Nightmares are not worth recalling.  That may be true if they occur in the privacy of our rooms, wrap in the eerie silence of the night.

But political nightmares deserved to be reminisced, debated upon, and reflected on, if we have to move forward as a nation.  A nation that has no common historical memory is just a hodge-podge of tribes without national identity.

On a personal level, I did not want to recall life under martial law.  The experiences were bad enough, and defying risks that went with the rallies were chilling to repeat.

But the innocent question of my ever precocious eight-year old boy changed the temper of yesterday’s 37^th martial law anniversary.

He asked:  “What is martial law? “  The lawyer in me wanted to parrot the constitutional basis of martial law, and the decisions rendered by the Supreme Court on the issue.  Of course, I would not have to discuss with my boy in a grandiose manner.  That would be Latin for him.

As I was about to tell my son what happened during the Marcos era, my fourteen-year old daughter proudly volunteered that according to the textbook, martial law was declared by then President Ferdinand Marcos on September 21, 1972.

That saved me from the cross-examination type questions of my boy.  He has the innocent knack of firing questions until you are left without answer.

But the incident led me to realize that while I, having experienced the horrors of martial law, could relate with increasing pulse rates and sweaty hands the dark years of Marcos dictatorship, the generation next to me, my daughter, has nothing but facts and statistics of the era, enough for her to win any quiz bee contest.

If only for my kids, I need to write this, to recall the events I personally experienced and the insights I learned under martial law in the hope that next time around, it is not only the facts but the full range of the tragic drama that was Marcos, must like the portrayal of the Greek dramas played out in the greater drama called life, that the succeeding generations could recount.

I was still seven years old and thirteen days when martial was declared.  There was no cable news, no newspapers in our barrio. There were only one or two transistor radios where the folks huddled to listen to the declaration of martial law.

Despite the innocence, I knew then there was some big news that day.  My father who kept a rifle hurriedly buried it somewhere.  Other folks did bury theirs too. Days after, soldiers inspected all the houses.  When they arrived in the house, I cowered in fear. I only glimpsed at the uniformed men, but I could hear the thuds of their boots, like the sound of the hooves of horsemen.

The beauty of pure innocence is that despite the horrors martial law wrought upon the people, I had carefree frolics with my friends in the pristine river, and the mountain treks in the then virginal forest, unmindful of the terror that gripped the people.

The burden with knowledge is the loss of innocence, and living in a gay abandon eludes forever.  Innocence is replaced with the angst for not acting on the dictates of what is right.

The high school years at the old Ateneo school just right there at the heartland of the city were spent reading books, and learning so many things from all fields.  The Jesuit-run school inspired critical thinking, the ability to see the issue in the broader perspective, as it were, in an eagle’s view.

Despite the adventures and misadventures of puberty though, the incarceration of the mayor of Cagayan de Oro Nene Pimentel in 1981 fired-up the protests of the already opposition-inclined people.  That too echoed in the corners of our classrooms.  Without political acumen or organization, we did have boycotts from our classes.  The reasons for our boycotts may have varied, but it reflected the over-all sentiment of the Cagayanons whose mayor was placed behind bars.

The horror of martial law was not anymore in somebody’s doorsteps but right there in the City Hall, the last citadel of democracy. It was an affront to the proud Cagayanons whose political pedigree came from the local heroes who fought many wars in the past.

Different folks have different ways of protesting. In the stage where the opposition was not yet so organized, the protesters were like sticks hoping to form a broom so they could have concerted and effective actions.  Meanwhile that the protest movement was still disorganized, opposition to martial law took different shapes, colors, and hues.  But the seed of revolution was unmistakably there already ready to explode in the most opportune time.

The martial law terror was unabated.  There was Elma, a relative who was shot on mere suspicion of being a sympathizer of the communists.

A good friend, the editor of the student publication of Ateneo de Davao was abducted, and no one knew what happened.  Just like other students  who were missing, she was another statistics of the martial law terror.

Killing fields were not only popular in North Vietnam.  We also shared the infamy.

The guns were blazing too in areas like Claveria, Salay, Lantad, Taglimao, and almost everywhere. In all these areas, human rights abuses were the norm rather than the exception.

Power is intoxicating. It can be delusional. After having wielded power without accountability, the powers-that-be are emboldened, and regard themselves as invincible, that they could commit abuses with impunity.

When the rulers do not see anymore the limits to their powers their doom begins.

Right before the glare of national and international opinion, Ninoy Aquino was martyred on August 21, 1983 as he deplaned from his exile in the US. That was stupid thing to do.  But drank with power, the rulers did not see it coming the start of their defeat with the mortal shot at Ninoy’s body. The mortal body died, but the immutable ideals came to life.

