April 4 is the birthday of my late mother, Hadja Sitti Rahma Yahya – Abbas. Sometime ago, one of the news talk shows of ANC (ABSCBN News Channel) featured young Moros and labeled them as “Modern Muslims.” For some people, modern means young. Yet the young could be very old-fashioned, dogmatic and narrow-minded. There are millions of Filipinos who are certainly less modern in their ways of thinking than Jose Rizal, Juan Luna, and their contemporaries.
In my book, the first modern Moro women were Dayang Dayang (Princess)Hadja Piandao, Dayang-Dayang (DD) Putli Tarhata, Dayang-Dayang (DD) Inda Taas and my mother. Here, I am limiting the term modern to mean Western-educated, among others. There were other Moro modern women in the late 19th and early 20th century like my maternal great-grandmother or my paternal grandmother whom I will not consider here simply because they did not have Western education.
DD Piandao and DD Tarhata were nieces of Sultan Jamal ul Kiram II of Sulu. The Americans sent both princesses to schools in the US. in the 1900’s. DD Piandao succeeded Sultan Jamal ul Kiram II as the Sultana of Sulu in 1936. Pangyan (Sultana) Piandao was the first woman head of the Sulu Sultanate since the 17th century. Sultana Nur ul Azam a.k.a. Sitti Kabira a.k.a. Pangyan Ampay ruled Sulu ca. 1680. Tausug salsilah (genealogy) and tradition keepers tried and still try to erase or at least ignore her reign because she was a woman.
The Sultana’s Sultan
Like Sitti Kabira, Pangyan Piandao faced resistance from several datus in the Ruma
Bichara (Council of Elders) because first, she was a woman and second, her husband was not Tausug. The 17th century Sultana married an Iranun/M’ranao datu while her 20th century counterpart married a Sama datu. Perhaps due to her American education, Pangyan Piandao pushed her luck some more by demanding that her husband, Datu Ombra Amilbangsa be proclaimed Sultan of Sulu. Many Tausugs certainly did not cherish having a non-Tausug sultan. The Ruma Bichara was divided. The sultanate was in crisis. Half of the Ruma Bichara refused recognition to both DD Piandao and Datu Ombra. The dissenters then proclaimed Pangyan Piandao’s cousin Datu Tambuyong as Sultan. He took the regnal name of Sultan Zein ul Abidin II. To co-rule with him, DD Tarhata was proclaimed as the Pangyan (sultana). Thus, the sultanate was divided into two – the so-called Maimbung faction (DD Piandao) and the Patikul faction (DD Tarhata).
Tarhata’s Outlaw and Engineer
DD Tarhata was my mother’s idol. When she was in Grade VI, her declamation piece was about Princess Tarhata Kiram.
DD Tarhata had a celebrated life. Her flamboyance is known throughout. As a young princess, she chose to marry Datu Tahil, whom the Americans had declared an outlaw. Datu Tahil Julkarnain belonged to the Patikul faction of the Sulu royal family, being a great grandson of Sultan Shakirullah. Datu Tahil fought in the Battle of Bud Bagsak where his wife and child died. Needless to say, the Americans were flabbergasted. (See TIME magazine 1927 account of Princess Tarhata and Datu Tahil)
DD Tarhata told my mother that when she first saw Datu Tahil, who came to visit her uncle, Sultan Jamal ul Kiram II, she knew that he would be her husband. Straightaway, she told her uncle that she wanted the “outlaw” Datu Tahil for her husband.
Datu Tahil had made peace with the Americans and even joined politics as a provincial Board Member. But the fiery datu soon found himself fighting the Americans again. In 1927, he again led an uprising against the Americans. And this time, Princess Tarhata was at his side.
After becoming a widow, Princess Tarhata married Datu Tahil’s cousin, Datu Buyungan. Datu Buyungan became the Rajah Muda during the reign of his brother Datu Tambuyong who became Sultan Zein ul Abidin II (aka Jainal Aberin II) while Tarhata was proclaimed Pangyan (Sultana). The Abidin-Tarhata faction was the one recognized by the Americans over the Piandao – Amilbangsa faction.
