9 Letters Text File

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PROLOGUE
Every Filipino today, and perhaps in generations to come, will marvel at our Revolution of 1986. You were there, remember? You were still too young, though, to take in the reasons for all the noise, the yellow confetti and the crowds. There is a stirring, and at times frightening, story behind the spectacle. Its a narrative too complex for me to tell all by myself. Try as I might, I could not put in words the fears, anxieties, and final liberation of 54 million Filipinos. So I have gathered in this book the personal accounts of several people who, speaking together, should give you a fairly lucid picture of what went on during the February revolution. This is your story, too. Over a million Filipinos stopped the dictators tanks and soldiers on EDSA with their bare hands and prayers. They accomplished that miracle for you. Those heroes risked their lives to give you a brighter future. A few of their letters talk about the years before you were born: about the heyday of the Marcoses and how they oppressed and plundered our land. Someday you will read more about this time in our countrys history; and it will be written not by the paid lackeys of the dictator but by credible historians. But I think the more exciting accounts are those about the four days in February of 1986 when, in one outburst of love and people power, Filipinos ousted Marcos, his wife Imelda, and his chief of staff General Ver. These nine letters from your lola, mother, aunt and uncle, and family friends are an enduring record of our triumph in our struggle for freedom.
CHAPTER 1
Youre probably wondering what on earth could have made your frail and retiring Ninang take to the streets armed with nothing more than a rosary and a flashlight and a prayer that would not leave my lips, nor my consciousness. Looking back on it, my decision to go to EDSA couldnt have been just a spur-ofthe-moment thing. That decision, for all of us who were at EDSA that evening, began to take shape 20 years ago a long and slow boil, to be sure, but now it was time. Something just snapped in our heads and said: the hour has come, this is the day of reckoning, this is it.
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Oddly enough, the voices we heard on Radio Veritas that night were those of key persons in Marcos administration whom we had come to equate with terror the bad guys, Marcos minions, ready to carry out his darkest schemes, willingly or unwillingly. So, at dusk, we listened to Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Deputy Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces Fidel Ramos explain why they had bolted the regime to hole up at Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame. Enrile acknowledged the blatant fraud in the conduct of elections, admitting his own part in the cheating, and saying that he could no longer continue under Marcos. Ramos, for his part, decried the fact that though he had at last been named Chief of Staff replacing Ver, he nevertheless was helpless to countermand Vers orders to fire certain officers, and re-assign others, to the utter demoralization of the Armed Forces. Both announced he shocking news that an order for their arrest had been given, and that they had no recourse but to ask the people to come and protect them from Marcos and Ver. The very act of defecting from the Marcos camp was all I needed to know. I was not going to let Ramos and Enrile down. The Marcos regime had shown great promise in 1965, but through the years, his administration had lost such credibility that when Ninoy Aquino was shot in 1983, we all laid the blame at Malacaangs doorstep. We wanted Marcos out then, but I for one was not ready to be thrown into the stockade. Now, listening to Enriles and Ramos anguished voices, I decided there was no way I was going to sit in the sala and be guilty of non-participation. I could not have lived with that. If this is the way to get Marcos out, I told myself, my God, Ill do it. I pulled my jeans on, jeans being the closest thing I had to battle gear. Ninong tried to keep me home until morning. You might get hurt, he said. Theyll shoot without the slightest provocation. Let them shoot, I shot back almost angrily. Im going just the same. Ninong Andoy understood what that sudden fierceness was. It was in him too. Even Lola Pinang who normally would have fretted, assured us she would take care of the children. Bring the gauze masks you used at the hospital when Pancho was born, in case of teargas, she said. We heard Cardinal Sin and Butz Aquino calling for people to come and keep vigil at EDSA just as we were darting out the door with a supot of hastily assembled sandwiches. Camp Aguinaldo waited under a full moon. A handful of people were already outside the gates. Coffee, a shared sense of purpose and occasional twinges of fear kept us awake and chatty, as more and more people arrived through the night. Soldiers were stationed at the gate, armed and nervous.
We had no plan of action, no leader, nothing but a summons for help from Ramos and Enrile. Radio Veritas, in fact, was our umbilical cord to whatever else was going on, including within Crames walls. Even so, June Keithleys voice grew dimmer, as pro-government jammers worked to weaken Veritas signals. I hadnt seen a sunrise for four years. Today at dawn, I had no words of admiration just a silent wish that we would b able to go on taking sunrises for granted. I brought out my rosary and thanked Him for a night spent safely in His care. Many people left then; and when we saw that reinforcements were arriving, we left too. We got home to see Marcos doing his usual strongman bit on television, and we watched, without frustration. We knew that our night on EDSA had brought his eviction one step closer.
