Termites, mold and typhoons have been blamed for the rot that reportedly damaged some 150 boxes of clothes, shoes
and other personal effects of the deposed Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos and Imelda Marcos that were
recently rediscovered at the National Museum.
The stuff was left behind by the Marcoses when they hastily fled the Palace in February 1986 at the height of the
Edsa People Power Revolt, transferred two years ago to an unused, padlocked hall in the museum, and left there
untouched. Not until the room was flooded by recent monsoon rains through a leak in the ceiling was the stash
brought to light by shocked, apparently cluelless employees.
The news, first reported on the wires, has been bannered by international media such as the BBC, the Guardian and
the Los Angeles Times. The world has always been fascinated by Imelda Marcos’ legendary collection of shoes, which
“became a symbol of excess in a nation where many still walked around barefoot in abject poverty,” as the report
At least 1,220 pairs of shoes, along with gowns, designer bags and scores of the late strongman’s signature
barong, are among those found to have suffered extensive, perhaps irreparable, damage.
Who to blame for this? Some curators and employees of the National Museum have pointed to museum director Jeremy
Barns and his deputy, Ana Labrador, as the culprits for their failure to follow “basic, standard museum best
practice and procedure” when they initiated the transfer of the Marcos belongings to the museum.
The transfer, said the employees, was done “without their knowledge”, and thus, no proper inspection and
conservation measures were performed before the collection was stashed away.
The Palace has tried to downplay the incident by saying the clothes had “no historical significance,” except
perhaps some of the former first lady’s gowns made by prominent Filipino designers such as Pitoy Moreno and Joe
This is deeply disingenuous, and symptomatic of the culture of neglect for history and memory that continues to
afflict not only officialdom but also the citizenry.
What was the Palace's basis, after all, for the hasty dismissal of the historical value of the Marcoses’ personal
effects? No proper inventory has been made, let alone any cursory attempt to determine how these figured in the
day-to-day goings-on of the conjugal dictatorship.
Extravagance has become the catch-all explanation for the staggering volume of possessions that the couple,
especially Imelda, had accumulated. But that is only half of the picture. In their time, the Marcoses were
determined to use optics and imagery to burnish the myth of the New Society and the Filipino “royal family” that
ruled over it.
Imelda famously said she needed to be dressed in all those fancy gowns and jewellery because: “I am my little
people’s star and slave. When I go out into the barrios, I get dressed because I know my little people want to see
a star. Other presidents’ wives have gone to the barrios wearing house Black Formal Dresses and slippers. That’s not what
people want to see. People want someone they can love, someone to set an example”.
And Marcos? He junked the Western formal attire in favour of the indigenous barong, sometimes modified with a Mao
collar, not only to appeal to nationalist sentiment but also, and more crucial to his authoritarian designs, to
affirm the self-made legend of himself as the simple boy from Batac, Ilocos Norte, who rose to become the
quintessential Filipino―bemedalled soldier, lifelong patriot and world statesman.
Might the fine ternos and gowns Imelda brought on her many international travels―to meet with Muammar Gadhafi,
say―be among those decaying clothes at the National Museum? Or any of the barong that Marcos was invariably seen
in―when he went on a state visit to the Reagan White House, for example, or when he appeared on TV a couple of
days after Ninoy Aquino’s assassination, sick and bloated, to peddle the story that it was the communists who did
it to embarrass his administration?
With the likes of Senator Juan Ponce Enrile revising history with his newly released memoir―and President Benigno
Aquino and other personages attending the launch―losing more physical evidence of the Marcos years is a sure way
to further rob us of memory.
“If we lose our memory, we lose ourselves,” the author Ivan Klima warns. Termites and typhoons are getting the
blame, but the fault, dear Brutus, is in ourselves.