Later in life, DD Tarhata again shocked Moro society when she decided to marry a Christian engineer, Francisco Salvador.
In his diary, my father wrote:
“April 20, 1955 Mr. Tizon, an engineer, introduced himself to me. He told me that Francisco Salvador has been appointed civil engineer at Cotabato. Francisco Salvador is an engineer and a lawyer at the same time. He was at one time district engineer (actg) for Sulu. He married Princess Tarhata. For some reasons unknown to me, he resigned. He practiced law but was not quite successful. Then he engaged in farming, mechanized farming. His acceptance of a government position shows that his farming venture is not a success. Salvador is dominated by his wife. I don’t think Princess Tarhata will reside with him in Cotabato.”
Poor Engineer Salvador, it must have been difficult to marry the feisty princess. When DD Tarhata died in the 1970s, Marcos had a stamp issued in her honor. International papers announced the deaths of Princesses Piandao and Tarhata.
Dayang-dayang’s Soldier Boy.
DD Inda Taas was the daughter of Sultan Zein-ul Abidin II. She, too, chose her own husband against the wishes of her elders. If Piandao shocked Sulu society by choosing a Sama datu, and Tarhata chose an outlaw, Inda Taas chose a Christian soldier. She holds the dubious distinction of being the first Moro princess to marry a Christian. But her marriage with Colonel Delgado was harmonious and they lived happily ever after.
Sitti Rahma, my mother
My mother was born in Malita, Davao del Sur in 1918 to Sheikh Ismail Yahya, a Maranao Arab and Bai Rosa, a Buayanen/Maguindanaon princess and coconut plantation heiress. As my mother used to say, she was “born with a silver spoon in her mouth.”
By the age of 12, my mother had her own Arabian horse and her own car. When the Americans came to Lanao, they urged the Maranaos to send their children to school. There was compulsory education. But the datus refused to let their children attend school for fear that they will be converted to Christianity. To appease the Americans, the M’ranao datus sent the children of their slaves instead.
Sheikh Ismail, who was a school superintendent, sent my mother to a boarding school run by the Thomasites in Lanao. When the datus of Bayang, Sheikh Ismail’s hometown, heard about it, they surrounded the school and demanded that my mother be released to them immediately. The datus did not like the idea that my mother would be classmate to children of slaves.
My mother’s grandmother wanted to send her granddaughter to Bryn Mawr. But, the sheikh would not hear of it. As a compromise, my mother was sent to a school in Cebu – far from the M’ranao datus but not too far from him.
The Heiress and the Lawyer
The first three Moro lawyers – Macapanton Abbas, Domocao Alonto and Salipada Pendatun vied for my mother’s hand. (Alonto and Pendatun later became senators) Her classmates in Cebu, who later became business tycoons, also courted her.
During the wake of my uncle in 1977, one business tycoon from Cebu told me that when they were younger, he was in love with my mother but would not dare court her because he was intimidated by her riches.
My mother chose the very first Moro lawyer to graduate and pass the Bar – my father. But it was not love at first sight for my mother. She actually preferred another suitor, a Spanish Filipino. But she lived in Davao while he lived in Cebu. Her mother and his mother saw to it that their letters would not reach each other. When both my mother and her suitor did not receive replies to their letters, they thought the other simply fell out of love. It was only when they met after World War II that they realized their mothers had intercepted their love letters.
My mother’s modern ways created a stir in conservative Lanao. My father’s family was scandalized when my parents walked hand in hand in public. They were shocked when my mother wore slacks and even played tennis at the Lanao country club. Once, the late Ambassador Mauyag Tamano told us that when my mother arrived in Marawi, he and other kids would hide themselves in trees or houses and follow her when she comes walking down the streets of Marawi. They all had a crush on her.
In Malita, Sitti Rahma was the darling of everyone – her grandparents, her father and the people. She only had to contend with her mother, who was partial to her brother Abdul Qadir. But in Marawi, my mother met adversaries everywhere. My father was the darling of his family and his female relatives – mother, aunts and great aunts — all looked with disfavor on my mother whom they regarded as a foreigner. The M’ranaos are very endogamous and prefer to marry within their pangampong (state).
