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Scout Rangers, Marines and Special Action Forces
Officers under Investigation and Custody, in Detention, and/or Changed
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Brig.
Gen.
Danilo Lim
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Brig. Gen. Francisco Gudani
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Maj. Gen.
Renato Miranda
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Col. Orlando de Leon
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Col. Ariel Querubin
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Lt. Col. Alexander Balutan
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Ltsg. Antonio
Trillanes IV
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Capt. Nicanor Faeldon
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Capt.
Rene Jarque
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Sen. & Lt. Col. Gregorio Honasan
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Gen. Jose Almonte
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We Belong
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Gen. Jose Almote:
What I Did in the 1986 People Power Revolution
Inquirer, February
2006
 HISTORY is the record of
the fascinating contingencies that have produced the present. Determinists
may regard "history" as an autonomous process unfolding a predetermined
future, in accordance with laws that humankind cannot amend. But, through
the people, individuals of character can change the way nations evolve. That
I came to realize through my participation in the mutiny of young officers
in the Philippine military, which set off the epochal "People Power"
Revolution of February 1986.
Born to a poor family in Albay, I had taken the only road toward a good
education open to young men of my social class. I became a professional
soldier, finishing at the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) in 1956. In
accordance with President Ramon Magsaysay's directive to assign all new
graduates to field units, I was sent off to lead a platoon on the
mountainous Laguna-Quezon border during the last years of the Huk rebellion.
That platoon turned out to be my only "field command" during more than 30
years of military service. One day, while I was bathing in a nearby stream,
my platoon-aggrieved about field mismanagement-shot up the company
headquarters. Instead of being court-martialed for command responsibility of
the mutiny (as I had asked), I was dispatched to the Philippine Army School
Command in what was then Fort McKinley, to join the only specialist course
then available: combat intelligence.
That singular event defined my professional military career. It also opened
my eyes to the realities and consequences of military mismanagement in the
field. After I joined the Reform the-Armed Forces Movement (RAM) in the late
'70s, I found, to my dismay, that the young officers who organized it were
motivated by the same grievances that had moved my platoon to mutiny. And,
sad to say, the same grievances launched the Oakwood mutiny in 2003.
With Philcag in Vietnam
Ferdinand Marcos' rise to the presidency coincided with the beginning of the
American intervention in the Vietnamese civil war. To show their venture was
that of all the freedom-loving peoples of the world, the Americans cobbled
together a coalition that came to include, among others, the Australians,
the South Koreans, the Thais and the Filipinos.
Pressed by Washington to put his troops where his mouth was, Marcos agreed
to send a token force to Vietnam: it was later rumored that an off-budget
gift from the Americans had helped to persuade him. But, fearing the effect
of Filipino casualties on his plans for reelection in 1969, Marcos sent a
noncombatant group of engineers and civic-action troops.
By then a captain, I formed part of an initial three-man team that prepared
the ground for the advance party led by then Major Fidel V. Ramos. The
Philippine Civic Action Group (Philcag) was assigned to Tay Ninh Province,
in the southwestern part of South Vietnam. Our expeditionary force of 2,000
men was made up of medical and engineering troops, as well as a security
battalion.
I served three years with Philcag, instead of the usual one year. Unlike the
Koreans, we were able to keep our casualties down. When I was rotated home
in 1969, I was reassigned to the Palace, to work with Executive Secretary
Alejandro Melchor.
Martial law
Like myself, Melchor was dismayed by martial law. Significantly, he was
excluded from the "Rolex 12" officials who helped Marcos impose it. But, on
Marcos' behest, we both stayed on, in the hope of building on the political
stability and social order that martial law was able, initially, to
organize.
But, as authoritarian rule took hold, the near-absolute power that the
Marcos family exercised-more and more capriciously-began to take its
unavoidable toll. The straightforward and well-meaning Melchor lost out to
those in the Palace who sowed intrigues. Eventually, Marcos was persuaded to
close down the Executive Secretary's office, abolishing Melchor's position.
I was retained by Marcos, over the objection of General Fabian Ver, in the
graduate school of the University of the Philippines, where I headed a
Center for Advanced Studies. Before long, I had come to conclude that Marcos
and his family had become a plague on the Filipino nation.
Joining RAM
By then, disillusionment with strongman rule was widespread. Not only had
the rural insurgency of the "New People's Army" guerrillas spread from the
traditional centers of agrarian dissidence in Central Luzon to the Visayas
and Mindanao. In the Muslim communities of the Southern Philippines, a
separatist rebellion was raging. I soon began hearing of the grievances of
field commanders in Mindanao and Sulu over the neglect of troops in the
field and, particularly, of the lack of care for their wounded.
