The Philippines

By Jill Smolowe

As coup attempts go, last week's bungled takeover in Manila was a pretty tame affair. Few were hurt, and only one rebel soldier was killed. Despite some rock throwing and a few blasts of tear gas, the 61-hour drama often seemed more like a soap opera than a mutiny. Still, President Corazon Aquino did not need even a small rebellion on the eve of a critical vote on her proposed new constitution. She could not be happy that, for the second time in two months, she had to be rescued by her divided military. Nor could she be sanguine about a failed attempt by her archrival, Ferdinand Marcos, to return home to rally his backers.

Most of the rebellion's drama centered on the Channel 7 TV compound in suburban Manila, where some 160 mutinous soldiers and 100 civilians huddled inside the walls while a thousand government troops waited nervously outside. Since friendships cut across the lines, the two sides opted to trade radio messages instead of shots. "Mommy, take care of my children," sobbed a female mutineer. Came the government's response, from the five-year-old daughter of Rebel Leader Colonel Oscar Canlas: "Daddy, come home. Mommy has a stomachache."

As frantic negotiations between the government and rebel troops wore into a third day, attention shifted to Hawaii. There, at Honolulu International Airport, a private 707 jet was discovered parked on a runway, waiting to fly Marcos home from his Hawaiian exile. A few days earlier Wife Imelda had been spotted in a Waikiki military-surplus store buying $2,000 worth of combat gear. Moreover, a videotape had been seized in Manila that showed the deposed Marcos lifting dumbbells, shadowboxing and praying to return home. The cumulative impact hit like a bombshell. The Aquino government quickly alerted American officials, who bluntly warned Marcos that if he tried to return to the Philippines without permission, he would be refused re-entry into the U.S. Fumed Marcos: "I am being treated like a prisoner."

The timing of the bizarre events was hardly coincidental, inasmuch as this week's yes or no on a new constitution will serve as a test of Aquino's electoral strength. If the charter is resoundingly approved, the President will be assured a full six-year term and her political opposition will be effectively neutralized until 1992. "The plebiscite is the last chance for the Marcos loyalists," says a senior Western diplomat in Manila. If Aquino fails to secure at least 65% of the vote, the opposition may demand a snap presidential election. Aquino's former Defense Minister, Juan Ponce Enrile, has actively campaigned for a no vote. While there was no evidence linking Enrile to the aborted coup, neither was there any doubt that he intended to exploit Aquino's troubles. Warned Enrile last week: "There is a real degree of erosion in the vaunted political strength of Aquino."

Indeed, the President's credibility as a strong leader has taken a beating. Two weeks ago a pro-land-reform demonstration ended in tragedy when marines opened fire on a crowd of protesters, killing at least twelve people. The same day peace talks between the Aquino government and Communist insurgents collapsed. A few days later an Enrile ally released a tape of a September phone conversation between the President and an aide that cast doubt on Aquino's assurances that she would in no way try to influence the constitutional committee. The coup attempt and Marcos' machinations followed soon after.

Although there was cause for worry that Marcos and the mutineers were conspiring, Aquino remained impressively unrattled. Seven hours after the coup attempt began last Tuesday, she pledged on national television that "nothing will derail our effort to establish full constitutional democracy in the coming plebiscite." Abandoning the conciliatory approach she favored last July when mutinous soldiers were sentenced to 30 push-ups each, Aquino vowed this time to apply the full force of law: "There is a time for reconciliation and a time for justice and retribution. That time has come." Said a Western diplomat: "She's proving she has a lot more strength than she has ever shown. She has a good sense of timing."

Still, there was a disconcerting sense that Aquino was not fully in charge of the military. At various times during the ordeal, both Armed Forces Chief of Staff General Fidel Ramos and Defense Minister Rafael Ileto blatantly ignored her orders. While Aquino directed the arrest and detention of the mutineers Tuesday, negotiations dragged on well into Thursday morning. On Wednesday night Ramos suspended orders for a tear-gas attack on the Channel 7 redoubt, a move that aides say irritated the President. Furthermore, Ramos assured the mutineers that they would be "entitled to due process" and did not mention Aquino's call for courts-martial. Aquino, however, seemed determined to hold the mutineers accountable. At week's end she warned, "They can expect no mercy from me."

Aquino's week had got off to a promising enough start. Sunday was the President's 54th birthday. Opting for a low-key celebration, she spent the day with her family. But the outside world soon intruded on the gathering. Some 500 demonstrators marched near Malacanang Palace, bearing a huge black streamer that read, incongruously, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CORY. They carried cardboard coffins to commemorate the protesters who had died in the Jan. 22 bloodbath.