In Maranao society, like in most Arab socieies, the extended household is controlled by women – mothers, aunts and elder sisters. After a year of being dominated by her female in-laws in Marawi, my mother told her servants to pack up and ran back to her father in Davao. My grandfather offered to give back my father’s dowry but he refused. My father asked for a second chance. My mother calmed down and agreed to go back to Marawi, but this time she insisted that her mother come along.
HEROIC STRUGGLE IN WWII
World War II brought great suffering to most of the world. My mother was not exempted from that. She had a happy marriage with four little children. They lived in Marawi City where my father, as a young lawyer, started taking the role of leader of his clan. My mother’s father just died so her mother, who lived in Davao, decided to stay with them.
When the Japanese came, my father wanted to join the guerrilla movement but she forbade him to join. She told him that she could not possibly take care of so many children alone. The Japanese who came to Lanao did not brutalize the people as they did in Luzon. According to my mother, the Japanese officers were from Japan’s nobility and acted in a courteous and civilized manner. The Japanese invited the young Maranao leaders to be the province’s officials – governor, mayor, etc. My father was invited to be one of the new government’s leaders. He refused. The Japanese then called a manhunt for him.
For months, my parents, my grandmother, my four eldest sisters (the youngest was a mere infant) were on the run, together with their servants. They ran from one village to another, staying with relatives or in the community’s torogan (royal houses). But the running was too much for the youngest daughter, Salma. She died. It was then that my father decided to surrender to the Japanese.
According to my mother, upon hearing that my father surrendered, most, if not all his cousins, uncles and relatives (that would be quite a lot since he belonged to so many royal houses of Lanao) surrounded the house of the Japanese commander and refused to leave unless my father would leave with them. The Japanese commander released my father on the condition that he would be appointed as the Judge of the province.
But a judge’s salary was a mere pittance since the Japanese money was practically worthless. To survive, my mother had to cook Maranao “pancakes” and sold them in the marketplace. She and her mother cooked the pancakes every night and the servants and my father’s younger half-brothers sold them in the market every morning.
In the middle of World War II, she gave birth to her eldest son – Macapanton, Jr., to the extreme delight of my father who had been wishing for a male heir for so long. But Junior later developed meningitis and the only doctor in Lanao refused to cure him if he was not paid in real Philippine pesos or US dollars or gold. He was the only one who had penicillin in the province (the whole Lanao – del Sur and del Norte). My mother did not have enough money from her pancakes. She had to pay the Christian doctor her necklace made of Spanish doubloons (gold coins). Thus, Macapanton, Jr. survived meningitis and World War II.
As the war drew on, my mother became president of the Melchora Aquino society. Melchora Aquino or popularly known as Tandang Sora was a heroine of the Philippine Revolution. Tandang Sora was a rich old lady who fed and housed the sick and wounded revolutionaries. As the society’s president, my mother taught the Maranao ladies how to cook, to sew bed sheets and curtains, to properly fix the linens on the bed and set the table. She taught them the skills so when the guerrillas or relatives on the run would come to them, they would know how to properly care for them.
They also had a radio, which became very important to the resistance as they were able to obtain information.
My father, on the other hand, was able to free several guerrillas by dismissing their cases. Once, three top guerrillas were caught by the Japanese. The Japanese commander sent him a note to detain the prisoners at all costs. Upon receiving the note, he immediately called the guerrillas, briefly interviewed them and let them go. When confronted by the angry Japanese commander, he simply reasoned out that according to the orders of Philippine President Jose Laurel, all accused should be freed if there were no concrete evidence against them.
When the Americans came, practically every Maranao claimed to be a guerrilla and got their “back pay”, a considerable amount. My father was sent a telegram by the US Army to get his “back-pay” with the rank of Major. According to the Provost Marshall, his actions as a judge and the information the Resistance got from him through the radio were very important and helpful. He was thus considered to be a covert member of the Resistance. But my father, being who he was, refused to get his Army commission and back pay.
In fact, one of his former slaves came to him bringing his (the former slave’s) back pay. His former servant asked him to get as much money he wanted. Of course, he refused. My father freed all his slaves after he married my mother.
