The Philippines When the Cheering Stopped

By Howard G. Chua-Eoan

Escorted by a 13-vehicle motorcade of the presidential security guard, Corazon Aquino made her way through Manila's rain-slicked streets into suburban Fort Bonifacio. Immediately after she entered its precincts, tanks and heavy artillery sealed off the sprawling headquarters of the Philippine army. Only three days earlier, military rebels had come close to toppling the President. Now, on National Heroes' Day, she was determined to talk tough. Speaking to a television audience from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in the fort's Graveyard of Heroes, she excoriated the mutineers as "traitors and murderers." She declared that troops loyal to her had taught the rebels "their most bitter lesson. And we shall do it again if they want."

The President's strong words did not dispel a certain nervousness among the officials and diplomats who came to hear her. Many were momentarily startled when an army artillery squad fired the ceremonial 21-gun salute. They had reason to wince. The uprising had been bloody: 22 civilians, twelve loyalist soldiers and 19 rebels dead, with more than 300 injured, including Aquino's only son Benigno ("Noynoy"), 27. Perhaps more distressing, the coup attempt has exposed a deep vein of military dissatisfaction with the Aquino government, which has been bedeviled by a growing list of economic, administrative and, some allege, moral deficiencies.

As the initial euphoria over Aquino's surviving the revolt began to fade, the government found itself confronted with yet another problem. The mutiny's charismatic leader, Colonel Gregorio ("Gringo") Honasan, 39, and as many as 2,000 followers were still at large. Last week they announced the formation of a fugitive junta and promised to challenge Aquino for control of the country. Moreover, a majority of the armed forces who remained loyal to the President nonetheless appeared sympathetic to Honasan's cause. Aquino thus found herself in a delicate position: if she does not deal firmly with the rebels, they and other potential plotters could be encouraged to try again; yet, refusing to acknowledge Honasan's grievances could turn the armed forces against her.

At the height of the coup attempt, Honasan used his brief moments on television to advocate military revitalization and accuse Aquino of being soft on the guerrillas of the Communist New People's Army. He castigated the government for neglecting the lot of the common soldier, who earns a modest $75 a month, including a daily food allowance of 60 cents. The troops must also endure inadequate equipment, medical supplies and even death benefits while fighting the N.P.A.

After hearing impassioned pleas from General Fidel Ramos, the armed forces chief, and Defense Secretary Rafael Ileto, the President and her Cabinet last week agreed to sponsor a bill in Congress that would raise military salaries by 60%. Aquino also tried an old ploy: reaching for the halo of political sainthood. Playing on the meaning of corazon, she called herself the "heart of the republic" and said the rebels' aim "was clearly to kill the President and her family." Of Honasan's goals, she said, "Let not idealism be used to cover the darkest crimes and ambitions of men whose actions only show their hatred of democracy and their contempt for the lives of others."

The rebels struck back with some rhetoric of their own. In a one-page statement released to journalists shortly after Aquino's speech, they proclaimed the existence of their junta, presumably based in Luzon, the country's largest island. The mutineers accused Aquino of "treason" and proceeded to enumerate her government's failings: showing leniency toward Communists, declaring war against its own armed forces, allowing corruption to flourish, keeping antimilitary leftists in the Cabinet and being generally inept. In reply, Presidential Spokesman Teodoro Benigno scoffed that the junta did not control "even one square inch" of territory.

Indeed, the rebels lacked so much as a whiff of support from the Roman Catholic Church and the business community, without which no junta could hope to undermine Aquino's immense popularity. But while the charges against the government were an obvious smokescreen for Honasan's ambitions, they served again to remind many Filipinos of Aquino's shortcomings. The rebels, admits Haydee Yorac, a member of Aquino's commission on elections, "are riding on legitimate issues that should be addressed."

While Aquino's personal probity remains beyond question, corruption within her government has been an embarrassment to her. Jaime Cardinal Sin, whose support helped bring Aquino to power 18 months ago, blasted the government last week for its tarnished reputation. "We thought corruption would end with the fleeing of the ousted dictator Ali Baba," he said, referring to Ferdinand Marcos. "Yet there are still 40 thieves around."

The rebels' charge of ineptitude also cuts deeply. In the past few months, Aquino's supporters have tried to rouse the President into taking firm action on a wide range of issues, including land reform, the Communist insurgency and the regulation of foreign investment. In almost all cases, Aquino has chosen to delay decisions, pass on responsibility to Congress or simply ignore the problems. The President has been faulted even by friends for reacting to crises by "praying and delaying." Of her survival, she said last week rather fatalistically, "If the country needs me, God will spare me."

One issue that Aquino must quickly face is the fate of 1,000 captured rebels being detained aboard naval vessels in Manila Bay. Participants in the four previous uprisings against her have generally been let off lightly, but U.S. officials are counseling firmness this time. "Heads have to roll," says a Pentagon official. Already the President may be wavering. The government even seemed to be backing off from its earlier order to shoot Honasan on sight. And though she had earlier said the time for reconciliation had passed, last week Aquino almost seemed to be providing alibis for many of her prisoners. "When we interviewed the captives," Aquino said on television, "we found that the enlisted men had been told that they were on a test mission." She said others were misled into thinking the presidential palace was under attack by the N.P.A.

With military helicopters unsuccessfully fanning through the countryside for a sign of him, Honasan proved that even in hiding he can send jitters through Manila. The city's booming stock exchanges opened for the first time since the coup attempt and fell sharply. Hearing rumors of new revolts and troop movements, Congress nervously adjourned. Officials fear that Honasan may continue to discomfort the government simply by leaking wild tales to the city's circulation-mad newspapers. Late last week Honasan released a taped message calling the mutiny's toll "regrettable and inexcusable" but claiming that the rebels had pulled their punches to save more lives.

Elsewhere, Honasan's rebellion made itself felt in more tangible ways. In the northern city of Baguio, 600 cadets at the Philippine Military Academy staged a three-day hunger strike in sympathy with Honasan. The N.P.A., declaring its intention to take advantage of the confusion caused by Honasan's revolt, killed 27 police and soldiers in an ambush in two provinces. Though Aquino has called Honasan a coward for abandoning hundreds of his men, his image as a dashing, reform-minded renegade could establish him as a folk hero to rival the President. "That young man should be shot," says David Steinberg, a leading U.S. authority on the Philippines. "Cory can't leave that decision to the Almighty." Some of her fellow citizens were wishing she would adopt a less otherworldly policy for all her decisions.

With reporting by Jay Branegan and Nelly Sindayen/Manila, with other bureaus