Down From the Hill: Ateneo’s Modern Heroes Eman Lacaba and Edgar Jopson
/The Ateneo of my student days in the ‘60s still bore the lingering influence of the American Jesuits and, indeed, the Society of Jesus in the Philippines belonged to the New York province. Its prototype might have been an Eastern Board Ivy-League school with a Filipino Catholic accent. Some of its students still spoke with the twang called the Arrneow accent as exemplified by Senator Raul S. Manglapus and the Rev. Horacio de la Costa, S.J. In brief, the school’s image was of an elite one.
But in 1965 (the year I entered college), the Ateneo was already feeling the brisk winds of political, economic, and social change.
The changing times were hotly debated in an article which later appeared in the school organ, The Guidon, on November 27, 1968, entitled “Down From the Hill.” It was authored by five Ateneans: Jose Luis A. Alcuaz, junior A.B; Gerardo J. Esguerra, junior AB; Emmanuel A. F. Lacaba, junior A.B; Leonardo Q. Montemayor, junior B.S., and Alfredo N. Salanga, senior A.B.
“Down from the Hill” was an appropriately fitting title since it echoed the first lines of the school’s anthem. Unlike the ubiquitous Manglapus composition, “Blue Eagle, the King,” heartily sung at athletic competitions, one could hear the anthem’s poignant refrain only at graduation.
We stand on a hill, between the earth and sky;
Now all is still, where Loyola’s colors fly…
Down from the hill, down to the world go I
Remembering still, where the bright blue eagles fly…
The Ateneo was small enough at the time for me to have known all of the authors of that Guidon piece, but especially, Alfredo N. Salanga and Eman Lacaba, who were among the best writers of the University Magazine, The Heights, of which I was editor-in-chief. Our own brand of activism included interviews with Jose Maria Sison (who studied and had been expelled from the Ateneo High School) and songstress Carmen Soriano, Matisse design and Marian Anderson on The Heights cover as well as an Andy Warhol issue enclosed in a Tide Box (whose only extant copy is now in the University Archives). Our avant-garde Heights issue resulted in the protest resignation of our lady academic adviser.
We were equally rebellious in the chosen format of our school annual, The Aegis, which featured the graduates not in solemn toga-and-mortarboard portraits, but in casual, edgy photos meant to reflect individual personalities. I was tasked to write the essay for the annual, advocating wider Filipinization and Secularization for the Ateneo—a message roundly criticized by my Philosophy teacher, Fr. Joseph O’Hare, S.J. (who became editor of the influential Jesuit magazine, America, and president of Fordham University on his return to the United States).
The 1969 Aegis Annual Yearbook featured the graduates not in traditional graduation garb but in casual poses to reflect their personalities as they saw themselves. This page depicts the Ateneo Student Council members representing the heads of extracurricular activities as well as the elected Representatives. (Source: Ateneo de Manila 1969 Aegis Yearbook)
We were just six months away from graduation (May 1969), but the essay was a bombshell because it analyzed the political and social situation in the Philippines and directly attacked the Church, the Society of Jesus, and the Ateneo University itself for having neglected the needs of the masses and catered instead to what it termed “the power elite.” As in the School Annual, the essay offered Filipinization and Secularization as steps towards more relevance for a “Filipino, Christian” school such as the Ateneo. This would indeed raise hackles in the administration, and it was rumored that those who penned it would be suspended for one semester.
Arguably, those who wrote this groundbreaking and daring essay would later in their turn join the power elite of government, mass media, and private enterprise. However, there were two graduates of 1969-1970 who took its message to heart and carried out its conclusions in their very own lives.
The first of this was Emmanuel “Eman” Lacaba, with whom I had entered college in 1965 and who, together with Alfredo “Freddie” Salanga and Raymundo “Rey” Albano, brought campus writing to a new pinnacle of brilliance. Eman was tall, gangly, with a shock of jet-black hair, and dark piercing eyes. His brother Pete was acknowledged as one of the school’s most promising poets. Both brothers had been star pupils at Pasig City High School and were now Ateneo’s stellar writers.
Had Eman not chosen to take a year off for the American Field Service (AFS) in freshman year, we would have been together in English Composition with the voluble Professor Rolando S. Tinio. We would see him the following year when he returned from San Francisco with highly polished English and a new bronze sheen.
We would work together in the University Heights magazine. Freddie Salanga would become his best friend and staunch supporter in his later career. Eman would garner a Palanca prize for his short story, Punch and Judas, while he was still in college.
I would note with amusement his popularity with the coeds who now frequented the Ateneo campus for “cross-enrolled” courses. Our French teacher L.C. on loan from UP must have been equally smitten by him as she described him (while looking for him on one occasion) as being “beyond good and evil.” She it was who—pointedly looking at the males’ direction--wittily asked the coeds in our class if they were there for the “fringe or the French benefits.”
Did Professor L. C. have a mirror to the future?
After the Ateneo, Eman did take the road less taken, beyond good and evil.
After (his studies), he worked in a variety of fields: as an instructor, production hand, and stage actor. During this time, he also became deeply involved in labor movements, such as Panulat Para sa Kaunlaran ng Sambayanan (PAKSA), as well as the revolutionary underground.
