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June 26, 2002, Star, Op-Ed, Produce the corpse / Ecleo, a homicidal nut, by Teodoro C. Benigno,

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June 26, 2002, Star, Op-Ed, Produce the corpse / Ecleo, a homicidal nut, by Teodoro C. Benigno, 

Abu Sabaya is dead. So swear President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, the military, Defense Secretary Angelo Reyes, National Security Adviser Roilo Golez and, by gum, even US President George W. Bush. Abu Sabaya is not dead. If he is, produce the body. So exclaim the multitudes of Filipinos who suspect – rightly or wrongly – they are being jobbed and taken for a roller-coaster ride. This columnist will go along with the multitudes of Filipinos. Until I see the corpse of Abu Sabaya with my very own eyes, I shall keep my counsel. 

Dead or alive, Abu Sabaya was always a mystery to me. 

Like Harry Houdini constantly cheating death's door, Abu Sabaya always eluded capture. Countless times there were when he was cornered – or so, the military swore – or killed or fatally wounded, or fatally ill and on the verge of death. Or disappeared. Or consigned to oblivion. Only to appear or reappear again and again with that knavish half-smile on his face, tight black bonnet on his head, his trademark sunglasses, and a rogue's bearing that was the symbol of his leadership of Abu Sayyaf – half-human, half-snake, the very swashbuckle of evil. 

And so myth and legend wrapped him in a cocoon that Abu Sabaya cultivated with methodical care. Stories cropped up that he was a mole actually of the military, perhaps of the CIA, and always, always that he was a double agent, working for Osama bin Laden and Uncle Sam. Wasn't it America that whipped up the Taliban to reality, armed it to the teeth, so it could fight and eventually repel the Soviet invasion? Wasn't bin Laden himself a spin-off of the Cold War, initially an ally of America? And then again, how could Abu Sayyaf ever escape that Lamitan hospital cordon many months ago when the military had the hospital surrounded, every escape route blocked? 

I wish I can believe Brig. Gen. Donald Wurster, commander of the US forces taking part in the Balikatan military exercises. I don't know how the general got into the act. Wurster was certainly not in the scene of battle June 21. He was far away. Nonetheless, he said, "I'll bet my month's paycheck on that" in defense of our military swearing to the high heavens Abu Sabaya is dead. 

General, I would advise you to keep your mouth shut. Leave us Filipinos alone to decide whether this infamous bandit is really corpus delicti or not. This is none of your business. You and your US combat soldiers had all the chances to nail Abu Sabaya – what with your overballyhooed state-of-the-art weapons technology – but you didn't. You suffered losses, yes, but those were your Green Berets who died during the Chinook helicopter crash while Okinawa-bound. You came here to fight terrorism, but you haven't fought in a single actual battle until today. I find that singularly odd. And this writer too has a word for NSC's Roilo Golez who also shoots his mouth off quite often, and is an Annapolis (navy) graduate. Pray tell me, sir, how come the Philippine Navy team that overwhelmed the pumpboat of Abu Sayyaf in that sea siege June 21 didn't have any frogmen? They could have dived too with all their equipment to recover the body of Abu Sabaya. 

That, I suppose, is the supreme irony. 

In life, and perhaps in death, Abu Sabaya continues to mock us. If indeed he died, Fate intervened to deprive us of what the entire citizenry had relished, had salivated for. That his remains be brought to the public plaza of Lamitan, of Davao, any public plaza for that matter, better still to a catafalque at the Luneta. At his sight, we would rage and scream, ball our fists, swear and rend the air with insults, curses and expletives, condemn Abu Sabaya to a journey to the Hades borne by giant black bats and winged baboons, black as his heart was black, pelt him with stones and insults, screech our heart's delight that at last this vermin, this unspeakable criminal, this big and bloviated fart, was dead. 

That is what the military cannot understand, the Angie Reyeses, the Roilo Golezes, yes the Donald Wursters. We need to be shown. 

We spent years going after Abu Sayyaf, Abu Sabaya and before him Ghalib Andang (Cdr. Robot). They were years of clammy fear and frustration, the ASG holding the nation hostage to the whole world. They kidnapped for high ransom and killed. They beheaded hostages, crucified the innocent. They leered and spat at all of us, They became rich, stinking millionaires some of them. They spurned the Koran for power and money. As Muslims, they were an unmitigated shame. And disgrace. Hell, I might as well disclose what I've known for a long time. They raped nurse Ediborah Yap, serially, raped her again and again, with either Abu Sabaya looking on in sadistic ecstasy or doing it himself, or for that matter was the chief rapist. 

