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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 thecrowds.

There is a stirring, and at times frightening, story behind the spectacle. It’sa narrative too complex for me to tell all by myself. Try as I might, I could not putin words the fears, anxieties, and final liberation of 54 million Filipinos. So I havegathered in this book the personal accounts of several people who, speakingtogether, should give you a fairly lucid picture of what went on during theFebruary revolution.

This is your story, too. Over a million Filipinos stopped the dictator’s tanksand soldiers on EDSA with their bare hands and prayers. They accomplishedthat 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 theheyday of the Marcoses and how they oppressed and plundered our land.Someday you will read more about this time in our country’s history; and it will bewritten not by the paid lackeys of the dictator but by credible historians. But Ithink the more exciting accounts are those about the four days in February of1986 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 familyfriends are an enduring record of our triumph in our struggle for freedom.

CHAPTER 1

You’re probably wondering what on earth could have made your frail andretiring 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 couldn’t have been just a spur-of-the-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 itwas 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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We had no plan of action, no leader, nothing but a summons for help fromRamos and Enrile. Radio Veritas, in fact, was our umbilical cord to whateverelse was going on, including within Crame’s walls. Even so, June Keithley’svoice grew dimmer, as pro-government jammers worked to weaken Veritas’

signals.

I hadn’t seen a sunrise for four years. Today at dawn, I had no words ofadmiration – just a silent wish that we would b able to go on taking sunrises forgranted. I brought out my rosary and thanked Him for a night spent safely in Hiscare.

Many people left then; and when we saw that reinforcements werearriving, 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 hadbrought his eviction one step closer.

CHAPTER 2

Nuns are supposed to be pillars of mystic strength, but I guess my kneesdon’t know that – they are still shaking. We planted ourselves in the path oftanks! 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 myselfto His will.

But the soldiers! Young, confused, telling us they had been ordered toEDSA but they didn’t know what their mission orders were. Perhaps they fearedGod, as they refused to plow into a crowd of unarmed civilians and priests andnuns. 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 theday, thousands more came, most of them straight from mass. We built sandbagbarricades 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 toheap on the barricades.

The drone of helicopters came and went overhead; but no one ran forcover. 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


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more generals defecting to Ramos’ and Enrile’s camp. Marcos denied it in aninterview 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 Marcosgives in, or bombs us off the face of the earth. We don’t really know whatmanner of harm they intend to inflict on us. We dare not think about it, becausethat will make us afraid. Was David afraid when he faced Goliath? Or was henot, 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 outin front, before the barricades. It would, we hoped, be doubly hard for thesoldiers 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 perilousenterprise; but on the other hand, it was a privilege to serve my country as aFilipino, as a woman, and as a religious. I felt this resolve suddenly, not justwithin 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.

Tomorrow’s headlines will say “Crowd Stops Marcos Tanks.” “UnarmedCivilians Block Tanks as More AFP Officials Back Duo.” “Situation Tense ButNormal.” “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 intrucks, handing them sandwiches and such. Other pictures will be of the tanks,retreating from the crowds. Yet others, I hope, will show wondrous, unbelievablescenes such as the pretty young thing I saw clutching flowers, hoisted onto atank. 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. Icalled 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


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out there. “Hold them in Your bosom, Lord,” is what my notes say. Even rottenold 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? Whydoesn’t light come? We hear Ketly, too, asking “Where’s the dawn?” All Manilawaits 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 theorder to shell Camp Crame by air and to simultaneously force a way through thecrowd by land. There are children out there! Before I know what I’m saying,three Hail Mary’s have left my lips.

The broadcast is from Camp Aguinaldo now, from the rear gate which is aweak spot. Sneaky of those terrorists; they know where it hurts the most. Ketlyis bout to sweat blood. “Magkapatid tayo,” she says again and again to thesoldiers. She reminds them, just in case they forgot, that the civvies areunarmed and unaggressive.

