Where were you during the revolution?

IT was a Sunday, the 22nd of February. I should have left by that time for Morong, Bataan, where the Philippine Refugee Processing Center was, and where I was working. But the afternoon of that, the voice of Cardinal Sin was over the radio calling everyone to go to Edsa. No one really knew what would happen there. The news trickling in was a mix of confusing details.

Was it also in the early evening of the 22nd when the tired and tiresome voice of Marcos was on the air threatening to arrest everyone who went to Edsa?

I was then staying somewhere in San Francisco del Monte. Edsa where the action was a bit far. It was not the Edsa of Quezon Avenue but the Edsa of Cubao and Ortigas.

The voice of Sin and Marcos took turns. Like anyone who was weary of some 20 years of Marcos/ Martial rule, I was ready to join any movement that would put a stop to dictatorship. We were being told to do things for so many years that we did not know what was right from wrong anymore.

It was a period when everything was being faked—the people’s consent to martial rule, the people’s acquiescence, and the people’s consensus to accept that Marcos had won the snap elections.

Those who were against Marcos knew they had the number but on February 20, 1986, Marcos declared himself the winner of the election. Marcos was going to be the president again.

The mass reaction was no more a political will as it was a socio-psychological fatigue. Tama na! “Enough” was a rallying cry and it worked.

That day the dictator declared himself the president, Cory Aquino had also gathered her supporters in Manila. She called for a boycott of all companies linked to the cronies of Marcos. My friends who met that night were worrying over one thing: could we boycott the only beer we drank? Do we go back to the refugee camp? Then someone asked: are we

ready to die?

It was annoying to see the same faces on free TV, the same lying voices of concern for the nation. But I was not ready to die. Dying was not factored in my idea to join the masses, which referred to the crowd that was getting more massive each hour in Edsa.

There were many reports on the radio. While I wondered if the announcers were really being factual, their voices and encouragement sounded truthful enough.

I found myself leaving the boarding house and taking the next jeep that was going to the direction of Kamuning. From there, there were very few cars going to the direction of Cubao. I walked fast. When I reached the corner of Aurora Boulevard and Edsa, I saw on one side of the highway buses parked side by side and several buses deep to block any car coming from the North.

It was about four in the afternoon, and there was no order yet on the highway. From the corner going to Araneta Center, I saw some young men unfurl a black cloth. It stretched from end to end, covering the entire highway. There were two lines of defenses then: the buses on the other corner and the black cloth on the other. Huddling close to the black cloth were women who started building a fire. Soon kettles were burning and giving out smoke and anyone could ask for a cup of instant coffee from the group. I crossed Edsa and looked for my friends, all from the Philippine Refugee Processing Center. Like me, they opted not to go back to Morong so they could join the EDSA crowd.

As there were no more cars, I was walking in the middle of Edsa. Half running and half bouncing, I soon hit a pothole. In a few seconds, I was limping. The friends saw my condition but I waved off their concern. We went to Edsa and positioned ourselves in front of one of the gates of Camp Aguinaldo.

Doctors and nurses were all over the place and when they saw me, they volunteered to look at my foot. They all agreed it was a sprain. One of them found an empty bottle of softdrink and instructed me to roll my foot over them as strongly as I could. It was painful.

We did not stay that night in Edsa. We were not sure what would happen but we promised to be back the next day with provisions of our own: water, food and anything we could share with the people there. It appeared that bags of pan de sal were being distributed and boiled saba was popular among those keeping vigil.

We were back the next day. It was the 23rd of February. The celebratory air was gone. There was tension in the air as rumors circulated that poisoned water were being distributed by some individuals. There was news also that planes were being readied to fly over us and drop bombs. Every now and then, calls for reinforcement of barricades at the Libis area were being made. Men would not move fast enough and women, who were quick on their feet, would soon fill the trucks that would bring the support to the other side of the highway.

On the second day, I noticed there were Marian images in Edsa. The La Naval de Manila was there, her presence quite confusing if one knew her history (she protected the colonizers from other colonizers). Then the image of our Lady of Fatima made her appearance. By default, the battle was between good and evil. We were, fortunately, on the side of the ideological good.

Two more days followed. The Marcoses first fled. Exiled. Then the Marcoses came back. Elected. Edsa has become but a traffic problem.