I was just a few months short of 6 years old when Ninoy Aquino was killed. I didn’t know who he was... I didn’t know that we were living under a dictatorship or what Martial Law even meant. (Family members would simply comment that my sister was born on the anniversary of its institution.)
But I do remember the funeral procession. My dad made sure we saw it. I remember the endless crowds of people. I remember seeing the coffin pass by. Again, I didn’t know who had died or why so many people mourned him.
I remember rumblings that followed. My mom had taken Kuya to Edsa with her to take part in the People Power Revolution. I recall being upset that she didn’t take me after my brother reported handing cigarette lighters to soldiers in tanks. It sounded like fun and definitely not the life-threatening situation it was.
I remember the presidential race after that. How significant colors were at the time — how yellow and green symbolized something larger than just crayons in a box. I remember the potentially violent incident at a local eatery where a Marcos supporter took my dad’s friend in a headlock, ready to smash a beer bottle over his head because he was encouraging the pro-Cory opinions of us kids.
I remember my mom taking my sister and I to witness history. We stood in a long line with her and she took us into the voting booth. She made sure we were watching as she selected Cory and Doy and gave us her ballot to drop it into the box on her behalf.
At the time, I had very little comprehension of what was going on. For a long time, I felt like the assassination, People Power, and the election were caused directly by the event prior. That it all took place within several weeks... not a few years. But I am grateful that my parents did what they did even though it would be decades before I could understand and appreciate the significance of those events. I am thankful that they allowed my siblings and I to be eyewitnesses even though there was a good chance we would not remember.
Fortunately, I do. Even a little. And even though my life is now so far removed from those days of Martial Law, posts like this are always a great reminder of how much we affect this blue marble we live in. Coincidentally, I saw a bumper sticker this morning that said: THE WORLD CAN ONLY CHANGE IF WE DO.
And with that, good night.
NINOY...August 21, 1983 happened. History in capsule (by Ivy Lisa F. Mendoza)
