From But Not in Shame: The Six Months after Pearl Harbor, by John Toland. Random House, New York, NY, 1961
On Corregidor bitter rumors were circulating of abandonment and “sellout” by Washington. Some officers believed Roosevelt and Marshall were going to let MacArthur rot in the Philippines. It was common knowledge throughout the Army that Marshall and MacArthur were not on good personal terms. MacArthur’s spectacular skyrocketing after World War I had made him a four-star general and chief of staff, while Marshall, only a year younger, remained a lieutenant colonel. Some said Marshall still blamed MacArthur for not making him a general during the former’s regime as chief of staff.
That day MacArthur learned Roosevelt was making a radio speech telling of the thousands of aircraft that would soon be on their way to the battlefront-Europe. Guessing that Quezon would hear it and would be infuriated, the general asked his intelligence officer, Colonel Charles Willoughby, to go at once to the Philippine president and try to placate him.
Quezon was in a tent set up on a slope near the entrance of Malinta Tunnel so he could get fresh air. He was sitting in his wheel chair, angrily listening to the Roosevelt speech, as Willoughby entered. When it was over, Quezon poured out a torrent of violent denunciation in Spanish, a language Willoughby understood. Then the Filipino pointed to smoke rising from the mainland. “For thirty years I have worked and hoped for my people. Now they burn and die for a flag that could not protect them. Por Dios y todos los Santos, I cannot stand this constant reference to England, to Europe. Where are the planes this sinverguenza is boasting of? Que demonio! How American to writhe in anguish at the fate of a distant cousin while a daughter is being raped in the back room.”
“The Americans are forever goddamming this blasted country for the war, the mosquitoes and the poor rations,” he told the general. His Filipino enlisted men understandably resented the brusque American attitude. More important, they also felt Americans were getting better food. Aquino then asked permission to go to Bataan and inform President Quezon of the situation.
Capinpin agreed and young Aquino immediately started south in his yellow convertible, already scarred by several shrapnel holes. He finally reached the east coast highway and continued to Cabcaben, a town near the eastern tip of the peninsula.
Just before dusk Aquino started for Corregidor in a small fishing boat. A mile from the rock island, the fisherman refused to go any farther for fear of being fired at by trigger-happy American guards. Aquino stripped, covered himself with heavy oil and tied a bag filled with dozens of ping-pong balls on his back as a life preserver. He knotted his clothes in a ball, then jumped into the water.
In three and a half hours he finally reached the beach not far from the entrance of Malinta Tunnel. After drying his clothes he entered the tunnel and headed for the Quezon family quarters. In the lighted passageway he saw Quezon’s two daughters, Nini and Baby. They failed to recognize him at first. He had lost twenty pounds and was tanned dark.
The two girls led Aquino into their father’s room.
“Papa,” said Nini, “look who swam to Corregidor. Tony Aquino.”
Aquino saluted, then, in respect to an elder, kissed Quezon’s hand.
“Tony, sit down,” said the president. “Let me look at you. How is it in Bataan?”
Aquino’s fatigue instantly vanished. He swallowed to keep from choking. “We are doing fine, Excellency. General Capinpin is sending you his regards and prayers for your health.” Then he told Quezon of the antagonism between Americans and Filipinos. The president took it calmly. “You have to know the Americano to understand him. He is gruff and rough but it’s just his way.”
“There is one other thing, sir. We feel that we should have the same rations as the Americans. We eat only salmon and sardines. One can per thirty men, twice a day.”
“What?” Quezon was astounded.
“Yes, sir. One can of salmon for thirty, two gantas of rice and two cans of condensed milk for breakfast.”
“Puñeta!” exclaimed Quezon. “I did not know that.”
At that moment MacArthur walked in. Aquino stood at attention. “General,” said Quezon, “this is Tony Aquino, the son of Benigno, my secretary of commerce and agriculture.”
“How are you, young man?” MacArthur shook Aquino’s hand.
Quezon asked Aquino to repeat his story. While the young Filipino was talking, he noticed several American officers standing behind MacArthur shifting in embarrassment.
Quezon turned to MacArthur and said, “I want you to improve the rations.”
The general assented. “You did a fine service, young man.” He shook Aquino’s hand and left.
“If I were forty years younger,” Quezon wistfully told Aquino, “I would be with you. I know Bataan, every nook and corner of it. I fought there during the Revolution. God will not forsake us and in the end we shall win. Do not lose hope!”
When he was alone Quezon mulled over what his friend’s son had told him. Finally he called for his Cabinet. His mind was made up. “I think I have the answer,” he told them a few minutes later. “I’ll ask Roosevelt to let me issue a manifesto requesting the U.S. to grant immediately complete and absolute independence to the Philippines.” Then he would demobilize the Philippine Army and declare the Philippines neutral. America and Japan would both withdraw their armies.
Manuel Roxas shook his head. He was afraid of the effects of such a proposition on Roosevelt. Vice-President Osmeña agreed with Roxas. “I am sure that Roosevelt would misunderstand our motive.”
Quezon’s voice rose excitedly in argument. He pointed out that food was running out on Bataan. The starved Filipino troops couldn’t possibly hold out much longer.
Hacking coughs silenced Quezon. Osmeña and Roxas realized it was dangerous to try and argue the president out of his quixotic scheme. Further resistance to the plan might bring on a fatal attack. The Cabinet unanimously approved that the message be sent to Roosevelt.
A little later MacArthur received the message. Although he had done his best to calm Quezon’s growing fears that America was abandoning the Philippines, secretly he had his own doubts.
He had great personal respect for Roosevelt and knew the President respected him but he still vividly remembered their dispute in 1933 when he was chief of staff and Roosevelt ordered a cut in the Army budget. MacArthur had argued that Army morale would be seriously lowered at a time of national peril. Sharp words were exchanged in a decisive interview at the White House. At last the general stood up and said, “Mr. President, if you pursue this policy which will lead inevitably to the destruction of the American army, I have no other choice but to oppose you publicly. I shall ask for my immediate relief as chief of staff and for retirement from the Army, and I shall take this fight straight to the people.” The general saluted, turned on his heel, walked out of the White House and vomited on the lawn. A little later the proposed budget cut was dropped.
MacArthur knew that Quezon could not be dissuaded from sending his alarming message. Perhaps it was for the best. He decided to take a gamble. In addition to Quezon’s message, he would send one of his own, painting the real, tragic picture of Corregidor and Bataan. “There is no denying,” he wrote, “that we are nearly done.”
The Filipinos’ attitude, he added, was one of “almost violent resentment against the U.S.” He concluded that militarily “the problem presents itself as to whether the plan of President Quezon might offer the best possible solution of what is about to be a disastrous debacle.”
Quezon’s scheme, obviously, was a wild one, yet perhaps its very wildness would shock Washington into action. MacArthur was risking his whole military career on these two messages, but he was willing to take the gamble.