The next day Aquino ordered that the demonstrators be allowed to parade past the grounds where the shooting had taken place. When a throng of 15,000 marched to the main gate of the palace, they were greeted not by police but by a single line of high-ranking government officials. It was a shrewd move. As the protesters came face to face with the officials, the rally began to feel like a reunion of the forces that had taken to the streets last February to topple Marcos. Conceded Presidential Adviser Aquilino Pimentel: "I feel awkward to be on the other side of the fence."

Unfortunately, the good feelings generated by Aquino's unorthodox crisis management did not have time to take hold. At 3 the next morning, the coup attempt began. Some 500 rebellious soldiers divided up and attempted to take over four military installations and two broadcasting complexes. They were immediately confronted by loyal government troops. The largest clash took place at Villamor Air Base, where one rebel soldier was killed and seven were injured before 52 rebels surrendered. By 10 a.m. it was all over, save for the rebels camped in the building that houses the private Channel 7 television station and DZBB radio.

Ramos quickly labeled the troublemakers Marcos loyalists. Despite rebel banners that read MARCOS, MARCOS STILL and CORY AQUINO, WE HATE YOU, GO TO HELL, STEP DOWN, Colonel Canlas insisted that he and his fellow mutineers were loyal to neither Marcos nor Aquino. "We are fighting Communism," he stated.

Government representatives and rebels negotiated through the night. The only break came when the rebels decided to release 37 station employees who had been trapped inside the building when the siege began. When an early- morning meeting between Ramos and Canlas produced no surrender, both sides prepared for a day of psychological warfare. Government troops shouted to their mutineering buddies to surrender and set up loudspeakers to blare suitable rock music. High on the psych-war hit parade: Paul Anka's I'm Just a Lonely Boy.

That night, the fun and games came to a halt. At 10 p.m. Canlas and his cohort were warned that they had 30 minutes to surrender. When 10:30 came and went, government troops lobbed four tear-gas bombs into the building. Using the DZBB radio facilities, Canlas appealed to Ramos to halt the attack. The rebels were given another 30 minutes to evacuate before the next tear-gas attack would begin. But during that half-hour, Colonel Gregorio Honasan led a group of young military officers in an appeal to halt the use of force against the rebels. Honasan, who is closely associated with Enrile, also asked for leniency in the treatment of the wayward soldiers.

Honasan's group prevailed. The attacks stopped, and after three hours of negotiations an agreement was announced. When the rebels eventually left their high-walled hideout Thursday afternoon, Canlas led them in a round of "three cheers for democracy," and they waved at the government troops, who waved back.

The good-natured finale concealed serious divisions within the military. Aquino faces a deeply fractious army, with some troops loyal to Marcos and some to Enrile. Most, however, still follow Ramos and, by extension, presumably swear allegiance to the President. Although Aquino refers to government troops as "my soldiers," many of those outside the Channel 7 complex last week felt little loyalty to the President. "I'm glad this is happening," said one soldier. "This administration has really taken us for granted." Said an officer: "Even if there's an order to shoot, I won't. I can't in conscience kill my fellow soldiers."

At the heart of the military complaints is a sense that Aquino will bend more easily to meet the needs of the Communist guerrillas than she will to maintain the loyalty of her troops. It is now common to hear soldiers gripe that the Communist insurgents have got a "free ride" in the media since the cease-fire began last December. Another standard beef: guerrillas are not held accountable for human-rights abuses, but soldiers are. Asks one soldier: "If Aquino can be soft on the ((Communist)) rebels and offer them amnesty, why can't she treat the rebel soldiers in the same way?"

That theme will undoubtedly be struck in the weeks ahead as the mutineers try to steer clear of punishment. Given Ramos' and Ileto's soft treatment of the dissident troops, it is possible that Aquino will find herself without their support in pushing for maximum penalties. If she steps back from her firm pledge to hold those involved to the "fullest account," she is certain to hear from leftist quarters. "If she can't make these guys face a firing squad," snipes a student leader, "the least she can do is arrest them."

For all her problems, Aquino does not seem to be in any immediate danger. In the peculiar logic of Philippine politics, the recent maelstrom may even boost the President's standing in this week's constitutional balloting. "If she loses," said Taxi Driver Ramon Iglesias last week, "I'm afraid there will be a civil war." For that reason alone, Iglesias is voting yes.

With reporting by Dean Brelis and Nelly Sindayen/Manila