ppwr.i remember

by, perla paredes daly

March 11, 1997.

This is an ongoing telling of my story and also of other people's stories.

For a over a year aleady, I have been returning to my writing as I find more pieces of memories that are tucked in the shadows of my mind. So, after you read this page, please visit again to find additional details.

Also, contributions are heartily welcomed. If any of you who are reading this can help me with the recounting of the events that occured all around the Philippines, please e-mail the details. I will place a page with your "telling" and link it with all the other stories at this website. So for the bystander, you should return to this site to find links with other people's stories.

A website is perfect for this type of storytelling. Our stories are conveyed to a reader in a non-linear fashion. The reader can jump from here to there through hyperlinks, as he pleases, and hopefully at the end of his exploration of this website, he will have experienced the accounts the way they were supposed to be experienced.

thanks, perla

Starting Point of my story - - - returning home to Bacolod City.

I remember the events during and after the presidential elections of 1986.

It was February of 1986. I and my brother had just returned to Manila from the province of Negros Occidental. We were returning to go back to the universities. All schools around the country had been closed for the duration of Election Week.

You see, unlike, here in the United States, where the changeover of presidential power is quite a seamless process, in the Philippines, with Marcos in power for 2 decades, even just the possibility of a changeover meant public tension over the possible political upheaval. As the days got closer to Election Day, repeated rallies and demonstrations were going on day after day.

From the extremists to the die-hard Marcosites, and including those who never had been to a political rally before in their whole lives, were participating in some sort of march or rally that they believed in.

The television and radio broadcasts had been wrought with pro-marcos campaigns and propaganda and many "laban" (Opposition) people were outraged by them. I used to shout at the television when I would see Marcos' Presidential Campaigns broadcasted. It was all blatant propaganda.

"Laban"motorcades were roaming the streets at random in the cities all over the country and people were being harassed or arrested for being part of it.

I remember images on the news of cars and piles of tires burning at night in the streets of Metro Manila, students with masks on their faces, throwing those "molotov" cocktails.

Things were really simmering. In anticipation of what more was to come, classes were closed. I and my brother MIchael, he a student at Colegio de San Beda and I at the University of the Philippines, took a one hour plane trip home to Bacolod City for the climacticelection week (or was it post-climactic) .

I remember feeling safer at home.

Though the reality was that there were many NPA on the island of Negros. The NPA or the National People's Army were militant communists - very anti-government and most of all very anti-Marcos. Most of them were located in the rural areas, but for some years already, NPA graffiti was being boldly painted all around buildings and walls in the city of Bacolod. You could feel their presence creeping in on the city and I kept on wondering if they were planning to start a revolution against Marcos. I even imagined them taking over the elections, declaring it null and void, and an outbreak of civil war in the Philippines would follow. What would happen to my family and our homes? Would we have to leave the country. I and my brothers were born in the U.S. and were still U.S. citizens and it would be easy for us and my mother to leave the Philippines if it came to that. But what about the rest of our large, extended family. What would happen if there was a civil war. This dark thought had been with me for some time already.

But I still felt safe at home.

I still have images in my mind of soldiers riding in and on top of buses coming to and from the countryside. It made me think of how poor the Army was that it couldn't even send it's soldiers to their assignments in their own army vehicles. It made me think of how the government was so squeezed of its funds by those in power that these poor soldiers had to travel that way . . . that these poor soldiers would not even have to be here if the NPA did not exist . . . and that the NPA would not even have a cause, would not even have to exist if things had not been so bad for the masses of Filipinos living in a state of poverty, struggling to eke out a an existence for themselves in their country, because their economic situations had not bettered, or had even grown worse because of a greedy and vain dictatorial type president.

Before we left the provincial city of Bacolod, there had been a big "Laban" motorcade at the Plaza, in front of the Cathedral. That was the evening that the elections had ended. People were celebrating the victory of Cory Aquino as President. It was too early to tell, of course, but people were so sure she would win.

As I recall, the motorcade had culminated at the plaza, in front of the Cathedral in Bacolod City.

Almost everyone in my extended family was in a car and somewhere in that motorcade. Honking horns merrily in rhythm, gesturing the "L" with our hands to cheer for "laban!" "laban!" "laban!" and "cory!" "cory!" "cory!"

My cousin Rushty, an outgoing, funny and popular fellow, was at the front of the slowly moving procession of cars. He was wrapped up in yellow crepe streamers looking like some sort of yellow "Laban" mummy. Prancing around, a whistle in his mouth, he'd blow it "prrrrt, tuut, tuuut!" and " honk, honk!" the cars would answer in unison.

It was a terrifically joyful crowd, united in their eagerness and anticipation for Cory Aquino's victory, an emancipation from Marcos' firm hand, his dictatorial leadership.

This had not been a formally planned event though. As far as I knew, people just came by hearing of the motorcade, by word of mouth, the night before or that very same day. Nevertheless, in the middle of the happy honking and shouts of "laban!" there was a gunshot.

The Philippine Constabulary or PC, as we call them, wasn't amused at all by all this. And come to think of it, he must have been quite at a loss at first to see all these middle to upper class people demonstrating their support for Cory in such large and loud numbers. Quite, different from the previous demonstrations and rallies held by field laborers and "suspect communist" peasants that had been coming to Bacolod from the rural areas. And, I believe, that being a government official, he was of the pro-Marcos sentiment.