Jose Lacaba wrote of his brother Emmanuel, "When there was no more paper to write on, he would write on the backs of cigarette tinfoil." As Eman became more deeply involved with the New People's Army, and with other guerilla groups opposed to martial law under the Marcos dictatorship, he also used his formidable literary talents alongside his political goals.
Eman Lacaba (Source: aboutcagayandeoro.com)
Justin Umali describes his work as such:
He wrote about anything—his experience in the countryside, death and struggle, complaints about his bowel movements and his astigmatism.
He was comfortable among the masses. He sang songs with them, taught them how to write, and shared stories of his experience as an actor, a teacher, and an activist.
Lacaba, along with three other dissidents, was killed on March 18, 1976 in Tucaan Balaag, Asuncion, Davao del Norte by members of the Integrated Civilian Home Defense Forces. He was 27 years old.
Eman Lacaba, the People’s Poet who passed away at age 27. With his verse still relevant and quoted in social media, some compare his influence as like that of Che Guevara. He was also described as “the brown Rimbaud.” (Source: Wikipedia)
The other outstanding Atenean who took the message of “Down From the Hill” literally and made it a springboard for his life was Edgar “Edjop” Jopson.
I had known Edjop since high school and would have been his classmate had I not skipped seventh grade. We had had the same Geometry teacher, Fr. Bill Kreutz, S.J., who had christened him Edjop, a name which had stuck.
Edjop, from Kindergarten onwards, always managed to be on top of his class without being a nerd. He was an unlikely revolutionary.
Edjop was dusky, short, and unprepossessing but adept both in the classroom and extracurricular activities; he did become Class Valedictorian (a role, he told his father, he was not comfortable in). Even then, he was out of the ordinary. His parents supported the family through Jopson’s Supermarket in Sampaloc, Manila, and obligated the children to assist in the work and take public transportation. Edjop was the eldest boy in a family of 12; recognizing his talent, his parents provided him a room where he could concentrate on his assignments and studies.
Our paths crossed again in college when his good friend Roberto “Bobby” Jayme suggested I help write his platform as candidate for Ateneo Student Council President. Edjop, Bobby, and I burned the midnight oil at their residence to put together the manifesto, which helped assure his victory over his opponent, (later Chief Justice) Rene Corona. I thought even then that this thoughtful, articulate, gentle, young man would continue in his spectacular trajectory—having always been at the top of his class and with powers of speech and persuasion that few found hard to match.
Rappler describes in a nutshell the further course of his life, determined by the inspiration of “Down From the Hill” and opposition to the Martial law regime of President Marcos, as follows:
Edgardo Gil “Edjop” Jopson took a different path when he graduated from Ateneo de Manila University with a degree in Management Engineering. Coming from a middle-class background, Jopson went from being a moderate student activist to going underground as a member of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP).
Even before the Martial Law days, Jopson was active in the student movement, becoming president of the National Union of Students of the Philippines. One of the most memorable anecdotes of the time involved Jopson and other student leaders going to Malacañang for a dialogue with Marcos in 1970, and insisting the president sign a written pledge not to run for a third term of office. Marcos retorted that he would not agree to a demand from a mere “grocer’s son.”
After graduation, Jopson took up law at the University of the Philippines but abandoned it, choosing to work with the labor movement. Despite his moderate leanings, he was accepted into the CPP, later becoming a ranking leader of the revolutionary movement.
In 1979, Jopson was arrested and tortured while under interrogation, but he was able to escape after 10 days. In September 1982, the military captured Jopson in a raid in Davao City. After he refused to cooperate during the interrogations, Jopson was executed the following day. He was 34 years old.
Edgar Jopson, executed by government forces at age 34, is a young people’s hero who gave up privilege to serve the country as he saw fit. (Source: Wikipedia)
Photo in Malacanang catches the exact moment when Edgar Jopson bravely asks President Marcos to promise that he not run for a third term and the latter says, “You are only the son of a grocer!”
Emmanuel Lacaba and Edgar Jopson were two of the Ateneo’s most gifted students. They were idealistic college students who would draw inspiration from an essay, “Down From the Hill,” which is still relevant today. Both went underground and into the hills to serve their country and their people in the best way that they could at a particularly challenging time in their nation’s history. Eventually, both of them paid the ultimate price for their convictions.
May we never forget their sacrifice. Let all Filipinos know and understand them today as modern heroes.
Sources: Benjamin Pimentel, Rebolusyon! A Generation of Struggle in the Philippines , Monthly Review Press, New York, 1991
Ruel S. De Vera,’ U.G.’ unearths the underground heroism of Edgar Jopson, Philippine Daily Inquirer, May 18, 2020
Justin Umali, Emmanuel Lacaba Was the People's Poet, Esquire Philippines, September 30, 1991
Crispin Maslog, [OPINION] Salvaging democracy under Martial Law, Rappler, Sept 21, 2021
A career diplomat of 35 years, Ambassador Virgilio A. Reyes, Jr. served as Philippine Ambassador to South Africa (2003-2009) and Italy (2011-2014), his last posting before he retired. He is now engaged in writing, traveling and is dedicated to cultural heritage projects.
More articles by Ambassador Virgilio Reyes, Jr.
