Please, wake up

I just saw another Facebook friend share a photo in admiration of a dead dictator’s presidency.

I click on the photo because it bothers me. I see that my actual friends—not just Facebook friends—“liked” the post, and it bothers me even more. By the time I read the comments section, my brows crossed and my lips tight, my mind is already drowning in echoes of angry and disbelieving thoughts. The top comment, summed up, reads: “Hindi abusive si Marcos” (Marcos was not abusive). And in that moment, I swear I just want to say one thing to the commenter, along with her 36 “likers” and the actual photo’s 1,921: That is a load of crap.

Lately, these kinds of posts have been popping up like acne on my face—annoying and growing in number. In addition, if you stress over them, they will most likely aggravate you more. And why are these posts stressing me so much more than do others? Because the day has come that I find myself wishing that people would just upload pictures of their brunch or merienda instead of sharing posts idolizing Ferdinand Marcos Sr. Between two types of torturous posts, I would rather that people eat photographed yet edible food than feed themselves with distorted and biased history.

I grew up with parents who were hard-core activists since their college days—or at least that’s the way I heard and thought of it. That Mama, a martial law baby, started joining rallies and protests during her first year in UP Diliman was a story oft repeated to me. Tatay, who—and I feel the need to say it—is an Ilocano, was part of the First Quarter Storm, a massive protest movement consisting mostly of students. As a child, I heard a few stories of how he got imprisoned more than once for defying Marcos’ rule, of how he was given the electric shock several times in jail, of how people died trying to help him. I’m pretty sure that was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my parents’ lives; until now most of their fight for freedom remains a mystery to me.

Right now I’m pretty sure you’re thinking along the lines of “no wonder this kid hates Marcos—she was raised by people who did.” Let me just flag down your train of thought right there by saying that, more than those things, I was also raised to think rationally. Believe me; I have gone through the phase of questioning my parents’ actions: Why did they have to rebel, really? If they had just kept mum and followed the rules, they wouldn’t have found themselves in such a mess, would they? At one point I even felt sympathetic toward the dictator’s family; back when the issue of interring his body at the Libingan ng mga Bayani was raised, I secretly supported his being buried as a hero. That is, until I got to learn that I was indeed telling myself a load of crap. In case you also need convincing to stop worshipping the dude who held on to his position for 21 years (although that in itself should have made you question what kind of president he was), there are some things worth remembering about him.

Yes, he was brilliant. He was so brilliant that he basically authored the 1973 Constitution in order to serve, not the Filipino people, but the megalomaniac inside him. He cancelled and prevented plebiscites and appointed his own people to the Supreme Court to silence voices other than his own. And yes, in spite of that, he was clever enough to still hide behind the skirts of legality.

It is also well worth remembering that he was gifted with phenomenal memory. According to a story related by Sen. Miriam Defensor-Santiago, he recited a 25-page speech entirely from memory. I wonder if he remembered how many millions of dollars his wife indulged in, or the number of relatives and cronies to whom he offered positions and companies.

And for the millions of people who trooped together in order to save what was then left of their freedoms, no project or program of his will ever justify the thousands of victims of human rights violations. The same goes for me. I still remember how my professor’s words hit me with renewed revulsion and pity: “Try to imagine your mother or sister plucked from your homes for trying to get their voice heard, and then raped under military custody—for no reason.” That was how it was back then; if you thought there were fewer crimes because of a better peacekeeping strategy, you’ll have to rethink your definition of peacekeeping—preferably to one without the military torturing and abusing the people they are supposed to protect.

It pains me that people—people I know—have resorted to admiring his supposed feats of leadership because they can barely find something close to decent in the ocean of crocodiles and pigs that we float in today (heck, it even troubles me to compare the moronic monsters in our government to innocent animals). It pains me that many people today see no other choice but to choose the lesser of two evils—that some of them even wish for the past, instead of hope for a better future. That people make excuses for FM’s thirst for power and gloss over his corrupt regime with the words “discipline” and “better economy” should be a wake-up call to our present-day moronic monsters to either stop being idiots or just step down from public office.

And to you who have been supporting Marcos: Wake up. I don’t care if it has been two minutes or two decades. You have been duped—or if that’s not the case, you are fooling yourself, which is even more repulsive. You know better. He isn’t coming back, and even if he is, he is not the answer. Neither does the answer lie in family feuds or yellow ribbons. The past and the present, whatever color, should never lower our standards for truly participatory and accountable governance. The answer lies in us.

Bernice Pascual, 17, is a political science student at the University of the Philippines Diliman.