Thoughts on Cory Aquino
I awoke at around 5 in the morning last Saturday, after about an hour of sleep, because my phone was going nuts. People were sending me messages, all containing essentially the same message: Former President Cory Aquino is dead. I didn't bother replying, or forwarding the message. I deleted the messages, tossed my phone under my pillows, and went back to sleep.
By the time I woke up (at around 9:30 or 10), the subject of those messages was all over the news. Comments and reactions were pouring in as politicians, ordinary citizens, and people whom I didn't know and people whom I knew all had something to say. The blogosphere, Facebook, Twitter, and all these other sites were full of all sorts of things related to Cory Aquino. When I came to catch the Ateneo Blue Eagles game, there was also a moment of silence.
If it seems that I'm not interested, or if I'm detached about this whole affair, I guess I am. People who know me well enough know that I have never been a big fan of Cory Aquino. I was too young to understand whether what she was doing when she was President was good or bad (although I remember my father cursing the nightly news whenever she was mentioned), although I do remember that it was during her Presidency that I had to endure these bizarre power outages, that there was a huge earthquake, and that Mount Pinatubo erupted.
Of course, people will say that those things are hardly her real legacy. Her real legacy was the role she played in the EDSA People Power thing that happened in 1986. Well, I've never been a fan of EDSA either. I was in the United States in 1986, sent there with my mom, because my dad thought the country was going nuts, and besides, it was high time we both had a vacation. And perhaps my aversion to that event is related to my opinion about the only other successful EDSA-related political thing, EDSA II, in 2001, which I think was a failure of law and democracy. Perhaps it's because I grew up the son of a lawyer that I have an aversion to things that don't fit legal frameworks, but we can all be honest enough and admit that the EDSA things were, regardless of whatever misplaced platitudes we can think off, coups d'etat (I have no idea if this is the correct plural form, pardon my French).
EDSA, to me now, was a dangerous idea. The first one was arguably noble, in fact, I think that it makes more sense to call it a restoration than a revolution (a distinction I borrow from one of my history professors). I guess I kind of understand it, because it was really the only way to break free from the Marcos dictatorship short of either just waiting for Ferdinand Marcos to die or of civil war. Of course, if we want to talk about Marcos' legacy, the atrocities narrated by history aside, we might have to concede that he was at least a decent, if not brilliant legal thinker. Perhaps I can be pardoned, like my father, for being the fan of an otherwise remarkable lawyer. But that's precisely why I think EDSA was a dangerous idea, because it set the stage and is a precedent for people to think that revolt is better when politics allows for no legal avenues. It was the excuse used by those people behind EDSA II, who not only resorted to illegal means when political convenience was not availing and when the law was not on their side, but who also failed to appreciate history and understand that the circumstances in 1986 and in 2001 were radically different.
Which brings me back to Cory Aquino. I will not be naïve and think that she did not get that EDSA was extralegal, or even outright illegal. From how I see it now, and perhaps this is me benefiting from the clarity of hindsight, she knew it, but that the role she had been appointed to by fate called for her to assume the mantle, however imperfect, so that a more perfect society could be built. She became President, and while still benefiting from the powers left by Marcos, which could have made her dictator for life had she so chosen, she decided to cast them aside. This led to the 1987 Philippine Constitution, an imperfect document, but an expression of the sovereign will nonetheless, one that our current crop of politicians want to shit on.
I have no up-close-and-personal stories of Cory Aquino. I cannot, say, do what Atty. Mel Sta. Maria, my Civil Law Review professor, did and talk about how I worked with her on this and that case -- I never did. I cannot talk about what a remarkable neighbor she was -- we never lived very near one another. I cannot talk about standing with her during EDSA II -- I didn't want to, because I thought she was wrong.
My memories of Cory Aquino are limited to few accounts: I once met her when I was covering the launch of the Ninoy and Cory Aquino Peace Center, which was held in the Ateneo's Rockwell campus, for the school paper. I saw her several times during the annual Ateneo Simbanggabi, where she would, on certain nights, lead the praying of the Rosary. The last time I saw her in person was last year, also during the Simbanggabi, when she was leaving early while the Mass was ongoing. She was already sick at the time.
