10 ‘nuisance’ candidates running for President in 2016

Today is the first day of filing of the Certificate of Candidacy and Filipino citizens are expecting to see big names such as Mar Roxas, Grace Poe and Rodrigo Duterte who announced recently that he will not run as President.

Under the constitution anyone can run for public office, however, Commission of Elections was swarmed not by established politicians but common people who are dubbed as “nuisance” presidential candidates for 2016 National elections.

Here are some of them:

1.  Atty. Elly Pamatong

The veteran “nuisance” candidate Atty. Elly Pamatong once again filed CoC for his dream to be the next President. He promised that he will claim all the lost territories of the country to China.

Photo credit to Elly Pamatong fanpage

2. Sel Hope Kang

Sel Hope Kang is a 37-year-old woman who claims that she was an honor graduate of the University of the Philippines (UP) Diliman wants to be the third female president of the country.

Screen Shot 2015-10-12 at 6.12.54 PM
Photo credits to Inquirer.net

3. Arsenio Dimaya

Arsenio Dimaya, 67 yrs old to run for president.

Photo credits to Manila Bulletin

4. Rizalito David

Rizalito David, who wants Sen. Grace Poe disqualified, will run for president.

Photo credit to Manila Bulletin

5. Esmeraldo Reyes

Esmeraldo Reyes aims to run as president and one of his platforms is to give senior citizens P12,000.


6. Sultan Muhammad Issa

Presidential bet Sultan Muhammad Issa wants to build a sultanate that would match China.

(Photo via DJ Placido)

7. Leonardo Bula

Leonardo Bula, who hails from Cavite, is 17th to file COC for president.

(Photo via Dexter Ganibe)

8. Ferdinand Jose Pijao

Ferdinand Jose Pijao, who hails from Ilocos, is 12th to file COC for president.

(Photo via Dexter Ganibe)

9. Alejandro Ignacio

76-year-old taxi driver Alejandro Ignacio is 18th to file COC for president.He said he will save and protect the Filipinos. He also accuses Mayor Rodrigo Duterte of violating the constitution. 

(Photo via Christian Esguerra)

10. Freddie Esher Llamas

Tricycle driver Freddie Esher Llamas files COC for president.

photo credit to ANC

Meanwhile, here’s the partial list of President and Vice President candidates who filed their CoC today (October 12, 2015)

For President:

Augusto Syjuco Jr.

Elly Pamatong

Ephraim Defiño

David Alimorong

Ralph Masloff

Jejomar Binay

Camilo Sabio

Freddiesher Llamas

Danilo Lihaylihay

Adolfo Inductivo

Sel Hope Kang

Ferdinand Jose Pijao

Ramon Concepcion

Ferdinand Fortes

Eric Negapatan

Gerald Arcega

Leonardo Bulabula

Alejandro Ignacio

Arsemio Dimaya

Arturo Reyes

Rizalito David

Esmeraldo Reyes

For Vice President:

Gregorio Honasan

Myrna Mamon

Albert Alba

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    Tragically, the present system of government does not have laws strictly imposing penalties against vote-buying and vote selling. Perhaps, this is because all lawmakers have been elected because of vote buying and they do not have the heart to destroy the very means that swept them to office and, in extreme cases, to the heights of political power.
    To solve this electoral tragedy, I proposed to meritocatrize the election voting process by according a number of votes to a voter depending on his educational background. In other words, the voting power of the electorate must be calibrated. For instance, we can make an electoral accreditation system in this manner:
    1. Lawyer or Doctor’s vote is
    equivalent to 10,000 votes
    2. Barrister’s vote is equivalent to 8,000 votes
    3. Licensed professionals with a
    four-year course is equivalent 1,000 votes
    4. Unlicensed graduates with a
    four-year course counts 800 votes
    5. Licensed professional with
    a two-year course 500 votes
    6. Unlicensed college graduate
    with a two-year course 400 votes
    7. Undergraduates college
    students 100 vote per year
    8. High School graduate 50 votes
    7. High School undergraduate 10 votes per year
    9. Elementary graduate 5 votes
    10. Others 1 vote per voter– ATTY. Elly Velez Pamatong

  2. "He should be the next President of the Republic of the Philippines"
    -Former Comelec Chairman Abalos said Atty. Pamatong you are the most brilliant, the best and the most qualified among all presidential candidate.

    He is the right leader that the Sovereign Filipino People were looking for:

    2. A leader who is not involved in the present and past administrations…
    3. A leader who is not also associated with TRADITIONAL POLITICIANS and BUSINESSMEN nor connected with the ELITES and OLIGARCH.
    4. A new leader with courage,God fearing who believe in total honesty and public service who truly loves the masses.
    5.A leader who will defend our national territory from foreign invasion like China did in the west Philippine sea.
    6. A leader who can send all crooks and corrupt government officials to jail for stealing the taxpayers money and criminal malversation of public funds.
    7. A leader who can transform this country into a great nation again.
    8. A leader who can solve the long lasting ensurgency problem in mindanao and in the Philippines as a whole.
    9. A leader who has the guts to reclaim our lost territories like Sabah and spratly in the west Philippine sea.
    10. A leader who can check and audit the tax payers money where did it go (e.g. PDAF, DAP and SARO's).. Etc.
    11.A leader who can give a free education to all Filipinos
    12. A leader who can give free housing and the highest salaries for teachers and soldiers.
    13.A leader who can abolish the Mining Act of 1995 to preserve our forest and mountains from mining and logging operations.

