Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes

The day continued to worsen for me. News of the treaty spread like wildfire through the ranks of the elite. Before midday, Capitán Abad visited me, accompanied by Teniente Triviño, and implored me to convene a meeting in the afternoon.

Left with no choice, I obliged.

The meeting was held in the large conference room on the first floor of the Casa Real, which soon turned into a den of bickering old men.

Not only were members of the Consejo present, but also the patriarchs of the principalia families, the local elites, and their sons, who served as officers in the revolutionary force that had driven the Spanish out of the island months ago.

"¡Cáspita! Señor Nieva! What else could this mean? The Americans are here to be our new overlords. If they ever intended to help us, Intramuros should have been ours months ago," said Señor Florentino Paras, the gobernadorcillo of Boac, standing up from his seat.

The recipient of his outburst was Alberto Nieva, the head of the Nieva family in Boac, who argued in favor of the Americans. I would like to think he thought highly of them, but it was more likely that he was simply worried that his cattle business would suffer from war and its taxes.

"Sit down, Señor Paras," replied Señor Nieva, visibly startled by the intimidating figure of the town mayor. "Is it such an outrageous idea to consider that maybe the Americans were only ensuring there would be no complications once the country was ours? By paying Spain, the Spaniards have given up their claim to the Philippines, and the Americans can hand it over to us without any loose ends."

"¡Sí! Aguinaldo should not do anything that would arouse American suspicion. If a war with a mighty nation like that ever erupts, the country will be ravaged. Our sons will be sent to war… our businesses will suffer," agreed Fidel Contreras, the owner of a small but profitable copper mine.

The town mayor huffed. "¡Por Dios! ¿Dinero? Is that all you can think of?"

I saw Señor Contreras' face darken, the hacendero about to snap. I loudly thumped the table before things could get too heated.

"Caballeros! We will not achieve anything by squabbling like children!"

I had meant to silence them, but I was still surprised by how quickly they stopped. All of them turned to the head of the table, surprised and confused. The Martín they knew was mellow and gentle, not one to raise his voice in the middle of a heated argument.

Florentino Paras cleared his throat and slowly sat down.

I spoke to dispel the awkward air settling over the room. "Capitán Abad, can you give an account of the firearms we have in the arsenal?"

Máximo was surprised to hear his name called and took a moment before answering. Either by design or coincidence, he was sitting at the far end of the table. "Uhm… yes, we have 268 firearms in our possession: 248 rifles and 20 pistols, as well as 98 crates of ammunition, each containing a thousand rounds."

I digested the numbers before quickly responding, "You can start recruiting and training a company of 250 riflemen, Capitán. Appoint officers at your discretion."

Turning to the treasurer, I asked, "Am I correct in assuming we still have enough money for the wages and provisions of the soldiers without imposing new taxes?"

Señor Marciano nodded. "Yes… we have just enough… I think so."

I sighed. "Then that's it. We wait for more news from Manila before doing anything else. The meeting is adjourned."

---

I watched the slumbering town of Boac from the window, hot coffee in hand. The moon hung in the starlit sky, showing only half of its face. Below, the warm yellow glow of the lamps spilled from windows onto the otherwise dark town streets.

From the surrounding forest, an owl had begun its haunting song, harmonizing with the music of the frogs and crickets.

I could not imagine such a beautiful landscape being disturbed by war. Even during the revolution, the conflict here had been relatively bloodless.

I didn't want this paradise to be touched, to see Isabela startled and scared, or to have to fight against my former compatriots. After all, I had once pledged my life and limb to the red, white, and blue.

A passing cold breeze made me shiver.

"Señor Lardizábal, you seem deep in thought."

I turned my gaze away from the window and saw Teniente Triviño emerging from the stairs. As my nephew's guest and an envoy from the general, I had offered him accommodations.

The young officer had just returned from taking a swim in the river, having asked for permission earlier. His hair was still wet, and he was now wearing house clothes. His folded uniform hung neatly on his arm, and without it, he appeared more like his age- just a boy, not much older than my Isabela.

I turned my attention back to the scene outside the window. "What does this fight for independence mean to you, Teniente?"

I instantly regretted the question, asked on a whim. I braced myself for idealistic nonsense.

To my surprise, I was met with silence. I looked back and saw the young man thoughtfully combing the stubborn strands of hair on his forehead with his free hand.

"To prove a point, Señor Gobernador," he answered, pursing his dry lips.

I turned around, shifting my weight onto my back as I leaned against the window. I took a sip of my coffee. "A point?"

"All my life, I have only seen Filipinos as a colonized people. And the world thinks lowly of colonized people. They think we are inferior, that despite our education or any other veneer of civilization, deep down, we are still savages. Unable to rule ourselves, needing the guidance of… foreigners." The teniente stared blankly, seemingly lost in a memory.

The young officer then turned to look at me. "Maybe if we had a republic… maybe they would think of us differently, that we're not so different from them. That we can shape our own destiny… by our own people, for our own people."