Ernesto Jude Rimando–or Tatay Jude, as I used to call him–had salt-and-pepper hair when I met him. Over a plate of pancit inside the Camp Bagong Diwa prison compound, he joked about how the grey in his hair is the true testament to his struggles.

Tatay Jude was a labor activist in Cebu and Negros Occidental before his arrest in 2021 over trumped-up charges. His friends and colleagues remember him as a fearless man. But in the brief moment we spoke during my visit, he admitted that he was always afraid for his life as he had fallen victim to red-tagging and human rights violations.

“But [you] get inspired by the people in the community,” he assured me when I visited him in jail. It was one of the last things he told me. 

By the time this story is told, it has been more than 40 days since Tatay Jude passed. He was 59.

/sa manggagawang labis mong minahal/

During his memorial service in UP Diliman (UPD) on July 28, I learned that his friends fondly called him Talong. For a moment, we felt his presence once more, between our laughter, stories, and tears, as his life of persistence was recounted. We sang his favorite songs, a hobby he developed as an activist.

In UPD, where he studied mechanical engineering in 1982, he devoted his time to organizing mobs and educational discussions. There, he became a storied man for his tall height and a small bag containing progressive pamphlets.

His friends and batchmates remember him as the mob leader who, despite his intimidating voice, exemplified deep compassion toward service to the community and his peers. Several stories tell of a young Tatay Jude showing empathy toward fellow student activists while pushing them to move forward.

Tatay Jude was that same person when I met him in March during a visit. He was always friendly and full of stories. He was full of vigor, telling the tales of how he had always felt a deep connection with workers and farmers, paving the way for him to venture into Central Visayas. There, he worked with workers to form unions and researched their plight on behalf of the workers’ alliance, Alyansa sa mga Mamumuo sa Sugbo.

In 2022, Tatay Jude returned to Metro Manila to seek medical treatment for his liver cancer and cirrhosis. Days after arriving, six armed men who identified themselves as police raided the apartment he was renting and illegally questioned him on the spot while blindfolded, the cold mouth of a gun pointed to the back of his head. He was also not presented with warrants or legal counsel.

Under the Revised Rules on Criminal Procedure, Tatay Jude should have been apprehended after being presented with a warrant and delivered to a station for questioning. All that happened in his apartment was illegal and inhumane, according to a statement by human rights alliance Karapatan.

The prison bars did not stop Tatay Jude. Inside the prison, he campaigned for higher food subsidies and the release of political detainees. He served as a paralegal to other inmates and pushed for distance education inside the prison with UPD and the Polytechnic University of the Philippines.

Tatay Jude continued his work as his legal battle proved to be an uphill struggle. In the courts, his identity was questioned despite the prosecution’s lack of evidence. Both his petitions of habeas corpus and release due to his advanced age were denied. Inside the prison, Tatay Jude’s condition worsened, prompting his counsel to file for urgent medical parole. The motion did not reach a resolution before his death at the Philippine General Hospital on July 23.

Until his death, the complaints against him are docketed under an “Allan Morales.”

Under the term of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., there are already 103 political prisoners, according to Karapatan. This raises the number of political prisoners at 755, as of June 2024. The group also reports that 102 of them are elderly while 90 are suffering from illnesses. On average, they spend four years behind bars as their trial continues.

/tinig mo’y patuloy na maririnig/

“Tay, hindi po ba kayo nanghinayang sa future niyo if you stayed in UP?” I asked. He smiled and said, “Siguro kung nag-stay ako sa UP, mayaman na ako ngayon kasi engineering eh, pero di ko kayang maging mayaman habang naghihirap ang iba.”

Tatay Jude was raised in an academic environment. His parents, both professionals and close friends of Philippine academics, urged him to pursue engineering at UPD. He did, but his heart was never really there, he said.

Despite advice to stay in school, he eventually dropped out of UP to become a full-time activist. It was the more important task, he told me, and he stood by it. He spent the majority of his time visiting peasant and urban poor communities, and joining picket lines.

“Hindi ko makakalimutan yung una kong mob na pinuntahan,” he told me. “16 pa lang ako nun tapos pinapanawagan namin at the time yung orientation ng Education Act [of 1982] because ang goal niya ay gumawa ng cheap labor.”

Batas Pambansa Blg 232, or the Education Act of 1982, was signed by the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos Sr. after the lifting of Martial Law. The law allowed higher education institutions to arbitrarily set their tuition fee rates while also pushing them to generate their income through partnerships with private businesses.

At the same rally, he remembered the violent dispersal from the police. It was the first time he saw the atrocities under the regime of the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos Sr. The scene scarred him, but seeing other student activists suffer beatings and unlawful arrests was also the moment that pushed him to move forward.

His friends recalled a line Tatay Jude used to say, “Sunugin ang tulay ng patumpik-tumpik.” In his youth, amid threats of arrest and torture, he encouraged his fellow student activists to work together to organize and protect each other from state-sponsored attacks.

Almost half a century later, the same issue Tatay Jude fought against persists as tuition fees hike hound college students, and UP is threatened with plans of commercialization.

“How could you not decide to do more and join more? Kita mo kung gaano kasahol yung trato ng gobyerno sa amin eh, samantalang kinabukasan namin yung nakasalalay,” he said.

/kami ang magpapatuloy/

Jude now lives in memories of those he worked with. His friends from his youth recall him as their athletic friend jogging around the campus of Philippine Science High School like it was nothing. His peers in the movement would remember him as their comrade who gave it his all to serve the masses. His family, in the words of his wife, would retain his memory as the father who offered love beyond their home. I remember him as Tatay Jude, the man with a smile and eyes intent on sharing a story.

Hundreds of ailing and elderly political prisoners continue to suffer illegal arrests and detention while being deprived of the healthcare services they need, according to Karapatan. Tatay Jude spent the last two years of his life in detention. And under the administration of Marcos Jr., such human rights violations are seen to be the norm. 

Tatay Jude sacrificed a lot of things for the cause he believed in and the welfare of workers and youth. He found the true meaning of honor and excellence in the community he served. There, he lived and fought for the comfort he longed for, not simply for himself but for the wider masses.

He is gone, but his memories live in us. In the retelling of his life comes the weight of recounting his perseverance amid fear, and the responsibility to continue the struggle.

“Okay lang matakot, pero never ka naman mag-isang natatakot. Tumingin ka lang sa mga komunidad at alalahanin mo kung bakit ka nagpupursigi,” he said. ●

The subtitles of this article were lifted from the song Awit sa Bayani by Levy Abad.