    ATTY.ELLY VELEZ LA0 PAMATONG- a Christian with a Moro trademarks—-a human rights lawyer based in San Francisco, California and in the City of New York. He has written nine books, five (5) of which have already been published in the United States. He is also the owner and publisher of the Asian American Voice, an ethnic newspaper published in New York and California.
    As a lawyer, he practiced his profession both in the Philippines and in the United States for more than 20 years. While in California, he filed a lawsuit against the United States in order to obtain American citizenship for all Filipinos born during the territorial period under the Citizenship Clause of the 14th Amendment. He presented his oral arguments before a 3-man judicial panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit on August 8, 1992 but missed victory by one vote on September 20, 1994. In this case, Judge Harry Pregerson ruled that Filipinos are still citizens of the United States.
    He obtained his Bachelor of Arts Degree from Silliman University in 1965, and graduated from the College of Law of the University of the Philippines in 1970. Among his extracurricular achievements are the following: Official Debater, University of the Philippines, 1967; Orator of the Year awardee, Silliman University, 1965; Champion Impromptu Speaker, Silliman University, 1965; and Champion Spanish Declaimer, Silliman University, 1965.
    He is a member of the Supreme Court of the United States, Supreme Court of the Philippines, Supreme Court of the State of New York, American Trial Lawyers’ Association, American Bar Association, and a lifetime member of the Integrated Bar of the Philippines.
    When President Marcos declared martial law in 1972, he fled from the Philippines through the southern back-door. In 1994, he was accorded a U.N. Refugee Mandate Status by the United Nations’ High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) through the assistance of the Catholic Migration Commission and the United States Mission in Geneva, Switzerland. Subsequently, the UNHCR obtained a Canadian immigrant status for Elly Velez Pamatong. However, when he reached New York in 1974, he abandoned that status and sought political asylum in the United States.
    Posted By: Friends and Supporters of ATTY.Elly Velez Pamatong

  3. Subsequently, I received a call from the Philippines to the effect that Misuari was apprehended by the Malaysian at Jamperas Island and held as prisoner. With the help of a young Maranao nurse, Potrie Raningka, I flew to Mrs. Yolanda Sterns in Oakland, who helped me obtain a ticket for Kuala Lumpur where I assisted the release of Nur Misuari and helped obtain political asylum for his family and staff in Geneva, Switzerland.
    When Misuari was re-fouled to the Philippines, I followed to him to make sure he was safe. 80 Muslims lawyers, led by Arthur Lim and Macapanton Abbas, Jr., took over and I was relegated to the background.
    It was at this point, when I met Commander Lahi who, after a month, died, thereby making me the successor of his crusade.
    From that point on, my subsequent activities were covered by and published in my other writings. And with this, I close this memoirs of my escape from the Philippines to the United States.
    Praise the Lord!

  4. Then, as if previously rehearsed, the largely Filipino audience proceeded to a large space in front of giant elevators, formed a circle, held each other’s hands, and, led by Dr. Carbonell, prayed with tears freely flowing from on the faces.
    In part, this is the excerpts of Dr. Carbonell’s article that he published days after that memorable hearing:
    “There was hardly any dry eye in that jam-packed judicial forum. Tears were flowing profusely from many listeners, who were holding rosaries as the admiringly watched the emergence of a great Malayan leader and, nay, a living legend. The standing ovation was so thunderous that the three circuit judges of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit appeared temporarily spellbound by the spontaneous show of unconditional moral support and sincere applause that reverberated and reechoed in the halls of justice.”
    But the US Federal Courts of Appeals in New York and New Jersey simply repeated the decision of the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals based in San Francisco, California. Subsequently, I appealed — two times — to the Supreme Court but the latter refused to decide the case raised for final decision.
    Failing to win in the courts, I led the longest Filipino civil rights in Washington, DC — from the Washington Monument to the White House — on August 8, 1998, followed by another march on October 24, 1998 across Manhattan Island in New York City to the gates of the United Nations.
    Then I approached Congressman Benjamin Gilman of Rockland, New York through he help of Jose Marie Mercader and Atty. Amado Soriano, a community leader.
    Gilman, who was then chairman of the International Relations Committee, agreed to hold congressional hearings on the subject but, for reasons already explained in my other books, the scheduled hearings were called off.
    Helpless, I prepared to return to the Philippines for good — alone. When I arrived at the Philippines, I aspired for a seat in the lower house through the Party-List system. But the COMELEC was too corrupt to give me a chance. Votes were sold to the highest bidders — ranging from 5 to 1 peso per vote — and I lost.
    Back in America, I vowed not to return to the Philippines anymore. I rejoined my wife, Sally, in New York where I served as the MNLF’s representative and spokesman at the Untied Nations and its ambassador to 57 Muslim countries that were members of the OIC.
    While in New York, the World Trade Center was bombed. I saw one the planes’ tail sticking out of the left tower. I rushed to the scene to get my wife, but the area was cordoned off, and it was blanketed with a thick blanket of dusts and smoke.

