Back to Back

by Renee Cuisia

Inspired by Joan Didion’s the White Album

It’s a little after midday, peak-time for the scorching sun, and we’re running around simultaneously aimless and purposeful, despondent and hopeful, phenomenally tired and phenomenally pumped. “We” were little journalists, student journalists, on our first coverage assignment. We were at the most iconic street in Manila, at the aftermath of what was the 30th EDSA People Power anniversary which, after the speeches of many impressive men in scratchy barongs, and songs that sang about the glory of winning the revolution back in ’86, returned from being a concrete event to a memory that held varying degrees of importance in varying degrees of, well, age among the Filipino people.

Many of whom I am facing right now went through extreme suffering during Martial Law, and to them I have little to say or add. My speech this morning is not for you but for the current generation, who have access to all sorts of freedoms.

“This is for the millennials, who in their idealism and ideologies, tend to forget about the past,” Paquito Ochoa said in the opening remarks of the event, dedicating the celebration to the younger generation. In a speech that preceded the president’s, Ochoa went on about the struggle of making the children of the digital age remember.

For godssake, remember.

The white and yellow confetti, flying with the officials’ words a while ago, had now settled on the heat-baked, emptied street. My classmates and I were scrambling for sources. We were optimistic at first, heading for Ochoa, Belmonte, and even Roxas for sound bites (one of us was actually able to reach the administration candidate, though when that classmate asked for a statement Roxas only gave out a hearty laugh and redirected his focus to the next question). However, the crowd was quickly diminishing — the more legitimate press with their microphones and cameras and polished, enameled smiles quickly followed the men and women in barongs and sayas; together in their cars they drove off wherever their exclusive itinerary led them to — and we had to make do with nuns who were too weak to keep up and who told their EDSA recollections a hundred times over and always ecstatically.

In this day and age, it may be difficult for you to grasp that sometime in our history, obtaining information wasn’t as easy as it is now. Back then, apart from comics, our papers also had a movie page, which was the only true news our newspapers had.

We were lucky enough to catch a woman who strode rather importantly, who wore a stiff yellow blazer, and who, apart from the slash of blonde in the middle of her edgy short hair, looked liked a potentially big source. I did not know her, but I went with my classmates who ran in pursuit of the woman anyway. “That’s Dinky!” one of them panted; we we’re running after Dinky Soliman, Secretary of the Department of Social Welfare and Development.

She was kind enough to indulge us, though like the rest she was in a constant agitated state to move on. “You’re from UP, eh? Ok, listen up.” Our phones, which we used as sound recorders, shot almost straight to her face in excitement. For us, Soliman recounted her UP activist days, how she’d join the commune, the rallies, fearlessly and without hesitation, and then how she’d hide in fear when the military came. “And they always came! Especially in UP, they were always there. But we fought on.”

Soliman recounted the horrors of Martial Law, in the same way the president did in his speech. “It may be hard for the youth to comprehend, but as I see it our president only told the truth of Martial Law. It did happen, Marcos did those things. You guys,” she said pointing at us, “think that our stories are works of fiction, of mere imagination; you think them too much to be true but they are.”

Now, if you’re a new graduate, they say you can go straight to Bora or any country without the authorities watching your every move. You can hangout without worrying about a curfew. Owning a car or a condominium isn’t a far-fetched dream.

We thanked her, and she smiled back, knowingly. She knew what we needed — catchy sound bites — and she delivered. Before rushing off, she giddily asked that we take a “we-fie” with her. We huddled close to her. “Group selfie, come on!”

Now, with just one touch of your smartphones, you can access information from any part of the world.

By now, we we’re the only ones on the deserted street save for some fellow students, street sweepers, a handful of armed police, and a few event organizers who probably lost more than a few sleep to see this event through and who, judging by the glazed look on their eyes, are still attempting to comprehend the fact that it’s over.

We all agreed we needed more sources to come up with a proper story. “I might add a few of my own words if we don’t find more soon,” one joked. Another took the comment seriously and said “Don’t do that. We’re out here for the truth.”

I cringe when I hear that there are those who refer to Marcos’ reign as the golden age of the Philippines. Maybe it is so, for him.

Since there were many of us each with our own working angle, we separated and interviewed all sorts of people. Some of us tried to pry on the veterans, the police, the students. There was an old, crotchety man, Leny, who had a lot to say about the celebration (such as: there shouldn’t be one — a celebration — to begin with). According to Leny, EDSA I was the start of the Filipino demise.

“Everything was so much better then! There was order, we had money! I had a job. Here in Manila. People were respectable, the economy was good.” The details of Leny’s exact position — social-wise, job-wise, etc. — we’re never made clear. He was too impassioned reliving what he referred to as “the glory days” to clear anything up, really. “Cory Aquino knew nothing. She just furthered the corruption and all those bad things.”

