Heroes & villains: From ‘Plaridel’ to ‘Mierdas’

One good thing to come out of Sen. Robinhood Padilla’s flawed historical comparison—matching the aliases used by our national heroes with the fictitious names found on acknowledgment receipts for Vice President Sara Duterte’s confidential funds—is that it led me back to primary sources on pseudonyms.

Writing this column would have been easy had I kept my copy of ”Philippine Pseudonyms, Aliases, Pen Names, Pet Names, Screen Names and Name Aberrations.” Unfortunately, I could not locate it when I needed it most. It was an obscure publication of the Bibliographical Society of the Philippines from 1965, and nobody has updated it as of 2026.

First stop was the seven-volume compilation of La Solidaridad. Lacking an analytical index, it forced me to pore through every issue from its first year in 1889, when I recognized familiar bylines: Graciano López Jaena, Antonio Luna, Marcelo H. del Pilar, and José Rizal. They used their real names and pen names interchangeably. We all know Del Pilar as “Plaridel,” but fewer know him as “L. O. Crame” or “Carmelo” (anagrams of his first name). He also used “D. A. Murgas,” “Dolores Manapat,” and “Piping Dilat,” which translates literally to “wide-eyed mute,” or “Silent Watcher”—a fitting descriptor for the evasive witnesses grilled in the ongoing impeachment trial.

Quiz bee contestants should know Rizal’s aliases: “Dimasalang” (Untouchable), a nod to his first novel ”Noli Me Tángere, ”and “Laong Laan” (Ever Prepared), which mirrors the Boy Scout motto. Rizal explained the meaning behind “Laong Laan” in a remarkably chilling letter to Del Pilar dated June 11, 1890:

“… I am assailed by gloomy thoughts, though I do not entirely believe in presentiments. In my childhood, it was my firm belief that I would not reach the age of thirty. I do not know why I felt like that.

“For almost two months now, almost every night I dream of nothing else but of dead friends and relatives. Once, I dreamt that I went down a trail leading to the bottom of the Earth and there I found myself with a crowd of people, seated, dressed in white, with white faces, silent, and surrounded by white lights. There I saw two of my siblings, one already dead and the other still living. Though I do not believe in these things, though my body is very strong and I have no ailment whatsoever, nevertheless, I am preparing myself for death, I am organizing what I will leave behind, and I am ready for anything.

“Laong Laan is my true name. That’s why I want to finish the second volume of the Noli at all costs … I do not like to leave unfinished what I have started without anyone who can continue it … Do not think that I feel sad or depressed. Every other day I do gymnastics, practice fencing and shooting; but who can predict the misfortunes that may befall us?”

Some aliases are easy to decode, such as “Jomapa” for José María Panganiban, or “Naning,” Mariano Ponce’s nickname. Ponce also wrote under “Kalipulako”—an obscure reference to Lapulapu of Mactan—and “Tikbalang,” the half-man, half-horse creature of Philippine lower mythology. While the hot-tempered Antonio Luna was mocked as “Kapre” behind his back during the Philippine-American War, his actual pen name was “Taga-ilog.”

On a recent trip to Ilocos Norte, I was surprised to find that the National Historical Commission of the Philippines has rebranded the Juan Luna Shrine in Badoc to honor both Juan and Antonio Luna. Given that all five of Laureana Novicio’s sons were prominent figures in their era, why limit the shrine to just two? Manuel (a musician), Juan (a painter), José (a physician), Joaquín (a politician), and Antonio (a scientist and general) were the collective reason Laureana’s hometown of Namacpacan was renamed Luna. It certainly helped that her son Joaquín was governor of La Union.

Juan Luna was born in Badoc and used the alias “Bulan,” the Ilocano word for “moon.” Antonio, the youngest Luna brother, was born in San Nicolás, part of Manila’s Chinatown district. His pen name, “Taga-ilog” (from the river), is the root of “Tagalog.” Antonio now shares the Badoc Shrine with Juan, even though he was not born in Ilocos, nor did he ever live in the house that originally stood on the shrine’s grounds.

See Also

When colors refuse to land

On Dec. 15, 1889, La Solidaridad published a special supplement detailing the Luna-Mir controversy, which makes for fascinating reading. Writing under the pseudonym “Taga-ilog,” Antonio published an article that was savaged by Celso Mir Deas in El Pueblo Soberano. Mistaking Antonio for Juan, Mir Deas insulted Filipinos as mere indígenas—and filibusteros to boot.

Demanding satisfaction, Antonio challenged Mir Deas to a duel through his seconds, José Álvarez de Campa and Galicano Apacible, who called on Mir at his home. Mir was either out or pretending to sleep. Unfazed, Antonio traveled from Paris to Barcelona, cornered Mir at the Café Siglo XIX, spat in his face, threw his calling card to the floor, and hurled a scathing pun, calling Mir Deas “Mierdas”—the Spanish word for “sh*t.” The duel never came to pass, but it stands as just one of many memorable backstories sparked by names and aliases.

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Comments are welcome at ambeth.ocampo@inquirer.net