low-down trick!
And yet, right now, the very matter-of-fact cruelty of the
man dealing with the dog before my eyes-that cruelty which
had been transmuted into swift and skilled action, did not seem
reprehensible. It was a cruelty rooted deep in his conscious
mind, vital to his need to earn a livelihood. It was not in my
69
nature to feel intense anger. The tiredness I felt was my usual
tiredness and I did not feel my anger grow at the cruelty of the
dogkiller. It just flared up and then just as soon faded away. I
had never been able to participate in student movements like
most of my friends. I wasn't interested in politics. In the final
analysis, it was simply because I just can't stay angry for long. I
would sometimes view things with irritation, but I was always
too tired to revive whatever anger I had felt.
I picked up the white carcass of the dog from which the skin
had been cleanly stripped and, carrying it by the hind legs, took
it out of the fenced enclosure. The dog exuded a fresh, warm
smell and its muscles contracted powerfully in my hands like
those of an athlete on a diving board. The private school student
was waiting outside and, taking care not to let the dead carcass
touch him, he carried it away. I went off to get another dog with
the rope I had removed from the dead animal.
However, after every fifth dog, the dog killer would come
out of the pen for a smoke and sit down on the ground in front of
me. I kept walking around him as he walked. The fresh warm
odor of the dogs coming from his body was enough to stop you
dead in your tracks. It was even stronger than that of the
carcasses themselves. So, trying to look nonchalant, I circled
around him keeping my face averted. Inside the pen, the girl was
taking care of the skins. She was washing the hideously blood
soaked pelts in the cleanup area.
"Some guy suggested I use poison," he said.
"Poison'?"
"Yeah. But I'm not using no poison. I don't want to be
sitting around in the shade drinking tea while I'm killing off
dogs with poison. As long as I'm killing dogs, I gottado it right.
Stand in front of 'em with a club. I been using a club since I was
a kid. I can't do no such dirty things as use poison to kill dogs!"
"Yeah, I guess so," I answered.
"Besides, if you use poison, you know, the dead dogs give
off an awful stink. Don't you think while I'm skinning 'em, they
have a right to give off a good smell'?"
I smiled.
"Yeah, that's right! They got that right," he went on
earnestly. "I ain't like those guys that use poison. Because I like
dogs."
The girl came out carrying the skins to be washed. Her
bad-complexioned, coarse skin was ashen and she seemed
dizzy. The thick, greasy blood-soaked skins were heavy and
stiff. Like a soaked overcoat. I helped her carry them over to the
i
cleanup area. I
"That man," she commented as we walked along carrying
the skins. "He's got a feeling for tradition. He's proud about
I
killing with a club! That's what life means to him."
"It's his background-his way of life."
I
"A dog killer's way of life," she echoed, her voice without
emotion. "It's all the same."
I
"What is'?"
"The consciousness of one's cultural background in one's
I
life, " she answered. "A cooper's skill is a cooper's way of life. I
That kind of culture, bound up with one's life, is the real culture.
That's what the critics write, isn't it? It's a matter of course. But
!
l
when they try to deal with individual cases, it's not so easy! The
"
dog killer's way of life, the prostitute's way oflife, the company
executive's way of life ... dirty, wet, tenacious, grasping ...
it's all the same."
"You certainly have a very hopeless attitude ," I com- t
!
mented.
"It's not that I feel hopeless," she said, annoyed. "After
all, I'm doing this kind of work, washing dog skins. And I'm
taking a new kind of medicine for beri-beri.' ,
"Are you trying to stick your foot into this disagreeable
culture?' '
"Everyone's already in it up to their necks, even without
sticking their feet in! They're smeared with the mud of their
conventional culture! They simply can't wash it off!"
We threw the skins down on the concrete. Our hands
reeked horribly.
"Look." She bent down, showing me her swollen calves
as she pressed them with the balls of her fingers. Pale, dark
depressions appeared, then slowly filled out again, but not quite
as they had been before. "It's terrible. It's like that all the
time."
"That's awful," I said, averting my eyes.
I sat down on the concrete platform while she was doing the
washing and watched the nurses playing tennis on the lawn.
They were missing their shots and doubling over with laughter.
'Tm going off to see a volcano when I get paid," the girl
said. "I've got some money saved up."
