The voice of silence

In 1983, Benigno Aquino was shot to death on the tarmac of the Manila International Airport.

"If I get shot on the head like Kennedy," he said to one of his friends, "I am not going to go down on my knees. If you get shot like that, you have a few seconds of life left. If that happens to me, I am going to fall straight down and spread my arms so people will know I never gave up even to the last second."

Three years later, the seeds planted by Aquino’s martyrdom burst into full bloom. The overt cheating during the 1986 snap elections became the smoking gun to the eyes of the people, the unassailable proof that democracy failed. They could see, without a shadow of doubt, that the Philippines was a state where might made right and institutions were peopled by gangsters in suits.

Within days, enormous crowds of Filipinos rejected a dictator who had robbed them, tortured them, and made their lives a living hell. More than 10,000 victims suffered at the hands of Marcos and his Iron Butterfly – whose heirs now stand on their soapboxes today and scream righteous indignation about the political situation. During those four days in that long-ago February, the people (from students to priests to businessmen) gathered in what would be a first in the world: A revolution without bloodshed, its soldiers armed only with flowers.

This is the phenomenon we call People Power.

In 2000, the country was rocked to its foundations when then President Joseph Estrada was accused the lord of all jueteng lords. The supposed action-hero-slash-savior-of-the-masses became the defendant in an impeachment case that lodged four claims against him: bribery, graft and corruption, betrayal of public trust and violation of the constitution. For months, the people watched the impeachment unfold before them on realtime, glued to the spectacle of senators dancing to the tune of legalistic gobbledygook.

Equitable PCI-Bank senior vice president Clarissa Ocampo swore under oath that she personally witnessed President Estrada signing in P500 million under the name of Jose Velarde. To many, Estrada was clearly guilty, and they were satisfied that the rule of law was working to ascertain this truth.

The smoking gun that plunged the people to the streets came on the eve of January 17, when 11 of the trial’s senator-judges voted against the opening of an envelope known to contain evidence of the Velarde account’s content. It was a clear attempt to repress truth and impede justice, and the people did not stand for it.

Rep. Wigberto Tañada’s statement effectively summed up the feeling of those who flocked to the streets. "The time has come for the restoration of dignity, truth, justice and peace. What the impeachment court failed to do, the parliament of the streets will bring to a just conclusion.

This is the portrait of the Filipino youth today:

On one hand, we are described as apathetic. After all, in 2001 we were the marching, screaming, fist-to-the-air throng that deposed Estrada. We were the pajama-clad students who raced to the streets while feverishly sending off rousing text messages. We were angry, we were indignant, we were righteous and, by gosh, we believed.

Yet today, at the peak of the Gloriagate scandal, the majority of us are silent. Those who comment on this do so with patronizing smiles and shakes of the head. Whatever happened to the youth?

On the other hand, activist groups claim that the Filipino youth and students along with other sectors are very much firm on its undying commitment to end the "bogus, fascist, corrupt and puppet regime" of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Which is it then? Are we the furious fighters of the revolution, or are we the indolent brats who will let the country feed on itself before we open our eyes?

I can’t speak for my generation so I’ll speak for myself.

No, I’m not convinced that this regime is either bogus, fascist or corrupt, or even a puppet. I don’t like words being put into my mouth. I’m 19, I’m a student, and I’m part of the youth.

No, I haven’t taken to the streets, not because I condone cheating or corruption, but because I believe in the value of the rule of law. It’s the blandest and most banal statement anyone can make: I believe in the rule of law. But I do.

The people who accuse us of ambivalence claim that they are upholding democracy by marching in the streets. Those who claim their legitimacy by using the name of the youth as a whole are making the same mistake.

I like to think democracy is more complex than a poster in one hand and a megaphone in the other. The myth and the miracle of People Power is not something to be squandered lightly: It is a last resort, a final judgment when no other judgment can suffice. But when 80 million Filipinos marched to the polls in 2004 and voted for a president, they upheld democracy, too: They were choosing a leader who they believed would fight their battles. To say that democracy is invalid is to take on an enormous burden of proof.

If it is proven that that same president violated the laws of the land and achieved that mandate by foul means, then by God, she has no right to sit in the Palace, and I will be the first to cheer on her detractors.

There are those who say that the tapes are enough evidence. But the fact that like-minded people in Congress who belong to the same party cannot make up their own minds as to her guilt or innocence shows how relative that truth is.

I’m told that those who belong to the Hyatt 10 are some of the most morally steadfast individuals in the country, and that the resignation of the likes of Dinky Soliman and Cesar Purisima were brought about by firm principles rather than political agenda. I respect that maybe they know something I don’t. There are many rallying in the street today who seek GMA’s removal. I respect that too; maybe what is supposition for us is binding truth to them.

For those of us who wait, I ask this: Give us a reason to take your side, show us the smoking gun. You are asking us to replace a president and risk economic turmoil and the coming of He-Whom-We-Cannot-Yet-Name for the sake of a maybe.

Get Comelec Commissioner Virgilio Garcillano on the stand. Find your Clarissa Ocampo. Give us something more than garbled words on a tape. It is the same with the administration – prove your innocence. When it’s the highest official in the country accused of some of the worst crimes possible, then we’ve gone beyond the point of innocence before guilt and a dozen I’m sorries.

If the institutions of democracy themselves prove false, if we see that the rule of law becomes nothing more than an excuse to maintain a bogus, fascist, corrupt and puppet government, if envelopes are held back and those who are tasked to discover the truth choose the pursuit of personal political reward over the pursuit of truth, we will know.

When that happens, I will be out in EDSA with a poster and a megaphone. This is a promise.

And on that day, no matter what the rest of world will say, that People Power, if ever it comes, will be as glorious as it was in the days when the people knew they fought for a cause great enough to die for.

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Many thanks to Butch Jimenez, Bam Aquino, and Atom Araullo for their time in helping a disgruntled 19-year-old finally find her voice.

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Send comments to pat.evangelista@gmail.google.com. For those who are trying to contact the author through cell, she has just changed numbers.