I have already received and read most of what have been written about me since my arrest. These have given me a clear picture of how promptly friends and comrades have actively taken my cause, and how in a short period of time the Free Ericson Acosta Campaign has reached quite an extensive base of support. I am of course sincerely touched by all this. I have long been wanting to communicate with them through letters or general statements, not only to thank them but also to personally shed light on my experience with state fascism. But I’ve been having some difficult, stubborn time with my writing.
I suppose I’m still basically ill-adjusted with my present prison set-up. I find it almost impossible to write during the day. The heat inside the cell is simply oppressive – there is no ceiling here, the lone window is less than a square foot, and my tarima is just beside two charcoal stoves that burn non-stop. The noise outside and the frenzied – sometimes juvenile, sometimes zombie-like goings on among my 12 kakosas inside a stifling, cramped-up space are just too distracting, disorienting.
But it is at night, when the heat, noise and fuss have all supposed to have subsided, that I am actually assailed by more pressing writing issues. There would always be this heavy strain that seems to balance itself upon my bobbed head, and as though from a ravine’s edge, I’d be looking down my writing pad waiting for vertigo to set in. Then this intermittent heaving motion in the chest. And, especially during the first month, I would, even without tears, just suddenly notice myself sobbing. This is pretty intense. I could never have imagined myself writing in such a wrenching, emotional state.
This is trauma of some sort I guess. But one, I think, that I’m compelled less to subvert than to temper. It is not necessarily the feeling of having been vanquished or the sense of utter helplessness that usually creeps in. No. More often, it is that surge of righteous vindication that overwhelms me.
It’s not writer’s block that has been nagging me. I call it writer’s burst. I’ve actually written a great deal already in the last two months as I tried to sum up and make sense of my ordeal. All of which, however, except for a few, amount to nothing more than disjointed rambling notes or a series of incoherent digressions.
The past week though has seen some modest breakthrough. It helped that my legal counsel had asked me to personally write my counter affidavit. I was able to finish it on time, glaring lapses in grammar notwithstanding. I was also able to complete a draft of a regional human rights situationer that focused on the cases of human rights violations in Barangay Bay-ang in San Jorge, Samar. I was in Bay-ang at the time of my arrest precisely to follow-up on these cases.
A friend of mine has sent me some samples of Ka Allan Jasminez’ Prison Diary entries. I realized that I would have to really step up on my writing and maximize relatively less restrictive conditions here as compared to those in Ka Allan’s place of detention. Already, I have started reviewing my jumbled notes and have come up with a design that would piece them together into several essays with different themes.
I am optimistic, despite this press statement debacle, that I would finally be able to handle my writer’s burst. It is very important that I do. My active engagement through my writings naturally serves to effectively amplify the campaign, as well as the general call to free all political prisoners. While I am in fact the principal subject of the Free Ericson Acosta campaign, it’s time that I enlisted myself as its principal mass leader and propagandist as well. So let’s just keep the pressure on – FREE ME! FREE ALL POLITICAL PRISONERS!
Ericson L. Acosta
April 13, 2011Calbayog sub-provincial jail