Curfew

The curfew that is currently being debated is different from the curfew slapped against the population during martial law in the 1970s. The curfew being pushed now is intended to deter crime. The curfew during martial law was meant to show dissenters who was boss.

The curfew of today is being directed against minors, not so much to protect them than to prevent them from committing crimes. The martial law curfew was against everybody. The state feared people congregating outside their homes at night.

It is easy to beat the curfew of today. There are simply too many minors out in the streets at night than there are policemen to go after them, that is if they are even serious in going after them at all.

During martial law, we had our own methods of beating the curfew. But they required real resourcefulness and cunning on our part. That we managed to pull it off against the might of the state apparatus is probably proof that our generation is better than the succeeding ones.

Anyway, one way of beating the martial law curfew, which was from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m., was to head to the Cosmopolitan Funeral Homes on Junquera Street. There, we mingled with the grief stricken and got served biscuits and hot coffee.

During martial law, many forms of gambling were prohibited. Even mahjong cannot be played in the open. Mahjong addicts who used to play outside, under street lamps on sidewalks, moved into the interior of neighborhoods.

But boys my age, who often get bullied by our elders, who often are the mahjong addicts themselves, have found a way of hitting back at our tormentors. And how we did it was, again, proof of our resourcefulness.

On Saturday nights, when mahjong games were often at their peak, we would hang around outside in the streets, hoping to be spotted by the regular police or constabulary patrols trying to enforce the curfew.

Once spotted, we would dash deep into the interior neighborhoods, the cops and constables hot in pursuit. We would lead the chase to where we would pass the mahjong games. Being quicker, we never got caught. But the mahjong players always made good consolation prizes for the cops.

Life in Cebu in the 1970s was still uncomplicated, despite martial law. It was only the curfew that tended to complicate things, especially during fiestas. At the time, stage dramas and public dances were already fun enough.

One time, during the fiesta of my hometown Mandaue City, thousands of people were packed inside the plaza. The time was pushing 10 p.m. but the people did not seem to mind. They had been assured earlier that curfew was lifted for the night to allow the fiesta-goers their revelry.

Suddenly, the sirens at the nearby fire station started wailing. There was a fire and the firefighters were getting ready to respond. Accustomed to curfew, the people started getting all agitated. But they held their ground because of the prior announcement of no curfew.

But situations like these just seem too provocative for some. Whoever it was, nobody knew, or cared to find out. But someone from deep within the crowd agitated by the wailing sirens anonymously screamed at the top of his voice: "CURFEW!"

I am now many years removed from that moment. But not since in my life have I ever seen an entire plaza filled with thousands get emptied of people in what seemed to me to be no more than a minute.

The crowd tumbled over one another and evaporated, leaving a sea of rubber slippers and overturned foodcarts of every conceivable size and shape. The proverbial peanuts that we gingerly avoid hitting on sidewalks were all over, their vendors running all the way to Liloan.

There was a reason for the panic. Getting caught in curfew during martial law was always an uncertain fate most people were not prepared to take risks with. Today, curfew is like a joke. If only the reason for its imposition were not so serious, it might even be funny as well.