The year is 2007. The late afternoon sun penetrates the glass windows of Bulwagang Rizal鈥檚 Gallery 1, uncovering different angles and textures of a Parts Bagani painting sprawled across a wall鈥攍ush, green rainforest under a vast, vermillion sky; along the trees, a procession of silhouettes of armed revolutionaries.
A few steps from the painting, one may enter Claro M. Recto Hall, essentially the soul of Bulwagang Rizal, to attend any educational forum, symposium, or roundtable discussion free of charge, sometimes with free snacks and oftentimes a balcony seat to the University鈥檚 juiciest debates. Past the hall, one can easily spot BA Theatre Arts students in front of Teatro Hermogenes Ylagan (THY), rehearsing lines, making props, or simply hanging around, telling stories in louder, more animated, and more, well, theatrical ways. The rest of the student traffic is headed to fetch their readings at the photocopying machine manned by Ate on the second floor, before arriving at Gallery 2, or to knock on the doors of faculty rooms to seek guidance from close mentors or thesis advisers, or to literally beg for a spot in a class (referred to as 鈥減rerog,鈥� short for 鈥減rofessor鈥檚 prerogative鈥�) when all else fails during enrollment.
Designed by renowned architect Carlos Arguelles, and facing National Artist Napoleon Abueva鈥檚 Siyam na Diwata ng Sining (Nine Muses of the Arts), Bulwagang Rizal, more widely known as the 天美视频 Diliman Faculty Center (UPD FC), was home to department and faculty offices of the College of Arts and Letters (CAL) and the College of Social Sciences and Philosophy (CSSP).
鈥淲hen I was a freshman in 1970, the FC was already flourishing. Naturally, it further became a beehive of activity in the First Quarter Storm and, in fact, was rechristened [鈥楯ose Ma. Sison Center鈥� at the peak of the Diliman Commune],鈥� recounts CAL Professor Emeritus Jose 鈥淏utch鈥� Dalisay, Jr.
Throughout its existence, the FC had been overflowing with ideas and ideologies, activities and movements. Not a single room, corner, nook and cranny went unutilized. Small classes were held in cramped audiovisual and faculty rooms; department libraries and archives were located behind narrow, inconspicuous doors; faculty offices not larger than broom closets once accommodated up to five teachers; corridors, particularly Gallery 1 and Gallery 2, served as art galleries, performance stages and event venues, protest spaces, and students鈥� waiting areas; and in the basement was a dimly lit cafeteria dubbed 鈥淜aTag鈥� (鈥淜ainan at Tagpuan鈥�), offering a most dependable meal or a cup of instant coffee after an exhausting day of walking around the campus, hopping from one class to another. The old, rather unremarkable, even shabby three-story building had a life of its own with an agelessness to it, breathed by the political, cultural, and intellectual openness cultivated by the many brilliant minds which had populated its modest yet fertile spaces.
The Things We Lost in the Fire
In 2016, ironically on April Fool鈥檚 Day, such spaces went up in flames. At 1 AM, a fire started, razing the FC to the ground until it was put out completely at 11:25 AM. Half a century鈥檚 worth of academic research, creative works, historical collections, official records and archives, not to mention memorabilia from personal travels, and life lessons and memories preserved in notes, letters, and framed photographs鈥攁ll reduced to ashes in just ten hours.
鈥淎t 5 AM, I woke up to missed calls from Fidel Nemenzo, then Vice Chancellor for Research and Development. He left a message informing me of the fire. I was shocked, I could not believe it,鈥� a UP Center for International Studies (CIS) professor, Dr. Ramon 鈥淏omen鈥� Guillermo, recalls. 鈥淚 heard that some had gone to the site to personally witness the conflagration, but I didn鈥檛 bother because I found absolutely no pleasure in watching the building go up in smoke. Many people felt that my greatest loss was my research library,鈥� he says.
But how exactly did Guillermo feel upon learning of the extent of destruction caused by the fire?