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Suddenly, the disorganized protests had a common voice, a rallying point from which to launch their battle against the government, a battle plan drawn-out within the framework of the ideals of democracy.

I found myself co-founding a student political party at Xavier Universit.  The student party was founded on the precept that the students cannot live in the ivory tower of the academe but must lead the people in the struggle against the dictatorship.

There were rallies, civil disobedience, and other forms of protest.  And just like all other student leaders who dared challenged the dictatorship, the “red tag” was written in my forehead by the military, a tag that meant I could be “salvaged”, misnomer for assassination.

It was most unfortunate.  I knew of students who abhorred communism as much as they deplored Marcos dictatorship.  But in a war-like situation, the protagonists become color-blind.  Infiltration of the ranks of the students by the military and the reds were rampant.  Many were killed on mere suspicions.

I just laughed off the “red tag”, the communist label.  I have thoroughly studied Marxism in its primary sources and read the history of communism.  The flaws of the communist ideology are just glaring to ignore.  Embracing communism would be prostituting knowledge for expediency.

Expediency, I knew so many brilliant students who joined the communist’s movement for that reason. They joined the communist movement because it offered them concrete plans with which they could topple the dictator.  But I did not judge the folly or brilliance of their decisions. Instead of judging, there were tactical alliances of students from different colors in the political spectrum joining hands just to oust the dictator.

The students have the time, the mental prowess, and the fire in the belly to mount concerted actions against the dictator.  Organizing the students in Cagayan de Oro was the most logical thing to do and our group, composed of leaders from the left to the center, did manage to awaken the students.

The streets of Cagayan de Oro saw mass actions, protest marches, prayer rallies, and the famous “Welga Ng Bayan”. Xavier University students joined with students from Don Mariano, Cagayan de Oro College, Liceo de Cagayan and Lourdes College.

Activism was mainstream. The rising tide of dissent could not be doused anymore.

Ninoy was not the only martyr.  The casualties were many.  Several of the student leaders were gone, either they went underground, or they were invited by the military henchmen and never to return again.  Those were brilliant students whose whereabouts I have not heard of since.

For my daughter, my missing friends would just be mere statistics.  But after she reads this piece, hopefully, she may feel the pulse of life, and the tears of pain Martial Law has shed in the Philippine landscape.

Appropriating the prefix “Tita” before Cory does not necessarily connote blood relation. Cory is virtually “Tita” to all Filipinos.  She is part of our respective families.  So when she died last August 1, 2009, a part of us died too.

Cory’s death though does not end her legacy.  Her legacy continues in the hearts of men.  Her body will turn to dust, as we all as heirs of the Original Sin will succumb, but her spirit lives on in us.

She was an icon of democracy and the embodiment of what a true leader should be.

Before Ninoy Aquino died on August 21, 1983, Cory played the perfect role of a wife, and mother. In the glaring lights of national stage, she was just there in the house while her husband took center stage.

The fractious opposition had no leader who could unify the entire nation against the draconian Marcos-led dictatorship.  She would have opted to stay at the back stage but the nation called for her selfless service.

When the survival of the nation depended on her, she did not balk.  Instead of cooking chicken liver pate which was her favorite dish, she was right there in the glare of the limelight, challenging a powerful dictator.

Ferdinand Marcos, with his academic credentials, the military, and all the vast resources of the government at his disposal, arrogantly exclaimed: “A mere housewife will challenge me?”

A housewife indeed challenged a dictator.  But without Marcos knowing it, he was up against a housewife who may not have the physical strength to match his but who had fortitude in spirit that was unbreakable, a spirit that suffered in silence when Ninoy was jailed, and finally, killed. She was at the receiving end of martial law. Pain and suffering, these two make the spirit stronger. If Cory were steel, hers was life borne out of the furnace.

Once she decided to fight, there was no retreat.  She campaigned like hell throughout the countryside. She led the protest actions, prayer rallies, and civil disobedience. She unsheathed the steel of courage when she was cheated in the polls.  She braved with grace the seven coup attempts the once spoiled military staged during her term.

When she took her oath as president at the Club Filipino, her physique was visibly thin.  But the hope and euphoria that swept across the archipelago loomed large above all. In a land desolate for two decades of martial law, Cory and the ideals she represented was the guiding torch of the Filipinos and the world.

