{"id":8466,"date":"2024-09-19T14:01:46","date_gmt":"2024-09-19T21:01:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/philippineinternment.com\/?p=8466"},"modified":"2026-03-23T09:17:22","modified_gmt":"2026-03-23T16:17:22","slug":"the-ubiquity-of-iniquity-or-stics-lasting-impact-by-martin-meadows","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/philippineinternment.com\/?p=8466","title":{"rendered":"The Ubiquity of Iniquity or STIC’s Lasting Impact by Martin Meadows"},"content":{"rendered":"

PREFACE: A FOREWARNING?<\/strong>\u00a0The Pearl Harbor attack of 7\/8 December 1941 created uncertainty as to the future among Philippine residents. \u00a0They included my parents and me, for we were unaware that an\u00a0event of nearly a decade earlier (ca. 1933) in effect had foreshadowed our wartime fates. \u00a0That event occurred during a visit to Baguio, the country\u2019s (nearly) mile-high summer capital, roughly 150 miles north of Manila. \u00a0One day we drove the 40 or so miles from the Pines Hotel (where we usually stayed) to Mount Santo Tomas, which is about a half-mile higher than is Baguio. \u00a0(Described in\u00a0Wikipedia<\/em>\u00a0as a \u201cpotentially active\u201d\u00a0volcano, it last erupted in 1641.)\u00a0\u00a0We parked at the base of the mountain and hiked up the steep earthen trail to the Lodge at the top (there was no road to the top then). \u00a0We had intended to return the same day, but rain, accompanied by premature darkness, compelled us to stay overnight at the Lodge rather than hike down the rain-slick trail in the dark. \u00a0We had no idea, of course, that our somewhat ill-starred escapade augured that eventually we would be involved, next time unwillingly, with another place also named after the 13th-century theologian Saint Thomas Aquinas, aka Santo Tomas. \u00a0Nor did I know that the unpleasant version of Santo Tomas would affect my entire post-1941 life.<\/p>\n

\n\"View<\/a> [Note:\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From our overnight stay at the Lodge, I remember several details: a blazing fireplace (something new to me); a cat that I played with; sleeping in my father\u2019s shirt in lieu of pajamas; and a fabulous view of\u00a0a clear sunrise, with clouds floating by below our elevated location, and Baguio in the distance, as it is in this photo from the mountain top.]
\n<\/p>\n

I. INTRODUCTION.<\/strong>\u00a0\u00a0This is the second of a two-part account of (a) how I dealt with the various issues posed by three-plus years in Santo Tomas Internment Camp (STIC) in Manila during World War II (WWII); and (b) the continuing post-WWII impact of STIC upon literally my entire life \u2014 the STIC Factor, for short. \u00a0Its role over the years, as hinted at in the title, has been magnified because its sources have been both internal and external \u2014\u00a0that is, it has appeared not only at my own initiative, but also as a result of the actions of others. \u00a0In other words, the STIC Factor has been ubiquitous \u2014 it has been both long-lasting and pervasive, able to make itself felt at any time, regardless of my own state of mind.\u00a0\n<\/p>\n

\n As for the word \u201ciniquity,\u201d its use might seem to\u00a0imply that all aspects of Camp life were negative in nature. \u00a0It is true, of course, that not all of my memories associated with the Camp are positive, to put it as mildly as possible. \u00a0But there are also some enjoyable memories associated with STIC, such as those concerning friendships made within its confines, and especially those linked with Liberation Day, 3 February 1945. \u00a0In light of those conflicting realities, it should become evident that the term \u201ciniquity\u201d serves more of an alliterative than a descriptive function. \u00a0And as for the subtitle, it simply rephrases the main title, in order to reinforce the latter’s import.\n<\/p>\n

\n To summarize the objectives of these recollections: \u00a0Part 1, on the personal impact of STIC while within the Camp, discussed the ways in which I attempted to deal with the slings and arrows that the Nipponese launched at their captives. \u00a0Part 2 traces the numerous instances in which Camp life, and particularly friendships from that period, affected my entire post-STIC history, up to and including\u00a0this very day<\/em>\u00a0\u2014 and literally so, as will be shown at the end. \u00a0 And now on with\u00a0these reminiscences \u2014 these exercises of a memory unaided by tangible factors, such as a (lost) diary and the detail it would provide.\n<\/p>\n

\"Lacquered<\/a>SIDEBAR.<\/strong> The diary\u2019s loss\u00a0loss resulted from an unfortunate series of events.\u00a0 When I went off to college in 1948 (as my parents returned to Manila), I left a few of my things, including the diary, in a Chinese chest (photo at left), which friends of my parents kindly agreed to store in the basement of their home in Portland, Oregon (where I had completed high school). \u00a0Much later, after my wife and I finally moved into a home in Maryland in 1972, my mother kept asking (in letters from Manila) whether I wanted the Chinese chest shipped to me, and I\u00a0stupidly<\/em>\u00a0kept saying no (why, I have no idea). \u00a0Eventually I was informed that burglars had broken into the friends\u2019 home in Portland, had forced open the chest, and had vandalized its contents (perhaps angered by their lack of value). \u00a0Finis<\/em>\u00a0for the diary. \u00a0I can never forgive myself for its loss. \u00a0(When it was too late, the chest at last was shipped to Maryland.)\n<\/p>\n

II. POST- LIBERATION.<\/strong>\u00a0\u00a0The time span covered in Section II would be more accurately called the\u00a0immediate<\/em>\u00a0post-liberation period. \u00a0It includes three distinct phases: my family’s nearly two months in the Camp between Liberation Day and our departure at the end of March; our 37-day trans-Pacific voyage from Manila to the Los Angeles port of San Pedro; and our short stay in Los Angeles. \u00a0The latter two topics are included in this section because, although we were no longer in<\/em> STIC, we were certainly\u00a0of<\/em> STIC; inclusion of the first topic is explained next.\n<\/p>\n