The Dynamic Duo take their turn at the mike. They repeat their invitationto the soldiers to lay down their guns. To the lambs, they give instructions onwhat 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 forall who have allowed themselves to be used for evil acts against people andcountry, but are now ready to die defending the people. To die? To die! I startshivering. I know it’s not Jackie Chan versus Rambo out there, but until you hearthe holy man giving you that Ego te absolvo , you don’t call in the memorial parks.

The people are holding their ground. I find out much later that a stronggust of wind blows the teargas in the direction of the attackers. I’ll neverunderestimate the power of prayer again. The soldiers seem suitably impressedtoo. They cease their attack and cross over, to be welcomed with bearhugs andcheers. Quite a scene.

Well, that’s my cue. Count me in, guys. I come to EDSA, notebook inhand, to help out in whatever way I can. I arrive to see people standing atattention, even those in cars have gotten out. I hear Bayang Magiliw from a carradio – not, I hope, for the last time.

I don’t choke up too much anymore when I hear Bayan Ko , but this is toomuch. The evening’s anguish finally gives way to tears as we listen to Ketly


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playing the National Anthem. With fervor burning, thee do our souls adore, Landdear and holy, cradle of noble heroes. Glorious liberty. Lupa ng araw , ng luwalhati’t 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 beforein this hateful regime. But soft, there’s something in the sky. Seven specks arecoming this way.

Within the walls of Crame, soldiers watch anxiously as a group of Sikorskygunships (choppers to the un-military) slowly descend. Tension shifts toeuphoria 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 mostevil and sinister people I have known.” He describes how, when his squadronwas 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 toRamos!

The crowd – it’s most of Manila by this time – welcomes them like they’venever 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 wouldnormally see in a year! Not much I can do, actually, except to be here, to bephysically present. My notebook is still with me, as I know all that happens todaywill form part of our history.

Later in the morning, the unbelievable news is that Marcos, Imelda andVer have fled the country, and Marcos is presently in Guam. A shockwave ofsilence grips the crowd, followed by wild whooping and cheering. Men andwomen openly weeping with joy; strangers hugging, dancing, singing. The gatesof Crame are swung open and the crowd happily swarms in. The usuallycircumspect Ramos actually leaps a foot above the ground in ecstasy! Bymidmorning, we discover it was a false alarm, and Marcos is on television sayinghe is not Willy Nepomuceno. It was, alas, too good to be true, and so we presson. It’s him or us.

Spirits are up again. The news is that any moment now, Ramos’ troopsare 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 isvital to a coup. Now the crowds have swollen to thousands at Channel 4, there isa gunfight, during which a priest, armed with a 4-foot Madonna comes sailingthrough the crowd, oblivious to the firefight. The siege is a success, and theReformists 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, whensuddenly, he sees himself no more. Cendaña runs to the set of plugs close to


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Macoy, panickily fidgets with them, runs to the boob tubes scattered around theStudy Room, pounds on each of them, to no avail. Marcos is off Channel 4forever, we hope.

In minutes, we see a street-scruffy Ma-an Hontiveros, fresh from battleand unmade up on the tube. An impromptu signboard stands behind her whichreads Mabuhay ang Kalayaan! Yet another blow to Marcos. Gone is the giltthrone and its occupant, gone are the dictatorship’s trappings. In its place, afree-for-all non-stop broadcast ensues.

Meanwhile, at Villamor, it’s fun and games for Major Hotchkiss and hissquadron of three Sikorsky gunships, it’s noon, so most of his ex-colleagues atthe air base are indoors for lunch. He makes a first pass, radioing the PhilippineAir Force Control Tower to clear the area as they are going to strafe. As theyswoop 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 them’s mine.” Alas, his car isparked too close to the targeted five choppers. All choppers are strafed, two ofwhich are burned to a crisp, but so is the pilot’s car hit. The wages of war.

A third pass is made over Macoy’s hangar, and the Presidential chopper isblown up as well. Down he dictator! Excuse me for getting so het up, but that’swhat my notebook’s got. You can’t imagine how caught up we are with every bitof news evidencing his imminent downfall.

