Daniel Hernandez -Assignment in Philippine History

Dalmacio Duno Cardona Jr. 78 years old

Though he wasn’t able to experience firsthand of what it is like to be in the EDSA revolution himself. He had his own
insights regarding the event himself. He had followed the events that took place with the help of radio, television and
other types of media. The following is his story of what he knows took place during the EDSA REVOLUTION.

“Yang EDSA revolution, kaya lang naman yan nagsimula ay dahil ayaw ng mga tao sa paraan ng pamamahala ni Marcos.
Lalo na nung ipinatupad nya yang Martial Law. Yang Martial Law ung nagtatanggal sa mga di sumasangayon sa
gobyerno. Sa akin, sinusuportahan ko pa nga yang pamamalakad ni Marcos .para natatanggal yung mga hindi
sumusunod sa batas. Ang military, sumusunod lang sila sa utos ni Marcos. Ngayon ipinautos ni marcos na harangan ung
mga tao sa kahit anong posibleng paraan. Madami kang tanke na makikita sa panahon na yun. Pero d rin nila nakayanan
na makapanakit ng mga inosentenng tao na walang armas kaya wala din silang nagawa. Umabot ang mga tao dun sa
Malacanang. Pinalibutan nila ito. Kahit may mga sundalo , dahil sa sobrang daming tao inaakyat na din nila yung gusali.
Dito may plano ang marcos na tumakas sa pamamagitan ng ilog pasig. Sa bangka sila sumakay para makatakas sa mga
tumangkang pumasok ng Malacanang.”

Edsa retold in memory and song

By: Rina Jimenez-David - @inquirerdotnet Philippine Daily Inquirer / 05:06 AM January 28, 2018

“Duran Duran, Imelda Marcos, and Me” is a graphic novel that is at once a memoir, an historical account of the
Philippines in the 1980s, a love letter to country and compatriots, and a personal journey through grief, loss, memory,
regret and self-discovery.

I love, too, that the writer/illustrator Lorina Mapa and I share a nickname, and that we walked through much of the
historical territory covered by the events she recalls. This, even if we are decades apart in age. But it is interesting, to say
the least, to see the same life-changing events viewed from a vastly different perspective and to a whole new, strange
soundtrack. (Mapa even provides a discography of pop hits from 1981 to 1986, a period musically alien to me because,
in the 1980s, I was busy raising two children.)

But “Duran Duran” also holds relevance for millennials, as well as Gen-Xers. Those who complain that they can’t be
expected to feel the same surge of protest and patriotism as the “dilawan” crowd who flocked to Edsa or followed those
events closely now have a text and a tale to follow. Time and distance may have dimmed the brilliance of those events,
but at least they can now know what it meant to come of age in the dying days of the Marcos dictatorship and emerge
into the light of democracy years after the death of Ninoy Aquino.

To be sure, it is a view reflected through the memories of a childhood and adolescence spent in privilege.

Mapa’s novel opens with the death of her father, killed in a road accident in Negros where he supervised the family’s
sugar plantations. At this time, Mapa is a wife and mother in Canada, unmoored from her family and the land of her
birth. The sad homecoming serves to trigger memories of her childhood and adolescence, unraveling the complicated
knots of family relationships and her own ties to the country and people.

Central to those memories are the events leading to Edsa: the oppression of the Marcos dictatorship, the assassination
of Ninoy Aquino, the growing disquiet among her extended family and their social circle, and the days spent on the
highway. For Mapa, her own “mini-Edsa” takes place in Ayala Alabang, when her siblings and neighbors rush to the
Ramos residence to “protect” then Vice Chief of Staff Fidel Ramos’ family, while their patriarch is directing troop
movements of rebel soldiers.

Mapa’s graphic testimony is proof, if any were still needed, that indeed those events of 1986 took place. And also, that
change had truly taken place in the hearts and minds of the Filipino bourgeoisie, awakened from a seeming stupor, and
finding the dormant courage within.
Alongside the “meta” tale, Mapa also tells a deeply personal story, beginning with her father who called her his
“Princess” for much of her life, and providing armor against the cruel, casual ways of adults and peers who find her
“odd” because of her tomboyish tendencies and obsession with, yes, Duran Duran and other youthful idols.

