THE POWER OF COMPASSION
By Dr. Salvador H. Laurel
EVER-SINCE the three kings from the East brought gifts to the newborn Christ in Bethlehem, Christmas has been celebrated all throughout Christendom with the ritual of gift-giving.
Likewise, the birth of Jesus has been regarded as the greatest gift of all --- the giving up for the noblest and purest human life for the redemption of mankind.
Even if one is not a Christian, one can only admire the beautiful symmetry of the above narrative: birth and death taking place amidst lofty hills; first the message of joy, then the tragedy of crucifixion, set against the unknowing indifference of mankind, as the surprised participant in the first Christmas and, later, as the helpless spectator during the passion and the crucifixion of Christ.
Christmas has also developed as a season of sharing and compassion.
And speaking of sharing and compassion, let me share with you this Christmas a beautiful story of the power of compassion which I personally witnessed.
The incident happened on June 5, 1943, during the Japanese occupation.
Early that morning at 4:30, I heard father calling up his golf cronies to remind them of their golf game in Wack-Wack: Dr.Nicanor Jacinto, Sr., Dean Leoncio Monzon and Don Aurelio Montinola, Sr. At about 8:00 that same morning, my brother, Dodjie, and I were suddenly fetched from our classes in La Salle and rushed to the Philippines General Hospital. There I was told that my father had been shot while playing golf.
It appeared that as my father was about to tee-up his ball on the seventh tee at the Wack-Wack East Course, a dark figure suddenly emerged from the bushes along the Old Wack-Wack Road and emptied his .45 caliber pistol at my father. Three bullets hit vital parts of his body.
Upon arrival at the PGH, I saw my father in the emergency room surrounded by doctors, his bloodstained shirt beside him.
The entire family stayed up the whole night and prayed.
Two days later, about four in the afternoon, my father was still in critical condition. I was with my mother in my father's hospital room. Suddenly, members of the dreaded kempitai (or military police force) knocked. They wanted to talk to my father. "He is still too weak," my mother said, "he needs to rest." But they insisted on seeing him. They said they had captured the man who had admitted he had shot my father. They only wanted my father to identify him.
So they were allowed to come in. The Japanese officer said: "Dr. Laurel, this man has admitted that he was the one who shot you. Please confirm if you recognize him." My father looked at the man for a long time. But instead of identifying him, he asked: "What will you do to him?"
One of the Japanese officers answered, "If you identify him as the one who shot you, we will execute him." After another long pause, my father said: "No he is not the one. Release him!"
The Japanese officer insisted,"But he has already confessed! He must be the one! Please look again!" My father looked at the man again and reaffirmed: "No, I'm sure he is not the one. Let him go!" The Japanese withdrew, shaking their heads, mumbling in Japanese. Later, we were told the man was set free.
That was June 6, 1943.
The next time I saw the man was three years later, after the liberation of Manila. My father had just been brought back from Sugamo Prison in Tokyo and detained in Muntinlupa to face collaboration charges. One of the first visitors that came was that man.
I was there in Muntinlupa when he came. I remembered his lean, dark face. It was a repentant face, so different from the hard, resolute face he showed when he was brought by the Japanese to to the PGH. He rushed to my father, knelt and cried, while hugging my father's legs. Dr. Laurel patawarin niyo ako! Nagkasala ako sa inyo! Binaril ko ang isang bayani na dapat dakilain. May father pulled him up and told him:
Tumindig ka na, hijo. Noon pa ay pinatawad na kita. Natatandaan mo noong itinanong sa akin ng mga kempeitai kung ikaw nga ang bumaril sa akin. Subalit tinanggihan ko sapagkat alam ko ang gagawin nila sa iyo. Napakarami nang napapatay sa digmaang ito. Kayat tinanggihan ko ang mga tanong nila. Tumindig ka na. Matagal na kitang pinatawad.
While still sobbing, the man asked: Ginoong Pangulo, puwede po ba akong maglinkod sa inyo bilang bodyguard ninyo para maalagaan ko kayo pamula ngayon?
My father answered: "In a few weeks, I will be out on bail. Then I will need your help when I fight to vindicate my name."
A few weeks later, may father was released from Muntinlupa. From that day on, that man served as my father's bodyguard until his death in 1959. And when my father died, his was the lonely figure I saw beside my father's tomb in Tanauan, Batangas.
That, to me, was an unforgettable lesson on the power of compassion. It demonstrated what a single act of compassion can do, how it can transform a determined destroyer of life into a protector of that same life!
That is what we need today --- the tremendous unifying and healing power of compassion, which, in the final analysis, is a key factor to national unity and national survival.
May your Christmas be merry!
December 19, 1995
P.S. The articles in this site are excerpted from Dr. Salvador H. Laurel’s weekly column, Turning Point, which ran in the Manila Bulletin from 1995 to early 1999. This is an online repository of Dr. Laurel’s Turning Point articles, arranged by topic.
For permission to reproduce or quote any of the article posted here, kindly contact the administrators of the Salvador H. Laurel Museum and Library Facebook page at cdbonoan@gmail.com or miriamcast63@yahoo.com
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