A Mountain's Last Breath

They can kill a person, but never a movement.

The sun bore down as the forest loomed tall during five separate days between August 5 and 24, 2024, when state forces "clashed" with alleged members of rebel groups across Calinog and Lambunao, Iloilo, and Valderrama, Antique.

Eleven died during the “encounters.” Several bodies were unidentifiable, making retrieval difficult for families—some stunned, others enraged.

Among those lost were red fighter Ka Zarco and peace consultant Concha Araneta-Bocala.

The last straw

Ka Zarco, as he was called in the mountains, is remembered by his comrades and family as a quiet and sharp-minded man who held his principles just as tightly as he held his arms.

Aside from having working-class parents, he learned about society’s harsh realities during his college years as the student council president. His passion for advocating human rights in the streets of Iloilo deepened when he became an active member of Kilusang Mayo Uno while working at a sugar refinery.

However, his life turned upside down during the surge of violence under former President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, where activists, farmers, fisherfolks, and anyone who opposed her policies faced brutal repercussions—shot, kidnapped, and mutilated.

The murder of Leonilo Arado, chairperson of Bagong Alyansang Makabayan was Zarco’s last straw, pushing him to sacrifice everything and join the armed struggle.

First and foremost, a father

Before becoming a revolutionary, Zarco was, above all, a husband and a father to four children. Despite being far away from them, he would occasionally send texts and letters to stay in touch. Though never explicitly discussed, Zarco’s family always felt the weight of his decision, knowing that his love for the country was as great, or even greater, than his love for them.

When news of his death arrived, his sons, who are also activists, were left broken. Although such a fate was somewhat inevitable, accepting it still felt like losing a piece of their souls.

But to them, even in his demise, Zarco will always be alive. Like a raging river, the spirit of his causes will seep through even the cracks in a barrier, watering the seeds of those brave enough to continue the fight.

The fiery heiress

The day Concha was born into the affluent Araneta clan, no one foresaw that, like a relentless tide carving through stone, she would forge her own path as a revolutionary leader.

From an early age, she defied the expectations of her privileged upbringing, often clashing with her father’s ambitions and the convent school that sought to mold her into a “proper lady.”

In college, she filled her days with lively parties and jam sessions, often donning vibrant blouses and dangling earrings. Yet beneath this carefree exterior was a passionate scholar who marched bravely on the streets, her heart beating for justice and change.

During Martial Law, amid the turbulent political and economic crisis, coupled with the rise of authoritarianism under the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos Sr., Concha, like many student activists, saw her life take a sharp turn. Confronted with relentless threats, she made the bold decision to vanish into the shadows, convinced that true freedom demanded the price of an armed revolution.

Dying with a clenched fist

Concha eventually became a consultant for the Visayas in the peace negotiations between the government and the National Democratic Front, a coalition of underground organizations. Despite being arrested multiple times and carrying a heavy bounty on her head, she clung to the fragile hope that a brighter tomorrow awaited just beyond the dawn.

However, the cost of courage was steep and fraught with peril. Concha, who devoted decades to serving the oppressed people of Panay, was among those who fell during the “encounters.”

When news of her passing spread, sorrow engulfed the hearts of many. But alongside that grief was a bittersweet pride, knowing she had lived and died with her fist clenched around her ideals.

Both Zarco and Concha drew their last breaths in the mountains, where the sky fell like a gentle shroud onto their blood that soaked the earth, becoming part of the very soil they fought to free.