It’s evening now. Thousands are going to spend he night here on EDSA,including your uncle and me. But we know we’re going to make it. We’ll wait out,

but we’ll 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 wereborn into such a grim situation. Your heritage as Filipinos was to be hardshipand fear and shame. Shame that you were Filipinos. But because of today’sevents, we have won; and we have consigned Marcos – our blackest ruler ever – to history. Marcos may still be here; but he isn’t the issue anymore.

CHAPTER 4

Marcos has fled the Philippines! He and his family left at 9 o’clock tonight,never to return!

I was only 10 years old when Marcos promised to “make this country greatagain.” Four years later, despite indications that Marcos had indeed given thecountry its worst four-year administration, a majority of Filipinos was willing to


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allow him another final term to keep that promise of greatness. We wereprobably thinking that since Marcos knew that these years in office were going tobe his last, he would leave the country a legacy of prosperity and efficientgovernment, in the process making for himself a place of honor in our history.

Looking back now, it seems naïve of us to have put our faith in the man.He was a persuasive talker. We thought he really meant all his beautifully-worded speeches about democracy, nationalism, greatness. A year before hissecond term was to end, his henchmen orchestrated a series of bombing andother civil disturbances to give him an excuse to declare martial law.

We woke up that fateful Saturday morning of September 21, 1972 to findall 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 howgovernment 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 FranciscoTatad on television arrogantly declaring that martial law was now in effect. Therewas nothing to worry about because everything was under control, they said.

And true enough they did gain control of the entire country by scaring usabout how imminent the communist threat was, and how the military would takeaction against anyone who went against the government. There was a completenews blackout. We did not know until we received smuggled news clippings fromabroad how they tortured hundreds in military camps, and how they brought

Ninoy and Senator Jose Diokno to Laur, Nueva Ecija, where they sufferedsolitary confinement in prison cells no bigger than a dog house.

But a few years after that, except for an occasional western press articlethat would jolt our memories, most Filipinos found excuses to ignore the ugly sideof martial law. The Marcos propaganda machinery was so effective in coveringup military abuses and the graft and corruption going on. We were really takenby the idea of having the only “smiling martial law” era in the whole world.

Many of the more famous political detainees were released except forNinoy. The more militant who were to captured ran to the hills to continue thestruggle against the government, a government which became more ruthless anduncompromising 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, butMarcos and his bright boys always seemed to have ready statistics showing thatdespite a world recession and climbing OPEC prices, the Philippines was stillone of the cheapest places in which to live. And because many of the men


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surrounding Marcos were respected businessmen and professionals, webelieved 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. Butoccasionally, news of Ninoy’s unrelenting protests told us that someone hadn’tforgotten; someone wouldn’t compromise. He was, to me, one of the last fewcredible 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 hehad agreed to go for necessary heart surgery. He might have chosen an easylife in the States. By coming back, Ninoy could only look forward to continuedimprisonment. On arrival, he was taken from the plane and shot as hedescended 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 Marcosregime was involved in that terrible crime.

Indignant but still very afraid, over one million Filipinos openly mournedNinoy’s death which was to help trigger the worst economic conditions since theSecond World War. We saw the value of our peso shrink by one half; prices offood and gasoline went up; unemployment rose drastically. But that still did notbreak us, child! We did not run amok or join our brothers in the hills.

Instead, we joined peaceful rallies in Makati. Liwasang Bonifacio, andeven Mendiola. We read and wrote articles for the newborn oppositionpublications, brave enough now to expose the grave abuses and rottenness ofthe regime.

The cynics said our brand of protest was leading us nowhere. We neckeda 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 Hisgoodness intervenes in the affairs of men.

Some people, foreigners particularly, may call me crazy. But I know thatyou, a Filipino, will have inherited my faith. How else can we explain whattranspired in the last four days except in supernatural terms? What made Enrileand Ramos finally see how immoral the Marcos regime had become? Was ittheir rational minds, or was it the prayers of the Filipino people storming theheavens? What stopped Marcos and Ver from wiping out the ‘rebels’ at CampsAguinaldo and Crame on Saturday evening when there were still so few of us


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who had come to protect the gates? Was it blood and brotherhood ties, or OurLady 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 Marcosloyalist described how Imelda hired a group of her townmates to continuouslyporay the rosary for her family, and how in the final hours Marcos himself led theprayers.