  5. When the mounting pressure and protest became too burdensome for Bishop Weigand, the latter filed a complaint for damages with a prayer for TRO (temporary restraining order) against me and other pro-Alonzo supporters with the Superior Court of Solano County wherein my bird (Romwell) was named one of the defendants, thinking it was a human being.
    However, down the line, the case was settled out of court. And, in a sense, Fr. Abraham Alonzo won.
    This details of this violent confrontation against the Catholic Archbishop of Sacramento are covered in my book, “War In Vallejo!”
    When the “War In Vallejo” was over, I prepared for my to the east coast. Sometime in the middle of the 1990s, I left for New York together with my third wife, Rosalia “Sally” Marasigan, where we temporarily lived with Jose Marie Mercader and his wife; and, later, opened a law office at the corner of Fulton and Broadway, one block away from the World Trade Center; and, from where, I filed more cases against the United States concerning the US citizenship of the Filipino People.
    The hearing in New York on August 29, 1997 was unforgettable. The huge federal court chamber was filled to capacity. Among others, Ambassador Willy Gaa was attended, together with Dr. Rolando A. Carbonell who, before the hearing, prayed with me in my hotel room and gave me a rather heavy gold-plated crucifix.
    The hearing was climaxed by standing ovation that lasted very long and refused to die with the echoing sounds of the presiding judge’s gavel. When I turned my back, I saw Filipinos, with tears in their eyes, holding rosaries, and looking at me as if I were the Moses that would lead them to a new world order of love and liberty.
    The nearly 12 white persons seated on the front row were also misty-eyed. And, while the applause was ringing in ears, the young lawyer for the US government gave me a hug and whispered: “Eli, you made it.” Then he shook my hands and left.
    Among others, I said: “Your Honors, I wish you to know that if America is great today, if America is free today, a part of that greatness and a part of that freedom has been paid for by the lives, blood, sweat and tears of the Filipino People.”

  6. The following morning, one of the national dailies published my photo under a banner headline which stated: “AFP SPREADS DRAGNET FOR RENEGADES’ LAWYER.”
    Believing that my days as a freeman were numbered, I arranged for a tactical alliance meeting with Marcos through Congressman Tony Tupaz. Tony agreed. He called Marcos in Hawaii and provided me with a plane ticket to Honolulu.
    On November 9, 1987, I escaped from the Philippines for the third time. This time aboard a plane. To avoid detection, I was taken directly to the waiting area by uniformed soldiers who earlier had my passport and visa to the United States secretly processed.
    When I arrived in Hawaii, I had a long talk with the ailing Marcos and his wife. He wanted me to return to the Philippines and stage another coup. But I asked him to give me some time because I had a client in Brownsville, Texas.
    While in Texas, Pristin called me and, for the third time, wanted to return to America. So, since there was no way I could get a visa for her, I asked her to take a plane to Madrid and, from there, take another plane to Mexico City, where I met her. From Mexico City, we took a plane to Mata Moros, a Mexican town adjacent to Brownsville, Texas, across the Rio Bravo.
    There, a little drama unfolded. I literally carried my wife my arms, Pristin, across the Rio Bravo river, under revolving search lights, back to America.
    From there I took her to an apartment at 1530 “J” Street, Sacramento, California where we stayed for several months and, later, moved to San Francisco where we opened a law office at Flood Building; and later, moved to the 9th Floor of the Philippine Consulate at 477 Sutter Street.
    It was at this time when I lost my second wife. Probably tired of following me from one end of the world to another, she took off with another man and I filed a divorce against her; and, then, got married to my third wife, Rosalia “Sally” Marasigan.
    While in San Francisco, I filed another case against the United States to declare all Filipinos citizens of the United States in of behalf of Merlita Pascua Summerfield. In 1994, the chief of a 3-man Federal Circuit Court of Appeals panel, Judge Harry Pregerson, ruled that Filipinos were indeed still US citizens. But the two judges under him disagreed.
    While going on with my practice, friends from the Philippines occasionally visited me. Among them were Mervyn Encanto, Delfin Catapang, and Jun Abbas. But, of all my friends, it was Jun Abbas who strongly urged me to return to the country. However, I told him to give me time because I planned to moved to New York and file another case against the US on the same issue of US citizenship.
    My departure for New York, however, was delayed for 8 months because of what I considered to be a serious racial discrimination by a Bishop William Weigand against a Filipino Priest named Fr. Abraham Alonzo. The latter was fired from his job as parish priest of St. Catherine’s Church in Vallejo, California, without due process of law.
    So, easily drawn as I was to racially-oriented issues, I stood at the forefront of an 8-month confrontation with the powerful bishop based in Sacramento, California wherein my daughter was almost murdered by one, Salvador “Sal” Corpuz, who attempted to run her over with his car. But, Winkie, a blue-belter in karate, jumped and saved her life.
    Winkie and I followed Corpuz to his residence where, after making a citizen’s arrest, had him handcuffed and detained at the Vallejo Police Department. The following day, the incident was published on the front-page of the Times-Herald of Vallejo.

  7. But I was not satisfied with the massive publicity that I got for the rebel soldiers. My intention was to divert the attention of the Cory Administration toward a new government that only existed in my mind.
    The next day, I photocopied the 9-point program of government in my book, Meritocracy, and published it as the platform of Honasan. Again, that move hit all the front pages of the Manila dailies, and was repeatedly shown on radio and TV flash reports.
    One Sunday afternoon, someone took me to DZXL, where I was interviewed by certain Feoril Salvo, and where I lashed at the government’s corruption that led to the coup. Then I returned to my office where I received a call from a Sister Franco of the Dominican Order. She was crying, and she told me that “Mama Mary” heard her prayer for someone to defend the cause of the rebel soldiers.
    Meanwhile, Nilo Tayag, the perennial activist, dropped by the office and asked me to join the National People’s Army (NAP) which was under Col.
    Reynaldo Cabauatan, the uncle of Jejomar Cabauatan Binay, Mayor of Makati City. I agreed and became its legal counsel, secretary general, and spokesman.
    Together, we attempted to launch a coup sometime on October 18, 1987 but Rey called off the attack because of the 28 scorpion tanks that Col. Ernesto Tan and Col. Campos committed to me, only one reached Santo Tomas, carrying my maroon Moro Fez. The plan leaked and the rest of the war machines were prevented to leave Fort Bonifacio.
    But the fight had to go on. From Santo Tomas, Nilo Tayag and I proceeded to the residence of Mrs. Chuchi de la Calsada in Quezon City where we were reunited with Cabauatan and his bodyguards. From there, I went to Mabalacat and visited Mayor Fred Halili to seek support. But, as soon as I left, his office early in the evening of that day, two carloads of ISAPF operatives started chasing us around the area until we crossed McArthur Highway where the pursuing car were cut and blocked by a huge 16-wheeler truck.