On the other hand, my mother was acknowledged by the USAFFE for her activities as head of the Melchora Aquino Society. The Provost Marshall, in a public ceremony, gave her bales of cotton and other fabrics as a reward for her covert war efforts. Like my father, she refused the donation. She reasoned that the Melchora Aquino Society was created by the Japanese-Philippine government and was not a creation of the American-Philippine government. She said that she did what she did, not because she wanted to fight the Japanese but merely to help her fellow Maranao ladies.
The woman who was born “with a silver spoon in her mouth” suffered so much during the war. She used to say that before the war, a pair of shoes that she used to order from Manila would cost her the equivalent of a teacher’s monthly salary. During the war, she became the family’s bread winner. Her ancestral home in Davao was burnt to the ground by the Japanese. Her mother’s, her brother’s and her coconut plantations were also destroyed. She therefore extracted a promise from my father that after the war, he would go into business and concentrate on making money. My father never made good his promise. He remained with the government as fiscal, district judge and CFI judge. In 1964, when he was supposed to be appointed to the Court of Appeals, he died.
The Tausug princesses and my mother
In the 1950s, my father was appointed Provincial Fiscal and later District Judge of Sulu. My grandmother, Bai Rosa was a cousin of Sultan Zein ul-Abidin II. And so my mother became very close to her cousin DD Inda Taas and to her idol DD Tarhata. The three became very close friends. When Prince Sihanouk of Cambodia came to Manila in the 1950s, the Tausug princesses and my mother were invited for dinner at Malacanang. According to my mother, they had a good laugh a day later when the Manila papers described them as Indonesian princesses. Apparently, Manila journalists did not believe that there were princesses in the Philippines.
My mother had so many stories about her time in Sulu with her cousins. In those times, royalty hardly mixed with commoners, including politicians. One time, there was a party in honor of some foreign ambassadors. My mother was, as usual, with her two best friends. At that time, a young Maranao princess was with them. When the ambassadors were approaching them, the eager Maranao lady immediately stood up. DD Tarhata pulled her down and reminded her that they were princesses and ambassadors come to princesses and not the other way around.
It was quite unfortunate that my mother did not finish law school. According to her, when her second son fell down the stairs and had his head bloodied, my father asked her to choose whether to be a mother or to be a lawyer. She already had lost one child during World War II when the Japanese were hunting down my father and they had to run all over Lanao. She chose to be a mother. She bore fourteen children. I am the 13th child.
When her high school classmate and close friend Mary Concepcion-Bautista was appointed by President Cory Aquino as PCGG Commissioner, I kidded her that had she finished law, she probably would be strong and healthy as Manang Mary instead of being sickly. But she actually outlived her good friend MaryCon, who used to call her “my idol”.
In her hometown in Malita, she was a legend. The last time I was there in 1990, people still talked in awe of her. She was a great campaigner. She was an indefatigable campaigner for her brother, the Mayor of Malita. She was instrumental in her son-in-law’s victory as Vice Governor of Lanao. “I opened the political doors for him,” she used to say. In the early 1960s, the Liberal Party wanted her to run as Congresswoman in Davao. But she refused because my father did not approve of it.
In 1969, she became a very close friend of Nana Sepa (Dona Josefa Edralin Marcos), President Marcos’s mother. She and Nana Sepa created Operation Pepay, which organized teams of ladies all over the country to campaign for the re-election of President Marcos and the election of her son-in-law Mamintal Tamano as senator. She brought the President’s mother all over Mindanao to campaign. Because of security reasons, Marcos himself did not campaign in Sulu. But my mother brought the President’s mother there where she was met at the airport by my mother’s cousin, the Sultan of Sulu (Patikul branch). In Lanao, huge crowds met them everywhere. Photos of the Nana Sepa’s Mindanao campaigns can be seen at her old house (now turned into a museum) in Ilocos Norte.
I remember accompanying my mother in one of those campaigns. I was 10 years old then. We were on an airplane from Davao to Manila. I was surprised when my mother ordered a cot to be opened so she could lie there. And when I walked towards the cockpit, I was amazed to see Nana Sepa and three other ladies playing mahjong with a mahjong table and all!