Today will also be remembered as the day when two presidentialinaugurations were held. Cory was sworn into office as the seventh President ofthe Philippines at Club Filipino in Greenhills. Doy Laurel was sworn in as vice-president,. Cory and Doy, with family members and close friends, could hardly fitinto 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 wewere no longer afraid of Marcos and what he could do to us. And moreimportantly, we were no longer afraid of ourselves.

They say Imelda Marcos was teary-eyed during their last publicappearance in Malacañang. And they say she alternately sang and cried on herway to the U.S. from the Philippines. You see, by nine-fifteen in the evening, theMarcoses and 87 close associates were evacuated from the Palace to Clark AirBase in Pampanga where they were to stay until they were flown to another airbase 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 whathappened that very night our unwanted president left.

Our merry-making actually began when Cory was safely installed as ournew president. People had mini motorcades all over Manila with friends, blowingtheir horns and shouting Cory’s name. on Channel 4, the tape of her inauguralwas shown several times over. June Keithley, the Apo Hiking Society, LinoBrocka, Freddie Aguilar, Behn Cervantes, and some of the original artists whorisked their careers and even their personal safety to voice the truth, anchoredthe non-stop talk show.

By 10 p.m., June Keithley, Jose Mari Velez and Bong Lapira officiallyannounced that the Masrcoses were out of Malacañang. These three veteran TVannouncers shed tears unashamedly when June asked all to say a prayer ofthanks that our uprising had ended almost as peacefully as it had begun.

Once again, being Filipino is glorious!


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CHAPTER 5

A sad thing happened to me today. I called your aunt living in New Yorkto 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: thatAmerica 9with the possible exception of President Reagan) was partlyresponsible for the end of the Marcos dictatorship.

I have no quarrel with the average American, nor with some sectors ofAmerican society – particularly the press – who were sympathetic to Cory Aquinoand what she stands for. Wasn’t it Lewis Simons of the San Jose MercuryNews 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 inthe U.S. House of Representatives?

But America must not and cannot take any credit for the four-day People’sRevolt that finally toppled the dictatorship. No amount of television interviewswith Ted Koppel showing how evil Marcos was, or no amount of diplomaticpersuasion on the part of Philip Habib would have made Marcos leave. It had tobe the Filipinos themselves who delivered that uncompromising message toMarcos 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 inAmerica, believe that they were the heroes. Up to the last minute when we hadproclaimed Cory our new president, the Reagan administration was asking her toshare powers with Marcos because that was the compromise Marcos wasoffering!

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 theAmerican government would be willing to save an ailing and unpopular dictatorbecause at least Marcos would allow the retention of the American bases atClark and Subic.

But when it came straight from the horse’s mouth that it was only thebases that interested the U.S., I began to wonder if these fellow Filipinos wereright.

You know, the family has a lot to be grateful for to America. Your greatgrandfathers, grandfather and I were all educated with scholarships from ivyleague schools. Your aunt and I grew up in a small university town in Michigan


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which plrobably explains how we began to love almost irrelevantly everything thatwas American.

I must confess that up to the time of the Revolt, we were ready to fly youand 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 oldenough to realize that you uncle and I and scores of other Filipinos risked ourvery lives so that this country of ours would be free! Filipinos who only kneweach other by the color of their skins and the language they spoke, huddledtogether in front of the army camps armed only with rosaries and prayers. Andnow 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 thoseprecious days in February6 with you. But I know you will understand . . . forinstead you have our mines, our forests, our fish and our seas, and for many ofus, out minds and our hearts.