Foot-soldiers were being short-changed even on their food and clothing
allowances. Weapons and ammunition were always in short supply. At the
height of the fighting, the Moro National Liberation Front rebels were often
better-armed than the soldiers of the republic. Because evacuation
facilities were so limited, wounded soldiers who could otherwise be saved
would die. And standing by helplessly while a comrade bled to death is
always a bitter experience for any soldier-because fighting side by side and
suffering together bind them closer than brothers.
Meanwhile, many of the generals and flag officers had been corrupted by the
regime and, in the eyes of their juniors, no longer deserved their loyalty
and obedience. "An entire AFP generation above us," the RAM mutineers
proclaimed memorably, has failed "to respond to a moral crisis."
In fact, a group of veterans from the Mindanao-Sulu campaign-most of them
from PMA Class '71-had begun actively to think of doing something to restore
the honor of the military.
Eventually, most of the aggrieved junior officers were brought under the
leadership of their upperclassmen. The most senior of these were Lt.
Colonels Gregorio "Gringo" Honasan, Victor Batac, and Eduardo "Red" Kapunan-all
of Class '71. But there were a number of lieutenants in the group, among
them Diosdado Valeroso of the Philippine Constabulary/Integrated National
Police (PC/INP).
The organization they later created-acronymed RAM-had no central
intelligence, but it was these three who led its "core group." Although much
older-I had graduated from the PMA 15 years before they did-I decided to
join these idealistic young soldiers, if only to serve their coffee.
Naturally, they were initially suspicious. Not only was I an intelligence
officer-a posting that has often attracted those who thrive on secrecy,
intrigue and even betrayal. I had also spent many years in Malaca¤ang
Palace, in the dictator's executive office, working with Melchor, whom many
in the political and military elite regarded unfairly as a Trojan horse for
the Americans.
What RAM fought for
Reporting on the compulsions that moved the RAM rebels, the American
journalist Tom Marks wrote: "Their motives are complex, but stem principally
from a sense of honor betrayed, and frustration at being committed to a war
that, in the absence of reform, was bound to be endless." As its acronym
suggests, RAM represents an idea of struggle to reform the military, the
police, and ultimately the nation, to put an end to an indeterminate
internal wars.
Through our seemingly endless discussions, some of these young officers
somehow made me the repository of their anxieties. They told me of the PMA
classmates they lost, of the deaths of soldiers under their care, and of the
peasant youths they had to kill in what they saw as a fratricidal war, even
while the politicians in Manila continued to play their factional games and
businessmen in Makati and Binondo amassed fortunes.
I was far less optimistic than were my youthful comrades about the outcome
of our movement.
As our plans matured, we came to realize how real was the possibility of
failure. But we also came to believe that our enterprise would not be gauged
by its success in overthrowing the regime. It would be a social action, a
people's action; it would have a demonstration effect far beyond that of any
ephemeral event.
And we decided we could do what we believed was right for the nation so
long as we were willing to accept the consequences of our actions. And if we
had to pay the ultimate price of failure, we were to make no unnecessary
sound or movement to ensure that the nobility of our intentions was
undiminished.
And we decided we could do what we believed was right for the nation so long
as we were willing to accept the consequences of our actions. And if we had
to pay the ultimate price of failure, we were to make no unnecessary sound
or movement to ensure that the nobility of our intentions was undiminished.
Aim
for snake's head
Of the three senior leaders of RAM, Batac, who was then chief of Research
and Analysis Office of the Intelligence Division of the PC/INP, was the
strategist, the planner-intellectual; Kapunan the organization man, with
wide-ranging contacts among the field commands. Honasan, baron of his class,
the charismatic fighting man, was the movement's leader.
Eventually, the three told me what they planned. They would ambush General
Roland Pattugalan, commander of the Presidential Guards, whom Marcos was
touting as his next chief of staff. Since General Josephus Ramas, the Army
commander, also coveted the post, (which Marcos' henchman, Ver, was then
holding) Ramas could easily bear the blame for Pattugalan's death. Marcos'
generals would begin quarreling among themselves and RAM could then take
advantage of the confusion in the Marcos camp.
I suggested that revolutionary politics did not work that way. Dealing with
an authoritarian ruler was like trying to kill a cobra. Regicides like
ourselves should aim for its head: we shouldn't bother with the cobra's tail
or even its body. We did not have the luxury of a second strike.
After some debate, RAM decided to alter the plan: we agreed we would attack
Malacanang Palace itself. In the process, it was likely the entire Marcos
family would be killed. I insisted the Marcoses should be taken alive, so
that they could face a people's court. Honasan pointed out correctly that
taking the Marcoses alive would require a larger attack force than the group
we already had. (When the showdown came, we had a total of 770 men holed up
in Camp Crame.) We would need to recruit more fighters. Not only would that
risk the discovery of our plot but it would also raise the volume of
casualties on both sides.