At no other moment in history was the Filipino prouder than the magic Cory weaved. For once, we held our heads high and proud to be truly Filipinos.  Cory received spontaneous standing ovations when she spoke before the US Congress. More than that, Cory led a revolution which was emulated in the breaking down of the Berlin wall that divided Germany, and thereafter, in freeing the rest of Eastern Europe in bloodless revolutions.  We bowed our heads when we saw her in the cover of TIME Magazine as the woman of the year.

The celebration of Cory’s life unconsciously, is the celebration of the life of the nation as well.  Subjugated by Spain for 300 years, by Americans for 45 years, and briefly but no less violently by Japan, the Filipinos’ heads were bowed. Cory too, a housewife, suffered under the shadows of paternalistic society that bequeathed to the woman, the household chores.

Cory’s triumph in life is a victory of the dream that the nation has been aspiring: That yes, the Filipino is worth dying for! EDSA I was not only liberation of the nation from dictatorship.  It was also a rebirth of the aspirations of a race that once landscaped our archipelago before the conquistadores arrived in our shores.

She set out to re-establish the democratic institutions that were systematically mangled by then Pres. Marcos. The press breathed the new air of freedom. The Congress ceased to be a rubber stamp.  The Supreme Court regained its lost prestige when Imelda Marcos once made its chief justice her umbrella boy.

Instead of being intoxicated in power, Cory, in her last SONA bid farewell to the people.  She stepped down in office without overtures of clinging to it.

Yet, she knows that the life of the nation did not end in EDSA I; in fact, it was its rebirth.  As the nation marches on, it will be buffeted by winds of corruption, treason and treachery, and the affliction of the weak in spirit – arrogance of power.

Before she died, and even when she was diagnosed with cancer, she urged us to fight these winds.  She was like a Don Quixote.  Now that she is dead, we can only show our gratitude to her by continuing her ideals, which are our nation’s too.

The Encarta Dictionary simply defines the word as “supreme authority especially over a state”.  Without this authority, the state has no reason for its being.

The 1987 Philippine Constitution declared that “sovereignty resides in the people and all government authority emanate from them.” The Filipinos are supreme over their government, and yes, even the state known as Philippines.  The people, as the repository of all powers within the state can even choose to rename the state, change the government, impeach high official, and recall elected officials.  The 1987 Constitution even has a special provision on initiative and referendum, a political process which recognizes people’s power to directly legislate laws.

In a republican state, the people do not directly exercise government powers.  Otherwise, chaos will ensue. The authority is delegated through the governmental bodies, such as the executive, legislative, and judiciary.

There is however a chasm between the ideal and the actual, between theory and praxis, to borrow the language of dialectics.

The apparatuses of the state are mostly concentrated in one office, that is, in the Office of the President.  President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is the Commander-in-Chief over the armed forces.  She therefore wields the sword, so to speak. 

The purse is supposedly in the hands of Congress too.  But the power to appropriate is more fiction than reality.  While the Congress approves the budget, the President can veto budgetary provisions.  If the budget indeed is approved, still the actually disbursement of funds could be released only by the President through her alter-ego, the Department of Budget and Management.  That is why legislators in the opposing camp end up fat in budget but hungry in actual cash.  They have to line up for ration in the Department of Budget And Management.

In the scheme of things, impeachment of the president is a long shot, except when the people, and not the tongressmen err congressmen, wash the corridors of power with the avalanche of protests, as what happened to Erap Estrada.

The final arbiter of constitutional issues, and the proper exercise of delegated sovereign powers reside in the Supreme Court.

Recent history reveals that the Supreme Court has not been consistent in upholding the majesty of the law.  During the martial law regime, then Chief Justice Enrique Fernando, despite the literary flourish of his decisions, but not necessarily the substance, gave imprimatur to the edicts issued by then President Ferdinand Marcos. He even stooped to his lowest low when he used to carry umbrella for Imelda Marcos.

There were shining exemplars though of what is it to be truly a magistrate, just like the blind-folded goddess of justice.  There was Chief Justice Jose Abad Santos who penned landmark decisions which have been the guide in the adjudication of rights. There was Chief Justice Claudio who had a direct, brief style of penning decisions, but what he lacked in literary flourish, he compensated it with what truly matters, substance, that is, fearless and proper interpretation of government powers and their limitations, despite the spectre of a prison cell or worse, a firing squad in a martial law regime.

But a truly independent judiciary cannot depend on the sterling character, or the lack of it, of the magistrates.  The system must create for an independent judiciary.  At present, the Judicial and Bar Council nominates at least three applicants and submit the list to the President, who in turn can choose any of the three nominees.  Here lies the clincher.  The President can easily play Mephistopheles and the new appointee, Faust. With the present Supreme Court set-up, the majority has been appointees of GMA, and God knows, how many of them made the Faustian pact already.

