PAST FORWARD: Murio-Murio, T. Padilla and the Fires of March

JOBERS REYNES BERSALES

Two different worlds, you might say. One is a street named after a Cebuano revolutionary, the other a Cebuano expression with negative connotations. But the two are replete with historical events that to a lesser extent may be similar.

I do not know when ‘murio-murio’ took on the connotation of someone or something directionless or wishy-washy and therefore cannot be trusted. But back in the early post-war period there was such a place somewhere in Ermita, probably one of the first slum communities in the post-war years there.

The local historian Dr. Romola Savellon once told me that before World War II, there was no such thing as squatters or informal settlers. It was the war that created the phenomenon. She did not however mention that this phenomenon began in that place called Murio-Murio.

I am reminded of this place simply because March is officially referred to as Fire Prevention Month and for good reason: most fires in Cebu, especially in the post-war years, tend to happen in March, when the dry spell begins. The informal sitio called Murio-Murio was one of those places that succumbed to a fire sometime in the early 1950s. So did T. Padilla Street also sometime in the 1950s and again n the 60s, 70s.

But whereas, Murio-murio quickly disappeared from the map, T. Padilla rose from the ashes many times over in its colorful history.

A quick search in Google immediately sends you to Spanish-language pages, because the word ‘murio’ is Spanish  (not Cebuano) and in that language it means ‘died’. Perhaps this may be the reason for the moniker given to this now-long-gone sitio: a place where one could literally die anytime, or perhaps where eking out a living was a daily battle for survival. One is reminded of a quite similarly-referenced place called Sitio Patay, that short street traversing a series of warehouses on one side and an informal settlement on the opposite, located between Piers 1 and 2 today.

It is said that the name “Patay” (“murder” or “death’ whichever you like) has stuck albeit informally because of the many unsolvable (not unsolved!) deaths that used to happen here among the many migrant youths who sought work in the docks. Sitio Patay is incidentally also perhaps one of the most crowded places in the city, that is, of children so unmindful of the huge cargo trucks and prime movers that make this short, narrow street also a good example of perpetual traffic snarl. (The spanking of errant children doesn’t seem to be much of a concern of parents here; thus, the law recently vetoed by President Rodrigo Duterte wouldn’t be of much need here either).

Like Murio-Murio then, T. Padilla Street used to be symbolic of humanity’s desire to survive especially during the war and early post-war years. Avid fans of history and the last surviving war veterans will tell you that when the waterfront, the Carbon Market and the elegant shops lining Magallanes and its contiguous streets were burned and bombed by the Japanese as they started entering Cebu early on April 10, 1942, all trade and commerce virtually stood still there; well, except for the Japanese bazaars appropriately named Nippon, Tokyo, Taisho and Osaka.

Even before the war, there was already a small fish market and some Chinese bakeries, a corn mill, a tin foundry, and a few textile shops on T. Padilla. It was this distinction that made it grow into the quasi-commercial district of the city because as it happened, the Japanese spared it in 1942 (too far out in the suburbs) in the same vein as American bombers did in 1945. The late poet and literary thespian of his time, Cornelio Faigao, would write in 1949 about this sad but promising place called T. Padilla, muddy during the wet season and perennially dusty when March set the dry months in, but where the only wartime and early postwar market of the city existed.

During the Japanese Occupation, T. Padilla was the place to be for the Japanese, his Cebuano collaborators, their guerrilla enemies and just about anyone else trying to survive the day—and night. It was here where bars and brothels became the best sources of intelligence about Japanese and also of guerrilla activities. The Cebu guerrillas must have had the best spies here, probably women, now sadly unnamed, who cavorted with Japanese officers and soldiers. The Chinese here may have also helped gather intelligence while running all kinds of businesses here. They were forcibly organized by the Imperial Japanese Administration into the Cebu Chinese Association (the ‘Huaqiao Xie-hui’) under the famed anti-Japanese leader of the prewar years, Lim Tian Teng. The association eventually raised the required 500,00 pesos for the Japanese war effort and all that money may have literally been gathered mostly from the Chinese stores on T. Padilla, the only ones still plying meager trade during the war.

Fast forward to the present and we find T. Padilla no longer the muck and dust that Faigao describes it. In fact the street was recently concreted, a four lane bridge leading to the port area. Its commercial promise best seen in the new Gaisano Savers Mart and in an large old building, presumably owned by the scions of those brave but wary Chinese traders of the war years, now undergoing renovation. There is also that huge hardware business there sniffed by internal revenue officers of late, perhaps to add to its continuing colorful story.

Alas one cannot say the same for Murio-Murio, lost in flames, sadly unlamented and unremembered, reduced into an adjective with a distinctly negative connotation. In this the 2019 Fire Prevention Month, let us keep safe, everyone!