鈥淧ara kang lalagyan na biglang binuksan, tapos lumabas 鈥榶ung laman ng lalagyan, tapos bumuhos, tapos nawalan ka ng laman (it鈥檚 as if you were a vessel, and you were burst open, and everything inside you spilled, leaving you empty),鈥� Guillermo reflects, his brows furrowed. 鈥淚 lost my entire library, computers, hard drives and other storage devices, musical instruments鈥攊t really was a huge loss. More than ten years of my life had been erased.鈥�
Guillermo鈥檚 earliest memories of the FC date back to when he and his high school classmates were required to see Chris Millado鈥檚 Buwan at Baril, a one-act play based on the political turmoil in the country from the 1970s to 1980s under the Marcos regime. The theatrical experience, Guillermo says, has since then been deeply engraved in his mind, along with the lasting impression that UP is a University of liberated spaces for staging exceptionally made, enlightening programs and productions. As an adult, he would become an instructor at CAL鈥檚 Department of Filipino and Philippine Literature, and share a faculty office on the FC鈥檚 second floor with Monico Atienza, Leoncio Co, Jo Portugal, and Antonio 鈥淭onchi鈥� Tinio鈥攁ll of whom are highly esteemed teachers and staunch advocates of national democracy. Meanwhile, his mother, an Art Studies professor and revolutionary art historian and critic, Dr. Alice Guillermo, occupied a room of her own several doors away. 鈥淲henever I needed something, I would just go to Nanay,鈥� he remembers fondly.
According to Guillermo, the designation and arrangement of the faculty rooms facilitated the easy meeting of minds, interdisciplinary discourses, sharing of researches, as well as personal stories and interests among CAL and CSSP faculty members, helping them prevent being boxed in within their respective fields and disciplines.
鈥淭he FC was also very popular for its many pockets of spaces for socialization,鈥� exclaims Dalisay. 鈥淥ne of my happiest memories there was drinking with Franciso 鈥淔ranz鈥� Arcellana, Alex Hufana, and the first CAL dean, Pablo Botor at the old Creative Writing Center. It was full not only of social life, but of intellectual activity. There was always some kind of discussion going on. Some of us, including myself, would hold our classes, especially if they were small, in our faculty rooms.鈥�
Like Guillermo, Dalisay at first did not believe that the FC was burning, back in 2016. He was playing poker with friends when he learned the news from writer, Alfred 鈥淜rip鈥� Yuson. Two days after the incident, Dalisay posted on social media his video of Room 1036, or what had remained of his office.
鈥淭here, you will see the skeleton of my old typewriter, and many, many charred books. My paintings were all gone, my Ten Outstanding Young Men (TOYM) statuette, and one whole chest of memories. Many things were lost,鈥� says Dalisay, staring into space, betraying no emotion, perhaps due to his training from playing poker. 鈥淏ut my view of it quickly became philosophical: 鈥楢t least these are but objects, nobody got hurt,鈥欌�� he hastily adds. 鈥淪urprisingly, whenever a tragedy like that hits you, your own brain tells you to let go and start over, and that became my attitude. Of course, many things there were irreplaceable, but in the sense that all things will be gone anyway, nauna lang sila (they simply went first). I think it鈥檚 a valuable lesson to learn鈥攖o let go of material things and to cherish the memories.鈥�
Letting Go and Starting Over
On January 25, 2019, UPD held a groundbreaking ceremony to begin construction of the Faculty Commons, the 鈥渘ew and improved FC,鈥� to replace the old FC. Designed as a cluster of buildings, the new complex will include, among other features, a nine-story faculty building, a six-level indoor parking structure, a coffee shop, a circular hall inspired by the old Claro M. Recto Hall, and an amphitheater and plaza. Then UPD Chancellor Michael Tan described the FC鈥檚 rebirth as a phoenix rising from the ashes, “grander and more splendid” than before.