CHAPTER 2
Nuns are supposed to be pillars of mystic strength, but I guess my knees dont know that they are still shaking. We planted ourselves in the path of tanks! I gave myself up to God and Our Lady, and as the tanks approached, I felt their presence envelop us. Gone, then, was the fear, as I surrendered myself to His will. But the soldiers! Young, confused, telling us they had been ordered to EDSA but they didnt know what their mission orders were. Perhaps they feared God, as they refused to plow into a crowd of unarmed civilians and priests and nuns. They veered off and parked in a nearby field. We approached them then, and tried to draw them out with our chatter, with food, flowers and cigarettes. It was a long day. We started out with a smallish group, but through the day, thousands more came, most of them straight from mass. We built sandbag barricades that ran all the way up to the intersection of EDSA and Ortigas. Someone brought sacks and we packed them with earth from the roadside to heap on the barricades. The drone of helicopters came and went overhead; but no one ran for cover. The people simply smiled and waved. Everyone was in such high spirits, as our numbers swelled to what seemed at least a hundred thousand people, filling EDSA from Cubao to Ortigas. Through the day, we heard of more and
more generals defecting to Ramos and Enriles camp. Marcos denied it in an interview but General Ver turned pale. What a switch! The military is supposed to protect civilian lives, and we are prepared to camp out as long as it takes to protect military lives, until Marcos gives in, or bombs us off the face of the earth. We dont really know what manner of harm they intend to inflict on us. We dare not think about it, because that will make us afraid. Was David afraid when he faced Goliath? Or was he not, because God was on his side? God is on our side. We must not be afraid. Period. When we got word that the tanks were approaching, we formed our ranks. Then our leader, a priest, in a flash of inspiration, asked the women to stand out in front, before the barricades. It would, we hoped, be doubly hard for the soldiers to shoot women. I was trembling, but I did it. All of us housewives, businesswoman, hawkers, nuns took the front line as we sang and prayed. It was a perilous enterprise; but on the other hand, it was a privilege to serve my country as a Filipino, as a woman, and as a religious. I felt this resolve suddenly, not just within myself, but among the other women in the front line. I looked around me, up and down my file; and I just knew that no one here was afraid any longer. Tomorrows headlines will say Crowd Stops Marcos Tanks. Unarmed Civilians Block Tanks as More AFP Officials Back Duo. Situation Tense But Normal. Bloody End Feared as Ramos, Enrile Turn Down FM Bid. Marcos Refuses to Quit. FM Threatens to Use Force Against Rebels. The papers will show pictures of us reaching up to soldiers crammed in trucks, handing them sandwiches and such. Other pictures will be of the tanks, retreating from the crowds. Yet others, I hope, will show wondrous, unbelievable scenes such as the pretty young thing I saw clutching flowers, hoisted onto a tank. Her peace offering was accepted by the soldiers within. Finally, I have to tell you that I discovered something important today. Freedom must be fought for. But to win it, you must have freedom from fear. Please God, may we never be afraid again!
CHAPTER 3 This has just got to have been the longest night ever in my 46 years. I called up my military sources last night (journalists need every source available), and they said the hours between 2 and 6 a.m. would be the most critical. If
Macoy were to bomb, he would bomb then. As if it were any comfort, one source added, Lights out means showtime. Gee, thanks. Im lifting from my notebook now, to share all of todays vivid impressions with you. So at midnight we sit with 2 radios a Radio Veritas and a second shortwave alternating all evening as we listen, between fear and laughter, tears and triumph, ranging the gamut of emotions from yes, Aparri to Zamboanga, all in one long evening. Veritas is knocked off the air, beaming from some clandestine radio station which a few of us know is barely a kilometer away from where the Evil One resides. Lord preserve Ketly thats our pet name for June Keightley theyll kill her in cold blood if they ever discover where she is. Through some ingenious phone patch, we hear General Ramos from time to time, directing his troops from this puny little station, cajoling, pleading, but in a most dignified way, with Artemio Tadiar, chief of the Marines who man the ominous tanks. Temy, he calls out to his comrade, Temy, this is Eddie Ramos. He reminds Temy of Christianly duties to God and to fellow man. You will be treated with compassion and understanding and love. Then he says that any soldier who does not defect now will be dealt with accordingly. Enrile goes on the air and affirms: will be dealt with severely, almost blowing General Ramos PR efforts to smithereens. News of defections trickle in through the night, Cory6 speaks briefly, and whenever Ketly runs out of things to ay, or whenever the tensions needs easing, she spins an old scratchy version of Mambo Magsaysay. Our de-mo-krra-see will die, Kung wala si Mag-say-sayyyyy! Our thoughts fly to the old RM days, when he opened his palace doors so wide as to welcome the man on the street. He would then have to sneak out of Malacaang while the guards were having lunch or supper, spiriting away an old rickety jeep to one of his friends houses for some shut-eye. June also plays Bayan Ko intermittently, and it occurs to you that Marcos could have bombed last night, when there werent many people at Aguinaldo or Crame, and Ramos and Enrile were practically defenseless. But Marcos had treated it as if it had been a Katzenjammer kids caper. This is stupidity, he had said. They should surrender. But by this evening, it is clear he is angry; and trigger-happy Ver must be itching to fire away. We lived with the tension of that knowledge all evening. Now it is 3:30 in the morning, and I am calling your Auntie Dollys place, to see whether she is tucked in for the night, or if she is about to get blown away from EDSA. She and your four cousins, Uncle Joe and his 71-year-old motherin-law to boot, who has come from Floridablanca to witness history they are all