The sovereign will of the people can easily be muted, when the three estates – the executive, legislative, and judiciary – conspire, either by active participation or acquiescence, specially, when the pockets are full. In this case, the people’s sovereign voice can only be articulated through the media – the fourth estate.

At all cost, the freedom of expression must be respected.  When this right is restrained, all other rights become empty rhetoric. It is the media that crystallize the issues.  Remember that, each citizen is a particle of sovereignty.  It is easy for one voice to say that he is the voice of God; and still another voice, that of Allah.  But the discourse in the marketplace of ideas will filter the dross from the gold, and the true consensus of the many particles of sovereignty take form, and later on, translate into action, either by  impeachment, recall election, or even, revolution.

Last year, when the recall election of Governor Eddie Panlilio was initiated, the fourth estate became the only outlet by which the sovereign voices could articulate their disgust at the hands of power  that were behind the move to oust a truly dedicated and incorruptible official, a diamond in the political pit.  To parry the surging protests, the Comelec, by a stroke of pen, salvaged the situation by declaring that all recall elections are suspended due to budgetary constraints.  When the Panlilio brouhaha simmered down, the suspension of the recall election was lifted.

Indeed, the recall process should not be suspended, not even due to budgetary constraints.  There is no price tag for sovereignty.  The life and health of the state depend on the proper exercise of sovereignty.

Otherwise, we may have to redefine sovereignty.

1. Living under the shadows of martial law had never been easy. The martial reign of Ferdinand Marcos lasted from September 21, 1972 to February 25, 1986. As the Filipinos celebrate the most peaceful revolution on earth on February 25, 1986, when then dictator Ferdinand Marcos was booted out from office by the sheer number of Filipinos who went to the streets without arms but bearing only bibles, rosaries, and flowers,it is but fitting to recall the dark days in our country. Looking back in history, and not an amnesia of past events, is the best safeguard that democracy would not be snatched away again. There is a cogent need for remembrance of the dark period especially with the spate of extra-judicial killing of militants and critical media men under the Arroyo administration.

2. I was 3rd year college when I became editor-in-chief of the CRUSADER, the official student publication of Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. That was school year 1984-1985. Rey Gomez, my features editor, decided to spend our semestral break in Libas, Jabonga, Agusan del Norte, my birthplace. The place was rebel infested then. So we wanted to have a feel of the rural situation for our write-up. On our way however, the public utility vehicle we were riding was stopped in one of the military checkpoints in Ampayon, a barangay just 15 kilometers away from Butuan City in the island of Mindanao, Philippines. All passengers were frisked. We were asked for any identification card or a residence certificate, but we had none. The vehicle was allowed to go but the two of us were detained in the checkpoint. When it was nearing night, I decided to use my thespian skill , otherwise, we would have become mere statistics along with the other victims of extra-judicial killings perpetrated by the military. I pleaded to a certain Capt. Ruaya that he should let us go because my grandfather died, so went my alibi. He did not believe me at first, but I shed a tear so he let us run away which we did, fearing that bullets might be following us.

In a twist of fate , sometime in 1997, a certain Capt. Ruaya came to our law firm in Butuan City for a legal consultation. He was the respondent in an administrative case. Immediately, I told him if he recognized me, but he shook his head. I told him of the incident, and I advised him to seek another lawyer lest I might be tainted with bias.

3. The killings, and ham-letting of villages were knocking at the doorsteps of the university gates. Student leadership meant social involvement. The economy was bad. Human rights abuses were rampant. Student leaders simply had to be militants. I decided to lead the students in Cagayan de Oro to rallies, pickets, and civil disobedience. The student paper then had a circulation of about 6,000 per issue, the biggest in Cagayan de Oro. The school paper was my medium. I networked with the other editors of school publications to organize the students into protest actions. I recall that on November 1985, for the first time since the proclamation of Martial Law on September 21, 1972, students of our school went outside the gates, and proceeded to other schools where other students were waiting to join us. That was the start of rallies that culminated on February 22, 1986, the last rally I led and participated. Three days after, on February 25, 1986, Marcos fled the country.

Another twist of fate though deserves mentioning. When I joined the fraternity in the College of Law, a brother who is already a major in the police, told me that my picture was one of those posted, that whenever they decided to “salvage” (a misnomer for killing militants), they take a picture from those posted. The next day, the body would be found somewhere.

