Dennis---eight year old filipino patriot

Here is the story of a young man who was eight years old at the time. He is now a college student at the University of San Francisco.
He remembers ...

Subject: I remember, too.

Date:Wed, 12 Mar 1997 22:48:56 -0800

From: Dennis Marzan <marzde00@usfca.edu>

Organization: University of San Francisco

This is my story.

I was about eight years old at the time, attending Benedictine Abbey

School in Alabang. Prior to the "election," I had seen many of my

classmates (and my teachers as well) wearing Cory/Doy buttons. Although

I didn't really comprehend it at the time, I knew that something

momentous was about to happen to the Philippines. The Cory Crusaders

visited our school about a month before the election, and some friends

and I pooled together our lunch money to donate to them. That was one

thing I didn't mind going hungry for.

The precinct in Mandaluyong, Metro Manila where my parents went to vote

was pretty lucky in light of what was happening during election day

(guns, goons, and gold--all that). I can remember NAMFREL volunteers out

in force around Barranca Elementary School, and apparently, the

pro-Marcos goons knew to stay out of that area (If I'm correct,

Mandaluyong was a strong pro-opposition town).

Anyway, it was a complete surprise when the Revolution came. I remember

my family participating in the boycott against Marcos cronies (we had

gone to the rally at Luneta a week after the election), but nobody in my

family really expected something like this to happen--that someone would

actually have the guts to defy Marcos.

Two of my cousins and I went out to the barricades on Sunday morning

(Feb. 23). I remember sensing a mixture of excitement and absolute

serenity while I was there at EDSA and Ortigas; even in front of the

Marines, even when it seemed that they were about to run through the

crowd. I wanted to go down to Libis, foolish eight-year-old that I was,

but my more prudent cousins would not allow it (one was a veteran of the

First Quarter Storm, so he had first-hand experience of tear gas'

effects).

We stayed out there for the rest of the Revolution, fed by the nuns and

other citizens. When Marcos finally fled Tuesday night, I remember

getting caught up in all the euphoria--I was literally running up and

down the street screaming my lungs out. I couldn't help but think, "Yes!

I am a part of this! I fought for this!" I think it was at that moment

that I finally understood the meaning of patriotism--that I was finally

willing to accept the Philippines for what it was.

Now I'm a student at the University of San Francisco, just another

Filipino in a crowd of Filipino-Americans. Still, I can't help but think

of myself as privileged to have experienced what I did. After all, not

everyone these days can think of themselves as revolutionaries.

Mabuhay ang sambayanang Pilipino!

Dennis Marzan

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