CHAPTER 6

We’ve hardly gotten any sleep in the last few days. For two nights, I’veleft 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 RadioVeritas going full blast. We’ve been listening to the live Namfrel tally of theelection 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 theprecinct in the daytime; but at night, your mama insists that we stay home. Shesays we might get beaten up or shot at, like the kids who were guarding theballot 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. It’s funny, there mustbe thousands of kinds of Cory posters. People know that Cory and her causeneed every ounce f support they can get. Some give money; but those who can’tdo that contribute instead their own time and efforts. I’ve seen many politicalcampaigns over the years; but this is the first time I’ve seen homemadecampaign materials. Everyone is making posters, T-shirts, buttons, slogans. Ihung my big yellow blanket out on my balcony. Tita Nina designed a leaflet andhad it printed – using her own money. She and Tito Randy spent their free timeat bus stations handing out he leaflets to commuters. Tita Florian took ID photos


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in Greenhills for free when the Comelec required photos of every new voter. Shephotographed around 50 people, found someone to develop the photos, anddelivered them the next day.

We were up against the well-oiled KBI, campaign machinery. They almostsucceeded in denying the oppositionists any TV exposure. Lolo and I stoppedwatching Channel 4, the government TV station, completely. The only TV stationthat showed a glimmer of credibility was Channel 7. But whatever TV station youwatched, you couldn’t avoid those long political commercials demeaning Filipinowomanhhood, and proclaiming the 10 qualifications of the KBL candidate. Yourcousin, Bugoy, of course recited for our benefit the “10 disqualifications”: 1- diktador, 2-may asawang maluho, 3-may sakit, 4-may hidden wealth, 5- mandaraya, 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 countlessprotest activities. One of the early ones was he Tarlac to Tarmac march. I joinedthat one as it passed through Pampanga. I was there when troops me theprotestors at a bridge in Meycauayan. Neither side would give an inch. YourLola Nay was out in the front line and I was frightened for her. But she was aninspiration! The troops announced they would assault us at 5 p.m. Nay didn’twaver. She calmly knelt down on the bridge and led the rosary. Thisstrengthened me greatly. We stayed there praying, I don’t know how long.When I looked up, the troops had moved away and we were free to resume ourmarch.

This was only the start of a growing awareness and involvement amongeveryone I knew. I was one of the million people who went to say good-bye toNinoy as he lay in state in Sto. Domingo Church. We looked at Ninoy’s bloodiedface, saw he bullet hole. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Like many others, I criedhelplessly in outrage.

I’m not a political person, God knows. It wasn’t politics that made memake a silent promise to support what Ninoy had died for. Many of us, knowinglyor unknowingly, made a commitment during that miserable last week of August in1983. My own plan of action was nebulous; others like Tita Tinette followedNinoy’s 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 electour delegates to he Batasang Pambansa. We knew that a regime that murderedits political enemies wouldn’t have any scruples about violating the sanctity of heballot. Try and imagine it. We had to physically prevent our government fromtrying to cheat us of our right to be heard. With the help of the Namfrel and thevigilance of thousands of determined civilians, we put opposition candidates inone third of the Batasan seas. This was something of a victory; and in a way, itprepared us for the snap elections held two years later.


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A every campaign rally for the 1986 elections, Cory and Doy Laurelreminded 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 theprovinces, particularly in Tarlac, Ilocos, and Cagayan, voters in some precinctswere sent home before they could vote by local officials who told them that theirvotes 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 intohe voting precincts to scare away he voters and snatch he ballot boxes. In someplaces, they succeeded. Elsewhere, they found determined civilians sitting onthe ballot boxes. Your Tita Pechay was hit with a chair; and she had to behospitalized. Flying voters illegally moved from precinct to precinct voting for

certain KBL candidates – of curse, they were paid each time they voted. Namfrelvolunteers, meanwhile, were slapped, beaten, kicked, even shot dead. Ifervently wish you will never have to witness an election as dirty, as violent, asbloody and as corrupt as this one.