I do not remember her being particularly remarkable. She wasn't an excellent public speaker (not like her predecessor, Marcos, although light-years beyond anything Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo of bangkang papel fame can muster). I don't think she was exceptionally distinguished in her appearance or bearing (unlike, say, Imelda Marcos, or one of Cory's own relatives, Imelda Cojuangco). I don't know if she was a remarkable President, although I do know that she survived several coup attempts, all those natural disasters, and willingly gave up the Presidency, and might have been responsible for why our outstanding international debts were never simply erased which is why my children's children's children might have to bear the burden of debt servicing.
My own personal impressions get in the way, and maybe that's why I must confess that I remain, up to now, slightly confused by all of the outpouring of thanks and support and tribute. I don't know if this is me in some sort of denial, or if this is an instinctive reaction born out of my having lost loved ones to cancer too.
I've read the articles, I've watched the videos. I still do not understand completely.
Perhaps that's the challenge--to assume the mantle of understanding, of trying to understand, however imperfect, in order to birth a more perfect understanding.
I remember the unremarkable woman who said the Rosary during the Masses. I remember the stuff I've read about her. I remember that I have the freedom to take her for granted, that I have the freedom to take many things for granted, perhaps because that's what she wanted 23 years ago. If that was the point, that the unremarkable may share in things we should, as people, be able to take for granted, then it begins to make sense.
When Cory Aquino is buried, and all we're left with is her legacy, you will not see me wear anything yellow, or tie yellow ribbons to my car or to anything I own. You will not see me flashing the "Laban" sign in the face of our politicians. You will not catch me on the streets with placards, unless it is for a cause I believe in. I was never a fan. I still am not one.
But I am not one to set aside what I have committed to memory, or to what is beginning to make sense to me: That when Cory died last Saturday, someone more important than I can understand passed away. When Cory died, something we thought we beneficiaries of the restoration could take for granted, died too. All we are left with now are memories and stories to sift through and think about, whose meaning we can only discover when we are truly called to clench our jaws, to raise our fists, and to cry out with loud voices prayers for a broken democracy.
By the time I woke up (at around 9:30 or 10), the subject of those messages was all over the news. Comments and reactions were pouring in as politicians, ordinary citizens, and people whom I didn't know and people whom I knew all had something to say. The blogosphere, Facebook, Twitter, and all these other sites were full of all sorts of things related to Cory Aquino. When I came to catch the Ateneo Blue Eagles game, there was also a moment of silence.
If it seems that I'm not interested, or if I'm detached about this whole affair, I guess I am. People who know me well enough know that I have never been a big fan of Cory Aquino. I was too young to understand whether what she was doing when she was President was good or bad (although I remember my father cursing the nightly news whenever she was mentioned), although I do remember that it was during her Presidency that I had to endure these bizarre power outages, that there was a huge earthquake, and that Mount Pinatubo erupted.
Of course, people will say that those things are hardly her real legacy. Her real legacy was the role she played in the EDSA People Power thing that happened in 1986. Well, I've never been a fan of EDSA either. I was in the United States in 1986, sent there with my mom, because my dad thought the country was going nuts, and besides, it was high time we both had a vacation. And perhaps my aversion to that event is related to my opinion about the only other successful EDSA-related political thing, EDSA II, in 2001, which I think was a failure of law and democracy. Perhaps it's because I grew up the son of a lawyer that I have an aversion to things that don't fit legal frameworks, but we can all be honest enough and admit that the EDSA things were, regardless of whatever misplaced platitudes we can think off, coups d'etat (I have no idea if this is the correct plural form, pardon my French).
