Why Aug. 21 matters

There are guideposts that mark significant moments in our lives as individuals and in our life as a nation. One event a quarter century ago marked a major milestone for the Filipino nation as well as for millions of Filipinos and, perhaps, even non-Filipinos all over the world. The brutal assassination of Ninoy Aquino as he was being escorted off the plane at the Manila international airport – now named after him – before he could even set foot on Philippine soil, shook the nation and, in many different ways, changed our lives forever.

Where were you and what were you doing that afternoon of August 21, 1983? I was at the matinee performance of a concert with my mother, and there were whispers and people huddled in hushed conversation around the hall. We didn’t know what had happened, but we were sure something serious must have happened.

We got the news when we got home – Aquino had been assassinated. He had come home, against much advice to the contrary, setting aside practical considerations and warnings of danger and grave threat – he had come home, and he was shot and killed.

In the days that followed, when his body – bloodied, broken – lay in state at their Times Street home and later at the Sto. Domingo Church, we drove over there several times, amazed at the long, silent queue of people waiting to pay homage, and trying very hard to work up the courage to join them, dire warnings of state oppression ringing ominously at the back of our mind. We had to somehow get up the courage to live up to his courage and sacrifice, to overcome our cowardice and apathy and timidity, and to stand up for our country – and ourselves.

“The Filipino is worth dying for,” Ninoy had said, and he staked his life on that statement. In the days and years following his death, the Filipino did indeed show that he – we – is indeed worth dying for. Shocked by his brutal death, angered by the audacity of the state, inspired by his courage, fired up by his sacrifice, the Filipino marched in the streets, faced water   cannons and risked being truncheoned and/or fired at, cut up telephone directories and all other forms of paper to make yellow confetti, faced the guns, knelt in front of the tanks, slept on the sidewalk, made hundreds of sandwiches to feed the people – and finally succeeded in throwing out a dictator. The Filipino, after all, was worth dying for.

Today there is a whole generation of Filipinos who were not born yet when Ninoy was assassinated, who have only heard about – if indeed they have heard about it – and have no actual experience of being part of the unbelievable mass of people who attended Ninoy’s funeral, who rallied and marched,  and later joined in what would come to be called the People Power revolution of 1986. To them, that day 25 years ago may just be part of history, and history – some may say – belongs to the past, and is best left there – in the past.

But seeing the sad, sad state our country is in today – when corruption is the norm of practically every government transaction, when good people and honest people (especially in government) are hounded and villified by the corrupt who are in power, when the powerful use their office and their clout to satisfy their seemingly insatiable greed, when government officials flaunt the law with no shame or fear, when every day there are so many scandals and exposés that it is almost impossible to keep track – more than ever we need to remember what Ninoy’s ultimate sacrifice was for, to evaluate whether we indeed are still worth dying – and living – for, and to somehow get up the courage once again to live up to his courage and sacrifice, to overcome our cowardice and apathy and timidity, and to stand up for our country – and ourselves.