[Philippine's human rights violations] A Thousand Little Deaths Growing Up Under Martial Law in the Philippines #8/152

Before Annabel or I had a chance to say, “Come in,” the massive door opened, a head peaked in and the soldier from the night before said, “You need to get up. I have to take those cots away before the commander comes.”

We walked the short distance to the conference room and joined the men for breakfast. The men slept there as well. The military camp did not have a jail. It was never meant to be a prison, but it handled the overflow when Camp Olivas became over-crowded with the hundreds of political detainees being taken there daily. On my second day, a young man warned me about Camp Olivas. He had been arrested once before and was sent there. He said the conditions there were bad and I was lucky to be here.

“ A colegiala like you would definitely have a hard time over there. You have no idea what it is like to be in Camp Olivas. You see, when they fed us, there was very little of it and much of it tasted awful. I was always hungry. The cells smelled, and so did we. We did not shower regularly as there were very few showers and with hundreds in the camp, sometimes water ran out. Sometimes they put five or six people inside a cell where only two should fit. I heard screaming nearby all the time, coming from this one hallway where we were not allowed to go, and there were a series of rooms, which were always padlocked. Sometimes the screams seemed to turn into howling, almost like the kind of howling dogs do. It seemed to go on forever. Although to tell you the truth, Camp Olivas is not as bad as Camps Crame, Bonifacio, or Bicutan, from what I heard. Being here is somewhat nicer.”

How could you expect so little of yourself? What was it really like there? What was it like for you?I was loath to ask him those questions. A part of me did not want to know, a part of me was curious. Then I sensed that he, too, was holding back. He was trying to decide if he should say more.