"Going to see a volcano'?" I echoed without much interest.
"A volcano's funny," she said, laughing softly. Her eyes
looked tired. She glanced up at the sky, her hands still soaking in
the water.
"You don't laugh too much," I remarked.
"That's my nature. I don't laugh very much. Even when I
was little, I didn't laugh. Sometimes I feel that I've forgotten
how to laugh. But when I think about volcanoes, I laugh 'til the
tears come. There's this opening in the center of a big mountain
with some kind of smoke working its way out of it. That's
funny!" She laughed, her shoulders shaking.
"Are you going as soon as you get your money'?"
"Yup! I'm gonna skip right off! I'll probably die laughing
climbing that mountain!"
I stretched out on top of the low wall, careful to keep Il1Y
balance, and looked up at the sky. The clouds were luminous,
the sun dazzling. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the
sun. It smelled full of blood. It seemed as if the smell of the dOES
had permeated every inch of my body. After the killing of some
twenty dogs, my hand was no longer the same as the hand that
used to touch them only to rub their ears.
"You think I ought to buy a puppy?" I asked.
"What'?"
"I think I'll buy a cheap little brown mongrel. It will bear
the whole burden of the grudge of these hundred and fifty dogs.
It'll probably end up being such a disagreeable, warped dog,
that even its face will be all crooked."
I laughed, but the girl set her lips firmly.
"We're completely disgusting," she said.
We went back to the storage sheds. The dog killer and a
hospital clerk were talking. The student was standing nearby
listening to every word they said.
"But," the clerk was insisting, "the hospital doesn't have
any money." He went on, "These dogs are no longer any
concern of ours. The animal lab is starting on a new project
today."
"But we haven't finished taking care of the o n e ~ today!"
the dog killer protested.
"It was just supposed to be up until yesterday. The dog
project is finished."
Are we supposed to let them starve?" the dog killer
shouted in exasperation.
"Well, we could give them hospital scraps. If only there
was someone to feed them, they wouldn't starve ..."
''I'll feed them! I can get them scraps, can't I'?"
"Fine! Take a look in the scrap heap."
"I was just going to. I'll dish it out to them later."
''I'll help you," the girl offered.
"Don't!" the student burst out harshly.
The clerk and the dog killer both looked at his flushed face
in astonishment.
"Stop it! You shouldn't do such a rotten thing!"
What'!" The dog killer looked bewildered,
"You're killing off the lot by the day after tomorrow,
aren't you'? It's a mean, low-down trick to feed them now and
make pets of them on top of that! I just can't stomach seeing
dogs that you're gonna drag off to be killed standing there eating
scraps and wagging their tails trustingly!"
"Listen. The most I can handle today is fifty," the dog
killer came back, his voice filled with suppressed anger. "You
want me to let the other hundred starve'? I couldn't do such a
vicious thing!"
Vicious!" the student exploded. "What do you mean,
'vicious' '?"
"It sure is. I don't want to do nothin' so vic"ious. I like
dogs."
With that, the dog killer and the hospital clerk walked off
into the dark alleyway between the storage sheds.
The student leaned back against the fence, thoroughly
exhausted. His pants were all covered with blood.
"'Vicious: he says! There's gotta be something wrong
with that guy!" he muttered. "What he's doing is rotten!"
The girl glanced down at the ground indifferently without
making any comment. There was a dirty area where dog blood
glistened a dark green. The shape resembled the head of a
camel.
'Well ... don't you think it's rotten'?"
"Yeah. I guess so," I answered perfunctorily.
He squatted down and spoke in a dark tone as he stared at
the ground. "I just can't stand the idea of those dogs penned up
inside that low wall ... so quiet and so patient. We can look out
over the wall. They can't. And they're waiting to be killed."
"Even if they could see out, it wouldn't do them any
good," the girl said.
"That's right. That's just it. I can't stand it that there's
nothing that they can do. Here they are where they can't do a
thing and yet they're eating away and wagging their tails!"
We just didn't know what to do about him. Swinging the
rope in circles, I went off to get the next dog. This time, I
thought, I'll make it the biggest one ... the one with the floppy
ears.