Five years on and a University administration later, said phoenix has yet to grow wings and take flight. Since April 2024, the construction of the Faculty Commons complex has been on hold due to what the foreman says are 鈥渦nknown reasons.鈥� This protracted delay has prompted the ongoing #KALbaryo campaign spearheaded by concerned CAL faculty members, administrators and their staff, and students clamoring for adequate spaces and facilities, as well as opposing the commercialization of UP.
鈥淎s I am no longer working at CAL, I personally am not seeking a room in the Faculty Commons,鈥� Guillermo says. 鈥淚 do hope that the CAL faculty is given an assured and definitive space. For almost ten years now, they have been displaced and are practically homeless, despite teaching at not just one of the University鈥檚 largest colleges, but also one of the most significant in terms of its role in the fulfillment of the University鈥檚 mission. If we expect these instructors and professors to continue being productive鈥攚riting, conducting research, publishing their works鈥攖hen it is crucial that we provide them a space to be productive in.鈥�
When asked about his thoughts on the revival of the old FC, Dalisay voices his excitement but admits he does not yet know the actual plans for the complex. He is not certain, for instance, if CAL and CSSP faculty members will have actual offices there. 鈥淲hether we do or not, I hope it aspires for more,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 hope we conduct a survey on the needs of all the sectors within the UP community, and that the Faculty Commons will be repurposed to serve all these identified needs. After all, it鈥檚 a much bigger and better building. I鈥檓 also looking forward to more and better spaces for the arts and culture, given that the old FC was really very much the cultural heart of the campus. As a matter of fact, one of the things I was suggesting to the administration was to put up a University museum in the new building. This museum will house physical artifacts covering more than 100 years of our existence, turning our memories into a coherent narrative that will tell the story of this great University鈥攖hat is something the new FC will have that the old one did not.鈥�
While enjoying retirement, Dalisay still opts to teach creative writing at CAL to this day. Even though he hopes to get his own room as professor emeritus in the Faculty Commons building, he says that he would give priority to the younger generation of faculty members in need of space. 鈥淲e [retirees] have adapted to our new lives. Let鈥檚 focus on the new and the young,鈥� he adds.
Following the FC fire, Guillermo relates that some professors would joke that they鈥檇 probably be retired by the time the Faculty Commons is finished. 鈥淣ow, many professors have actually retired and the building is far from finished. Even the younger faculty members are not feeling optimistic,鈥� he chuckles. On a more serious note, Guillermo hopes for the faster completion of the new FC, not just to provide spaces and facilities for CAL and CSSP faculty members, but more importantly, to provide spaces, facilities, and quality services for students in terms of classrooms, activity venues, and places of leisure in which they can exchange ideas freely, not unlike in the old FC.
鈥淲e do not really mourn the building itself,鈥� Dalisay reflects. 鈥淭o be honest, the FC was no great architectural wonder. It was, in many ways, decrepit. It was 50 years old, poorly maintained鈥攖he fire was bound to happen! And so, I hope that this new building will be better cared for so that it may serve the faculty, students, and staff better.鈥�
To many artists, intellectuals, dedicated teachers, and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed students, the FC was more than just a building, or even a home away from home. It was a coffee and beer place; a battlefield of ideas reinforcing academic freedom and inquiry; a bastion of the University鈥檚 historical resistance to tyranny, fascism, and corruption. Above all, the FC was a sanctuary, a haven of liberated spaces, nurturing the minds of some of the country鈥檚 most prominent scholars and writers in the humanities and social sciences. The FC was a place to dream of, and realize social change. Not only did it belong to UP faculty and students; it belonged to the people. Its sacrosanct role in the Filipino mass struggle and nation-building is truly undeniable. In spite of all the invaluable objects, precious memories, and radical dreams UP lost to the fire eight years ago, there will come a time to create new ones in the communal rebuilding of the spirit and humanity of FC toward lusher forests and brighter, rosier skies.
