The Fort, revisited

MANILA, Philippines - Think of the best symbol of colonial oppression and Fort Santiago will easily come to mind.

As Spain’s muscle in its sole dominion in the orient for centuries, Fort Santiago had also been a place of anguish and torment for the empire’s real or perceived enemies.

National hero Jose Rizal spent his last hours in one of its cells before his execution at Bagumbayan field on Dec. 30, 1896.

Hundreds or maybe thousands of rebellious Indios or those who simply had fallen out of the colonizers’ favor suffered torture and death in its dungeons.

The suicidal defense of Manila by retreating Japanese forces in 1945 left Fort Santiago and most part of Manila in ruins. Thousands met their end at the fort, mostly victims of Japanese atrocities. The only time that the fort was said to have been breached in a frontal attack was during the British invasion in 1762.

Today, traces of Fort Santiago’s dark past can still be seen in its empty dungeons and ruined structures that give the historic landmark its macabre appeal.

The fort was named after Santiago de Matamoros or St. James the slayer of Moors.

A bas relief image of him doing his business adorns the gate of the fort.

Fort Santiago’s tumultuous history is the fodder that feeds the fascination of many of its visitors. Even the ruins alone tell tales that many tourist guides can’t eloquently relay to clueless visitors.

But visitors can’t just gawk at its mossy walls or listen to tourist guides’ humdrum monologue to have a better appreciation of the role the 400-year-old fortress played in the country’s history. It’s a park no doubt, but it’s also a shrine to the country’s heroes and patriots.

Indeed, a focal point of a tour of Intramuros is the Rizal Shrine right within Fort Santiago. The establishment of the shrine is a fitting homage to Fort Santiago’s most distinguished inmate who wrote Mi Ultimo Adios in one of its cells.

It’s the colonial authorities’ concession to class perhaps that our illustrado national hero was never made to see the inside of a dark dungeon about which stories of horror gave the fort its undying notoriety.

Rizal’s cell – actually a room in one of the garrison’s barracks – did not survive the battle of Manila. But how it might have looked can be seen in the Rizal shrine and museum, a 1970s addition to the fort-turned-park.

The museum houses Rizal memorabilia, including his letters and clothes. A pictorial retelling of Rizal’s life greets visitors at the museum’s new entrance, which is among the ruins of what used to be officers’ quarters.

A running video presentation of the national hero’s life as well as highlights in the country’s struggle for nationhood is one of the new attractions in the redesigned Rizal shrine and museum.

Before the improvements were introduced last March, the museum looked drab and almost empty. There were the usual exhibits of his works, his wardrobe, and even a piece of his vertebrae where the executioner’s bullet found its mark.

Visitors would usually traipse around the halls unmindful of the displays. Some would take perfunctory glances at artifacts or read the Mi Ultimo Adios in Spanish, Filipino and English etched on an enormous pane of glass.

Such sincere but modest tribute to the Great Malay deserves more than obligatory silence.

A life size tableau of Rizal’s last night in his dimly-lit cell – on the ground floor – showing him absorbed in writing what was presumably his last farewell appeared to get the most attention from visitors. It’s the Sanctus Sanctorum in the museum where visitors would linger longer than usual, often in reverent silence.

Perhaps, it’s the exhibit’s somber look, or its chiaroscuro effect, or the fact that it can only be viewed from a distance that attracts curiosity and interest.

Another room is made to look like the chamber where Rizal was tried for treason, complete with mannequin representations of the national hero and members of the Spanish military tribunal. Again, proper lighting or the lack of it seems to give the tableau its solemn look.

The museum exit leads to a walkway that ends near the original gate of the fort, at which point some visitors would wonder whether they’ve reached the end of the tour and are being led out.

But there are unmistakably other places of interest right across Plaza Armas, which was originally the fort’s parade ground.

The Baluarte de Santa Barbara casts a haunting image at the far end of the fort near the Pasig River.

It may have been the first sign of trouble for interlopers entering the Distinguished and Ever Loyal City through the Pasig River during Spanish rule. But its sturdy centuries-old walls proved no match to US artillery in 1945. The baluarte or bulwark is now a promenade that offers a good vantage point for contemplating the Pasig River’s odious metamorphoses through the ages. But you should keep your eyes open as some portions of the floor have collapsed. Scaffolding for workers doing restoration work on the walls is quite a turnoff.

Across the river from the baluarte – and within the range of Spanish artillery in bygone era – is the old Chinese district of Binondo.

A structure atop the baluarte houses another Rizaliana exhibit, mostly pieces of furniture from Rizal’s Calamba home. Visitors are charged P10 each, on top of the P75 fort entrance fee.

Below the baluarte is a chamber that used to be a storage area for ammunition and gunpowder during the Spanish era.

Retreating Japanese forces were said to have herded more than 700 Filipino and American captives into the chamber during the closing days of the Battle of Manila and killed them with machine gun fire, flame and explosives.

A marble cross now marks the spot nearby where the remains of the hapless prisoners were buried after the recapture of Manila.

Today, mannequins dressed as Japanese soldiers and prisoners can be faintly seen in the dark recess of the chamber. Another life size diorama is apparently in the works.

For generations of Fort Santiago visitors, the dungeon nearby provided a better connection with the fort’s hideous past.

It was as old as the fort but was built for less devilish purpose – as a powder magazine chamber. The Spaniards would later give it another purpose after realizing that it was an unsuitable place for storing ordnance, as its interior was always damp.

Tales of prisoners in the dungeon getting drowned slowly as the tide rose may have added to its mystique or even notoriety.

It’s a story told over and over again to generations of visitors, including young students and inattentive tourists. But with its long and colorful history, the fort no doubt has a treasure trove of memories to share with a nation often forgetful of its past.