Edsa began for me on the evening of the 22nd of February 1986.
There were no words of revolution but there was a growing unease and tedium among the population. Cory Aquino, with the crowd she drew during meetings, and with the fact that she was not perceived as a politician, excited many people, the youth included. But the Comelec earlier, on February 15, declared Marcos the winner of the snap election.
I was on a break from my post as a researcher in the Philippine Refugee Processing Center in Morong, Rizal, where the talk was about civil disobedience. It was the first collective response against the injustice committed against those of us who felt betrayed by the very same institution we thought would protect our right of suffrage.
We planned to boycott products from companies owned by Marcos cronies. However, this would prove difficult because the country was practically owned by people close to, or those sucking up to Marcos. Everyone was practically a crony. The night before leaving for Manila, I was with friends and we were contemplating over what we thought were our last bottles of beer. How long could we boycott San Miguel Beer? What would be our options?
I left Morong on the afternoon of the 21st of February 1986. I woke up to a quiet Saturday. It was in the afternoon of that day when the rumor began to circulate about a call for people to gather at Edsa. On those days, it was difficult to believe in rumors. The Marcos government had declared rumor-mongering a crime.
I stepped out of the apartment where I lived and saw people milling around a sari-sari store, listening to a radio. The voice of Cardinal Sin was speaking calmly: Go to Edsa.
Cardinal Sin began as an anomalous figure under the Marcos administration. Often, we would see him consorting with the Marcoses. But after the assassination of Aquino, he clearly—to me, at least—changed his perspectives about the Marcoses. I saw him as brave and, given the duress of the period, confrontational with the dictators who by this time had become atrociously powerful and callous.
I believed the Cardinal’s words. I went back home and, without telling anyone except my friend, got ready to leave for Edsa. At that precise moment I was to step out, Marcos was on TV warning people not to go to Edsa. The dictator, for the first time, looked puny and helpless on television.
Out on the street, the vehicles seemed to be all rushing. I was then at the corner of Roosevelt and Quezon Avenue, right next to what was the Pantranco terminal bound for the north, where the present Fisher Mall now stands. Instead of waiting for a taxi, I took the jeepney and ended somewhere along Aurora near the corner of Edsa. The driver would not go on because all points at Edsa were already blocked by buses.
The buses were blocking all intersections and they reached up to the corner of Kamuning and Kamias. At Cubao, a horde of people walked with a black cloth. They tied the long cloth to a pole. They had firewood with them. A kettle with water waiting to boil was soon placed above the makeshift stove.
This was going to be a long vigil.
Through telephones earlier, I called up some other friends to meet at Edsa. No one knew what would happen. We walked around, and soon found a place where we could sit.
Imagine Edsa with no cars. Imagine it just with people.
We did not stay overnight that first day. We saw individuals with substantial food to give to other people. We planned to bring our own supply that we could share with the crowd when we returned on February 23.
The next day we were ready for the long haul.
The third day was a tensed, emotional day. We spent the night of the 23rd and woke up early the next morning to helicopters flying above us. There were talks that they would be shooting people below. To counter the fear, it was suggested that we stood up and pray. Instantly, people extended their hands to hold other people’s hands and we began praying.
Are we going to die here? I did not even ask that question.
Nothing happened. A news filtered in that those choppers were “friendly forces,” that some soldiers had defected to the side of the Aquino government. But then came the news about tanks being readied to drive away people from the highway or from any other places where gatherings could be seen. Soon after this, we did hear rumbling sounds. Looking at the photos later, the vehicles we encountered at the corner of Santolan and Edsa were personnel carrier trucks, which were as tough-looking as tanks. We would see the tanks the next day and they were at the Ortigas area where you currently have the Robinson’s Galleria.
It was on the evening of the second day when Marian images began to be brought to Edsa. The Lady of Fatima was there, and so was the image of the Immaculate Conception. Even huge La Naval de Manila made her appearance. Their presence made that event a battle of symbols.
If the sacred images stood for those fighting for democracy, what symbols then represented the dictatorship?
On the 25th of February, 1986, newspaper extras were being sold at Edsa. One said it simply: MARCOS FLEES.
The four days celebrated people not as possessing power but as Power by themselves. People Power was born. The world paid tribute to the Filipinos. The euphoria, sadly, would not last.
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Image credits: Jimbo Albano