Quezon unveiled

One of the attention-catching items in the forthcoming Leon Gallery auction is former President Manuel L. Quezon’s passport. Two young boys were peering into the display case when I came to examine and document the lots, and one of them remarked on the size of the passport. Compared to the modern Philippine passport, this one comes in one folded sheet, slightly smaller than your college diploma. When someone explained that Quezon was president of the Philippines, one of the boys pointed out the American eagle on the seal and asked, “Isn’t he American?” Issued in 1924, when we were still an overseas colony or “possession,” Quezon was described on the document as a “Citizen of the Philippine Islands owing allegiance to the United States.”

Unlike the modern passport that has a chip with our biometrics, Quezon’s relied on a photograph, a signature, and these biometric details: Age: 45 years; Stature: 5’7”; Forehead: broad; Eyes: dark brown; Nose: straight; Mouth: medium; Chin: round; Hair: black; Complexion: light; Face: oval. Why are these documents in private hands and, after auction, simply transferred to other private hands? Ideally, these should be preserved in public institutions: the National Library, the National Archives, or the National Historical Commission, which administers the Quezon Memorial Shrine. Alas, cultural agencies are underfunded. Imagine the billions that could have gone into education and culture that were lost through corruption.

As a historian, I am happy with a clear scan of the materials. I am not an antiquarian who wants to own the original; I just need the contents of the documents. The only clear copy of the Quezon Papers, microfilmed decades ago, is preserved at the University of Michigan’s Bentley Historical Library, which digitized the film, donated copies to our National Library, and will soon make these available online. However, the Quezon Papers are far from complete, as other papers remain in private hands, like a whole archive on former first lady Aurora Aragon Quezon, which provides a different perspective on Quezon. In one letter, we see him not as president but as a man explaining his weakness, his infidelity to his sulking wife. The letter is dated Jan. 25, 1937, and is addressed to “My beloved sweetheart.”

It opens with a few paragraphs describing their daughters and how he was taking good care of them. He confessed that only one of his many extramarital affairs was serious:

“Darling, I am still wondering if you really think that I love you less. Please don’t doubt me, my love has never changed from the first day I have realized that I was in love with you. I have my weakness as you know, but, dear, it’s all superficial and you know also, that, except for the case of that bailarina, my weaknesses in this respect have not been serious. When you married me, you were frankly informed by me of my shortcomings. I did not want to deceive you by promising something that I could not fulfill. After we have been married you have placed [me], sometimes, in a position when I thought that it was better that I should not confess to you what I had done that might hurt your feelings, but I want you to know that whenever such a thing took place I have felt very bad about it, because nothing I dislike more than not to tell the truth and I always resented the fact that you should prefer to put me in such a situation, thus making me almost hate myself.

“However, the important thing is that you have no reason to doubt my love. Perhaps you think this because when we had our last misunderstanding, I acted differently from the manner I used to act before … you must know that I am changing somewhat in my way of reacting to people’s acts … During this last year of my presidency, I have grown tremendously. My sense of values has been sharper.

“In our last misunderstanding, you left for Baguio without saying goodbye to me. You placed me in an embarrassing position because I looked for you in the morning, and the people in the Palace told me you had gone to Baguio. My first intention was not to call you, but my love prevailed upon me and did call you over the phone. Then, by the manner you acted, I realized that you decided not to be in the same place where I was. This hurt me terribly, because it seemed that you were separating yourself from me without explanation. Then, when you insinuated later that I was in illicit relation with a girl that was a government pensionada, I resented the insinuation.”

Quezon woos Aurora back, telling her that her absence made him blue and that if he “had not been strong, perhaps I would have had a nervous breakdown again.” The 12-page letter ends with a promise of a United States and European vacation where they could enjoy life:

“Let us then have a real good time. So, dearest, don’t be sad. Don’t have doubts about my love. Let us all be happy. We shall dance in New York and in Europe. You and the children should take lessons in dancing. We shall see beautiful places and hear good music. Let’s be happy. Are you? Love and love and kisses and kisses. Dad.”

This is a Quezon we don’t see in Araling Panlipunan. A man of flesh and blood, not a monument in marble and bronze.

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