December 29, 1941

The war holds your problems in grateful suspension. You almost dread the coming of peace which will once more precipitate them.

The war has given me what I never had before: time to read as much as I like. I had several books I bought and never found the leisure to read. I had given them up as money lost. During the last three weeks, I was able, between alarms and all-clears, to finish reading them all. The war has been an unexpected dividend.

It has changed, though, the character of my reading. I have a collection of detective novels still unread. I used to enjoy few things more than to run through their gory pages. Now I cannot read them. I find comfort and relish in the pages of the philosophers whose conclusions may be briefly stated:

Nothing matters.

The people are taking to the war easily. They have adjusted themselves to having to walk to work in the morning, to salary cuts, to unemployment, to the possibility of death during the day. They have few possessions, and the war finds them singularly unencumbered except for the wish to survive without loss of character, to give no way to fear.

The rich and the influential are the pitiful ones. They have so much to lose! They shake for their lives, they shake for their office, they shake for their bank accounts. They read all the literature on the established methods of avoiding death and damage by bomb, bullet, and gas. They sit in a circle all day and worry over every rumor and report of disaster. They scan every threat to their security with the passion of scholars poring over a newly recovered line from the Greek Anthology.

The war freshly illumines a paradox:

One may be casual about one’s life but rarely over one’s property.

December 28, 1941

Today they bombed Manila again. Again the ships still in the Pasig River drew the Japanese fire. From 11:45 a.m. till 1:10 p.m., Japanese bombers, free from any threat of anti-aircraft fire, swooped down the river raining bombs. They hit the Letran College, the Intendencia building again, Engineer Island, the NARIC bodega near the mouth of the river, the San Fernando Fire Station in Binondo, and, their aim improved from practice, some of the ships in the river were hit.

December 27, 1941

Today, the open city of Manila, but two days old, unexpectedly came of age. Suddenly it felt very old.

Just below the Jones Bridge over the Pasig were docked four interisland vessels. Across the river and closer to its mouth were several others. Their owners had been ordered to move the ships out into the bay at least a week ago, but the ships remained where they were.

Shortly before noon, for three whole hours, Japanese bombers tried to get those ships. Their aim was truly execrable; not one of the ships was hit, but before they went away, they killed 43 people, wounded at least 150 and destroyed 5 million pesos worth of public and private buildings.

The open city of Manila had failed to take into account one thing. There was one factor it had overlooked. It had not considered the enemy’s bad aim.

December 26, 1941

Today, Manila was declared an open city. All military centers have been destroyed and all soldiers withdrawn from the city. It is now armless and harmless. It has earned the right not to be bombed. It is no longer in the war.

December 25, 1941

Home all day. There was no work, and there was no place to go. At noon, waves of Japanese bombers circled and circled over the city unopposed and untouched. Is this the meaning of open city?

The declaration of Manila as an open city would mean its complete demilitarization, the removal or destruction of all military installations, and a hypothetical freedom from bombing. The cases of Rome, Paris, and Brussels? Look at them now.

There is, besides, no guarantee that the enemy would, in the present case, respect the “open city.”

Merry Christmas.

December 24, 1941

Today was bad. They bombed the city.

I was in Wilson Building. I had a ringside seat. I saw the bombers—nine of them, in beautiful formation—shining in the sun. When they were over the building and could no longer be seen, the newsmen turned to the typewriter or the telephone. Then suddenly, three strong explosions. The building shook. I ran to the window and saw the bombs flower—as young Mussolini so prettily put it—in Port Area. They looked just like the newsreels of them. After a while, I saw two fires start.

Several alarms in the afternoon. The authorities are reported to be considering the proposition of declaring Manila an open city. Just because they bombed us once.

“Are we asking quarter of the enemy? Are we no longer sure of victory? What is a city?”

The people dream of guns and the opportunity of fighting the enemy if necessary in the streets. The people cannot understand this business of open city.

December 23, 1941

Air-raid alarm this afternoon, catching the city on its way back from lunch to work. I was in a bookstore when the alarm came. I found a chair and a copy of Peter Arno’s usually very amusing cartoons. I was not amused, though I tried hard to be. The necessity of maintaining a decent serenity during a raid leaves a man not quite up to the enjoyment of even the most Rabelaisian humor.

December 22, 1941

Early this morning USAFFE headquarters declared that there was increased activity south of Vigan, but nothing serious, it said reassuringly, had developed. Then, at 11, came this:

“There was sighted this morning off Lingayen Gulf a huge enemy fleet estimated at 80 transports. Undoubtedly this is a major expeditionary drive aimed at the Philippines.”

We know the strength of the enemy, we have to speculate on our own. This, the authorities have kept, perhaps with good cause, secret. It is probably wise and necessary, but no one enjoys it.

Tales of reinforcements from the United States are scattered about and the city grabs at each straw of comfort that is thrown its way.