After the ballot counting in the voting precincts, nuns and civilians chainedthemselves to the ballot boxes as they were brought to the town halls. All nightlong, people bravely guarded the boxes at the precincts, the town halls, and laterat 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 Namfrelhas remained believable. Just last night, thirty Comelec computer operatorswalked out in disgust over the cheating being done by the Commission onElections. The operators noticed a discrepancy between the actual resultscoming in and the overall score being reported to the public. The Comelec wasmanipulating the elections in favor of Marcos!

There’s no mention of the Namfrel tally on TV, just on the radio. Lolo andI are keeping our own tally. Our score boards, big sheets of manila paper tackedon 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 theComelec walkout, Ambassador J.V. Cruz, “newscasters” Ronnie Nathanielz andRita Gaddi Baltazar, Nafrel Chairman Jose Concepcion and vice chairmanVicedne Jayme and some others appeared on a talk show on Channel 4. It wassupposed to be an objective debate; but it turned out to be pure harassment asthe “newscasters,” who should have been neutral, were badgering the Namfrelpeople!


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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.


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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, I’m convinced that no man, certainly no politician, could havedone for us what Cory has.

One of the big problems in our fight against Marcos has been that ouropposition forces do not agree among themselves. After Ninoy’s death, theexpected unity didn’t come about. Internal power struggles continued,compounded perhaps by the many protest groups that arose because of theassassination. We needed a candidate to run against Marcos; but no one leaderemerged. 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 heldthe full-time position of homemaker and mother to her five children. And shewanted to keep it that way. Under pressure to run for the presidency, she saidshe’d accept only if a million persons drafted her, and if Marcos would call snap


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elections. When these conditions were met, no one was more surprised thanCory Aquino herself.

True to her word, she accepted the challenge. She campaigned

vigorously throughout the country, and was met everywhere by enthusiasticcrowds. This, the people knew, was the chance to break the stranglehold ofgreed. 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 theirmassive bribery will hit us months, years, from now.

But in the end, Cory and the people triumphed. As our first non-politicianpresident, she has no training in the dark maze of politics. She makes herdecisions 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 topolitical prisoners.

As a person, she makes a refreshing contrast to the extravagant ImeldaMarcos. Far from seeking the glories of power, Cory refuses to live in a palacewhile many of her countrymen suffer in hovels.

I saw a tape of Cory when she was interviewed on American televisionright after Ninoy died. Still in shock, she was calm and specific about her plans

for her family. The American journalist expressed some surprise that Corywanted to come back, even if her life would be in danger here. But she saidquite 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 wouldn’t have beenable to control my anger at the people who butchered my husband. During allthose years of Ninoy’s detention she must have nourished hopes that her familywould one day enjoy a normal life together. Long years on a roller coaster facinghe horror of a death sentence, feeling the frustration of fighting a despot, seeingher husband leave for Manila when he might have remained safe by her side.

To this day, Cory has shown that she isn’t bent on demanding blood forblood. She came back to bury Ninoy. In the following months, she lent herpresence o rallies, usually surprised when crowds showed up. She consistentlystayed out of active politics till he day she accepted her nomination.

After the recent revolution, she even viewed the video tapes of Ninoy’sassassination without losing her composure. She said her faith is “a spirit thatbears things – with resignation, yes, but above all blazing serene hope.”


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We are only starting with President Corazon C. Aquino. Already, we lookforward 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, you’ve probably become curious about us, the people whowrote these letters, the people who lived through martial law, and who deposed afirmly entrenched dictator. What sort of culture produced a people deserving ofworldwide acclaim? Well, I’ll tell you: we’re 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 characterassassination on the entire Filipino people by one man – Marcos. They wereconfusing, painful years for us. A once proud race had become un-proud. Ourhonor blood-stained, reputation for truthful men turned to mendacity, industry toget-rich-quick schemes, fair Filipinas abused on posters in tourism all over theworld reading “There’s More Where This Comes From.” Twenty unrelentingyears of unbelievable shame.

Suddenly, with the EDSA Revolt, the shackles of shame came undone. Itdelineated what sets Filipinos apart from the rest of the world.

That we insist on peace, but are prepared to defend that peace with everyounce of blood which could so easily have been spilled on that highway. That wekept the faith at Crame.