  8. Eventually, we left for Manila aboard Philippine Airlines and stayed at 1303, San Antonio Street, Paco — with Mrs. Primo Yu and Ursula Yu (and their daughters, Maricar and An-An) — and immediately opened a law office at Room 500, VIP Building, in front of the United States Embassy. Moreover, we also opened a law office along McArthur Highway, in front of the London Hardware, at Mabalacat because I was also practicing law inside Clark Air Base.
    My limited law practice at Clark Air Base was memorable. One day, 7 children, belonging to the Iglesia Ni Cristo Church (INC), were strapped with bullets by American soldiers aboard two Huey Helicopter gunships. One, a small boy by the name Isagani Pioquinto, was hit by a shrapnel in the neck. Another, Rowena Custodia was directly hit at her buttock.
    Still true to form, I filed a complaint against them, but the criminals fled from the Philippines before they could prosecuted.
    When Gregorio Honasan staged a coup d’etat on August 28, 1987, I rushed to the scene at Camp Aguinaldo and wanted to help demolish a very corrupt and rotten societal order. But, before I arrived, Honasan fled aboard a military chopper to an unknown location.
    Highly impressed by the valor and bravery he and his men showed, and by the deeply moving message that was read on TV a couple of young soldiers, I rushed to Camp Aquinaldo to find out how I could support them. Realizing that they fled after a brief but intense firefight, I rushed to a nearby TV station to call upon freedom-lovers to come in masse and help with all the forces at their command. But the TV that TV station was already well-guarded and its crew were all sent home.
    Left without other alternatives, I drove to my law office in Manila and typed a proclamation of a Provisional Government, which was made to appear like it was signed by Honasan, and delivered by a friend of Col. Reynaldo Verroya to my office. The following day, the proclamation of a Meritocratic government was headlined in all Philippine dailies, as well as in newspapers abroad, like the Washington Post.

  9. My plan was to intercept her at the airport and then seek asylum for her. Then I called the State Department and pleaded for assistance from someone who, upon learning about my status as a UN mandate refugee, assured me that, upon arrival Pristin’s arrival at the Los Angeles International Airport, she would be given asylum.
    When the plane landed, however, the INS of Los Angeles did not tell me about her presence. Luckily, I saw her and her young daughter, Evita, going back to the plane for Mexico City. So, at once, I rushed to the gate and pulled her, her daughter, and her bag away from the departing plane while INS officers were also pushing her aboard; but, failing to achieve their purpose, the INS officers took the three of us into their custody. The following day, after my status as a UN Mandate Refugee was confirmed by the State Department, we were released and set free.
    From there, I took Pristin to Salinas where we lived with Rev. Dick Solis. After a while, we moved back to Los Angeles (at 711 Harvard Street) and opened a law office at Olympic Boulevard — with David Martinez and Louie Eugenio sometime in 1985 — where I first filed a lawsuit against the US government seeking the reinstatement of the American citizenship of the Filipino People.
    While in Los Angeles, a military coup — euphemistically labeled “People Power” — toppled down the 20-year-old Marcos Dictatorship.
    That made Pristin and I decide to return to the Philippines for good sometime in 1986. Somehow, I felt that, after staying in America for nearly three decades, I did not really belong to that country. The houses that I bought with Nelly always looked like they were not ours, even the cars that I was using. In short, there was always something in me that told me to fly homeward.

  10. But my life in New York was as cold as the winter in that State. At all times, and like Pristin, I was also tormented and haunted by the memories my children — especially Winkie who was jumping up and down, waving her hands as my van slowly rolled away from our house at the corner of Erie Drive and Tom O’Shanter. Unable to contain and control my loneliness, I decided to return to an area where I could be close enough to reach children whenever there was a need to. Pristin agreed and left for Stockton ahead of me and waited for me at the residence of Henry and Salud Marapao in Manteca, California.
    For my part, I took a train and headed for Rockford, Illinois where I left my van, had it tuned up, and then drove it back to Stockton back to Stockton, accompanied by a younger man, who was introduced to me by my friend, Joven Padao, and who was chain-smoking beyond control.
    While on my way to the west coast, the van skidded and whirled around like a ballet dancer over an ice-coated highway but, instinctively following what I previously heard from other drivers, I followed the skid hoping it would stop. But it did not. Rather, it went in the direction of a deep canyon somewhere in Wyoming. This time I turned the steering wheel quickly to the left after which it sideswiped and knocked known a wooden electric post causing it to fall and block the van from plunging into oblivion, and destroying both the heater and one of the headlights. Consequently, I bought tire chains but they made the van move to slow and shake a lot. So, I took the risk of traveling without tire chains, and without headlights, guided only by huge trucks ahead of us.
    Along the way, I saw several cars, vans, trucks, etc. skidding and falling to the sides of the road, and ambulance vehicles screaming and taking injured motorists to hospitals. Yet I had no choice but plow through the rest of more than two thousand miles of icy and snowy road ahead of me. After a couple of days, I finally reached Stockton, although I had some doubts whether I was really still alive.
    Meanwhile, we resided at the trailer home of Henry Marapao at French Camp, Stockton; then, later, we moved to an apartment close to Port Stockton, by the bank of the huge Sacramento River.
    Subsequently, I reconciled with Andy Imutan and worked for a federally funded program which was awarded to his new organization, Maharlika. Imutan, who was still in Stockton, was starting a new life with his friend, Dolly Makinano with whom he sired a daughter. Together with Noel Rosales — brother of Melvin Rosales — I was assigned as the head of its office based in Salinas, California .But, again, Pristin missed her children and wanted to return to the Philippines for the second time. Reluctantly, I consented.
    However, her second visit to her children did not last long. For the second time, she called and told me she wanted to return to the United States.
    Since she had no visa, I asked her to take a Northwest Airlines plane bound for Mexico City with a connecting flight at the Los Angeles International Airport.