out there. Hold them in Your bosom, Lord, is what my notes say. Even rotten old journalists pray, when push comes to shove. And this is shove. My officemates, where are they? Most are on EDSA, it turns out, but one is home, feverish from being in the sun all day. Where oh where is the dawn? Will we make it through the night? Why doesnt light come? We hear Ketly, too, asking Wheres the dawn? All Manila waits for sunrise. But we do not know if it will come or not, until it finally breaks. My rambling mind jerks back to the radio. Marcos and Ver have given the order to shell Camp Crame by air and to simultaneously force a way through the crowd by land. There are children out there! Before I know what Im saying, three Hail Marys have left my lips. The broadcast is from Camp Aguinaldo now, from the rear gate which is a weak spot. Sneaky of those terrorists; they know where it hurts the most. Ketly is bout to sweat blood. Magkapatid tayo, she says again and again to the soldiers. She reminds them, just in case they forgot, that the civvies are unarmed and unaggressive. The Dynamic Duo take their turn at the mike. They repeat their invitation to the soldiers to lay down their guns. To the lambs, they give instructions on what to do in case of teargas attack. Is anyone still asleep? I refuse even to sneeze in case I miss out on the punch line. It comes, via Cardinal Sin. He pronounces a general absolution for all who have allowed themselves to be used for evil acts against people and country, but are now ready to die defending the people. To die? To die! I start shivering. I know its not Jackie Chan versus Rambo out there, but until you hear the holy man giving you that Ego te absolvo, you dont call in the memorial parks. The people are holding their ground. I find out much later that a strong gust of wind blows the teargas in the direction of the attackers. Ill never underestimate the power of prayer again. The soldiers seem suitably impressed too. They cease their attack and cross over, to be welcomed with bearhugs and cheers. Quite a scene. Well, thats my cue. Count me in, guys. I come to EDSA, notebook in hand, to help out in whatever way I can. I arrive to see people standing at attention, even those in cars have gotten out. I hear Bayang Magiliw from a car radio not, I hope, for the last time. I dont choke up too much anymore when I hear Bayan Ko, but this is too much. The evenings anguish finally gives way to tears as we listen to Ketly
playing the National Anthem. With fervor burning, thee do our souls adore, Land dear and holy, cradle of noble heroes. Glorious liberty. Lupa ng araw, ng luwalhatit pagsinta, buhay ay langit sa piling mo. Ako ay Pilipino. This morning, it seems our collective gaze falls upon the Sierra Madres, whence the first rays of dawn comfort us as we have not been comforted before in this hateful regime. But soft, theres something in the sky. Seven specks are coming this way. Within the walls of Crame, soldiers watch anxiously as a group of Sikorsky gunships (choppers to the un-military) slowly descend. Tension shifts to euphoria as the intruders turn out to be defectors, and their commander, Col. Sotelo, is saying that he saw his opportunity to turn the tables on two of the most evil and sinister people I have known. He describes how, when his squadron was given the order to attack Crame, he cautiously checked his pilots out and found most of them unwilling to participate. Instead, they formed a counter plan. They would fly to Crame to offer their allegiance, ammunition and airpower to Ramos! The crowd its most of Manila by this time welcomes them like theyve never ever been welcomed in their lives. No one is going to go to work, obviously, even if it is a Monday. I see more people out here today than I would normally see in a year! Not much I can do, actually, except to be here, to be physically present. My notebook is still with me, as I know all that happens today will form part of our history. Later in the morning, the unbelievable news is that Marcos, Imelda and Ver have fled the country, and Marcos is presently in Guam. A shockwave of silence grips the crowd, followed by wild whooping and cheering. Men and women openly weeping with joy; strangers hugging, dancing, singing. The gates of Crame are swung open and the crowd happily swarms in. The usually circumspect Ramos actually leaps a foot above the ground in ecstasy! By midmorning, we discover it was a false alarm, and Marcos is on television saying he is not Willy Nepomuceno. It was, alas, too good to be true, and so we press on. Its him or us. Spirits are up again. The news is that any moment now, Ramos troops are taking Channel 4. BAYAN, the nationalist group, has been there since dawn, the Left probably being more aware than the rest of us that communications is vital to a coup. Now the crowds have swollen to thousands at Channel 4, there is a gunfight, during which a priest, armed with a 4-foot Madonna comes sailing through the crowd, oblivious to the firefight. The siege is a success, and the Reformists take over. We are to discover later that Marcos was on that channel just as the assault began, watching himself on a 6 by 6 foot screen, when suddenly, he sees himself no more. Cendaa runs to the set of plugs close to
Macoy, panickily fidgets with them, runs to the boob tubes scattered around the Study Room, pounds on each of them, to no avail. Marcos is off Channel 4 forever, we hope. In minutes, we see a street-scruffy Ma-an Hontiveros, fresh from battle and unmade up on the tube. An impromptu signboard stands behind her which reads Mabuhay ang Kalayaan! Yet another blow to Marcos. Gone is the gilt throne and its occupant, gone are the dictatorships trappings. In its place, a free-for-all non-stop broadcast ensues. Meanwhile, at Villamor, its fun and games for Major Hotchkiss and his squadron of three Sikorsky gunships, its noon, so most of his ex-colleagues at the air base are indoors for lunch. He makes a first pass, radioing the Philippine Air Force Control Tower to clear the area as they are going to strafe. As they swoop upwards and back down, one of the pilots says to the others. Hey fell as, take it easy on the cars parked down here. One of thems mine. Alas, his car is parked too close to the targeted five choppers. All choppers are strafed, two of which are burned to a crisp, but so is the pilots car hit. The wages of war. A third pass is made over Macoys hangar, and the Presidential chopper is blown up as well. Down he dictator! Excuse me for getting so het up, but thats what my notebooks got. You cant imagine how caught up we are with every bit of news evidencing his imminent downfall. Its evening now. Thousands are going to spend he night here on EDSA, including your uncle and me. But we know were going to make it. Well wait out, but well make it. With each new birth in the clan, one part of me was always depressed, thinking of the heavy burdens you children had inherited, just because you were born into such a grim situation. Your heritage as Filipinos was to be hardship and fear and shame. Shame that you were Filipinos. But because of todays events, we have won; and we have consigned Marcos our blackest ruler ever to history. Marcos may still be here; but he isnt the issue anymore.