The jeepney is Pinoy, American junked jeeps transformed to purposefuluse, 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 fromAmerican soldiers’ cigarette packs to build short-wave radios on which to listen toVOA and Tokyo Rose.

The man who built the moonwalk vehicle is Pinoy. Half the doctors inAmerica, 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 areSartre’s existentialists. Now is the moment.


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The world’s speediest speed reader is Pinay, and so is the 7-year-old littletisay who refused to drown in Manila bay, and so are the fishermen who rescuedher 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. Iplayed it all night under the talisay tree at my father’s wake.

The poet Eman Lacaba, Bobby de la Paz shot in his clinic while readingthat week’s issue of Time, Edjop Jopson, Johnny Escandor, another doctor, allfreedom fighters, all Pinoy.

Mendiola and wreaths of barbed wire, Ugarte picnics, Ayala Avenueconfetti, the First Quarter Storm, mute Muslim names scrawled on Corregidor’swalls in the Jabidah massacre, the burning of Jolo in 1974 and Macli-ing, who

defied the World Bank’s construction of the Chico River Dam with his own life.

The man who snatched a lady’s purse on Mabini but who took the troubleto 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 Pinoythan 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’ buton ‘ta’) whose library scholars scour to research yesteryears’ children’s books.

Flare we have aplenty. Pizzazz. A sixth sense that makes aesthetes ofus all, a feel for things, vibrations, baka sakali, ano kaya kung, creastors ofthings, fanciful, somber, Lino Brocka’s weepy funeral cortege who suddenly stopdead in their tracks to flash smiles beside the dead man’s bier, for thephotographer’s benefit but also for posterity.

Balut is Pinoy and so are abaca chinelas and step-ins and dusters.Lucban’;s pahiyas and Quiapo’s cheek-by-jowl blend of stampitas and SantoNiños and herbs for rheumatism, diarrhea and tuberculosis. Don’t 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, theinfamous – and now the famous Filipino.


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But we also have goodness – though there are evil men in this landagainst which to juxtapose that goodness. We have truth, we had it even in thedeepest darkest nights of Marcos’ untruths.

We have concern for our fellowman and that is what made us come out inthe millions to denounce Ninoy’s death. How dare Marcos have done it ot eventhe least of us?

We are hospitable, and that is why dayuhan ay nahalina . No one will evercome to visit us at mealtime and be told to come back later because we areeating, 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 isservile 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 theman who is her life partner. Neither has a single women’s lib demo been held forthe Filipina to achieve the status they have as women in our society. And it waswomen who stood before the tanks in Bataan last year, to defy the operation ofthe nuclear plant, just as women stood before the tanks at Ortigas.

Two outstanding facts of the EDSA Revolt stand our4: it rid us of Marcosand it has restored our pride in being Filipino. To a lesser degree, it has alsorestored the spirit of Bayanihan , which in the mayhem of the Marcos years, wehad forgotten.

The Filipino is a special breed of man. We didn’t have to prove it to theworld at EDSA, for it was our own revolt, but that specialness shone then, of alltimes in recent memory. “We Filipinos” is our own special idiom, among so manyother Pinoy idiomatic phrases – boksingero is three languages in one. WeFilipinos are special people.

EPILOGUE

By now, I hope you know why your family and friends felt compelled towrite this book.

It took a long and painful process to get us on our feet. We went througha 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 Istayed a comfortable distance from protest activities. What, I rationalized, wouldhappen to you if imprisonment deprived you of a mother?


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But now, I know that you would have been even more deprived if I hadn’tadded 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. You’ll have a decentchance to succeed in your profession; you’ll do it with the tools of honesty,fairness, and rightness.

The martial law years gave Filipinos a shameful reputation. Oh yes, weeven used to disown our country when we travelled abroad.

But we’ve redeemed that name. now we give it back into your keepingwith restored pride and honor.

We are Filipinos. And we’re proud of being Filipinos. Safeguard yourlegacy, child.


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