Chapter 68: Difference
Through a letter delivered by one of the recruits under him, Capitan Roque reported that the news of my martial law declaration had been well received by the gobernadorcillo and the principales of Mogpog.
I was expecting a warm welcome into the town—but not as warm as the one that would greet us after the nearly two-hour journey.
If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought a fiesta was going on. Even from a distance, we could see the colorful banderitas and the crowd lining the main street, and we could already hear the lively music of the rondalla.
Greeting us at the entrance of the pueblo were Capitan Roque and his soldiers, along with the principalia led by Mogpog’s gobernadorcillo, Don Fernando Lagran.
"What a momentous event for our young country, Gobernador—and how happy I am to be part of it," the old town mayor told me as he shook my hand. Already then, I knew the afternoon would only get better.
After marching through the streets and being hailed and cheered by the boisterous townsfolk, we were led to the private residence of Don Lagran to enjoy a small feast.
It did not escape my notice how the elites of Mogpog treated me with more respect than my peers in Boac.
I believe part of it was due to the old saying: no prophet is accepted in his hometown. Most of Boac’s principalia had grown up with Martin—overly familiar, aware of his flaws and humble beginnings. They knew him as the unassertive and mild-mannered man, and my sudden assertion of authority must have been at best surprising—and to some, even outrageous.
It could also be that the elites of the much smaller and more rural Mogpog were not as politically competitive as their counterparts in Boac, which was both the administrative and commercial center of the province. It had always been the case that the smaller the settlement, the less divisive it was—socially and politically.