By evening we had dispatched the fiftieth dog and we went
to clean up in the wash area. The dog killer carried the washed
skins carefully and tied them neatly with a rope. The man who
had the hospital contract for the disposal of the dogs came along
too. We finished washing our hands and feet and devoted our
attention to what the dog killer was doing.
"What are we gonna do with the dog carcasses'?" the
student asked.
"Over there-see'? We're cremating them,' the man
answered.
70
We looked over in the direction of the crematorium. A soft
colored, pink tinged smoke was rising to the sky from its huge
chimney.
"But isn't that where they cremate people?" the student
asked.
"So? Dog carcasses. Human carcasses. What's the
difference?' '
The student lowered his head, but kept quiet. I saw his
shoulders tremble almost perceptibly. He was terribly upset.
"It is different, after all," the girl murmured, her gaze still
fixed on the smokestack.
No one answered. After an awkward silence, I spoke.
"Yeah?"
"The color of the smoke is different. It's a delicate color.
A little redder than it usually is when people are cremated."
"Maybe they're burning a giant with a red face!" I kidded.
"It must be the dogs. Although, maybe it's such a beautiful
color because of the sunset. . ."
We watched the smoke, silent once again.
The dog killer lifted the bound dog pelts to his shoulder. He
stood out, strong and black, against the sunset sky.
"Tomorrow we'll do a good day's work," he said with
satisfaction. "Right? A good day, tomorrow!"
The next day was a fine, clear day. The man who had
commissioned the dog job didn't show up, but the operation
proceeded smoothly and by the end of the morning, we had
finished about two-thirds of our estimated gf>al. We were tired,
but in comparatively good spirits. Only the student was upset
and morose. He was annoyed by his stained pants and, he
complained, the smell of the dogs kept on clinging to him even
after he had taken a bath the night before. He couldn't get rid of
the encrusted dog blood under his fingernails. And no matter
how hard he rubbed and scrubbed with soap, he couldn't get rid
of that smell.
I glanced at the hands of the gloomy student. His nails,
projecting from slender finger tips, were dirty.
"I guess you're sorry you took this job," the girl said.
"No, it's not that," he answered, getting madder. "Even if
I hadn't taken it, there'd be dog blood sticking under the nails of
some other guy who took the job instead of me. And that guy
would be stinking of blood all over. That's what bugs me."
"You're a humanist," the girl commented in a flat voice.
The student lowered his bloodshot eyes without answer
ing. He was getting increasingly mad. And when the dog killer
started to talk to him, he refused to answer.
The dog killer was upset and felt hurt.
When I came along pulling a setter type mongrel on a rope,
the dog killer was out of the pen taking a break and smoking a
cigarette. The student was standing a short distance away, his
back stubbornly toward him. I went up to the dog killer as if I
were just walking the dog.
"Tie him up over there," he told me.
I tied the rope to the post at the opening of the enclosure.
"These here dogs are all so tame. A place like this, there's
always at least one dog that's almost as big as a calf. And real
wild.'
"A dog like that'd be tough to handle," I said, stifling a
yawn, my eyes watering.
"You bet!" he answered, his eyes watering as he held back
a yawn also. "But I've got a way to keep him in hand. I just do
this ..." He started to thrust his hand with its coarse-haired
fingers into his loosened belt, when the student yelled:
"Stop it! I don't want to hear it! It's reVolting!'
''I'm just talking about how to make a dog that's almost as
big as a calf behave himself," the dog killer persisted.
His lips quivering, the student continued: "I said your way
of doing things is revolting. What you're doing is disgusting!
Even though they're dogs, you ought to treat them more
decently!"
"Listen, wise guy ... I bet you couldn't even kill a
puppy, the way you talk!" the dog killer sputtered, his face
turning white and saliva spraying from his mouth.
The student clenched his teeth and glared at the dog killer.
Suddenly he picked up the dog killer's club and ran over to
the dog that I had tied to the post at the entrance to the pen. The
dog started barking furiously at the student as he approached
brandishing the club. The student shrank back momentarily, but
then he went on and dealt the wildly leaping dog a blow on the
ear. The animal was knocked down and struck the side of the
pen with a howl. But it didn't die. It crawled on the ground in
agony as blood kept pouring from its mouth. The student stood
rooted to the spot, breathing violently, and stared at the dog.
