God and Man in Manila

By John Moody

The opening words of the document sounded like a declaration of war: "The people have spoken. Or tried to. Despite the obstacles thrown in the way of their speaking freely, we the bishops believe what they attempted to say is clear enough. In our considered judgment, the polls were unparalleled in the fraudulence of their conduct."

After two days of agonizing, three rewritings and countless hours of prayer, the 104 Roman Catholic bishops of the Philippines last week openly accused the Marcos government of rigging the presidential election. They also suggested that Filipinos could use nonviolent civil disobedience to protest the outcome. The importance of the pastoral letter, which was to be read at Masses throughout the country on Sunday, is unquestionable, since 85% of the population is Catholic.

Reaction from Marcos was swift and angry. The bishops, said the President, "used the priests and nuns not only to help the opposition but to destroy the electoral process." He demanded proof of their charges and delivered a veiled threat by saying that "if the government is forced to take action against any member of the church for certain illegal acts, that does not mean that the government is fighting the church itself." Labor Minister Blas Ople said the bishops' action "clearly poses an imminent threat to the peace and tranquillity of our country during this time when so many are blinded by partisan rage."

Unflinchingly, the church hierarchy ticked off the irregularities: disenfranchisement of voters, widespread and heavy vote buying, deliberate tampering with election returns, intimidation, harassment, terrorism and murder. The bishops said that the "government has the obligation to right the wrong it is founded on." And directly addressing the Filipino people, they added, "Now is the time to speak up."

The strong words did not come easily. The bishops had gone into closed session on Wednesday in the old walled city of Intramuros to draft their views on the elections. Unanimous in their opinion that the elections had been marred by fraud, some bishops still shied away from stating their conclusions plainly. Said one of the conferees: "Talks collapsed several times because we were afraid of the term civil disobedience and because we did not want to appear partisan." But there was no way to mask their target. One bishop even went so far as to say that Marcos should be denied the right to receive Holy Eucharist.

Both sides were anxious about the outcome of the conclave. Challenger Corazon Aquino visited the conference Thursday to ask its president, Ricardo Cardinal Vidal, the Archbishop of Cebu, if the bishops would support her plans to begin a campaign of civil disobedience. At 2:30 Friday morning Vidal had another visitor: First Lady Imelda Marcos roused him to ask if the pastoral letter would incite an armed uprising. Vidal reportedly assured her, "We had never entertained any idea of violence."

The bishops' bold gesture was an important milestone in the long Catholic tradition of the Philippines. Since Spanish conquistadores, accompanied by missionaries, arrived in the country in the 16th century, the church has engaged in a singularly successful campaign to win converts. As a result, the Philippines is the only predominantly Catholic country in Asia.

The great majority of the 13,000 priests and nuns in the Philippines are politically moderate or liberal. The hierarchy was formerly led by Julio Cardinal Rosales, a conservative who tried to stay above politics. But since his death in 1983, many of the clergy have become more activist. A small minority of priests and nuns support the Communist-dominated New People's Army insurgency against Marcos. Few clergy, though, have followed the example of the Rev. Conrado Balweg, who since 1979 has lived in the jungles with N.P.A. fighters.

The leader of the Catholic Church in the Philippines is Jaime Cardinal Sin, 57, the Archbishop of Manila. Sin, the 14th of 16 children of a Filipino mother and a Chinese father, has diplomatic gifts that have been invaluable tools in guiding church policy. A wry sense of humor also helps. He calls his residence in suburban Mandaluyong "the house of Sin."

The Cardinal first employed a policy known as "critical collaboration" with the Marcos regime. He urged the government to become more democratic, and simultaneously called for restraint among the opposition. In the spirit of reconciliation, Sin was willing to work with Marcos as a mediator but never as an accomplice. During the past six years, though, Sin has drifted further and further away from the President. Gradually other members of the traditionally conservative hierarchy followed his lead. When Marcos called for early presidential elections last year, the church was ready. The groundwork for selecting opposition candidates and drafting a platform had been worked out by the so-called Jesuit Mafia, which helps form Catholic political positions. The group, which included Father Joaquin Bernas, president of Ateneo de Manila University, had already concluded that the strongest possible opposition candidate was Benigno Aquino's widow, Corazon.

During the precampaign maneuvering, Cardinal Sin met several times with Aquino and the other major opposition candidate, Salvador ("Doy") Laurel. The primate reassured Aquino that she could successfully challenge Marcos, and helped persuade Laurel to bury his own presidential aspirations and become her running mate. Sin tactfully refrained from endorsing the ticket in public, but there was no doubt about which candidate the church backed. Before the election, the Cardinal sent a letter to all Philippine parishes pointedly instructing the faithful to vote for those who showed "respect for human rights and life."

While Marcos disapproves of Sin's political role, Pope John Paul II has given the Cardinal his support. Said one Vatican official familiar with the Pontiff's thinking: "Sin is very highly regarded here, particularly for his keen intelligence."

With reporting by Sandra Burton and Nelly Sindayen/Manila