CHAPTER 4 Marcos has fled the Philippines! He and his family left at 9 oclock tonight, never to return! I was only 10 years old when Marcos promised to make this country great again. Four years later, despite indications that Marcos had indeed given the country its worst four-year administration, a majority of Filipinos was willing to
allow him another final term to keep that promise of greatness. We were probably thinking that since Marcos knew that these years in office were going to be his last, he would leave the country a legacy of prosperity and efficient government, in the process making for himself a place of honor in our history. Looking back now, it seems nave of us to have put our faith in the man. He was a persuasive talker. We thought he really meant all his beautifullyworded speeches about democracy, nationalism, greatness. A year before his second term was to end, his henchmen orchestrated a series of bombing and other civil disturbances to give him an excuse to declare martial law. We woke up that fateful Saturday morning of September 21, 1972 to find all radio and television stations off the air. The last issue of the Manila Times, which somehow managed to get delivered, did not have the story of how government troops arrested outspoken oppositionists and student leaders, nor how they closed down TV and radio stations. By mid morning, we saw Marcos and his information minister Francisco Tatad on television arrogantly declaring that martial law was now in effect. There was nothing to worry about because everything was under control, they said. And true enough they did gain control of the entire country by scaring us about how imminent the communist threat was, and how the military would take action against anyone who went against the government. There was a complete news blackout. We did not know until we received smuggled news clippings from abroad how they tortured hundreds in military camps, and how they brought Ninoy and Senator Jose Diokno to Laur, Nueva Ecija, where they suffered solitary confinement in prison cells no bigger than a dog house. But a few years after that, except for an occasional western press article that would jolt our memories, most Filipinos found excuses to ignore the ugly side of martial law. The Marcos propaganda machinery was so effective in covering up military abuses and the graft and corruption going on. We were really taken by the idea of having the only smiling martial law era in the whole world. Many of the more famous political detainees were released except for Ninoy. The more militant who were to captured ran to the hills to continue the struggle against the government, a government which became more ruthless and uncompromising with the passage of time. But for average Filipinos in Manila, life went on as usual. True enough, prices of things were going up, and jobs were becoming scarcer by the day, but Marcos and his bright boys always seemed to have ready statistics showing that despite a world recession and climbing OPEC prices, the Philippines was still one of the cheapest places in which to live. And because many of the men
surrounding Marcos were respected businessmen and professionals, we believed them. Ninoy Aquino, however, prodded our consciences. He had always been my hero. Even from his jail cell, he blasted the Marcoses with his only weapon, his voice. The government took pains to make sure he would not be heard. But occasionally, news of Ninoys unrelenting protests told us that someone hadnt forgotten; someone wouldnt compromise. He was, to me, one of the last few credible politicians who really suffered as a result of his convictions. On Aug. 21, 1983, Ninoy was shot on his return from the U.S. where he had agreed to go for necessary heart surgery. He might have chosen an easy life in the States. By coming back, Ninoy could only look forward to continued imprisonment. On arrival, he was taken from the plane and shot as he descended the stairs to the tarmac. We felt so helpless during those days in August. Except for Radio Veritas, the local media withheld the real story. It was obvious to us that the Marcos regime was involved in that terrible crime. Indignant but still very afraid, over one million Filipinos openly mourned Ninoys death which was to help trigger the worst economic conditions since the Second World War. We saw the value of our peso shrink by one half; prices of food and gasoline went up; unemployment rose drastically. But that still did not break us, child! We did not run amok or join our brothers in the hills. Instead, we joined peaceful rallies in Makati. Liwasang Bonifacio, and even Mendiola. We read and wrote articles for the newborn opposition publications, brave enough now to expose the grave abuses and rottenness of the regime. The cynics said our brand of protest was leading us nowhere. We necked a bloody confrontation to win the struggle, they said. They were almost right from a human point of view. I believe in miracles. Honest to goodness miracles where God in all His goodness intervenes in the affairs of men. Some people, foreigners particularly, may call me crazy. But I know that you, a Filipino, will have inherited my faith. How else can we explain what transpired in the last four days except in supernatural terms? What made Enrile and Ramos finally see how immoral the Marcos regime had become? Was it their rational minds, or was it the prayers of the Filipino people storming the heavens? What stopped Marcos and Ver from wiping out the rebels at Camps Aguinaldo and Crame on Saturday evening when there were still so few of us
who had come to protect the gates? Was it blood and brotherhood ties, or Our Lady who was enshrined at the camps gates the very night our uprising began? And then there was the sudden, almost cowardly departure of Marcos and his family. What made them leave? Pressure from Ronald Reagan? A Marcos loyalist described how Imelda hired a group of her townmates to continuously poray the rosary for her family, and how in the final hours Marcos himself led the prayers. Today will also be remembered as the day when two presidential inaugurations were held. Cory was sworn into office as the seventh President of the Philippines at Club Filipino in Greenhills. Doy Laurel was sworn in as vicepresident,. Cory and Doy, with family members and close friends, could hardly fit into the largest function room of the Club, with us their jubilant constituents dancing and singing outside. We were ecstatic! Who cared if the Marcos government proclaimed itself a few hours later? What was important was that we were no longer afraid of Marcos and what he could do to us. And more importantly, we were no longer afraid of ourselves. They say Imelda Marcos was teary-eyed during their last public appearance in Malacaang. And they say she alternately sang and cried on her way to the U.S. from the Philippines. You see, by nine-fifteen in the evening, the Marcoses and 87 close associates were evacuated from the Palace to Clark Air Base in Pampanga where they were to stay until they were flown to another air base in Guam, and later to Hawaii. But let me stop talking about the Marcoses and how they fled the country. There is a time for that later on. What I want you to remember was what happened that very night our unwanted president left. Our merry-making actually began when Cory was safely installed as our new president. People had mini motorcades all over Manila with friends, blowing their horns and shouting Corys name. on Channel 4, the tape of her inaugural was shown several times over. June Keithley, the Apo Hiking Society, Lino Brocka, Freddie Aguilar, Behn Cervantes, and some of the original artists who risked their careers and even their personal safety to voice the truth, anchored the non-stop talk show. By 10 p.m., June Keithley, Jose Mari Velez and Bong Lapira officially announced that the Masrcoses were out of Malacaang. These three veteran TV announcers shed tears unashamedly when June asked all to say a prayer of thanks that our uprising had ended almost as peacefully as it had begun. Once again, being Filipino is glorious!
