I am not embarrassed to tell you that I believe in miracles.
- CORAZON C. AQUINO
Have we forgotten?
… that we were once the masters of democracy?
… that in 1986, long before anyone had even heard of Barack Obama, there was a more pronounced and dynamic miracle here in our very own islands?
… that we were the envy of the world for our singular display of peace, reconciliation and true power?
Back in the day when power was yielded by the vicious, it was unthinkable that a housewife with no political ambition could topple down a twenty-year-old empire. The proud few fell under the furious voice of the humble in glorious unison.
“No more”, they said.
“Not in my country”, they said even louder.
To avoid falling into the trap of romanticizing the past too much, understand that it was no secret that Tita Cory had her share of failures and frustrations. As her administration was cursed by violent coups, natural disasters, and economic ruin, she had an army of critics that watched her every move. This forced her team to be dynamic in both composition and strategy. In the end, she never really settled in. There was no calm -- no settling of the dust from the aftershock of Marcosian and natural devastation. She sat at the edge of her seat during her entire service.
President Aquino was not your typical idealized hero. She was not one who rose from the masses to become a champion of the people. She was never in war, or tortured, or humiliated. She was part of the elite Cojuangco family that had much in life. She had everything she ever needed, including a US education, a secure family and a fount of inexhaustible finances.
She could easily have sat back to watch the wicked and the greedy devour each other while keeping her family safe, not losing a single night’s rest. But she chose a difficult life. She chose to jump into the fray and serve her God and her people.
It was her great personal sacrifice that won for us a sustained increase in national hope. It was this -- her resolve to abandon the quiet life that she craved in exchange for a life lived for everyone else -- that made the Filipino people feel even human again.
The years when she was in the Palace were not the most productive years for the Philippines… they were not the happiest years… they weren’t even the most peaceful years…
… but they were certainly the most hopeful years.
And we lost this because we have forgotten that it's not what you have or what you've been through that defines you as a true leader… It’s how much you’re willing to give up.
That is the story of Corazon C. Aquino.
And it is a story we must constantly revisit and learn from.
Because certain great sacrifices have to be made in the months to come… and we shall see who will finally step up to take the challenge head-on.
Rest in peace, Madame President.
This article originally appeared in the July 2007 Issue of ThePalladium, Ateneo Law School's official student publication. This was a piece for my column Legal Personality.
The most meaningful mass I ever attended was neither in a beautiful medieval church in Magdeburg nor on a mountaintop overlooking Baguio City. It was on the roof deck of an unflattering residential building, deep in the heart of the Islamic City of Marawi. Just as the sun came down to bleed into the horizon of Lake Lanao, the local bishop began his homily in unison with dozens of mosques chanting the Maghrib or their post-sunset prayer. We were probably the only Christians in the entire city, and yet, there was a deep feeling of universal peace. It was a moment of profound deliverance to know that we were free to be different from our brothers and sisters, and yet, accepted as friends.
It has been more than a month since our trip to Lanao del Sur, and I still have recurring staccatos of both bad and pleasant dreams about the whole experience. Working with the Ateneo Human Rights Center and, more recently, the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE) has never been easy, in spite of the constant presence of good-natured companions. After four years as a human rights advocate, I thought there were no more surprises. But this recent summer was full of firsts, as it presented me with a totally different level of work with much higher stakes. There was a looming sense of real danger, and I knew that I would have to be ready for the worst of eventualities.
I was never a stranger to the Philippine south. My father's family originated from Cagayan de Oro City and I spent a year there for college. I have been to many places in Mindanao, but always circling and never setting foot on any of the ARMM territories. This would be my first time to set foot on Lanao del Sur. Entering Marawi City felt much like entering into a foreign country. I instinctively searched through my pockets to see if I left my passport, realizing my folly only after clearing my throat. Although materially the same – the foliage, the weather and the people, there was this strong unwelcome feeling, triggering a heightened cautiousness I had never before drawn. The chartered van that harbored us offered no sense security at all. We entered the city with all eyes locked on us, as if telling us to turn back while we still can. Amidst all of this, four battalions of heavily armed soldiers were deployed in the city. Never before have I seen so much firepower in real life.
It was then that I learned how to be part of a minority. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but it brought me into a concrete level of pure understanding. The ideas of tolerance and the protection of free will broke away from my mind and materialized before my very eyes. You never realize how precious your freedoms are until they become scarce. When you are part of the minority, both your movements and your words are calculated, always avoiding any cause to offend the unfamiliar people around you. When you are a visitor in a strange land, your internal system is locked on defensive mode as you distrust your surroundings just as you perceive it to distrust you.
Help would not take long to arrive and in the next few days, we would meet friendly faces and share long conversations with both the locals and other people from neighboring provinces who came to lend a hand. Fear and distrust are inversely proportional to understanding, and the more time we spent with these volunteers, the more my ignorance faded and the more I was emboldened to rise up to the occasion. We borrowed from each other's strengths and were able to do our jobs with confidence, knowing that we were working with people from the locality and they, in turn, had doubled-up their resolve because our presence meant that the whole country had its eyes on them. What started out as an episode of fear and distrust turned out to be a strong coordinated response to a common social problem. There was an election to be guarded and we had much work to do. We would find ourselves at the different counting and canvassing areas, welcomed by some and questioned by others. Days would pass and the local skeptics would soon understand that we were there for no other reason but to see that people's votes are properly appreciated and taken into account – to ensure that the vote of a single farmer or laborer from Lanao del Sur will count as much as a that of the CEO of a huge business firm in Makati.
For 100,000 votes, we risked our very lives. Why? Because those votes belong to people who need the most protection. And if we can protect the most vulnerable – those who are most difficult to protect, we might be able to find confidence in Philippine democracy once again.
For six days, I was part of the minority. I feared everything I saw, in spite of the apparent inescapable beauty of the city. It took much determination, some friendly conversations and a few laughs to finally ease up and become myself again. In the end, I would find more than twenty new people in my phone book, among them, a young Maranao girl anxious about entering her first year in law school, two soldiers from Cagayan de Oro who shared their noteworthy battle experiences and showed me how to operate a grenade launcher, a driver who shared his first-hand observations of deception during the 2004 elections in Mindanao and many other lawyers, paralegals and volunteers who gave their time and effort to show Lanao del Sur that we care about their choice – a choice that will affect the greater Filipino nation.
During the mass, the bishop would call our attention to the beautiful melodies filling the night skies of Marawi City.
"They are praying for peace", he said.
And so were we.