It is so ironic that after campaigning so hard in 1969 for Marcos, my eldest brother would turn out to be a Marcos opponent. Marcos had him detained when he suspended the writ of habeas corpus and when he declared Martial Law. My brother was detained for a day or so the first time and about a month the second time. In 1977, Macapanton, Jr. escaped from the country with some forged travel documents. He went into self-exile in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. At that time, I was studying at the University of Petroleum and Minerals in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. In 1978, my mother suffered a massive stroke. But she survived. In 1979, she went to Jeddah.
My mother loved city life. She refused to stay either in Lanao or in her hometown in Davao. Jeddah did not have the usual fares one finds in a city – cinemas, casinos, etc. I asked her what made her come to Jeddah. She said she got an “invitation” from the military. During Martial Law, an “invitation” from the military could mean many things – from simple questioning to third-degree interrogation to even extra-judicial killing (also called “salvaging”). My mother stayed in Jeddah until 1983. She was not an OFW. She was there as guest of the Saudi royal family.
One day in Jeddah, some Maranaos came over to consult with my brother. My mother greeted them and left. One of them asked me if she were my mother. I said yes. He said he could still remember the time when my mother delivered on radio a fiery speech against the political enemies of her son-law, Mamintal Tamano. “She was so brave. She lambasted practically all the political leaders then,” he told me. It was obvious that the guy was still in awe of my mother. I had heard of that speech. It was the first time that somebody attacked the political leaders publicly and in such a scathing manner.
Her children never encouraged her to excel in anything. Every time she mentioned that she wanted to write a book about Mindanao, her elder children were the first to discourage her. Yet she was a great storyteller and certainly was more knowledgeable about the Moros and Mindanao than her children. She could speak fluently Maranao, Tausug, Maguindanao, Manobo, Tagakaulo, Chavacano, Ilocano, Cebuano, Tagalog and English.
But then she reared her children to become prima donnas. And prima donnas do not want to have a powerful mother. She already had a very strong personality. Perhaps her elder children did not want her to have political power as well.
Because my mother never became a government official or a politician, posterity would not hear or read of her. Officially, she is unknown. Even the fact that she was the first Miss Malita (ca. 1930) is not recorded. There are no records that show that as President of the Melchora Aquino society in Lanao during WWII, she taught Maranao ladies proper household chores like setting up a table, handling linens, sewing curtains and pillows, etc. She was instrumental in the charter of the ship MV Gambela that enabled thousands of Moros to go on pilgrimage to Mecca in 1968. And she was an indefatigable campaigner.
Some people forget easily. But many don’t. When my brother ran for Con-Con delegate in 1971, he was very confident of winning. With his senator brother-in-law at his side and being with the ruling Nationalista Party, my brother thought he did not need my mother to campaign at all. I remember vividly the time when my brother returned to Manila for a respite from the campaign. He was over-confident. Our mother asked him if he wanted her to go to Lanao to campaign. “No need,” my brother said. “I’d say I have at least 70% of the votes,” he boasted. He was against the old politicians of the province, my parents’ contemporaries. He lost.
Later, an aunt told us that there was no way for him to win, especially in Bayang, my mother’s (actually, her father’s) hometown. Our aunt told us, everywhere they went, the people kept on telling her and her sister and brothers that if Sitti Rahma wanted her son to win, then she would have been there campaigning for him. Our aunt said that any excuse they gave was lame because everyone knew that my mother campaigned vigorously for her son-in-law in 1969 and earlier in his runs for senator and vice-governor.
Movie buff and Party hostess
My mother was such a movie buff. I must have seen hundreds of movies with her. She and her brother used to spend hours watching silent films in their childhood in the 1920s. Their favorite was the cowboy star Tom Mix. She had seen practically all movies shown in the Philippines from her childhood up to the time she became bed-ridden. When she was in her teens, she used to bring the seamstress with her to the movies so the seamstress could sew the same clothes for her as the lead actresses in the movies. After the war, she did it again when she saw Ingrid Bergman’s dresses in Saratoga Trunk.