CHAPTER 5 A sad thing happened to me today. I called your aunt living in New York to tell her about how Filipinos today are bursting with pride because we ourselves and no one not even dear old Uncle Sam toppled the Marcos dictatorship. She would not believe me. She said I should give credit where credit is due: that America 9with the possible exception of President Reagan) was partly responsible for the end of the Marcos dictatorship. I have no quarrel with the average American, nor with some sectors of American society particularly the press who were sympathetic to Cory Aquino and what she stands for. Wasnt it Lewis Simons of the San Jose Mercury News who first exposed the ill-gotten wealth of the Marcoses? Or can we ever forget the role of Congressman Solarz who has continuously helped our cause in the U.S. House of Representatives? But America must not and cannot take any credit for the four-day Peoples Revolt that finally toppled the dictatorship. No amount of television interviews with Ted Koppel showing how evil Marcos was, or no amount of diplomatic persuasion on the part of Philip Habib would have made Marcos leave. It had to be the Filipinos themselves who delivered that uncompromising message to Marcos himself. What really hurts though is that even if the Americans in government realize that they did nothing to help us, they make people, even Filipinos living in America, believe that they were the heroes. Up to the last minute when we had proclaimed Cory our new president, the Reagan administration was asking her to share powers with Marcos because that was the compromise Marcos was offering! When I was younger I never believed the leftist line that the U.S. supported the Marcos dictatorship. I never paid heed to their claim that the American government would be willing to save an ailing and unpopular dictator because at least Marcos would allow the retention of the American bases at Clark and Subic. But when it came straight from the horses mouth that it was only the bases that interested the U.S., I began to wonder if these fellow Filipinos were right. You know, the family has a lot to be grateful for to America. Your great grandfathers, grandfather and I were all educated with scholarships from ivy league schools. Your aunt and I grew up in a small university town in Michigan
which plrobably explains how we began to love almost irrelevantly everything that was American. I must confess that up to the time of the Revolt, we were ready to fly you and the rest of the family to the U.S. where we were sure we would be welcome as refugees of sorts. But the four days of February changed that. How I wish you were old enough to realize that you uncle and I and scores of other Filipinos risked our very lives so that this country of ours would be free! Filipinos who only knew each other by the color of their skins and the language they spoke, huddled together in front of the army camps armed only with rosaries and prayers. And now one else was there. Thank you, America, for democracy, your comfortable and efficient ways, your language that I speak so well, your friendly smiles and your apple pie. With your generosity, it would seem selfish that I am not willing to share those precious days in February6 with you. But I know you will understand . . . for instead you have our mines, our forests, our fish and our seas, and for many of us, out minds and our hearts.
CHAPTER 6 Weve hardly gotten any sleep in the last few days. For two nights, Ive left the radio only long enough to make my usual round of inspection in the house. Then I rushed back to the sala where Lolo was waiting, with Radio Veritas going full blast. Weve been listening to the live Namfrel tally of the election results. Sometimes, we have the TV and radio going at the same time. The younger ones are out guarding their ballots. Lolo and I go to the precinct in the daytime; but at night, your mama insists that we stay home. She says we might get beaten up or shot at, like the kids who were guarding the ballot boxes at Makati and were slapped and kicked by goons. Since Cory announced her intention to run for president two months ago, many of my friends have been involved in the campaign. Its funny, there must be thousands of kinds of Cory posters. People know that Cory and her cause need every ounce f support they can get. Some give money; but those who cant do that contribute instead their own time and efforts. Ive seen many political campaigns over the years; but this is the first time Ive seen homemade campaign materials. Everyone is making posters, T-shirts, buttons, slogans. I hung my big yellow blanket out on my balcony. Tita Nina designed a leaflet and had it printed using her own money. She and Tito Randy spent their free time at bus stations handing out he leaflets to commuters. Tita Florian took ID photos
in Greenhills for free when the Comelec required photos of every new voter. She photographed around 50 people, found someone to develop the photos, and delivered them the next day. We were up against the well-oiled KBI, campaign machinery. They almost succeeded in denying the oppositionists any TV exposure. Lolo and I stopped watching Channel 4, the government TV station, completely. The only TV station that showed a glimmer of credibility was Channel 7. But whatever TV station you watched, you couldnt avoid those long political commercials demeaning Filipino womanhhood, and proclaiming the 10 qualifications of the KBL candidate. Your cousin, Bugoy, of course recited for our benefit the 10 disqualifications: 1diktador, 2-may asawang maluho, 3-may sakit, 4-may hidden wealth, 5mandaraya, 6-maraming cronics, 7-manhid, 8-maraming tuta, 9-may Ver Dugo, and 10-maka-komunista. Your parents and all your aunts and uncles have attended countless protest activities. One of the early ones was he Tarlac to Tarmac march. I joined that one as it passed through Pampanga. I was there when troops me the protestors at a bridge in Meycauayan. Neither side would give an inch. Your Lola Nay was out in the front line and I was frightened for her. But she was an inspiration! The troops announced they would assault us at 5 p.m. Nay didnt waver. She calmly knelt down on the bridge and led the rosary. This strengthened me greatly. We stayed there praying, I dont know how long. When I looked up, the troops had moved away and we were free to resume our march. This was only the start of a growing awareness and involvement among everyone I knew. I was one of the million people who went to say good-bye to Ninoy as he lay in state in Sto. Domingo Church. We looked at Ninoys bloodied face, saw he bullet hole. I couldnt talk, couldnt think. Like many others, I cried helplessly in outrage. Im not a political person, God knows. It wasnt politics that made me make a silent promise to support what Ninoy had died for. Many of us, knowingly or unknowingly, made a commitment during that miserable last week of August in 1983. My own plan of action was nebulous; others like Tita Tinette followed Ninoys hearse to his hometown in Concepcion, Tarlac. The weeks passed, months went by. About a year after we lost Ninoy, we went to the polls to elect our delegates to he Batasang Pambansa. We knew that a regime that murdered its political enemies wouldnt have any scruples about violating the sanctity of he ballot. Try and imagine it. We had to physically prevent our government from trying to cheat us of our right to be heard. With the help of the Namfrel and the vigilance of thousands of determined civilians, we put opposition candidates in one third of the Batasan seas. This was something of a victory; and in a way, it prepared us for the snap elections held two years later.