Leny came all the way from Mindanao; not since the ’80s has he been back in Manila. Why attend the celebration then? “I just dropped by. I wanted to witness the stupidity,” he almost spat.

Are there any of you who can stomach the possibility of us returning to that time when all the horrors I’ve mentioned can happen to you, to your loved ones?

Mang Dany the sorbetero was another man we met who longed for the Philippines to return to Marcos’ reign. The sun was unrelenting, so a few of us took shelter in the ice-cream vendor’s wide, multi-colored umbrella. For small talk purposes we asked if he’d been to the actual EDSA revolution 30 years ago. He nodded. We asked what he’d been doing then. “Selling ice-cream. I’ve been doing this since around 1986.” Then his hard, crinkled exterior broke into a smile as we all realized this was his anniversary too. “Yes…I’ve been selling sorbetes for 30 years now,” he chuckled. Right at this spot too. “Little has changed since,” he added.

“Marcos was a good president. During his time things were much simpler. Kids didn’t curse back then — now it’s all they do. People had good jobs and the streets were cleaner. They should’ve gave him a chance, he was doing the country good.”

During his reign, in almost every corner of the Philippines, there were stories of people being suddenly kidnapped; stories of torture and death, of desparacidos, of bodies still missing to this day.

“Yeah…it was a subject requirement.”

For my coverage, I was going for a more millennial angle, so I decided to chat up some students I spotted loitering around the aftermath with us. I asked them simple questions, like what brought them here (their answer: the above), and what they thought of Aquino’s youth-addressed speech.

“He’s right. Yeah. We shouldn’t forget. We should remember. Yeah.” And do you agree that a lot of millennials are revising the past, wishing for Marcos to come back? “Yeah I know a few. But I don’t wish that. My friends don’t. But I guess there are some, yeah.”

To the youth: I wish you may understand what happened during EDSA. We set up a museum as part of the celebration, The EDSA People Power Experiential Museum, where you will be able to experience the harsh implementations during the dictatorship. May you use this opportunity to learn the importance of freedom and democracy, which are now in your hands.

Unlike the other students we approached, Karl met us, not the other way around. He was jumpy, his framed eyes darting everywhere, and when he spoke it was always a spill of words.

“I say never again, because Martial Law really is the darkest chapter in our history — this is what we millennials should remember. It wasn’t the golden age because we experienced cheap rice, cheap electricity, and supposedly peace and order. In exchange for those were lives…those martyrs, they were educated alright, but they decided still to sacrifice their lives for the freedom of this country! That’s what I wish we millennials would take to heart. We say never again to Martial Law, never forget the memories.”

All this (and a lot more) Karl said when asked simply for his thoughts about People Power. And when asked why he went, he simply said “To celebrate freedom.” “And you went on your own free will?” I pressed. “Yes on my own free will. No one forced me to participate, and no one should have.”

Certainly Karl was wise beyond his years. “The people who praise Marcos don’t realize that they’re utilizing the freedom that was won from him. It’s why we’re all here. I know as much as my peers do that my freedom wasn’t served in a silver platter — it was fought for, won with blood.”

These restrictions, this lack of freedom we experienced you might never recognize now. Things were unrecognizably different back then under the Marcos regime…

“The revolution isn’t over though. I wouldn’t be talking if it were,” Karl said. Across us on the other street, several groups holding placards, tarps, mascots, and banderas calling for justice, for freedom, for peace, for accountability, were forming. In a few hours they’ll start marching over to where we stand.

And where we stand the police were getting ready too. Whereas on the other side there was a restless buzz, over here the atmosphere was languid, sleepy even. Several of the police were leaning on walls, counting the hours before they had to form a barricade once more (Perhaps this is routine to them. Rally = disturbance = stop).

A government that oppresses the very people who gave it its power, a government that abuses its power…To those who claim that Mr. Marcos should not be blamed for all of what happened during his reign, this is what I say: If you grab all of the power, shouldn’t you also grab all of the responsibilities? (Applause)

At the spot where the biggest, most impactful rally was held people will soon be marching, protesting against the ills of today, not the past but today. Privatization of education, lingering imperialism, militarization and the plight of the Lumads…There’ll be collective cries that echo those made in vain 30 years past, and those cries will soon be muffled.

Now, we have the freedom to earn and save, to love and to start a family — we have the freedom to dream. Your generation will benefit from this the most if you value properly your inherited freedom; please take care of this responsibility. Let us help each other out so that darkness won’t return to the Philippines, so that the freedom we’ve longed for won’t ever be reclaimed from us once more.

(Applause)

Good day, thank you to you all.

This piece was submitted last February 2016 as a requirement for CL 115 (Creative Nonfiction) under Ma’am Sandra Roldan