A. WITHIN STIC.<\/strong>\u00a0 This part is entirely about events that occurred in (and around) STIC; thus it could be argued that it does not belong in a chronicle that is supposed to cover STIC’s impact on my post-Camp history. \u00a0But the point is that I am making a sharp distinction between two versions of the Camp, the Nipponese and the post-Nipponese; my view is that the latter effectively marked the start of a \u201cnew era\u201d (for me and others). \u00a0And aside from that, the immediate post-liberation phase witnessed several developments that merit attention. \u00a0The most pleasurable one can be quickly dispatched, for the fact of our enjoyment of and gratitude for Army food needs no clarification. \u00a0But not all post-liberation consequences were positive \u2014 and in that respect there is one other food-related matter to discuss.\n<\/p>\n

1. \u00a0A LULU OF A LOO.<\/strong>\u00a0\u00a0Three distressing developments occurred at about the same time just after liberation, effectively creating a perfect storm for its victims. \u00a0First, the drastic change in diet caused many internees to experience diarrhea. \u00a0Second, on February 7 Nipponese artillery began to shell the Camp from across the Pasig River to the south, and continued to do so for several days. \u00a0Third, the Camp\u2019s water supply was cut off. \u00a0Because the shells were affecting the southeast area of the Main Building, that section was ruled unsafe and its residents were asked to move elsewhere. \u00a0And, since the men\u2019s bathrooms were located on the south side of the building, men had to use the women\u2019s bathrooms, which were on the opposite side of the building. \u00a0That fact, combined with the rampant diarrhea, produced unusually lengthy lines leading to the women\u2019s bathrooms. \u00a0But, since there was no water supply, the commodes were filled with, shall we say, unsavory matter. \u00a0Bucket brigades and water-carriers valiantly did their best, but it was not possible for supply to match demand.\u00a0\u00a0\n<\/p>\n

\n I managed to avoid the women\u2019s bathrooms for a couple of days by using outdoor latrines that had been dug behind the Main Building. \u00a0But inevitably I got in the line for the third-floor women\u2019s bathroom. \u00a0When I finally made it to the line\u2019s head (no pun intended), I found that, as Hartendorp said of Education Building toilets, \u201cThe stench was overpowering.\u201d \u00a0[Hartendorp, II, 547] \u00a0(I consider that an understatement.) \u00a0As I waited my turn within the bathroom, I noted the following: (a) of the five stalls, men were allowed to use only the first one, closest to the entrance; (b) a bathroom monitor (monitress?) kept the line from extending beyond the men\u2019s stall; and (c) stall privacy depended on\u00a0flimsy curtains that hung to about two feet above the floor. \u00a0(I did\u00a0not<\/em> see the scene, below.)\u00a0\n<\/p>\n\n\"Womens'<\/a>
\n[Note: The stalls in the men’s bathrooms, at least in the main building, had no privacy whatsoever, as depicted in these Donald Dang sketches – “mens’ privacy” was an oxymoron.]<\/p>\n\n
\"STIC<\/a><\/td>\n\"STIC<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

\n When at last I entered the first stall, I adjusted the curtain, warily eyed the overflowing commode, and then began the tricky task of keeping my lowered shorts out of the mess with my left hand while gingerly balancing above the commode by placing my right hand against the partition. \u00a0 At that critical moment, a little girl about two years old, who was standing in line with her mother, ducked her head under the curtain and stared at me with wide-eyed curiosity. \u00a0Momentarily rendered speechless by the sudden intrusion, I could only glare at her. \u00a0Then, as I was about to bellow something impolite, her mother noticed and pulled her back into the line. \u00a0And so finally I was able to unburden myself in relative privacy \u2014\u00a0thus ending an ignominious (though perhaps retrospectively amusing) tale on a\u00a0high<\/em> note, literally as well as figuratively.\u00a0<\/p>\n

2. \u00a0GI GENEROSITY.<\/strong>\u00a0\u00a0Any number of situations displayed the generosity, solicitude and patience of GIs in their interactions with internees (aside from food-sharing). \u00a0As one example, many Camp kids (of all ages) each would latch on to a GI and sort of \u201cadopt\u201d him\u00a0\u2014 follow him around, show him around the Camp, etc.\u00a0\u2014 for as long as the GI was in the Camp. \u00a0I have never forgotten the name of\u00a0\u201cmy\u201d GI\u00a0\u2014 Bernie Moore, who was from New York. \u00a0He patiently humored me when I took him to meet my parents. \u00a0At one point he asked how old I thought he was, and I \u2014 a very poor guesser \u2014 estimated about ten years too high; he thought that was amusing, but I felt quite embarrassed. \u00a0When he left STIC, I asked for his parents\u2019 address in New York so I could write them a letter \u2014 and I did so. \u00a0I have always wondered whether he made it through the war.\n<\/p>\n

\n After the month-long Battle of Manila ended, a kind GI gave my parents and me a Jeep ride across the Pasig to see what was left of our house, as well as of Manila. \u00a0After navigating through the rubble in the streets, we found that our house was almost totally demolished. \u00a0Only part of the rear (kitchen) wall was still standing, with the range dangling from it. \u00a0All the houses in the area were in the same shape; it was not a pleasant sight, and we did not stay long. \u00a0\n<\/p>\n

\n

SIDEBAR. \u00a0<\/strong>It was only in recent years that I learned (via the internet, of course) how the Nipponese had murdered our next-door neighbors on our south side, the Reyes family (whom I lauded for their neighborliness in an earlier article [Meadows (c)] ). \u00a0The gory details are as follows.\u00a0<\/p>\n