"Damn you! Finish it off!" the dog killer shouted in a
rage. "Don't torture it!"
71
The student remained transfixed. He just stood there trem
bling uncontrollably with his mouth agape and panting harshly.
The dog dragged itself along the ground pulling the rope taut and
shuddering convulsively. I dashed over, wrenched the club
from his hand and brought it down on the muzzle of the dog as it
lay there with the blood gushing from its mouth while it looked
at us with its soft, gentle eyes. The animal collapsed with a shrill
sound like the cry of a bird.
Anger welled up in my throat. But I turned mY'back to him
and bent over to remove the rope from the dog's neck. I wasn't
interested in what he thought.
"Say, kid. you got what it takes!" the dog killer said,
coming over to me. "If you don't have what it takes, being a dog
killer can be pretty dangerous."
"That's a brutal thing you did," the student gasped.
"What?"
"You just don't have any feelings! That dog wasn't putting
up any fight. It was weak and helpless!"
But as it turned out, I didn't have too much of what it takes
after all. Late that afternoon, I was bitten in the thigh by a
medium sized brown dog that had a skin infection.
I had been pulling the dog along and had just reached the
entrance to the pen, when the girl had come out carrying the
blood-soaked skins. When he saw them, the terrified animal
began to thrash about Wildly. I tightened the rope and tried to
calm him down, but he gave a violent leap and bit me in the
thigh. The dog killer ran out of the pen and swiftly dragged the
animal off me, but I had already lost all feeling in my thigh.
"Wow! That sure was a lot of howling just for having been
bitten by an old brown dog!" the girl teased.
My socks were soaked through with blood. The dog killer
thrust. open the mouth of the dog he had just clubbed to death.
"You sure got bitten by some fierce teeth! He was getting
old and his teeth were getting loose. Dirty, too. Take a look!"
I was faint from loss of blood and only dimly aware of the
girl suporting me as she moved along with slow dragging steps.
I didn't want the student to see me.
I lay sprawled out on a leather couch. A nurse was winding
a dressing carefully around my bare thigh.
"Hurt?"
"No."
"That's what I thought," she said getting up and glancing
down at me. "See if you can walk."
I pulled up my pants and tried to take a few steps.
"My muscles feel a little cramped because of the
bandage."
"That's O.K. I'll give you the bill for your treatment later
when you come for your injections."
"What! Injections'?"
"Sure. You don't want to get rabies."
I dropped my arms on the couch as I sat down and lowered
my eyes. My hands, with their hangnailed fingers, were trem
bling violently on my lap.
"Rabies ... ?"
"Yes."
"It's nothing to sneeze at ... those inoculations."
"It's a matter of life or death. It happens sometimes, you
know," she answered bluntly.
"Ohh!" I groaned. "What a rotten fix I'm in."
"What do you mean?"
"Those dog teeth!" I said, heatedly.
"Hey!" Somebody was calling. "Hey! Hey! Come on!"
I opened the door and went downstairs and out the back
door. The dog killer and the rest of our group were all assembled
in front of the storage sheds. There was a police officer in the
middle and he turned around to look at me. I approached the
group slowly. The officer entered my name and address in his
notebook.
"What's this for?" I asked.
The policeman thrust out his jaw, but didn't bother
answering.
"Well?"
"They say that man that commissioned the job is a meat
broker," the girl volunteered. "He's been selling the dogs' flesh
to a butcher. When the butcher entered a complaint, he skipped
off somewhere."
I stared at the girl in silence.
"That's the end of our pay!"
'Yeah."
"His running off like that leaves us in a mess!"
I looked at the dog killer and the student. They both looked
sort of stunned.
"But what am I gonna do about the money for the hospital
bill ?"
"Yeah. Neither that guy nor the butcher he swindled got
bitten by a dog!' ,
The police spoke firmly: "You'll probably all be sum
moned as witnesses."
"Summoned?" the student protested. "But we weren't
selling dc1g meat!"
"The indiscriminate killing of dogs is a serious offense in
itself," the policeman answered.
"But we didn't do it because we liked it!"
The policeman took no notice of this outburst and simply
walked off across the plaza.
We were all silent. Little by little, I felt the beginning of a
nagging pain from my wound. It was quietly starting to swell.
72