A every campaign rally for the 1986 elections, Cory and Doy Laurel reminded people of he need to safeguard their ballots. Thus, on February 7, people arrived at the polls with food, flashlights, ballpens, identification. Unfortunately, a large number found that they were disenfranchised. In the provinces, particularly in Tarlac, Ilocos, and Cagayan, voters in some precincts were sent home before they could vote by local officials who told them that their votes had already been taken care of. By 5 p.m. the counting and the battle of the ballots began. In Guadalupe Viejo in Makati, as in many other places, armed goons broke into he voting precincts to scare away he voters and snatch he ballot boxes. In some places, they succeeded. Elsewhere, they found determined civilians sitting on the ballot boxes. Your Tita Pechay was hit with a chair; and she had to be hospitalized. Flying voters illegally moved from precinct to precinct voting for certain KBL candidates of curse, they were paid each time they voted. Namfrel volunteers, meanwhile, were slapped, beaten, kicked, even shot dead. I fervently wish you will never have to witness an election as dirty, as violent, as bloody and as corrupt as this one. After the ballot counting in the voting precincts, nuns and civilians chained themselves to the ballot boxes as they were brought to the town halls. All night long, people bravely guarded the boxes at the precincts, the town halls, and later at the Batasang Pambansa. Up to now, three days after election day, the ballot counting is going on. Namfrel and Comelec are still tallying the election returns. So far only Namfrel has remained believable. Just last night, thirty Comelec computer operators walked out in disgust over the cheating being done by the Commission on Elections. The operators noticed a discrepancy between the actual results coming in and the overall score being reported to the public. The Comelec was manipulating the elections in favor of Marcos! Theres no mention of the Namfrel tally on TV, just on the radio. Lolo and I are keeping our own tally. Our score boards, big sheets of manila paper tacked on the living room walls, show that Cory is in the lead, by a small margin. Already, the KBL is trying to discredit Namfrel. At the same time as the Comelec walkout, Ambassador J.V. Cruz, newscasters Ronnie Nathanielz and Rita Gaddi Baltazar, Nafrel Chairman Jose Concepcion and vice chairman Vicedne Jayme and some others appeared on a talk show on Channel 4. It was supposed to be an objective debate; but it turned out to be pure harassment as the newscasters, who should have been neutral, were badgering the Namfrel people!
Ive talked with my friends and relatives about these development, and we all agree its simply been too much. Weve had enough! I dont know how were going to protest; but you can count on it, Filipinos will no longer allow such oppression. Were close to achieving our liberation from a repressive regime. We wont stop now, if only for you, our children.
CHAPTER 7 There is so much Id like to tell you about Ninoy Aquino what he stood for, what he meant to us, how he dedicated his life up o he last breath for us. Perhaps the best way to tell you about him is to let Ninoy himself speak the prepared the speech below for his arrival in Manila in 1983. He never got to deliver that speech. For me, this makes it all the more precious. Ninoys convictions ultimately liberated us. This is why I have put his speech here for you o read and think about. I have returned of my free will to join the ranks of those struggling to restore our rights and freedoms through nonviolence. I seek no confrontation. I only pray and will strive for a genuine national reconcillation founded on justice. I am prepared for the worst, and have decided against the advice of my mother, my spiritual adviser, many of my tested friends and few of my most valued political mentors. A death sentence awaits me. Two more subversion charges, both calling for death penalties, have been filed since I left three years ago and are now pending with the courts. I could have opted to seek political asylum in America, but I feel it is my duty, as I is the duy of every Filipino, to suffer with his people especially in time of crisis. I never sought nor have I been given any assurances or promise of leniency by the regime. I return voluntarily armed only with a clear conscience and fortified in the faith that in the end justice will emerge triumphant. According to Gandhi, the WILLING sacrifice of the innocent is the most powerful answer to insolent tyranny that has yet been conceived by God and man. Three years ago when I left for an emergency heart bypass operation, I hoped and prayed that the rights and freedoms of our people would soon be restored, that living conditions would improve and that blood-letting would stop.
