I can not help but rewind to the Philippines in 1986. A much simpler time.
I watch the faces in the crowd in Cairo's Tahrir Square, protesting against the rule of president Hosni Mubarak. Chanting. Raising their fists in the air. Determined. Idealistic. Patriotic. I remember how that feels. It is romantic. It was fighting for something you loved. Liberty or death. Ang mamatay ng dahil sa yo. To die for you. To die for something you loved and believed in.
Honestly, I was never at EDSA. Even at the height of the People Power frenzy, I was at Mendiola. I did not really buy into the Enrile/Ramos/Honasan cult. I however, kind of felt validated that finally the middle class was slowly getting what we in the Left has been hoarsely chanting in the streets of Mendiola, T.M. Kalaw and Liwasang Bonifacio. But at the same time I saw that this was just a fad to many. Form, but no substance. Just like the Topsiders and the Grand Slam long backs that the burgis youth had on. I knew the red blood of the people that spilled fighting abuse and tyranny has been diluted and watered down.
I remember it so vividly like it was yesterday.
On TV, the loyalists were in the Palace. The Marcoses just appeared with them on TV. The loyalists were showing their support for the Marcos family. They had their Marcos t-shirts on, flag waving, V-signs and smiling. Oblivious that the fate of their Apo has been sealed. I was fuming. I guess it really is hard to wake up somebody who isn’t really sleeping but pretending to be asleep.
A quick shower later, I made my way to Mendiola. This is where the fight is. Not in Crame or Aguinaldo or EDSA I thought.
This was the afternoon before Marcos fled Malacanang.
When I got to Mendiola, there were already about 100 people there.
A few hours into it, BAYAN, LFS and other cause-oriented groups were joined by various yellow organizations. It was going to be a vigil. No idea how long this is going to take. So, we had the people sit down just across from the barbed wire fence blocking off Mendiola from Legarda.
There were soldiers with M-16s protecting the fences. We tried to engage them in conversation. We were trying to convince them that they are on the wrong side. That as soldiers, they should throw their lot with the People. They were stone-faced and walked away.
I guess one of the soldiers got tired and shifted. He took his rifle that was slung from his right shoulder and was getting ready to put it on his right shoulder. A couple of people in the yellow shirted group saw it and panicked. They thought the soldier was getting ready to fire. That combined with the yosi boys repeatedly opening and closing the drawer of their cigarette boxes (which eerily mimics the sound of automatic gunfire) was enough to spook some in the crowd to run. This sparked a mini stampede. After a few minutes. Sanity was restored. We explained that like flags in the battlefield, they should look at the banners upfront to let them know what their course of action should be. If the flags are still up and waving, then all is well.
It was weird. Personally, it was at this very second that I knew. Even with Marcos out, this is going to be an uphill battle. Tyranny is always better organized than freedom.
Chills still tingle, goosebumps still happen when I see photos and footages of that time in the Philippines. It was grand and noble. In my lifetime, it still gets my vote as the most important day as a Filipino. To this day, I have not seen my nation more united.
After this day, the same fervor repeated itself in crowd scenes from (Czechoslovakia’s) Velvet Uprising, (Ukraine’s) Orange Revolution, (Georgia’s) Rose Rebellion and (Lebanon’s) Cedar Revolution, it is the same expression. One of idealism. Of promise. Of desire for change. On TV today, I saw it in the faces of the youth in Egypt and Yemen.
A sense of history (and disappointment) bears witness that the Philippines is a long way from the hope and potential of that day. I share the revolutionaries’ dream of that hope being realized. Some day. Not today but some day.
No comments:
Post a Comment