4. It was sometime in October 1985 when I joined the journalism seminar in Davao City sponsored by the College Editor’s Guild of the Philippines, said to be a front of the communist party. I arrived in the University of Mindanao, Davao City at three in the afternoon. But the host told me that we had to wait for the other delegates from Manila, particularly Ateneo de Manila. It was already around 9:00 o’clock in the evening when we were herded into a bus bound for the seminar site. On our way, we were stopped by the men in uniforms whom I knew later on to be communists guerrillas. When we arrived at the seminar site, we were greeted with staccato bursts of gunfire. I realized that we were already in the rebel’s lair. The seminar was a mix of journalism and indoctrination.

5. For the school year 1986-1987, I was already enrolled in the College of law. My staff in the Crusader convinced me to take the editorial exam again so that I would remain as editor but they would do all the odd jobs while I concentrate in my law studies. My role then would be merely supervisory. I did continue as editor and entrusted the odd duties to my staff. But when the first issue for that school year came out, somebody inserted in the school paper a manifesto of the Kilusang Kabataan, the communist arm for the youth, calling for the bearing of arms. I resigned and had the whole thing investigated. It turned out that one of my section editors was a member of the communist movement and he went into hiding. I have not heard of him since then.

6. I was invited, urged, and cajoled by the militant left to join the movement. But I had not and will never be convinced with communist ideology. I have read and thoroughly studied the predecessors of Karl Marx. I understood the strength of the social analysis; the diagnosis may be correct but the cure is simply utopia. No way can there be classless society and equality among men. When the proletariat as a class rises to power, the said class is led by an individual or groups who eventually dictate the directions of the class. They become the new ruling elite in place of the oligarchs. We have to admit, men are not born with equal attributes. Someone among us will rise to eminence.

I must admit though that Karl Marx has the best socio-structural analysis of modern society.

7. I take pride in having assembled the best writers of the school to compose the staff of the school paper. There was the selection board that conducted the oral and written exams to choose the editor-in-chief and the associate. But the rest of the staff was selected by me. There was Brady Eviota who initially studied in the University of the Philippines-Diliman, but had to trasfer to our school because he was already identified as leftist. He wrote literary pieces. After graduation, he pursued his writing career and went on to be the grand prize winner for the First Mindanao Writer’s Workshop. (Incidentally, my eldest daughter and his were born on the same date and year). The associate editor, Celerina Rosales joined Malacanang Press Corp right after graduation. Rey Gomez, the features editor, bagged a journalism scholarship to Poland. Nilo Labares was the Visayan expert. He could write beautiful prose and poems in the dialect. He is now a known media practitioner in Cagayan de Oro City. There was also a writer we fondly called Red. He was a prolific writer. He was once with the underground movement. These staffers had a common battlecry : down with the dictator. These select students were virtually plucked out by me from their worlds. You see, prolific writers do not announce their brilliance. You have to seek for them.

8. By April 1986, Malacanang Palace , the official residence of the president and his family, was open house. I was eager to see what the seat of power looked like while the entire nation was living in constant fear and poverty. Palace is always a palace. But this was unique. There was one room where the noted 2,000 pairs of Imelda Marcos was stored. The room for the first lady was perfumed garden. Big bottles of perfume were left by the first lady. She could bathe everyday with those perfumes. In contrast, Ferdinand Marcos’ room was reeking with medicines. It was a virtual clinic. Ah, there was the mural of the first couple known as the “Malakas at Maganda” ( The Strong and Beautiful), of the Philippine mythology. Unlike the myth , the first couple pretensions to eternal power and beauty had to break in the onslaught of the people’s revolt.

9. The university is a microcosm of the society. The political firmament was felt in the campuses. After the proclamation of martial law, student governments and student newspapers were banned. In 1983, together with the radicals among the students, I joined the campaign to form the student government. The school administration vehemently opposed. There were student leaders who sided with the school administrators. But we prevailed despite that we received all forms of harassment including that coming from the military. To my suprise, my schoolmate in high school and classmate in college who opposed the formation of the student govenrment run and won the presidency. The similaries with real politik are evident.

10. If there is any one who prevailed on me not to go underground, t’was my mother. One time, as I went up the stage during a rally, I saw her in a corner shedding tears. She knew then that student activists had been “salvaged”. There were brilliant students I know who joined the communist’s movement. Most have been unheard of since then.

11. If anything at all, the greatest contribution of the Filipino race to modern history is the EDSA people’s revolt. It was the most peaceful revolution. The same method was emulated to break the Berlin wall, to dislodge Romanian dictator Caecescu, and the liberation of the great part of Eastern European nations which used to be part of the iron curtain. As for me, the period of martial law and my involvement in that era has fortified my critical analysis in a given situation, and to form the best response thereto. I could not help but write about vignettes of that era.