  11. I left ahead of Pristin, with my Volkswagen van, now roaring with a new and larger engine, passing through Highway 80 which cuts across the very heart of the United States through the winding roads of Nevada, Wyoming, Utah, Nebraska, Chicago, and New Jersey.
    That could have been sometime on the second week of August 1981 because the assassination of Senator Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino took place on August 21, 1981 when I had my van fixed at North Platt Nebraska. Subsequently, I had it towed to Omaha, Nebraska, and, because I was told it would take two weeks to fix it, I turned it over to the custody of my cousin, Reel Villanueva Cardino, who later brought it to Rockford, Illinois.
    Then I took a Greyhound buss to New York and resided at the house of Mr. Jimmy Tan where I waited for Pristin to follow by plane. Subsequently, when Pristin arrived, we moved to the residence of Ric Perez somewhere in New Jersey but who was working at a stock exchange office in Manhattan.
    Day after day, Pristin and I rode with Ric Perez to Manhattan where we also opened a law office adjacent to that of Attorney Boy Abasalo’s, a native of Ozamis City, and a couple of other attorneys who were either my former classmates or schoolmates at the University of the Philippine like Atty. Fidelio “Boy” Tan.
    While in New York, the Filipino feelings against Marcos was running high. Boy Abasalo and Heherzon “Sony” Alvarez organized JAJA (Justice for Aquino, Justice for All). Sony, whose job was squeezing orange juice while his wife, Cecile Guidote was also working, bolted from JAJA and organized NAM (Ninoy Aquino Movement). Alex Esclamado flew over to New York to fix the rift between Abasalo and NAM but failed. Nonetheless, Boy Abasolo and I moved forward on our own. We spoke with Manglapus at Delaware and even accompanied the latter to a Washington, DC nighttime anti-Marcos rally.

  12. While in Los Angeles, my second wife, underwent a serious emotional crisis. Her children was back in the Philippines with her boyfriend, Architect Eli Ruiz; and, like me, she missed her children so badly that she felt she had to fly homeward and be with her children (Sharon and Rads) or else she would lose her sanity. Reluctantly, consented but not after we both went inside a chapel and vowed never to leave each other till death do us part. However, after staying in the Philip pines for a while, she decided to rejoin me in the United States but, unfortunately, she was among the 12 who was given a fake visa by a certain Oscar Ohide. So, when they arrived at Los Angeles, they were detained for illegal entry. Subsequently, Oscar Ohide was arrested by INS operatives while taking a cup of coffee in my apartment, and my wife and her companion were released because they were used as witnesses against Oscar Ohide.
    From Los Angeles, we prepared to move back to Stockon using a rented U-Hall truck, five hundred miles to the north of Los Angeles. But the following day the truck, filled with books and all our personal belongings, was stolen. Later, it was retrieved by the Police but all valuable and readily saleable items in it were stolen.
    Pristin temporarily stayed with her aunt Eleanor Torres and her husband Tiny Ordonez (who was not really “tiny” because he was rather huge), while I stayed with friends in Stockton and opened another law office. But, somehow, I was not earning enough. I had a few clients. So Pristin and I decided to make a second attempt to seek greener pastures in the east coast like New York.
    With my 4-year-old Winkie merrily jumping up and down, waving her hand, repeatedly saying, “Bye, Dad,” I slowly drove my flat-topped green Volkswagen van away from her, with tears profusely rolling down my face. The hour of parting was indescribably painful but destiny, as Marcos once said to his wife Imelda, cannot be stopped. The most you can do is stay on top of it.

  13. While in Stockton, I clashed with a pro-Marcos leader, Andrew Imutan, who was then the vice president of the legendary labor leader, Cesar Chavez, and a very powerful Filipino community leader, surrounded by about 50 bodyguards, who were also employed by his organization (Pilipino Bayanihan, Inc.), which was Federally funded.
    With me, was Dr. Antonio R Saqueton, his wife, Naddy Saqueton who was a nurse; Leonard de Vera and Linda de Vera, Leonard’s second wife; Domingo Banez; Mrs. May Rigunay and Johnny Rigunay; Dr. Ding Calisang; Mr. Frank Respicio, etc. But despite Mr. Imutan’s well-oiled pro-Marcos machinery, his empire eventually crumbled under the weight of the pressures that we exerted.
    For several times our moves against Andrew Imutan hit the front pages of Stockton Record. One of the reports stated, “Filipino Meeting Nears Violence!” That was after my group nearly had a shooting match with Imutan’s group inside the latter’s Office into which I brought my followers and held elections ousting Imutan and his existing set of officers. But, about 10 Stockton police and sheriff officer came just in time to stop our guns from barking.
    Panicking, my father-in-law, Judge Jose Magallanes, strongly urged me to leave the premises quickly because my one-year-old daughter, Winkie, was with me, sleeping on a crib at the corner of the building. But I was cornered and pushed against the wall by a certain Mike Kezee who later died in a plane crash aboard a Cesna plane bound for Las Vegas.
    On other hand, distance from my in-laws never really solved my marital problems. They kept poisoning my wife to a point where, after the birth of my son, Romwell Reginald Pamatong, I had to divorce her in Reno; and then left for New York together with my second wife, Pristin Torres Reyes.
    Unfortunately, our first attempt to move to New York failed. Our engine had a problem in the State of Colorado and we decided to return to Los Angles where we rented an apartment at 401 Romaine Street and where I practiced law at the office of Atty. Ricardo T. Guzman along Vermont Avenue.

