Reading the account of the execution of Andres Bonifacio filled me with sorrow and disgust. It reads like high tragedy; once the Supremo resolved to attend the Tejeros Convention, the ineluctable wheels of fate turned towards his death. You know something really, really bad was going to happen from the onset, as when Oedipus insists in finding out who the killer of Laius was, or when King Lear divides up his kingdom between his thee daughters. You know, from a postmortem view, they were going against better judgment, which the Greeks explain away with hubris, and, like the ineffectual Chorus, all you can do is witness in horror the grizzly turn of events.

I read several versions of the story, looking for someone to blame for the egregious injustice of Bonifacio’s death. There was no single person to point a finger at, even Emilio Aguinaldo, yet all of them were culpable; it seemed like the whole of Cavite ganged up on Bonifacio. First, there was Daniel Tirona. After Bonifacio was humiliated during the elections for positions in the revolutionary government by not winning the presidency, but instead “the rather insignificant post of the Director of the Interior”, Tirona, adding insult to injury, undermined his eligibility by questioning his academic and professional qualifications, even suggesting that there was a lawyer in Cavite better suited for the job. Bonifacio threw a fit, declared the elections a fraud, and stormed out of the room. He was the Supremo after all, founder of the Katipunan, the secret society that instigated the rebellion.

Then there was Col. Yntong (Agapito Monzon), probably the most unsavory character in this story, who arrested Bonifacio for sedition in Limbon, Cavite, under orders of Gen. Mariano Noriel. His party was received by Bonifacio as friends, who shared breakfast with them, and were sent away with goodwill and cigarettes. At a safe distance, they sealed off the area, and started shooting at the camp. The first to fall was Bonifacio’s brother, Ciriaco. Bonifacio came out in the open, and hugging the men he met, shouted: “Mga kapatid akoy walang guinagauang kaualang hiaan.” They fired again, just missing his shoulders, and hit the man behind him. “Mga kapatid tingnaniño na ang pinapatay niño ay iño ring kapua tagalog.” Another shot finally wounded him, and having fallen, they stabbed him in the throat. Were the orders to arrest him, or to take him dead, rather than alive? This would have conveniently removed a “troublesome” thorn, who has outlived his use as organizer of the Katipunan, and had demonstrated his lack of military skills to prosecute the rest of the revolution.

Col. Yntong interrogated Oryang over money they were sure she hid somewhere. Indeed, they invaded Bonifacio’s camp shouting “Humarap ang ualang hiang Supremo na magtatakas ng aming salapi!” Not believing her protestations, she was ordered tied to a tree and beaten (golpihin), but the soldiers refused, on account of her being a woman and the wife of the Supremo. Ambeth Ocampo, parsing between the lines of court transcripts, alleges that Col. Yntong tried to rape Oryang twice, which does not surprise me following his insidious behavior so far.

Not content with this, Col. Yntong later took Aling Oryang’s wedding ring, twelve pesos as well as bullets for a revolver. Then he forced Aling Oryang into a vacant house. Bonifacio in his testimony told the court that Col. Yntong was forcing his wife into an empty house “sa talagang kilos na ilugso ang kapurihan” but this was averted when the other officers objected. Later, in Indang, Col. Yntong attempted to rape Aling Oryang again but this time, Bonifacio pleaded with Tomas Mascardo who mercifully intervened.

What is very disturbing in Aling Oryang’s testimony before the court-martial is the silence over the so-called attempted rape. We do not have a word-for-word transcription of Aling Oryang’s testimony, rather only what appears to be stenographer’s notes which state that, after being divested of the little property she had on her person, they left the house and crossed the street to another house where Col. Yntong ordered all the people to get out and “forced her upstairs” How else can a historian interpret the records which state, “ng makalabas sia ng daan ay may isang bahay na pinapanaog nalahat ang tao at ipinapapanhik ang nagsasaysay?”

Where does such meanness come from? Well, Daniel Tirona had been spreading slanderous rumors about Bonifacio up until elections in Cavite, perhaps with the same allegations about dishonesty over Katipunan funds. For his wife to be assaulted by a military lackey, and for him to beg them to lay their hands off her like a sorry, sniveling dog, must have been the most humiliating blow to Bonifacio, and the ultimate power trip for the Caviteños. They have not only succeeded in stripping the Supremo of his power, but his dignity as well. It is curious that at the end of her brief autobiography, Oryang cites the admonition against dishonoring women as an example of Katipunan discipline:

Ang natatandaan kong kaparusahan sa hindi sumusunod ng mga ipinaguutos ng katipunan, gaya ng mang-babae, ay ipatatawag kapagkarakang maunawaan sa halip na siya’y bigyan ng kaparusahan ay agad siyang babasahan ng dapat pagpitaganan ang isang babae, gaya na rin ng pagpipitagan sa sarili na ang sinasabing pangaral ay ganito: “Kung hindi mo gustong lapastanganin ang iyong Ina, asawa at kapatid ay nararapat na pakaingatan mo na gawin mo sa iba ito pagka’t sa ganyang kaapihan ay maaari mong ipalit ang tatlo mang buhay. Kaya’t isa-isip tuwina na ang masama sa iyo ay hindi dapat gawin kailan man sa iba at sa paraang iyan ay isa kayong marangal na maibibilang na anak ng bayan”.

Indeed, if we look at the precepts of the original Katipuneros–Cartilla (Emilio Jacinto), Katungkulang Gawain ng mga Anak ng Z. LL. B. (Andres Bonifacio), and Verdadero Decalogo (Apolinario Mabini)–which all parallel the Ten Commandments, we can see that they envisioned the struggle for freedom, as Reynaldo Ileto puts it, in religious and moral terms. The Revolution was a political as well as an eschatological transformation of Philippine society, not unlike the reversal of fortunes at the end of days, when the poor in spirit inherits the kingdom of heaven as in the Beatitudes. Seen in this light, the assault on Oryang, to me, marks the second phase of the Philippine Revolution, when the original religious and moral ideals of the Katipunan, were usurped by purely political and military goals, that gave excuse to brutishness, self-aggrandizement, and treachery.

On one of the walls of the Nakpil-Bautista house, there hangs two huge panels of Oryang’s Sampung Tagubilin sa mga Kabataan, her counsel to the Philippine youth, again, in the form of a decalogue.

  1. Igalang at mahalin ang magulang pagka’t ito ang pangalawang Dios sa lupa.
  2. Alalahanin tuwina ang mga banal na aral ng mga bayani na nasawi dahil sa pag-ibig sa bayan.
  3. Huwag magaksaya ng panahon ng di pamarisan.
  4. Pagsikapang magkaroon ng anomang karunungan na tumutugon sa kanyang hilig upang paki-nabangan ng bayan.
  5. Ang kabaitan ay alalahaning isang malaking kayamanan.
  6. Igalang ang mga gurong nagpapamulat ng isip pagka’t kung utang sa magulang ang pagiging tao ay utang naman sa nagturo ang pagpapakatao.
  7. Iligtas ang api sa panganib.
  8. Matakot sa kasaysayan pagka’t walang lihim na di nahahayag.
  9. Kapag napagingatan ang kasamaan ay doon manggagaling ang malaking karangalan.
  10. Sikapin ang ikapagkakaisa ng lahat at ika uunlad ng bayan upang huwag magkaroon ng sagabal ang kasarinlan.

The eighth counsel reads: “Fear history, for it respects no secret.” (Hernandez translation)