There was a second gun shot. The cars all came to a stop. We were all startled and looked around frantically to see if Rushty was alright. Rushty and nobody else had been shot. The officer had merely fired some "warning shots" into the air.

So, there was the rotund, frowning Constabulary officer, at the front of the procession of cars, with his gun, shouting grimly and loudly. Who was in charge of this illegal protest? (Protest? Ha! It was a celebration, Mr. PC, Sir) Time to break-up this illegally organized demonstration, he was shouting.

We were all so disappointed. We wanted to disagree in the moment of enthusiasm and excitement, but our common sense got the better of us --- there were the Constabulary's guns. So, most of the cars dispersed.

The PC, had managed to arrest someone for having "organized" the motorcade without a license to demonstrate. Many of the younger adults did not leave, I and my brother and cousins among them. We drove to the Constabulary to join the crowd who were goin to ask for his release.

I remember that an international pressman and his cameraman had come along. We and a few dozen people stood out there in the early evening in front of the Constabulary. Some people had gone inside to talk with the officials. While we waited we started to chant "Laban!" over and over again. But some stern-faced official came out and barked a few words and we quieted down quickly. No one wanted to see a gun come out again, even if it was aimed at the sky.

So, someone started to lead the prayer of the Rosary. Yes! We would all pray for the poor man inside who got arrested and we would pray for Cory Aquino's victory. The Constabulary couldn't arrest us for praying!

The foreign press, I guess, was getting all this on video and then they went inside the building to witness events in there. I don't know exactly what went on in there, but we were there for only a few hours. I also don't remember if the person who was arrested was released or detained for much longer.

If anyone from Bacolod is reading this, do you know or remember what happened? E-mail me and let's put the details here.

Well, we went home that night.

Then my family debated whether or not it was alright for I and my brother Michael to return to Manila.

Considering the situation, we were unsure: What if we stayed in Bacolod, because we were afraid that things wouldn't settle down. Would we be late for the re-opening for classes at the universities we went to? We would miss our finals if that happened. But, then again, what if we did go back to Manila and things got worse and school didn't open up? Would we be separated from our family in the midst of a political upheaval? That sounded even worse.

Well, I guess we were quite optimistic because we decided to go back to Manila.

So, the next day I and my brother Michael took a plane back to Manila to get ready for the coming Finals and finish the few weeks left of college. I was supposed to have my senior thesis exhibit and graduate at the end of this school year. I was also booked on a plane to leave for the United States soon after the exams.

I really didn't expect much more ado after the incident at the plaza, but I was wrong - - - much more was about to take place. Something quite big! In retrospect, I am glad I returned to Manila when I did.

Almost immediately upon our return to Manila, it was announced on the news that school re-opening was delayed another week. I called my brother Michael to tell him to stay with me in the safe and quiet Loyola Heights neighborhood, where i was boarding with a kind family, in their large safe-feeling home.

My brother, on the other hand, stayed at a boarding house located just down the street from Malacañang Palace, the Presidential residence. At that location, he's witnessed recent clashes of students with government forces. He's seen students demonstrate peacefully against the establishment and he's seen the police and the soldiers run the students out with batons, water cannons, tear gas. Barbed wire barricades are a common sight in that area because of its long history of student demos there, that goes back to the '60s and '70s.

And because of the place's "history," and because it turned out that the electoral commotion was not over, my brother agreed to come over and stay with me in Quezon City. To be away from this pulsepoint of political unrest.

We called our mother back in Bacolod and again we were trying to decide whether or not we should go back home. She told us that we should stay in Manila, because if things really got out of hand, she wanted us to go to the U.S. Embassy and try to leave the country. (We children had been born in the US and thus we were U.S. citizens even after having lived in the Philippines for 12 years).

We were surprised, by the way, that our mother was thinking like that. Though I had not voice my thoughts about civil and military clashes, she too had felt that the whole situation in the Philippines was reaching critical point.

I and Michael got our back-packs ready and loaded them with essentials, canned food and a can-opener. Just in case. The trek to the embassy would be long and hot.

The year before, I had participated in a multi-university peaceful demonstration. I and hundreds of other UP Diliman students had walked for a few hours in the muggy heat to converge at Laguna Park for talks and rallies. I wore really good walking shoes, but the next day, to my surprise, my toes were black and blue. I and Michael would have to walk even further than that distance to get to the U.S. Embassy, if things came to that.

Such strange little preparations.

Story ends here for now.

Tell your friends and family about this site.

And return soon! I am still writing my memoirs of this event.

I would also appreciate contributions to fill in the holes of my memory lapses and to give the story more dimension. march 11, 1997 10:30pm

Since April 1996, this website has evolved from

"I Remember People Power. . ."

to

"WE Remember People Power: 1986 Philippines."
I've gotten a bunch of responses!
But, I would like more!

If you have a personal story to tell,
in either Filipino or English, in one or more sentences,
about what you did or remember during this great event
and would like to post it here,
please START WRITING and e-mail it to me.

If you have anything else to share or have any comments
or a related URL that I can add to this website
please e-mail me - - -

bzsabee@concentric.net

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