  14. One day, while taking a train to Loida’s apartment, I met a beautiful lady, name Murjani Hiroo, who later became my girlfriend. Since then, I occasionally spent the night in her apartment, sleeping in a sofa bed that frequently gave me a stiff neck problem. But, poor as I was, there was really not much in my life where she could find security. Thus, in not so many words, we parted.
    Meanwhile, Loida called and wanted to know how I was doing. When she heard that I was fast losing weight, she suggested that I leave for the California and call Alex Esclamado, an anti-Marcos leader who was then the publisher of Philippine News based at Folsom Street in San Francisco.
    Alex Esclamado was married to Lulu Mitra, half-sister of Ramon Mitra, Jr., one time a presidential candidates in the Philippines. He and his family lived in a big house somewhere at Yerba Buena Street, San Francisco.
    Upon the invitation of Alex, I stayed at the basement of his house for a while where, using an old typewriter, I wrote columns for his paper and a part of my memoirs. Then, because his wife could not stand my addiction to nicotine, he transferred me to the house of Ms. Maggie Smith somewhere at Ney Street where I continued to write the drafts of my books. From there, and upon the invitation of my uncle, Engineer Renato Velez Cardino, I left for Rockford, Illinois where I was met by a nurse, Joana, at the O’Haire International Airport.
    The trip from the airport to my uncle’s house was somewhat nerve-wracking. The wheels of Joana’s car were wobbly and its tires were so bald that its threads were showing up. Worse, Joana started telling me that she actually “talked” to Virgin Mary, and that she had been seeing the Pope in Rome. But, despite that, we reached our destination safely.
    While continuing to write my manuscripts at my uncle’s residence, I received a call from an anti-Marcos Filipino Newspaper publisher, Hermie Rotea, who was then living in Los Angeles. He invited me to join the anti-martial law movement there. So I checked with Teddy Robledo, who was then living in Downey, California if I could stay with them for a while. Teddy agreed.
    Hermie Rotea met me at the Los Angeles International Airport but I had some difficulty looking for him because I never saw him before. However, that was not really a big deal because, earlier, he saw my face on the front pages of the newspapers back in our homeland, as well as in the United States. As a matter of fact, he reprinted one of my student manifestoes in his book, “BEHIND THE LINES I SAW THEM AIMED AND FIRED.”
    That was probably during latter part of 1974 when I lived with the parents of Teddy —Luis Robledo, an electronics expert and Rosenda Robledo, a registered nurse.
    But after meeting the other anti-Marcos personalities — e.g., Atty. Ricardo T. Guzman, Businessman Eli Swing, Realtor Danny Lamila, Congressman Raul Daza, Atty. Heroico “ Eric” Aguiluz, Ben Canseco, Eric Furbeyre, etc. — life started to become boring for me.
    Since most people were working, I was left all alone in the house, watching TV, most of the time. Teddy’s brothers — Sony, Rads, Rey — were also working. And when they came back from work, they had to sleep early because they had to work the following day. So it was only on weekends when I used to go with them to parks and beaches.
    It was during one of these weekends that I met my the mother of my children, Nelly Quimpo Magallanes, who was the cousin of Bading and Rose Igtanloc, and the daughter of Judge Jose Magallanes of Ibajay and Mrs. Regina “Rening” Quimpo of Kalibu Aklan.
    When I saw her, I said I am going to marry that lady and I did. She was then working as a nurse at Kaiser Hospital (where my daughter Winkie was born later), so we had to rent an apartment at 1820 Edgemont Street, three blocks away from the hospital, and near the corner of Sunset Boulevard where the hospital was located.
    From there we bought a house at 517 Lakeshore Avenue, Echo Park, adjacent to the residence of my wife’s sister, Fely, who was also a nurse, and her husband, Eddie Sevilla.
    Feeling uncomfortable at the thought that I was bank-rolled by my wife, I worked for an insurance company. But my wife, thinking I was not destined to be a salesman, urged me to take the California bar exams which I did, together with Leonard de Vera, my classmate at the University of the Philippines who migrated to the United States with his wife, Mary Ann Bond and with his children, Maggie and Byron.
    The process of preparing and taking the bar exams was very frustrating. Occasionally, Leonard would fly from San Francisco and reviewed with me in Los Angeles where, one day, we met a very beautiful, enchanting lady, Zenen, who disappeared after we dropped her beside a lake along Wilshire Blvd. But, 30 years later, a lady dropped by my law office in New York, selling law books and that lady turned out to be Zenen, although I did not tell her about our past because I was obvious she forgot about me completely.
    For a couple of times, we failed to hurdle the bar but Leonard eventually made it because he never stopped reviewing and taking the exams every year.
    Meanwhile, my marriage was on the rocks. My in-laws, who did not like the idea of their sister supporting me directly or indirectly, interfered with my marriage life, until I was forced to bring my wife and daughter, Winkie, to Stockton, California, where I temporarily resided at the residence of my aunt and uncle — Ping and Maning Punao (at 870 Colonial Drive) — and worked, first, as an administrative officer of Consilio (a federally-funded Mexican organization) and, later, as Criminal Investigator for the Public Defenders’ Office of San Joaquin County for a couple of years, and where I did my job very well. However, and as usual, racial discrimination reared its ugly head and, one day, I resigned from my job after I challenged my boss, named Melvin Mazzera , into a shooting match, and threatened to file administrative charges against him and his sycophants.
    Looking back, trouble always plagued my life wherever I went. Earlier, my group (about 57) was kicked out from the house of Raul Daza at Burbank, California, because the latter wanted to control the MFP (Movement for a Free Philippines) for himself. Then, after we left, he and six of his friends and employees, elected themselves as MFP officers. Among them were Orlando Candari, Danny Lamila and Eric Lachica Furbeyre.
    However, we also held our elections along the sidewalk of Daza’s house where I was elected MFP Chairman and Eric Aguiluz Secretary General.
    This incident was banner-headlined in Hermie Rotea’s paper: that I was kicked out from the MFP.

