Apathy, Edsa and the ultimate selfies
Lawyer Ernesto “Ticky” Tabujara III posts on Facebook about sharing life’s little joys with his son, photos of the junk food his household consumes, his advocacy of responsible gun ownership, and being still sexy and macho at 49. Last Feb. 25, however, he posted a completely different set of photos.
One showed Ticky from almost three decades ago waiting on a sidewalk with a large crowd of young men, some standing, some
sitting with legs crossed. His caption read: “That’s me on the right, in jeans and white T-shirt holding the yellow ‘Cory’ flag, somewhere near ABS-CBN Channel 2 in Quezon City during the Edsa siege. Note my marathon runner body and Saucony Jazz running shoes, which were very popular back then in ’86.”
Another was a close-up of a Philippine Constabulary truck, with Ticky climbing up its side. Yet another showed Ticky on the Camp Crame parade ground, waving his Cory flag, with an Air Force chopper and a large crowd in the background. The helicopter turned out to be from then Col. Antonio Sotelo’s 15th Strike Wing, and the photo was taken shortly after their dramatic defection to the rebels.
Still another photo showed Ticky and his yellow flag standing with his parents, his sister and the crowd in front of Camp Crame’s main gate.
I was never conscious that my unassuming friend was one of countless students who took to the streets in 1986 with nothing more than prayers and idealism, who thought they were going to die at Camp Crame as a heavily armed chopper circled overhead. These simple photos, quietly treasured by Ticky’s family all these years, moved me more than any Edsa speech I ever heard.
Frustrated because I saw more posts about Deniece Cornejo than Cory Aquino, I shared one photo on Facebook and asked how these memories should be passed to those not yet born in 1986. I tagged several dynamic, idealistic friends and relatives still studying in the University of the Philippines and Ateneo de Manila. I received no response until, the next day, Ticky himself added a short note.
Constitutional law professors today face the dilemma of explaining Edsa to a generation of voters too young to have any direct memory of it. Our Constitution is Edsa’s most important product, and it cannot be taught with conviction to students who do not appreciate Edsa. Indeed, the expansive power the Supreme Court enjoys today was granted in the hopes it will stop future presidents from establishing another dictatorship.
We may have unintentionally alienated today’s students. When those who were there celebrate the great stories of that fateful week, it may inadvertently emphasize how today’s students could not have been there. We lament how Edsa is becoming just another historical event to an emerging generation that in fact sees it as one, with Ninoy Aquino fading into a swirl of names and dates alongside Lapu-Lapu and Jose Rizal. The danger of seeing Edsa reinterpreted to suit the ulterior motives of today is very real.
I can readily sympathize, being only six years old in 1986. I have a hazy childhood memory of my parents telling me that they were going somewhere but could not take me. I sat in our living room watching TV, wondering why there were so many people in the streets. But even to a toddler, the euphoria and global admiration that soon followed was unmistakable. I reflected upon this memory when, in 2001, my own college batch saw Sen. Franklin Drilon cry on national TV when the impeachment trial of President Joseph Estrada broke down, and spontaneously joined the crowds rushing to Edsa. It felt so right then, and we invited Chief Justice Hilario Davide Jr. to speak at our graduation. We, whose memory of Edsa is drawn from several classroom viewings of the documentary “Batas Militar,” will be reflecting all our lives whether we used wisely the people power we inherited.
But even Edsa 2 is just another historical event to today’s students. They must see Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile only as the presiding officer of Chief Justice Renato Corona’s impeachment trial, with no inkling of his younger fatigue-clad self. Cory Aquino is a vaguely familiar saintly figure who happens to be the current President’s mother. Ferdinand Marcos is an abstract, mythical villain.
Can one blame today’s students for being able to identify more with Ticky’s old photos than these increasingly distant figures? Perhaps they would be more interested in what ordinary young people like them were doing in February 1986. What was it like in the UP republic of that time? What was it like being a young professional trying to find one’s place in the world when it all turned upside down? What was it like being a young lieutenant faced with the choice of shooting unarmed civilians or crossing over to Camp Crame? Did these countless young people feel the hand of fate tap their shoulder? Would today’s students ask themselves whether they, too, would have gone to Edsa?
Every young Filipino needs a Ticky: a parent, uncle, godfather or neighbor who continually affirms that Edsa was really about thousands of ordinary people in an extraordinary enterprise. That Edsa was not about the personalities or the politics but about being there in the country’s greatest hour of need. That
Edsa is about the same ordinary people being perpetually ready to return should history beckon once again. That Edsa is about hoping that should the call come when one has passed on, that those who could not be there in 1986 will stand in one’s stead.
Oscar Franklin Tan (@oscarfbtan, facebook.com/OscarFranklinTan) cochairs the Philippine Bar Association Committee on Constitutional Law and teaches in the University of the East.
