I was barely a year old when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated in August of 1983. I was a toddler when millions of people flocked to EDSA and reclaimed democracy for the Philippines. Why, one might ask, am I so affected by the death of former President Cory Aquino?
My mom (God bless her soul.) was a classic idealist of her generation. To my lolo’s great frustration, she, like many of her peers, was a student activist in her youth. She and several friends founded an organization that later became one of the better known student activist groups. They used the basement of my grandfather’s company as their meeting place, their makeshift headquarters. When the military heard of this budding movement, plans were made to alleviate the potential thorn. As luck would have it, my lolo had a close friend from way back who happened to be a highly-regarded general. Having heard of the planned raid within minutes of the actual deployment of soldiers, he promptly phoned my lolo to warn him. My lolo had all papers, paraphernalia and other materials in the basement that could be traced to my mom be burned or otherwise destroyed. My mom was promptly sent to distant relatives in far-flung Gumaca, Quezon, which, if you’ve been there, is almost literally in the middle of nowhere. Quezon being NPA country, was a relatively safe place to hide, at least until things in Manila died down.
When I was young, my mom and I used to go through her old photos from college, and she would always tear up when she showed me pictures of her friends who died or disappeared during Martial Law. One friend of hers, a tall, fair-skinned, rather frail-looking girl, was imprisoned for activist activities, and died in prison. That was not the worst part. My mom told me, her voice cracking, that her friend was gang-raped by prison guards, and at some point, withdrew into insanity when she could no longer take the pain. She later hung herself in the same cell that had borne witness to the vile, despicable acts that had driven her to seek refuge in herself.
My mom had strong political beliefs, and would never back down when opposed. Prior to the 1992 elections, I remember my mom and my dad had a rather heated argument over who to vote for. My mom was a strong Salonga supporter, and staunchly opposed my dad’s politics. My mom valued her right to suffrage, and felt it was her responsibility to thoroughly discern who would best serve the country. My dad, well, at the time, I remember him saying that he would vote for this or that candidate based on how he thought HE would benefit. And there the great debate came to a screeching halt. Enter the war that my dad should have realized he had no chance of winning.
In the fashion that my lolo raised them, my mom did her best to teach us to speak not only when spoken to. Opinions were made to be expressed. Beliefs were made to be acted upon. We were punished for transgresses, but not before we explained at great length why we did what we did, and were made to understand why we were being punished.
When I was in college, I remember having heard at a forum that our generation, compared to our parents’, was essentially a generation of spoiled brats with no balls, so to speak. We had never had to live through a war, to fight for suffrage, to help overthrow a dictatorship, to face real political struggle, had not voiced any real dissent, and if one really thinks about it, it IS true. Our grandparents had the Second World War. Our great-grandparents had the First. Our parents had both the Vietnam War AND Martial Law.
It was in the context of this debate about whether our generation did have balls that EDSA 2 came around. Although I can only speak for those I know personally, and for those whom I had the opportunity to talk to during those several days we spent in the midst of a growing throng of people, I think it would be accurate to say that we thought we were doing a great thing, standing up for what was right and just, actively fighting against what we believed was a corrupt and immoral regime. We were a generation of idealists, albeit a more tech-savvy one.
I do not regret having participated then. I DO regret the circumstances that we somehow thrust the country into post-EDSA 2. Looking back, I find myself appalled at how such an opportunity for change was somehow manipulated into the concentration of political power in an administration that in my mind ranks second only to Marcos. Or maybe even rivals the Marcos years, if some political analysts are to be believed.
Although I was too young to know my politics all that well, it seems to me that every single president since Cory Aquino has been besieged with not unfounded charges of graft and corruption, of that dreaded Filipino affliction called padrino politics. I am sure that the Aquino administration was far from perfect. However, compared to her successors, Cory Aquino seems to me fairly unmarred by such charges. I sincerely doubt that (knock on wood) if any of her successors dies, any of them will be accorded the same respect, reverence, even, that has been given to Cory Aquino. Ironic, isn’t it, how drastically different, completely opposite, even, the two female presidents of the Philippines have turned out to be? The lady with the rosary in yellow, and the...um, gremlin. With a mole.
On a personal note, Cory’s death brings to the fore the excruciating ordeal of having lost my mom, whose death left a void that will never be filled. These thoughts come dangerously close to the death of my dear cousin Francis, who lost his life in a violent vehicular accident three months ago. With all that, my great fondness for Mama, my lola, who turned 80 last month, only serves to heighten the emotions that have been surging since I started watching the tv coverage of Cory Aquino’s affliction with cancer, her battle with the dreaded disease, and her eventual demise.
Right now, I am watching the ABS-CBN documentary Laban Ni Cory on Channel 2, which is as much a documentary on Martial Law and the EDSA People Power movement as it is about Cory Aquino. Nakakakilabot. That’s the only word that can describe it, particularly when they play Magkaisa and Handog ng Pilipino sa Mundo. It provides a glimpse at how great the people of this country can be, and how far a people united can go. This is the precise opposite of how most people I know feel, i.e. willing to swap their Filipino citizenship for another without batting an eyelash. Or, at the very least, to seek refuge, emotional, spiritual, financial or otherwise, in a foreign land.
I do not know how far Cory Aquino’s death will affect the current clamor for good governance and for political change, if any will come around at all. I do not know in what capacity, if at all, this will serve as a catalyst for things to come. However, all being said and done, I just hope that everything that our parents fought for, that all those lives that were sacrificed for the sake of that vague concept called democracy, will not go to waste. As much as I was an idealist then, I acknowledge now that such idealism fades. Left to its own vices, a candle will eventually burn out.
As I have prayed for all my loved ones who have gone ahead to what I hope is a better place, I pray for the repose of the soul of the former president, who, although I never knew her, was somehow able to touch my life in a way that very few have. I pray for her family, who are going through the most painful experience of losing a loved one.
Lastly, for all out sakes, I pray that it will not be necessary to move on to the next life to get to a better place.