  15. But that God-forsaken shelter was far more liveable than the chilling winds and falling snowflakes outside the building. And, just before I slept, a lady, who appeared to have a mental problem, handed me a note which said, “ we love you.” “My God,” I said to myself, “of all people, I found pure love in the heart of this apparently mentally problematic lady.”
    Her name was Sharon, and I kept her note to this day; and, recently, had it scanned and kept in one of my flash disks.
    From there, I called Raoul Beloso, former chairman of the Philippine Small Farmers Commission who also resigned from his position in the government in protest against the imposition of martial law. Early the following morning, Raoul came, bundled up.
    “You don’t belong to this pigsty, you know!”, he said fuming mad. “Get yourself ready and stay with me in my apartment for a while,” he added.
    Like David Martinez, Raoul Beloso was a mestizo, firm-looking, and a rebel by nature. My recollection is that he was a Cebuano like me but, unlike me, he had a wife and children in the Philippines. Later, in the middle of our struggle for freedom, Raoul was found with his neck hanging by a rope in his apartment. Nevertheless, no one knew if it was suicide or due to foul play.
    While in Raul’s place, the latter fried some chicken legs for me as we talked about martial law and Marcos. Then, in the evening, we drank booze and went around the so-called asphalt jungle of Manhattan, sometimes shouting “Bono!”, meaning bloody war. But, of course, we used our native dialect, so the whites, especially the police, in the area would not understand.
    Earlier I met Loida Nicolas Lewis who, upon learning that I was given a permanent residence status in Canada and that I had a U.N. job waiting for me in Toronto, strongly advised me to abandon my Canadian permanent residence status and employment in Toronto. Instead, she suggested that I seek political asylum, in the United States. And it was she who introduced me to Raoul Beloso who, like the other Filipino anti-Marcos elements, also agreed with Loida that the center of the fight against martial law was the United States and not Canada.
    “Elly, do you know how cold Canada is?”, she asked while preparing coffee for Raoul and me. “No,” I replied. “Well, it is 10 times cooler than my refrigerator,” she added pointing at her freezer.
    “But what about my United Nations allowance? My food, dental, medical, housing and other living allowances?”, I asked. “Oh, no, forget it!; the fight for freedom is many times more valuable than those petty allowances. Besides, you are a fighter, and you can survive on you own, “ she added while swinging the cradle of her eldest daughter, Leslie.
    That, to the best of my recollection, was the turning point. Loida and Raul changed the course of my destiny. With the help of Raoul, I filed a petition for political asylum with the INS in New York City which — according to Raoul — was considered by some people at the Asian Desk of the State Department as an act of “betrayal”!
    While in Tokyo, I was warned by the US Embassy there not to seek asylum in America, not to seek publicity, not to say anything, just keep quiet and, after a while, proceed to Toronto, Canada. But Loida told me to ignore my commitment to the State Department, which I did.
    She said that a commitment to stop fighting oppression is an act of betrayal to the cause of liberty. As such, it is not morally binding on any person.
    The result was almost automatic. I received a note that my UN living allowances were cut off, although I remained a UN Mandate Refugee. So, there I went. Broke and penniless.
    Once again, Fr. Bede Fitzpatrick came to my rescue. He asked the Franciscan Order in New York City to give me 600 dollars which I used to rent a very cheap room along the 42nd Avenue, a place swarming with dope addicts and prostitutes who were selling their flesh (at 5 dollars for a “straight lay”, 10 dollars for “half and half”) using the dark hallways for the purpose.
    My room was at the 9th floor and I had to climb to that room through a winding stairway because the building was so old there was no elevator. But what made the situation even more tormenting was that the glass window panes were shattered by howling wintry winds, and the heater was not functioning. So, I covered myself with all the thick blankets in the room but, still, my teeth were knocking and chattering hard.
    Worse, to save money — and upon the advice of Loida — I only bought the boniest part of the beef from a grocery (near Port Authority), boiled them until it lost its taste, and eat (drink) the soup, together with raw ampalayas, and rice. But, gradually, I was losing weight, and the winter was far from over.