EDSA, to me now, was a dangerous idea. The first one was arguably noble, in fact, I think that it makes more sense to call it a restoration than a revolution (a distinction I borrow from one of my history professors). I guess I kind of understand it, because it was really the only way to break free from the Marcos dictatorship short of either just waiting for Ferdinand Marcos to die or of civil war. Of course, if we want to talk about Marcos' legacy, the atrocities narrated by history aside, we might have to concede that he was at least a decent, if not brilliant legal thinker. Perhaps I can be pardoned, like my father, for being the fan of an otherwise remarkable lawyer. But that's precisely why I think EDSA was a dangerous idea, because it set the stage and is a precedent for people to think that revolt is better when politics allows for no legal avenues. It was the excuse used by those people behind EDSA II, who not only resorted to illegal means when political convenience was not availing and when the law was not on their side, but who also failed to appreciate history and understand that the circumstances in 1986 and in 2001 were radically different.
Which brings me back to Cory Aquino. I will not be naïve and think that she did not get that EDSA was extralegal, or even outright illegal. From how I see it now, and perhaps this is me benefiting from the clarity of hindsight, she knew it, but that the role she had been appointed to by fate called for her to assume the mantle, however imperfect, so that a more perfect society could be built. She became President, and while still benefiting from the powers left by Marcos, which could have made her dictator for life had she so chosen, she decided to cast them aside. This led to the 1987 Philippine Constitution, an imperfect document, but an expression of the sovereign will nonetheless, one that our current crop of politicians want to shit on.
I have no up-close-and-personal stories of Cory Aquino. I cannot, say, do what Atty. Mel Sta. Maria, my Civil Law Review professor, did and talk about how I worked with her on this and that case -- I never did. I cannot talk about what a remarkable neighbor she was -- we never lived very near one another. I cannot talk about standing with her during EDSA II -- I didn't want to, because I thought she was wrong.
My memories of Cory Aquino are limited to few accounts: I once met her when I was covering the launch of the Ninoy and Cory Aquino Peace Center, which was held in the Ateneo's Rockwell campus, for the school paper. I saw her several times during the annual Ateneo Simbanggabi, where she would, on certain nights, lead the praying of the Rosary. The last time I saw her in person was last year, also during the Simbanggabi, when she was leaving early while the Mass was ongoing. She was already sick at the time.
I do not remember her being particularly remarkable. She wasn't an excellent public speaker (not like her predecessor, Marcos, although light-years beyond anything Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo of bangkang papel fame can muster). I don't think she was exceptionally distinguished in her appearance or bearing (unlike, say, Imelda Marcos, or one of Cory's own relatives, Imelda Cojuangco). I don't know if she was a remarkable President, although I do know that she survived several coup attempts, all those natural disasters, and willingly gave up the Presidency, and might have been responsible for why our outstanding international debts were never simply erased which is why my children's children's children might have to bear the burden of debt servicing.
My own personal impressions get in the way, and maybe that's why I must confess that I remain, up to now, slightly confused by all of the outpouring of thanks and support and tribute. I don't know if this is me in some sort of denial, or if this is an instinctive reaction born out of my having lost loved ones to cancer too.
I've read the articles, I've watched the videos. I still do not understand completely.
Perhaps that's the challenge--to assume the mantle of understanding, of trying to understand, however imperfect, in order to birth a more perfect understanding.
I remember the unremarkable woman who said the Rosary during the Masses. I remember the stuff I've read about her. I remember that I have the freedom to take her for granted, that I have the freedom to take many things for granted, perhaps because that's what she wanted 23 years ago. If that was the point, that the unremarkable may share in things we should, as people, be able to take for granted, then it begins to make sense.
When Cory Aquino is buried, and all we're left with is her legacy, you will not see me wear anything yellow, or tie yellow ribbons to my car or to anything I own. You will not see me flashing the "Laban" sign in the face of our politicians. You will not catch me on the streets with placards, unless it is for a cause I believe in. I was never a fan. I still am not one.
But I am not one to set aside what I have committed to memory, or to what is beginning to make sense to me: That when Cory died last Saturday, someone more important than I can understand passed away. When Cory died, something we thought we beneficiaries of the restoration could take for granted, died too. All we are left with now are memories and stories to sift through and think about, whose meaning we can only discover when we are truly called to clench our jaws, to raise our fists, and to cry out with loud voices prayers for a broken democracy.
posted by mikosamson at 8:43 AM
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