Edicio dela Torre

As a way to commemorate the 25th anniversary of EDSA 1986, I commit myself to write 25 blog posts about it. This is the third post, which  I am writing in Siem Reap where I am attending a meeting for the weekend.

Immediately after my release from prison in 1986, I was often asked to share my reflections about what happened, and how I appreciated what happened.

Of course I was personally quite positive about EDSA, since I got released from prison with fellow political prisoners much earlier than we had expected. But as activists of the national democratic movement, we also knew that the “restoration of democracy” was not quite the democracy that we had struggled for.

In fact, many activists could not relate to the popular euphoria about EDSA and its aftermath.

It was not just a matter of the “left” being marginalized in the run up to the snap elections (partly through its own fault). They were also reacting to deliberate efforts by many of the hegemonic “yellows” to exclude the “reds” from claiming their fair share of credit for putting an end to an authoritarian regime.

For my part, I did not hesitate to express my appreciation for what EDSA represented. But how to do it in a way that acknowledged its limitations?

I don’t really recall from where I drew the image that helped capture the feelings that EDSA evoked among us – a premature baby.

The democracy that EDSA ushered in was like a premature baby. It came sooner than we expected. It was smaller than what we wanted.

But it was a baby, our baby. We should celebrate its coming, and take care that it survives and develops fully.

So who are the parents of this premature baby?

The most uncontested parent is “people power” symbolized by the millions on the streets. Cory Aquino is another universally acknowledged parent.

But there were many other claimants, proof of the saying that “success has a thousand parents.”

Some church leaders were quick to claim their share of credit. A few even did it at the expense of people power, since they sought to attribute what happened to “prayer power.” Other claimants were the military and government leaders whose foiled attempt at a coup and appeal for protection triggered the outpouring of popular protest that filled EDSA.

I didn’t find much problem in conceding the right of the various parental claimants. Unlike a biological baby, a political baby is the product of multiple and diverse parenthood.

The problem that worried me was the refusal (or inability?) of many in the revolutionary movement  to claim our share of parenthood. Those who could not and did not identify with the premature baby tended to emphasize its limitations, and didn’t feel responsible to help it survive and develop.

And yet, people power is not limited to those who came together in EDSA. To switch metaphors, while the crest of the waves of protest was dominantly yellow, the deeper currents were colored red, representing both the blood of martyrs and their partisanship for the poor.

In fact, people power has more colors than yellow and red. People power should include all the colors of the rainbow.

Some years later, on August 20, 1990, Girlie gave birth to our daughter Ayen, who had to be placed in an incubator because she was two weeks premature. To announce the happy news to friends, we chose the language about EDSA: She came sooner than we expected. She is slightly smaller than we wanted. But we are happy that she has come. She is our baby. We love her and we will take care of her.

As promised, here are additional reminiscences about last Saturday’s “Ganito Tayo Noon” reunion at ALPADI.

Before lunch was served, our gracious host, Alex Padilla was asked to give an opening speech. After welcoming us again to our third reunion, he added: “Do you want me to talk about the peace talks?”

Of course we did.

He acknowledged that there is a lot of skepticism about the new peace talks between the Philippine government and the National Democratic Front. He himself did not think that the initial invitation to head the government negotiating panel was a serious offer. But when it was offered again, he decided that it was worth a serious try.

Did he think there is a realistic chance for the peace talks? His starting point is a frank assessment, which he told both the NDF and the government, especially the military: The government cannot defeat the NDF militarily. Neither can the NDF defeat the government militarily.

So why not explore other peaceful ways to resolve the armed conflict?

Alex’s refreshingly candid comments reminded me of my favorite framework “Between Honesty and Hope.” He is quite aware of the constraints and obstacles, but is determined to push the peace process forward. But he is also open to the possibility that in the end, either one or both parties may refuse to pursue a viable peace agreement.

Even if that finally happens, he hopes that he would have helped achieve something, though he left that “something” undefined.

His point about wanting to achieve “something” reminded me of the statement about the Third Estate during the French revolution, which can apply to the peace process:

What do we want the peace talks to achieve? Everything.

What have the peace talks achieved so far? Nothing.

What does he hope to help the peace talks achieve? Something.

Everyone paid intent attention to Alex’s talk. I could feel a sense of wanting to hope, but tempered by past failures of the peace process, and continuing skepticism about the readiness of government and NDF.

We were pulled back abruptly from a more serious to a much lighter mood by the self-designated heckler (alaskador) of the day. Who else but Arno Sanidad? “Is anyone willing to take a bet?” he said, “I bet that nothing will come out of the peace talks!”

That was met by howls of protest and laughter, but no one took up his offer. Alex gamely responded: “It’s a good thing Pablito doesn’t listen to him!” Pablito is Arno’s elder brother, and is part of the government negotiating panel.

The thoughtful talk and good-natured heckling about peace reflect a significant part of our shared identity.

The overwhelming majority of those of us at the reunion were activists of the national democratic movement. At various times of our life, we accepted the strategy of a protracted people’s war to take political power and build a national democratic society. Martial law and repression reinforced our shared belief and commitment to that path.

Then came EDSA 1986, and our internal debates about appropriate strategy and tactics spilled out into the arena of open politics. Later organizational splits and often bitter polemics dissipated activist energies and strained relationships, even to the point of mutual excommunication.

The spirit of “Ganito Tayo Noon” is to look back to when we were together, and our shared pride about our commitment to the struggle in the service of the people. There are no regrets about “the way we were.” But we accept that we have all moved on, and have pursued different paths of life and service.

Kierkegaard’s words resonate with us: “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”

This coming February, we will be commemorating the 25th year of EDSA 1986. It seems so long ago! At the reunion, I invited the participants to an art exhibit we plan to hold at the Sining Kamalig, on the 4th floor of Gateway in Cubao, from February 8 to March 3.

In the spirit of EDSA, the art exhibit is designed to be a “democratic space” for different art forms. There will be paintings by former prisoners and activists during the martial law years, as well as contemporary artists. There will also be installation art and performance art, including special Kapihan conversations.

By then, Alex Padilla will have led the government panel in the first round of talks with the NDF in Oslo, Norway. Perhaps we can invite him to one of the Kapihans.

Participants at our reunion should find it easy to relate to the theme of the exhibit:

EDSA. Ano Ngayon?