lazy and decadent.
Since it certainly seemed as though the Japanese had no intention of providing food or water, the POWs would have to fend for themselves. Jack Donohoe of the 21st Pursuit, for instance, found a moldy, weevil-infested sack of horse feed that he and another POW devoured. They would attempt to eat at their own risk. Grashio remembered seeing a case of PET evaporated milk fal off a passing truck.
“Prisoners swarmed over it like ants,” he said. “The Japanese leaped in among them, swinging their fists, kicking and flailing with rifle butts until al the parched and famished wretches had been pounded back into line.”
There were, however, no absolute certainties when it came to the mercurial Japanese. No two guards seemed or acted alike. An incident that might drive one into a rage could simply amuse another. To Grashio, there seemed to be only one plan of action: “Realists learned early … that it was essential to be obedient and submissive…. Any captive who was undisciplined, uncooperative or rebel ious rarely survived to boast about it.”
The POWs themselves were even less predictable. Out of the fiery Philippine blast furnace came the worst by-products of humanity. Before the Japanese segregated the prisoners, they marched together, Yank and Filipino, officer and enlisted man, dogface and bluejacket, pilot and Philippine Scout. When permitted, stronger prisoners bore wounded on their shoulders or on litters. Water and food were shared.
But as the hours and days dragged on, an “every man for himself” attitude gradual y prevailed. The command structure—the cornerstone of military discipline—
crumbled. In some cases, it took days. Others, merely hours. Homogeneous groups fared best; individuals separated from their units and friends struggled to survive. As the mercury rose, the situation worsened. Some officers shirked their leadership responsibilities. Enlisted men, blaming officers for their current predicament, refused to obey orders. Canteens were stolen. Food was hoarded. Tempers flared.
Pickpockets prospered.
At least they could count on the Filipino civilians, most of whom were Catholic and for whom the march seemed a horrifical y real senakulo , a passion play depicting the Stations of the Cross, the sufferings endured by Christ before Crucifixion. Civilians hid cans of water in clumps of cogon and flung rice bal s, cookies, and cigarettes into the columns. Children bounded alongside, pressing fruit, sugarcane, and cassava cakes, as wel as bottles of water, into prisoners’ hands. Women shuttled fish, chicken, and rice wrapped in banana leaves and merchants opened their carinderias , refusing payment. Others discreetly cal ed to the prisoners—“Hey, Joe”—and flashed their index and middle fingers in the universal “V for Victory” sign.
Often, the aid came with consequences. At Limay, a farmer and his wife were burned at the stake for aiding the POWs. Elsewhere, a pregnant Filipina who had thrown food to the Americans was bayoneted through her womb. Though Homma had advocated a policy of rapprochement with the estimated seventeen mil ion Filipinos, there were some members of the Japanese military who felt that the Filipinos should be punished for their desertion of the Asian cause and their loyalty to the United States. As those sentiments became reality, the Filipinos saw that for them, Japan’s Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere meant anything but prosperity. They had heard stories of Japanese brutality in Manila and now saw their fathers, sons, and brothers bayoneted and left to slow deaths writhing in the Bataan dust. Until the day MacArthur made good on his promise—and they believed firmly that he would—they were determined to share with their al ies the burdens of occupation and captivity in the best spirit of balikatan, a Tagalog word meaning “shoulder to shoulder.”
But for men hoping and praying just to survive another minute, or another hour,
Since it certainly seemed as though the Japanese had no intention of providing food or water, the POWs would have to fend for themselves. Jack Donohoe of the 21st Pursuit, for instance, found a moldy, weevil-infested sack of horse feed that he and another POW devoured. They would attempt to eat at their own risk. Grashio remembered seeing a case of PET evaporated milk fal off a passing truck.
“Prisoners swarmed over it like ants,” he said. “The Japanese leaped in among them, swinging their fists, kicking and flailing with rifle butts until al the parched and famished wretches had been pounded back into line.”
There were, however, no absolute certainties when it came to the mercurial Japanese. No two guards seemed or acted alike. An incident that might drive one into a rage could simply amuse another. To Grashio, there seemed to be only one plan of action: “Realists learned early … that it was essential to be obedient and submissive…. Any captive who was undisciplined, uncooperative or rebel ious rarely survived to boast about it.”
The POWs themselves were even less predictable. Out of the fiery Philippine blast furnace came the worst by-products of humanity. Before the Japanese segregated the prisoners, they marched together, Yank and Filipino, officer and enlisted man, dogface and bluejacket, pilot and Philippine Scout. When permitted, stronger prisoners bore wounded on their shoulders or on litters. Water and food were shared.
But as the hours and days dragged on, an “every man for himself” attitude gradual y prevailed. The command structure—the cornerstone of military discipline—
crumbled. In some cases, it took days. Others, merely hours. Homogeneous groups fared best; individuals separated from their units and friends struggled to survive. As the mercury rose, the situation worsened. Some officers shirked their leadership responsibilities. Enlisted men, blaming officers for their current predicament, refused to obey orders. Canteens were stolen. Food was hoarded. Tempers flared.
Pickpockets prospered.
At least they could count on the Filipino civilians, most of whom were Catholic and for whom the march seemed a horrifical y real senakulo , a passion play depicting the Stations of the Cross, the sufferings endured by Christ before Crucifixion. Civilians hid cans of water in clumps of cogon and flung rice bal s, cookies, and cigarettes into the columns. Children bounded alongside, pressing fruit, sugarcane, and cassava cakes, as wel as bottles of water, into prisoners’ hands. Women shuttled fish, chicken, and rice wrapped in banana leaves and merchants opened their carinderias , refusing payment. Others discreetly cal ed to the prisoners—“Hey, Joe”—and flashed their index and middle fingers in the universal “V for Victory” sign.
Often, the aid came with consequences. At Limay, a farmer and his wife were burned at the stake for aiding the POWs. Elsewhere, a pregnant Filipina who had thrown food to the Americans was bayoneted through her womb. Though Homma had advocated a policy of rapprochement with the estimated seventeen mil ion Filipinos, there were some members of the Japanese military who felt that the Filipinos should be punished for their desertion of the Asian cause and their loyalty to the United States. As those sentiments became reality, the Filipinos saw that for them, Japan’s Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere meant anything but prosperity. They had heard stories of Japanese brutality in Manila and now saw their fathers, sons, and brothers bayoneted and left to slow deaths writhing in the Bataan dust. Until the day MacArthur made good on his promise—and they believed firmly that he would—they were determined to share with their al ies the burdens of occupation and captivity in the best spirit of balikatan, a Tagalog word meaning “shoulder to shoulder.”
But for men hoping and praying just to survive another minute, or another hour,
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