But I feared the fickle nature of history whose judgment of historical
figures is never final. In the end, we decided to build up a larger force.
Meanwhile, we also made up a list of the personages who would compose our
transition government. The seven-man junta-called the Movement for National
Unity-was to be made up of Cory Aquino, Jaime Cardinal Sin, Jimmy Ongpin,
Rafael Salas, Alejandro Melchor, Juan Ponce Enrile and Fidel V. Ramos.
Planning the assault
We vied for the honor of leading the attack on the Palace and on its
Presidential Guards. At last, it was decided that the task would go to
Gringo Honasan. On that occasion, I gave him, as a keepsake, a Russian AK-47
assault rifle I used during my sojourn among the Vietcong, and which, in
happier times, I had intended to present to Marcos.
Kapunan would lead the attack on the Presidential Guards on the south bank
of the Pasig River. Meanwhile, Batac and I would man the RAM command post at
Nichols Field, where a battalion from Trece Martires in Cavite would join
us. Then Major Avelino "Sonny" Razon, Ramos' aide, was with us. As soon as
the action began, he would pick up Ramos and escort him to Nichols, where
Ramos would take overall command of the rebel forces.
Luttwak's 'Coup d'etat'
While the young leaders of RAM completed the deadly business of organizing a
coup, we all read up on Edward Luttwak ("Coup d'etat: A Practical Handbook,"
London: 1968), and I passed around a copy of Anwar el-Sadat's relation of
how the young Egyptian officers overthrew the dissolute King Farouk in 1952.
I volunteered to get in touch with the strongman's civilian opposition.
All of us realized how the military's collaboration with the regime had
alienated it from the people. Yet, we also knew that if our effort was to
succeed, we would need the wholehearted support of ordinary Filipinos. Early
on, we had agreed that, if we could get people out on the streets, we could
deter the movement of the loyalist forces. In the early '80s, we got in
touch with Jose "Peping" Cojuangco and his wife, Ting-Ting. When the action
finally took place in February 1986, they blocked the roads from Tarlac to
Manila, to stop loyalist troops from Marcos' "Solid North" from reinforcing
him. Ting-Ting began organizing "flower brigades" similar to those the
American youth movement of 1968 had used to disarm troops breaking up their
demonstrations against the Vietnam War. In early February 1986, Peping set
an appointment for us with the Opposition's moral leader, Cory Aquino.
Plotting in Cory's kitchen
She received Vic Batac, Red Kapunan, Boy Turingan, and myself, together
with her brother Peping, in the kitchen of her house on Times Street in
Quezon City. We told her that we were going to bring down Marcos by force
and that we looked to her as our leader. We could not tell even her the day
and the time, but it was going to be very soon. And we needed her because,
once the action began, she alone could rally the people to come to our side.
Even at that late date, Mrs. Aquino was reluctant to take on the burden of
the presidency. Nor did she think that the ruling generals who all owed
personal loyalty to Marcos would obey her commands. Almost the first words
she uttered were: "I do not want to be President because I am not capable of
being President."
As RAM's spokesperson for that occasion, I pointed out that, in the life of
a people, every historical period requires leadership of a certain
character. And, at that point in our nation's life, in the wake of the moral
excesses of the Marcoses and their cronies, we needed moral leadership of
the kind she possessed.
Ninoy's funeral
I told her that I had stood on the overpass connecting Nichols and Fort
Bonifacio to see Ninoy Aquino's funeral cortege pass underneath and had
heard her being interviewed on radio. Asked what she would do to seek
justice for her murdered husband, the grieving widow had called not for
revenge, not for revolution. She had not called on the millions of Filipinos
accompanying Ninoy to his grave to storm Malaca¤ang. Yet, all she then
needed to do was to give the word and surely a sufficient number of those
who were grieving for Ninoy would have done so. Instead, she had quietly
answered: "I will leave it to the authorities to give justice to my
husband."
I told her that I thought a person who could have that kind of faith in
people-even in officials of a government that might have killed her
husband-must have a high moral character. I added that the military would
respect someone with moral character and, of course, as President, she would
command the armed forces on behalf of all the people. She answered,
"Colonel, I never thought of it that way."
In her delight at having her misgivings and anxieties relieved, she burst
out: "Colonel, if what you are telling me happens, you will be my first
general!"
A walk with Sin
Embarrassed by her effusion, I replied that we had pledged neither to seek
nor to accept any rewards, promotions or positions of power. All we hoped
for was that the new government we would help install will seek to actualize
the yearnings of our people.