Rather than move forward, we have moved backward. The killings have increased, the economy has taken a turn for the worse and the human rights situation has deteriorated. During the martial law period, the Supreme Court heard petitions for Habeas Corpus. It is most ironic, after martial law has allegedly been lifted, that the Supreme Court last April ruled it can no longer entertain petitions for Habeas Corpus for persons detained under a Presidential Commitment Order, which covers all so-called national security cases and which under present circumstances can cover almost anything. The country is far advanced in her times of trouble. Economic social and political problems bedevil the Filipino. These problems may be surmounted if we are united. But we can be united only if all he rights and freedoms enjoyed before September 21 1972 are fully restored. The Filipino asks for nothing more but will surely accept nothing less than all the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the 1935 Constitution the most sacred legacies from the Founding Fathers. Yes, the Filipino is patient, but here is a limit o his patience. Must we wait until that patience snaps? The nationwide rebellion is escalating and threatens to explode into a bloody revoluion. There is a growing cadre of young Filipinos who have finally come to realize that freedom is never granted it is taken. Must we relieve the agonies and the blood-letting off the past that brought forth our Republic or can we sit down as brothers and sisters and discuss our differences with reason and goodwill? I have often wondered how many disputes could have been settled easily had the disputants only dared to define their terms. So as to leave no room for misunderstanding, I shall define my terms: 1. Six years ago, I was sentenced to die before a firing squad by a Military Tribunal whose jurisdiction I steadfastly refused to recognize. It is now time for the regime to decide. Order my IMMEDIATE EXECUTION OR SET ME FREE. I was sentenced to die for allegedly being the leading communist leader. I am not a communist, never was and never will be. 2. National reconciliation and unity can be achieved but only with justice, including justice for our Muslim and Ifugao brothers. There can be no deal with a Dictator. No compromise with Dictatorship.
3. In a revolution there can really be no victors, only victims. We do not have to destroy in order to build. 4. Subversion seems from economic, social and political causes and will no be solved by purely military solutions; it can be curbed not with ever increasing repression but with a more equitable distribution of wealth, more democracy and more freedom, and 5. For economy to get going once again, the workingman must be given his just and rightful share of his labor, and to the owners and managers must be restored the hope where there is so much uncertainly if no despair. On one of the long corridors of Harvard University are carved in granite the words of Archibald Macleish: How shall freedom be defended? By arms when it is attacked by arms; by truth when it is attacked by lies, by democratic faith when it is attacked by authoritarian dogma. Always, and in the final act, by determination and faith. I return from exile and to an uncertain future with only determination and faith to offer faith in our people and faith in God.
CHAPTER 8 You know, Im convinced that no man, certainly no politician, could have done for us what Cory has. One of the big problems in our fight against Marcos has been that our opposition forces do not agree among themselves. After Ninoys death, the expected unity didnt come about. Internal power struggles continued, compounded perhaps by the many protest groups that arose because of the assassination. We needed a candidate to run against Marcos; but no one leader emerged. No one existed who would pull together the fractured opposition. No one. Until Cory Aquino accepted the nomination. Cory had said many times that she had no political ambitions. She held the full-time position of homemaker and mother to her five children. And she wanted to keep it that way. Under pressure to run for the presidency, she said shed accept only if a million persons drafted her, and if Marcos would call snap
elections. When these conditions were met, no one was more surprised than Cory Aquino herself. True to her word, she accepted the challenge. She campaigned vigorously throughout the country, and was met everywhere by enthusiastic crowds. This, the people knew, was the chance to break the stranglehold of greed. This was the legal legitimate chance, probably the last chance. And the people voted for Cory. As predicted, the ruling party used fraud, force, money. Plenty of money. They stole the election; the effects of their massive bribery will hit us months, years, from now. But in the end, Cory and the people triumphed. As our first non-politician president, she has no training in the dark maze of politics. She makes her decisions unhampered by prejudice, intrigue, double-dealing. As our first woman president, she is neither ineffectual nor walang alam. Already, she has overruled the military in her determination to grant freedom to political prisoners. As a person, she makes a refreshing contrast to the extravagant Imelda Marcos. Far from seeking the glories of power, Cory refuses to live in a palace while many of her countrymen suffer in hovels. I saw a tape of Cory when she was interviewed on American television right after Ninoy died. Still in shock, she was calm and specific about her plans for her family. The American journalist expressed some surprise that Cory wanted to come back, even if her life would be in danger here. But she said quite definitely that this was her home, and matters here needed her attention. I had to admire her. If it had been me, I thought, I wouldnt have been able to control my anger at the people who butchered my husband. During all those years of Ninoys detention she must have nourished hopes that her family would one day enjoy a normal life together. Long years on a roller coaster facing he horror of a death sentence, feeling the frustration of fighting a despot, seeing her husband leave for Manila when he might have remained safe by her side. To this day, Cory has shown that she isnt bent on demanding blood for blood. She came back to bury Ninoy. In the following months, she lent her presence o rallies, usually surprised when crowds showed up. She consistently stayed out of active politics till he day she accepted her nomination. After the recent revolution, she even viewed the video tapes of Ninoys assassination without losing her composure. She said her faith is a spirit that bears things with resignation, yes, but above all blazing serene hope.
We are only starting with President Corazon C. Aquino. Already, we look forward to a just and fair government. This time, as Cory herself has asked, we are going to make sure that we get it.