One of her favorite films was Gone With The Wind. She named me Ashley after the character Ashley Wilkes played by Leslie Howard in the film. Her favorite actors were Clark Gable, Kirk Douglas and Stephen Boyd.
During Manila Film festivals, she would bring us to watch one or two movies on the first day. There are usually long lines of people wanting to watch the festival movies but the long lines never bothered her. She simply approached a man or woman near the front of the line. She then offered to pay for his / her ticket for Loge (more expensive than Orchestra or Balcony) if s/he would buy tickets for us. That usually did the trick.
In late 1969, her niece convinced her to convert her uninhabited house in her hometown in Davao del Sur to a restaurant. Later, the restaurant was turned into a movie house. Both ventures failed to make a profit. Later, her brother convinced her to turn the movie house into a mosque.
Around 1969/1970, when she had quite a lot of money, she kept on talking about producing a movie about the Battle of Padang Karbala. She wanted to get Omar Sharif and Ricardo Montalban to star in the film. It was only much later that I learned that the Battle of Padang Karbala was what the Maranaos call the Battle of Bayang, the first battle between the Moros and the Americans. I suppose she wanted Omar Sharif to play the role of her Arab grandfather and Ricardo Montalban as the Sultan of Bayang.
She brought actors like Johnny Delgado, Apeng Daldal, Sophia Moran and actors/singers Linda Alcid and Darius Razon to Mindanao either for shows or political campaigns. In the early 70s, film directors like J. Eddie Infante frequented the house, persuading her to produce a film. If I were older then, I would have encouraged her to make films. Perhaps she would have found fulfillment there. She never had a proper “career”.
When my father was still alive, she was known for hosting great parties. I still remember the last party she threw for their wedding anniversary, months before my father suddenly passed away. The very long buffet table was full of the most delicious foods. She, like her mother, was a great cook. As a 5-year old then, my role was to go around and offer cigars to the gentlemen guests. When I finally started writing regularly for a newspaper, I wrote three feature articles on Mindanao mentioning her in 1999/2000. They were my tribute to her. I think she liked them.
Widow with eleven children
My father died in 1964 leaving my mother, 46 years old, with 11 surviving children. I was only 5 and half years old then. Her two eldest daughters were married but her two eldest sons – the famous Abbas brothers (Macapanton, Jr. and Firdausi) who later became senatorial candidates – were still in college.
To this day, I don’t understand why, with 9 unmarried children, she did not return to her hometown where she had a house and some properties, her mother had a small coconut plantation and properties in the town proper, her brother was the mayor and her whole maternal clan lived as the region’s elites.
Instead, she lived life the way she apparently wanted to – independently. She never remarried although she had marriage offers from rich and powerful men.
My mother taught me a lot of things, like the love of movies and poetry. She taught me the first poem I liked – The Invictus by William Ernest Henley. As a child, she kept on repeating to me that although there would be times when I would not be an “aristocrat of the purse”, I would always be an aristocrat “of the blood and of the intellect.” Now that I am getting old, I think I would rather be an aristocrat “of the purse.”
Modern Moro women
Contrary to popular knowledge, Moro society has lots of women who choose their own paths. Pangyan Piandao risked losing her throne for the man she loved. Together with her husband, she worked hard for the Philippine “nation-state” project; i.e., for the creation of a nation-state called the Philippines with Sulu as part and parcel of this new country.
Princess Tarhata chose America’s No. 1 Outlaw for her Prince Charming. Her life was one adventure after another. She fought for the return of Sabah to its rightful owners and worked for the preservation of Sulu royalty.
Dayang Dayang Inda Taas sacrificed her bloodline for her Colonel. Unlike her cousins, she was not interested in politics. She was most happy as a wife and mother.
And Sitti Rahma Yahya – Abbas stood by her man through the perils of politics and World War II and for almost forty years, never changed her dead husband’s name for another man’s. Widowed at 46, she chose to remain free and independent. She chose to struggle alone rather than go back to the comforts of her hometown with her mother, brother, and whole clan. Although all her children finished college, some even becoming famous, she was never the traditional mother who lived through the achievements of her children. Although she died practically penniless, she lived life the way she wanted it to be. She was care-free and beholden to no man or woman.