Jaime Cardinal Sin was the second personage whose blessing we sought. Coming
alone, by appointment (set by Charito Melchor, a devout laywoman), to the
Archbishop's Palace in Mandaluyong, I was met at the door by a young priest,
who did not ask me in. Soon enough, the Cardinal himself came out the door
alone. He invited me to walk in the garden with him as a precaution against
listeners, a gesture that I appreciated. I told him we were ready to bring
down Marcos and asked for his support and his prayers.
Saying our goodbyes, we both felt the emotion of the moment. He embraced me
tightly as I took my leave: "Colonel, you do your duty," he said, "and I'll
do mine!"
If we needed Cory Aquino and Cardinal Sin to mobilize the people, we needed
Lt. Gen. Fidel V. Ramos, vice chief of staff and director general of the PC/INP,
to help mobilize the armed forces and the national police. I had known him
for a quarter-century. We had both been assigned to the Laguna-Quezon border
during the dying years of the Huk rebellion. He then led a company of
infantry. I remember that, in our occasional conversations, we had both
wondered why we were hunting down fellow-Filipinos. I called on him at his
headquarters in Camp Crame just a few days before our planned action.
One last cigar with Ramos
Cool, discreet, deliberate, Ramos was the thinking soldier's soldier. After
finishing at West Point in 1950, he fought at the 38th Parallel in Korea,
served in the Huk campaign, and then in Vietnam. Throughout the years of
martial law, he stood for professionalism and dedication to duty. No
desk-bound commander, he was often in the field, living with the soldiers
where they were. He knew all the field commanders intimately. Only he could
call them to our side.
We talked for several hours. I tried to sketch for him the crisis the nation
was in, and what we had decided we must do, even at the cost of our lives.
At first he didn't say a great deal, though I felt he himself had gone
through the same examination of conscience. I didn't need to tell him the
tactical details. How we were to act and where we were to strike were clear
to him. I told him we were counting on him to lead us. As soon as the action
began, Sonny Razon would come for him.
When it was time for him to reply, he first pointed out that Marcos was his
blood-relation. For Ilocanos, betrayal of a blood-relation was the greatest
transgression. If he were to take up arms against Marcos, how could he ever
face his people again?
By nature a moderate, fearful of the anarchy a revolution might set off, he
was also keenly aware of the consequences his decision could set off. All we
in RAM could lose were our own lives. We were responsible for no one else
but our own selves. But, once Ramos committed himself against Marcos and his
own long-standing rival, Ver, he would have also decided for the 90,000
constabulary men under his command, as well as for many others in the armed
forces, whom he knew would loyally join him in whatever he decided to do.
Hence, I understood why he could not pledge his support for our cause as
blithely as we ourselves had done.
For the moment, we let it go at that. But I was sure that, when the time
came, we could count on him.
As I stood up to go, he grabbed a handful of his favorite cigars from a
drawer of his desk. He lit one for himself, and gave the rest to me. "Joe,"
he said, as he let me out the door. "Whatever you're planning, just don't
make it too bloody."
'Almonte who?'
Early on, we had sworn to ourselves that, even if we succeeded, we would do
no more than return to barracks, after turning government over to qualified
civilian and military leaders. Thus, after the "People Power" revolution
into which our mutiny had metamorphosed was over, the leaders of RAM all
reported to their previous postings.
Eventually, Enrile, by then President Aquino's defense secretary, wanted Air
Force Col. Antonio Sotelo, commander of the 15th Strike Wing, promoted to
general. Sotelo had led nine of his helicopters down to the parade ground in
Camp Crame, at a decisive moment on the morning of Feb. 24 just after a
loyalist Marine detachment had infiltrated Camp Aguinaldo and set up its
artillery and mortars just across the highway from where we were.
But Mrs. Aquino stubbornly refused to do so, bent on fulfilling her promise
that I would be her first general.
Finally, she decided that Sotelo and I would both be promoted and on the
same day: myself in the morning and Sotelo in the afternoon. And she
insisted on full press coverage of my promotion ceremonies. Puzzled by all
the fuss over what was ordinarily a routine ritual, a brash young reporter
asked the only question after the Palace spokesperson, Secretary Rene
Saguisag, had announced my promotion: "Almonte who?"
Even I laughed. From the euphoria of our bloodless victory, the question
brought me down to earth. I thought it an appropriate ending to my part in
the 1986 People Power Revolution.*
*The plans to assault Malacanang, occupy the command post in Nichols and
form the transition government did not materialize because RAM was
compromised shortly before D-day on Feb. 22, 1986. On the afternoon of Feb.
21, Batac called my home in Fort Bonifacio, which was our assembly point for
the Nichols operation, to abort the plan and to immediately assemble in Camp
Aguinaldo where Enrile and Ramos announced to the nation their withdrawal of
support from Marcos. The rest is history.
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