And now without producing his dead body, Malacañang and the military would have us believe Abu Sabaya died from a firefight, from bullets fired by the military? Oh, no, you can't get away that easy. Dredge that portion of the sea where reportedly he dived. Dredge it night and day, whatever the cost. And if you cannot find that body, or the shark that swallowed or devoured his body, then you cannot blame the multitudes for doubting your story. We want that body. 

Only when we see Abu Sabaya’s body can the nation exorcise its demons.
* * *
A murderer? A homicidal maniac? A megalomaniac? A drug addict soused with a grand folly of being the reincarnated Jesus Christ? A self-proclaimed savior and redeemer of the poor? A madman? Maybe he is all these rolled into one. We refer, of course, to one Ruben Ecleo Jr., Divine Master of the Philippine Benevolent Missionaries Association (PBMA), a nuthouse if there ever was one. Under Ecleo’s baton, 21 members of the PBMA lost their lives Wednesday when fighting a squadron of police come to serve him an arrest warrant on charges he murdered a list of people as long as your arm, including his attractive wife Alona, a senior medical student. 

This nation is really going bats. 

What happens today reminds me of Emmanuel (Manny) Pelaez. Even before martial law struck, Manny was gunned down in a shadowy approach to his Quezon City residence. Wounded with bullets but still able to survive and crawl to his house, Manny Pelaez told General Tomas Karingal who rushed to his residence: "General, what is happening to our country?" Manny could hardly believe he was marked for assassination having served the nation in the past as vice president, foreign secretary, ambassador to Washington with considerable distinction. But fortunes were at stake, particularly fortunes in the coconut levy scandal, "the biggest shakedown" in the annals of Philippine crime, he once told me. But he would not name the mastermind of the assassination attempt. 

Yes, what indeed is happening to our country? 

Ruben Ecleo Jr. reportedly belongs to a respectable family. His mother is a congresswoman in Surigao. But look at him, you already know there is tililing. The eyes are shifty, they rove, sometimes they have the ominous glow of approaching violence. Or a temper going berserk. He is tall, his head bald as a billiard ball. But the tell-tale signs of a shaman, a snake oil artist, a bible belt hellraiser, are all there. The guy has magic as once upon a time, a man by the name of Valentin de los Santos had magic. 

Remember Valentin de los Santos and his cult? Like Ecleo, De Los Reyes had thousands of followers in the provinces. I met the man and interviewed him lengthily as his contingent paused on Taft Avenue just before Vito Cruz on their way to lay spiritual siege on Malacañang. This, I think, happened before martial rule. All were armed with amulets dangling from their necks guaranteed to stop bullets and all weapons that would snuff out their lives. Valentin de los Santos showed me his custom-built telephone with a one-way line to The Maker. And, of course, he had access to The Maker whenever he wanted. He showed me cards with mystical numbers which he shuffled to get in touch with God. 

I filed my story as Agence France-Presse foreign correspondent, and I thought that was that. Another corking human interest story. The next morning, early morning, I was waken up and on the phone I heard gunfire. I rushed to the scene to find dozens of followers of Valentin de los Santos slumped on the pavement – all dead from a police fusillade. I talked to the police and they told me it couldn't be helped, they had unsheathed their bolos in a final march to Malacañang. Old Man Valentin survived, was arrested and lodged at the National Mental Hospital. 

You know what? Religious cults mushroom whenever the Philippines is in deep crisis, when the feeling among the peasantry and the great unwashed is that only religious, almost pagan revivals can restore hope and give them moral comfort. They have a love, an addiction for mumbo-jumbo, phoney Latin verbalizations in phonier rituals which De los Santos used a lot and which, I am sure, Ecleo employs to high, swirling pitch before his followers at the PBMA mansion. 

But why is Ecleo locked up in the company of many prisoners in the Cebu City Jail? This is wrong. The hoi-polloi adore him, and Ecleo is ecstatic. He can spread his diabolical gospel in prison. This man – assuming the charges against him prove to be true – could be one of the most ruthless, heartless criminals in the Philippines. He should be jailed in solitary, tied to his bed, a ball and chain strapped to his legs. 

It is sad. This country can only breed Abu Sabayas and Ecleos, and, yes, 24 shameless senators who should resign from the human race.

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