HOTSPOT
We would sometimes go to the province for summer vacation, but we were suddenly and hurriedly brought there in late February. The year was 1986.
I can’t remember if Mama explained to us why. What was certain was that it was a free and early vacation, almost a month or two ahead of the summer break. For kids like us, that was something we would never complain about.
I have no recollection about the events those days back in Manila. Not even from the news. They didn’t have television in the province. It was rare to find a newspaper there. Heck, they didn’t even have electricity. All they had was a transistor radio.
A couple of days later, Mama brought us back to Manila.
It was only when we got back to the city that I discovered that something big had happened.
Our home and our maternal grandmother’s place was located on the same street somewhere in Sampaloc, Manila, a district next door to the palace. It was also the same street where our barangay chairman lived and held court. Espana, one of the boulevards where marchers usually passed, is just a few blocks away.
A public school teacher who often served in the elections as chair of a Board of Election Inspectors, Mama knew what was going on. In hindsight, she was apparently concerned for our safety, about possible violence that could engulf the city, that she had us brought to the province.
The news was apparently huge and I was amazed to watch videos on loop, showing unarmed people block and stop tanks. By the time we got back to school, there were photos of a new president, and we were memorizing the names of new cabinet members.
This in sum is what I remember about what we would belatedly discover as the EDSA Revolution, the four days that shook the world. We didn’t go. We were whisked away to the safety and care of paternal grandparents in the province.
Yes, we were too young in 1986. But we were the “future” our elders then were protecting and fighting for. What happened then had an immense impact on our lives, whether we were there or not. Same is true for those born after. It is our one, same country, after all.
Our generation would have our own turn mounting a similar, second uprising to victory 15 years later. By 2001, we would no longer be kids, and thus able to decide for ourselves that going to EDSA was worth it. It remains an absolute honor for many of us to have taken an active part in it, and to have met in the barricades those who took part in 1986.
Today and the next few days, the country remembers the fateful four days of February 1986. Some universities and colleges have suspended regular classes to give today’s young people the opportunity to remember and to commemorate.
Perhaps one powerful and compelling way to mark those four days is to remember the many heroes and martyrs whose ultimate sacrifice helped pave the way to EDSA.
Today’s many competing political narratives may not be able to unite the public, or even capture everyone’s attention. But the stories of the men and women who gave up their lives for the cause still have the power to inspire, spark, and rekindle commitment to freedom and democracy.
Putting up monuments, publishing books, and making videos about these heroes and martyrs are projects worth doing for schools, colleges, universities, associations, movements, professions, businesses, churches, cities, municipalities, provinces. These will make forgetting difficult, and falsifying history extra hard.
For a huge area such as Metro Manila, I only know a few such monuments: the EDSA People Power Monument, the Bantayog ng mga Bayani’s Wall of Remembrance, the martial law monument of Manila, the Ninoy Aquino monuments at the airport and Ayala.
For me, I would remember Mama for trying to protect us, and for counting and guarding the vote in the precinct she supervised. I would also remember the people I have since met, who quietly told me their stories about how they fought for people and for country. I’m fortunate to have them as a part of my life and my growing up as a Filipino.