The proposed hero’s burial for the dictator Ferdinand Marcos is certainly an issue that requires careful study and deliberation.
The Supreme Court’s decision to again extend its status quo ante order (SQAO) is thus a development to be welcomed, particularly by victims of torture and other rights abuses during Marcos’ martial rule, who had filed a petition opposing President Duterte’s intent to bury the dictator’s remains in the Libingan ng mga Bayani, as he had promised during the election campaign. From a ruling expected on Sept. 13, the high court imposed an SQAO until Oct. 18; on that day, it was extended until Nov. 8. Time enough for the esteemed justices to rule on the prickly issue with wisdom, guided by not only the letter but most specially the spirit of the law that animates our democratic space.
Mr. Duterte and Marcos’ heirs argue that according to the law, the remains of the ousted dictator are entitled to burial in the Libingan ng mga Bayani because he was a soldier, a former president and a bemedalled war hero. But as the petitioners counter, the atrocities and human rights violations committed under his rule, and in fact his fraudulent war record as cited by the National Historical Commission of the Philippines, prove that he was by no means a hero. And having been ousted in a people power revolt in 1986 also meant that he was dishonorably discharged and publicly repudiated as president.
Mr. Duterte had earlier said he did not want to anger the people of the Ilocos, the bastion of the Marcoses, by reneging on his campaign promise—an unfortunate play at regionalism that favored their feelings over those of other Filipinos, indeed of the survivors of martial law.
The four-day “march” of Marcos loyalists from the Ilocos to the Supreme Court early last week to press for the hero’s burial underscored as well that this is now a political issue. Indeed, the march was led by the dictator’s eldest child, Ilocos Norte Gov. Imee Marcos; her two siblings made an appearance at the Supreme Court grounds, indicating their readiness to wrest back the former high stature of the family that held sway over the Philippines for more than 20 years. Their anticipated positive ruling of the high court would, after all, mean their complete rehabilitation, as well as the final erasure in the collective memory of the martial law record.
Mr. Duterte had also initially couched his support for the hero’s burial as the mere application of a law that provides former presidents and soldiers with a place in the Libingan ng mga Bayani. But in a recent speech, he suggested that a more expedient reason was behind his campaign promise: He said he had run for the presidency on very lean resources—borrowed funds that Governor Marcos had given him. “Si Imee pa ang nagbigay; inutang daw niya.” Transactional politics no less. (The governor, however, denied the President’s claim, saying with a laugh that he likes to make jokes. She added that she only helped him win the votes in the “Solid North.”)
Proponents of the hero’s burial, including the governor herself, harp on the need for the people to forgive Marcos so the country could move on and heal. This continuing call to move on infuriates those who choose not to forget. The survivors and victims of martial law ask, correctly: How can there be forgiveness without remorse and reparation? True enough, Marcos’ son and namesake, the defeated vice presidential candidate, said straight-faced in a campaign speech: “What is there to be sorry for?”
This is the way things stand in a land torn between remembering and forgetting, between hope and despair. Nevertheless, the petitioners are keeping the faith that the Supreme Court would “act to uphold the Constitution, protect our rights … and take a firm stand against Marcos’ legacy of tyranny.”