CHAPTER 9 Reading this, youve probably become curious about us, the people who wrote these letters, the people who lived through martial law, and who deposed a firmly entrenched dictator. What sort of culture produced a people deserving of worldwide acclaim? Well, Ill tell you: were actually very ordinary. Our story, however, evolved into a saga of heroism with ourselves in the starring roles. The Marcos years were years of shame for Filipinos blanket character assassination on the entire Filipino people by one man Marcos. They were confusing, painful years for us. A once proud race had become un-proud. Our honor blood-stained, reputation for truthful men turned to mendacity, industry to get-rich-quick schemes, fair Filipinas abused on posters in tourism all over the world reading Theres More Where This Comes From. Twenty unrelenting years of unbelievable shame. Suddenly, with the EDSA Revolt, the shackles of shame came undone. It delineated what sets Filipinos apart from the rest of the world. That we insist on peace, but are prepared to defend that peace with every ounce of blood which could so easily have been spilled on that highway. That we kept the faith at Crame. The jeepney is Pinoy, American junked jeeps transformed to purposeful use, things of beauty, florid, altar-filled, upong piso lamang, katas ng Saudi, Henrilyn, horses, God is my co-pilot. Pinoy is the little men in the Japanese time who saved tinfuoil from American soldiers cigarette packs to build short-wave radios on which to listen to VOA and Tokyo Rose. The man who built the moonwalk vehicle is Pinoy. Half the doctors in America, and half the nurses, are Pinoy. They save American lives every day perhaps as much from kindness and attention paid as from medical skills. Filipinos pay attention, whether to learn new skills or dance or sing. We are Sartres existentialists. Now is the moment.
The worlds speediest speed reader is Pinay, and so is the 7-year-old little tisay who refused to drown in Manila bay, and so are the fishermen who rescued her and refused reward. Pinoy is the people in my town who salvaged a harmonium from the Kano soldiers junk heap to rebuild and install it in our little chapel in its new dignity. I played it all night under the talisay tree at my fathers wake. The poet Eman Lacaba, Bobby de la Paz shot in his clinic while reading that weeks issue of Time, Edjop Jopson, Johnny Escandor, another doctor, all freedom fighters, all Pinoy. Mendiola and wreaths of barbed wire, Ugarte picnics, Ayala Avenue confetti, the First Quarter Storm, mute Muslim names scrawled on Corregidors walls in the Jabidah massacre, the burning of Jolo in 1974 and Macli-ing, who defied the World Banks construction of the Chico River Dam with his own life. The man who snatched a ladys purse on Mabini but who took the trouble to apologize, under pain of arrest, Sorry po. Hindi po ako magnanakaw, pero tatlong araw na pong hindi kumakain ang aking pamilya. He is no less Pinoy than you and I. The dockworkers, jeepney drivers, Daughters of Isabella, the peasants, the poets, the people in the hills and the people in the cities, pasikatan, sagalas in the Flores de Mayo, the fiestas and the wakes, funerarias and floreras, fiembreras and Flor de Luna, Kahapon Lamang, Cardinal Sin and Balweg, Florante at Laura and the P. Gomez Elementary School (accent not on men but on ta) whose library scholars scour to research yesteryears childrens books. Flare we have aplenty. Pizzazz. A sixth sense that makes aesthetes of us all, a feel for things, vibrations, baka sakali, ano kaya kung, creastors of things, fanciful, somber, Lino Brockas weepy funeral cortege who suddenly stop dead in their tracks to flash smiles beside the dead mans bier, for the photographers benefit but also for posterity. Balut is Pinoy and so are abaca chinelas and step-ins and dusters. Lucban;s pahiyas and Quiapos cheek-by-jowl blend of stampitas and Santo Nios and herbs for rheumatism, diarrhea and tuberculosis. Dont forget Ils de Tuls, the all-time classic Pinoy put-down. This is how we are Filipinos. The fact from the fancy from the foible, the infamous and now the famous Filipino.
But we also have goodness though there are evil men in this land against which to juxtapose that goodness. We have truth, we had it even in the deepest darkest nights of Marcos untruths. We have concern for our fellowman and that is what made us come out in the millions to denounce Ninoys death. How dare Marcos have done it ot even the least of us? We are hospitable, and that is why dayuhan ay nahalina. No one will ever come to visit us at mealtime and be told to come back later because we are eating, or not be invited to the table. That is simply not done in our society whether poor or rich. Our mores are our greatest leveler. No wife will not serve her husband at dinnertime, not because she is servile to him, for we have the most liberated women in the world (though no one knows it but us), but because it is a sign of her esteem and her affection for the man who is her life partner. Neither has a single womens lib demo been held for the Filipina to achieve the status they have as women in our society. And it was women who stood before the tanks in Bataan last year, to defy the operation of the nuclear plant, just as women stood before the tanks at Ortigas. Two outstanding facts of the EDSA Revolt stand our4: it rid us of Marcos and it has restored our pride in being Filipino. To a lesser degree, it has also restored the spirit of Bayanihan, which in the mayhem of the Marcos years, we had forgotten. The Filipino is a special breed of man. We didnt have to prove it to the world at EDSA, for it was our own revolt, but that specialness shone then, of all times in recent memory. We Filipinos is our own special idiom, among so many other Pinoy idiomatic phrases boksingero is three languages in one. We Filipinos are special people.
EPILOGUE By now, I hope you know why your family and friends felt compelled to write this book. It took a long and painful process to get us on our feet. We went through a lot till we worked up the guts to demand what we knew to be right. For a while, my view was shortsighted. I was thinking of you when I stayed a comfortable distance from protest activities. What, I rationalized, would happen to you if imprisonment deprived you of a mother?
But now, I know that you would have been even more deprived if I hadnt added my voice to the clamor for change. Under the tyrants, you might have grown up safe and intact physically. But you would have been warped inside. Today, your options are improved a hundredfold. Youll have a decent chance to succeed in your profession; youll do it with the tools of honesty, fairness, and rightness. The martial law years gave Filipinos a shameful reputation. Oh yes, we even used to disown our country when we travelled abroad. But weve redeemed that name. now we give it back into your keeping with restored pride and honor. We are Filipinos. And were proud of being Filipinos. Safeguard your legacy, child.

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