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EDSA brings out the Filipino in me

EVEN in adult years, I was in endless search how it meant to be a Filipino. Not the kind of patriotism that made our heroes, heroes for what they did for our Motherland, but simply achieving that mental state that I have engendered myself the feeling.
        My college days were punctuated by the restless struggles of the student sector to disband from the Marcos authoritarian rule. Perhaps, our class then was the most committed in terms of getting back our lost democracy. Though I could count on my fingers the events I went out to the streets to protest, I was part of the thinking body of our school's organization where I was once the supreme president. Amazingly though, it never came to a point I got satisfactory answer to the question I had posed to myself: What truly is being a Filipino? What I take pleasure then was being known and respected in our circles -- achieving the status that many students envied me. But never had it occurred to me the true meaning of what I was into.
        When former Senator Benigno Aquino Jr. (now considered a national hero) was assassinated on August 21, 1983, we were there first to condemn the administration of Marcos which was considered to be the guilty party. Of course everyone knew that the real culprits were never established, except the incarceration of some persons who had been tagged to have direct hands in the plot. We were the biggest part of the throng of multitudes who sent the former senator to his final destination that stretched end to end from Quezon City to Paranaque, where he was buried at the Paranaque Memorial Park. I thought that was the answer I was trying to discover.
        The break came after the assassination of Aquino where the disappointments of the Filipinos over the manner the case of Aquino was being handled, and the unremittingly worsening social situation led to what the world admirably recognizes now as the EDSA Revolution: the bloodless uprising that became a model of democracy the globe over.
        That night February 22, 1986, (as far as I can recall it) the Archbishop of Manila, Cardinal Jaime Sin was on the radio asking people to go to EDSA. Apparently, a mutiny was in progress at the Philippine Constabulary (Camp Crame) Headquarters in Santolan at Efifanio De Los Santos Avenue. At the crack of dawn, hundreds trooped to the site to give moral support and protection to Defense Secretary Juan Ponce Enrile and General Fidel V. Ramos who were reported to have defected from Marcos. With them was Enrile's top aide Colonel Gregorio Honasan who plan-staged the rebellion.
        The first storm was led by Butz Aquino, the younger brother of Benigno Aquino, who for the past three years had been ceaseless in his campaign to topple down Marcos. Cardinal Sin's call the past night seemed to

have reverberated throughout the Metropolitan Manila like the vicious-looking man in the street puffing magical notes from his flute sending the venomous king cobra to go out in the open. The crowd that day continued to rise in number -- from a few hundreds, to a few thousand to millions. The king cobra now out to unleash its poison. My brother Jose was among those nameless individuals who sent about to Camp Crame at dawn's break in response to the call of Cardinal Sin, and who remained guard at the gate of the headquarters, leaving the place only to refresh when they saw more and more people were gathering to that part of EDSA.
        By nightfall, EDSA was no longer open to traffic as people from all walks of life were shrouding the main highway from Ortigas Avenue to Santolan. My brother was already preparing to go back to the place and persuading us to join him. At that time my father, who was vacationing from the province felt his blood pressure rising, as news on television and radio were ripe of an impending civil war. Radio Veritas (the Catholic-ran radio) was attacked by soldiers loyal to the government to prevent it from broadcasting and engaging people to come to EDSA. Other media entities followed and were subdued from further reporting. By this time, electric power was cut in most areas of Metro Manila and only packets of news was heard of from other lesser-known radio stations.
        Government radio station Channel 4 was enjoying the full mileage of reporting in favor of government. But the tide of people setting out to EDSA had come to an unmanageable level that no amount of threat of tanks and war-ready soldiers could preclude the growing sentiments.
        It was on the second day of the uprising that the whole family, driven by a strange feeling of patriotism, walked off to EDSA to unite with our compatriots in this uncanny display of unanimity. The site of tanks and heavily armed soldiers did not emit fear from us. Rather we found ourselves joining the thousands sprawled on the wide street assuming the role of human barricades, as children as young as three and nuns and priests clasping rosaries and flowers coaxed soldiers to hold down their weapons and join our cause. The sounds of clapping would intermittently reverberate as soldiers slid down their tanks and joined our ranks. My father's blood pressure, by this time, had gone normal, and he didn't want to leave the place anymore.
        That moment in EDSA was entirely a Filipino affair regardless of what denomination one belonged. Such was an event were the true spirit of nationalism existed: poor and rich, young and old, men and women, law-abiding and law-breakers -- they were all here sharing whatever they had to ensure that this single cause would have a triumphant conclusion.
        Never had I witnessed the poor giving out to the rich, and the rich accepting the offer. Not a single unruly incident that could spoil the entire affair took place. A very convincing proof that Filipinos indeed could come together as one if what is involved is gaining their lost freedom at whatever cost.
        EDSA has definitely brought out in me the essence of being a Filipino. Nothing could rob that feeling from me. Indeed, it is great to be a Filipino!

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