  16. Or, if one goes to New York, it takes about 18 to 20 hours to reach that city alongside the Atlantic waters via Anchorage, Alaska.
    Our flight to freedom, however, took us more than a year. Because of lack of visa to the United States, and the fact that we had no passports, we had too many stopovers, to wit:
    1. A couple of months in a Malaysian torture chamber;
    2. 9 months in Brunei; and
    3. several months in Japan.
    But the odyssey was worth it. Along the way, we met people, real people, who had the humanity to extend their helping hands and had become a part of our memories. And enriched our souls.
    Among them were: Madjasin Alpha; Stanley Kilus, that police officer who used to take the food to our prison cells; Hadji Hussein and his people; Magsaysay “Magma” Kalingatan; Fr. and Jenny Johnston; Fr. Philip and Hilda Than; Rufa Dayon and Manang Benny; Mr. Eli Bontigao, Filipino teacher and undefeated karate champion of Brunei; Fr. Bede Fitzpatrick of the Franciscan Order and Fr. Gerald Kelly of the Scarborro Mission; Mrs. Visa Velez-Stuart; Engineer Renato and Mrs. Letty Villanueva Cardino; Attorney Ricardo T. Guzman and a host of many others.
    My life in America, however, did not turn out to be as rosy and exciting as I previously imagined it to be. While in Brunei and in Japan, I dreamt of a sea of faces and countless hands clapping and applauding our dramatic our voyage to the “land of the free and home of the brave.”
    But, much to my disappointment, the Filipinos in America did not really care about freedom as much we did. Like the Filipinos in Brunei, their eyes were glued to the green dollar and worshipped it wherever it could be found.
    Since in their hearts of hearts they were in reality slaves for more than 400 years, they lost nothing; and martial was just a political chapter of history over which they had no interest except that, sometimes, it made them worry about some of their militant relatives in the Philippines.
    Worse, a week after my arrival at 84 Graham Street, Jersey City, my aunt expressed some concerns about her fear of Marcos. She was wondering what Marcos would do to her or her siblings and relatives in the Philippines if my presence in her house was exposed.
    While I am sure my aunt did not want me to leave, I was then too sensitive about other people’s discomfort about me. So, one day, I lied and told her my compatriots in New York City invited me to stay with them so we can focus on our struggle against martial law; and, in the thick of a very cold winter, I kissed and bade her good-bye.
    Now dragging my suitcase over ice-coated and snow covered streets, I left the home of my aunt, not knowing where to go. I simply wanted to leave because I loved her and I did not want to become a burden in her life.
    One night, I found myself seeking refuge from the unbearable freezing coldness of winter in a drug addict shelter somewhere at the Bowery section of Manhattan, New York City.
    The place was so foul-smelling, my spring bed was creaking and squeaking and bent at the center, the young people around me were so dirty-looking and unkempt, and the comfort room (or rest room) was unbearable.

  17. Biographic Profile
    of Atty.Elly Velez Pamatong
    Descending from people of humble origins, I was born on a cowhide and cradled in an old sackcloth somewhere a forest clearing beside the Putongan river valley, not too far from the towering mountains of Malindang, against the backdrop of a violent and bloody war.
    During my childhood, there was nothing historically significant that happened to my life except that, one day, the head teacher of our primary school showed us a globe that, for the first time, showed and taught us that the world was round, colorful and beautiful.
    Barefoot, and sometimes half-naked, I started daydreaming about that enchanting and wonderful world and, eventually, vowed to see that world.
    From there, I emerged from the glades and glen of the home of my childhood and, one day, entered the portals of Silliman University in Negros Island where, through the years, my eyes were opened and became aware of the existence of the Republic of the Philippines and the unbridled corruption practiced by its political, as well as spiritual, leadership.
    Thus, like a moth that plunges into a burning flame, I found myself as student of the University of the Philippines from where I lashed out against the evils of the time with all the physical and spiritual forces at my command until one day I became one of the most wanted man by the Marcos Dictatorship.
    Helpless, I escaped from the country through the southern back-door with the help of kind-hearted Muslim traders.
    While crossing the sea between North Borneo and the Philippines, I imagined a warm welcome by the press of the FREE WORLD, and a few banner headlines on the international dailies, giving moral support to two Filipino freedom fighters who dramatically slipped through the bloody gauntlet of a military dictatorship.
    But David Martinez and I were not given a heroes’ welcome in Malaysia. Instead, we were dumped into separate cells in a death row or torture chamber, a holding area for Filipino and Indonesian spies before they were summarily executed.
    There we languished — psychologically tortured and hardly fed — for exactly 89 days which, to me, was like a thousand years.
    Within my bolted room — Cell No. I — were traces of dried blood all over the concrete walls. They belonged to “spies” whose heads were hammered against the wall in order to exact vital pieces of information from them before they were shot and thrown into the sea of oblivion.
    However, and unlike the many who died there, David and I were vey lucky in the sense that we survived the horrors of it all. And, modesty aside, I think we owe our survival to our brilliant minds and unputdownable determination; meaning, our refusal to die in the face of seemingly unbeatable odds.
    From there, the Malaysian authorities, fearing that our presence in their torture chamber was known by the important leaders of the international community through smuggled letters, mercilessly dumped us into the international waters hoping that we would be forced to go home or die there.
    Yet, again, we refused to accept the end of our voyage toward what eventually and ironically turned out to be a dreamland of freedom and liberty. So, we vowed to go on with all the remaining physical and spiritual resources at our command, and no matter what!
    Through whatever power, ability, talents and cunning left in us, we managed to reached the shores of Brunei — after getting lost in the Sulu Sea and fixing our motor boat that choked up, stopped, and lay dead in the waters for several times — where we were practically detained and maltreated by the British authorities for roughly 9 months.
    But, all the same, and true to form, we refused to accept Brunei as the end of the world. With fake passports, we escaped to Japan where — much to our disappointment — the United States secretly acted in our favor only to prevent the Mr. Herman Nickel form publishing my story on the cover of Time Magazine and to appease an army of Catholic priests, led by Fr. Bede Fitzpatrick and Fr. Gerald Kelly.
    Finally, after walking under freezing snowflakes, plowing through the knee-deep snow and ice-coated streets and sidewalks of Tokyo, with empty stomach and frozen toes, we were admitted as “immigrants” — not refugees — to Canada. But, because David had to wait for his wife and two sons at the Atsugi US Naval Base, I left for Canada, via the United States, ahead of him.
    The average flight to America is roughly 14 hours from the Manila International Airport to San Francisco.