There are also accounts of doggie treats that were mistakenly ingested by her uncle, a minister in the Marcos Cabinet.
An insightful observation of her mother, who had grown up under the shadow of a mother — Lina Flor — who had been
a journalist and noted beauty. In an aside, Mapa surmises that the reason her mother gave her the freedom to be
“different” was her mother’s own struggle for identity and recognition.

The story Mapa tells is made all the richer by the details she provides about the country and its people: the food, the
scenery, the sense of family, the political divides that wrought fissures even among childhood friendships, and even the
Filipinos’ brand of Catholicism that is gentle and happy because we are a gentle and happy people.

Young people would do well to get their hands on “Duran Duran” (it still has to make its way here), not just to know
more about the events of 1986, but also to come away with a deeper appreciation of what it means to be Filipino, and
why we must remain the same people who smile through disaster and who know how to mine the courage within.

Witness to the People Power Revolution: An Interview with Sr. Mary Ann Azanza, RA

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Sr. Mary Ann of the US Province was interviewed by Dan Stockman of Global Sisters Report about her experience of the
People Power Revolution in the Philippines thirty years ago. At that time Sr. Mary Ann was a novice of the Philippine
Province. We reprint the article in full here.

Q & A with Sr. Mary Ann Azanza, witness to the People Power Revolution

by Dan Stockman, Global Sisters Report, a project of National Catholic Reporter

March 3, 2016

As a novice with the sisters of the Religious of the Assumption in Manila, Philippines, in 1986, Sr. Mary Ann Azanza
expected to be with the poor, ministering to them,

Sr. Mary Ann Azanza, left, with Sr. Mary Joseph, in the Philippines in the 1980s.

praying with them, and feeding them.

And as a member of groups that were trying to oust Philippines dictator Ferdinand Marcos, she expected reprisals and at
one point even expected to be jailed for her activities.

But she never expected to find herself between hundreds of thousands of people and a line of tanks and soldiers that
were expected to fire upon the crowds taking part in the People Power Revolution.

Azanza, who has been in the United States for the last 20 years, spoke with Global Sisters Report about growing up in a
dictatorship and fighting for change.

GSR: How did you find yourself in the middle of the revolution?

Azanza: I was very active in groups that were trying to promote social change and get rid of Marcos. My senior year in
college, I was arrested by the military and spent four months under house arrest. But I was acting to make change
happen and paying the price for that change.

Our mission in Manila was 3 miles from where the revolution happened, so we could walk between the mission and the
protests with great ease. We could hear the helicopters overhead. It was important to me, and I wanted to be a part of
it.
When I was a novice, the province moved the novitiate from a beautiful place outside Manila — an idyllic place with a
beautiful house and trees — to a poor neighborhood in Manila so we could get to know the poor and understand our life
was meant to be lived in solidarity with the poor. Our life was much more in tune with the people.

GSR: What was it like growing up in a dictatorship?

I was in grade school when martial law was declared, so as a kid, I grew up with this. We were afraid of people — you
didn't want to say what you really thought because you could be reported. There was all this double talk and the fear of
your neighbors. You understood that people who spoke the truth would get into trouble.

The education system was taken over by the government, so we had military training. We had fatigues that we had to
wear, wooden guns, and we had to march around. There was mandatory community service, where we would do things
like clean the streets — that was a good thing — but it was all forced.

As a sister, any activity on behalf of the poor was suspect. So when we'd go to a poor area to teach the catechism, there
were government or military officials watching to make sure nothing said was anti-government. In college, people
started bringing us to the detention camps where political prisoners were held. When I was in danger of being arrested
myself, I packed my bags to be ready to go, because there was always that fear of being picked up.

GSR: How did you square all this with your faith?

All of this was happening at the same time I was beginning to discover my faith. If I believed in Christ and the Jesus of
the Gospel, being in solidarity with the poor was something that was necessary. I remember packing my bag, thinking I
was going to end up at the detention center, and I was holding my Bible in one hand and my sneakers in the other, and
there was only room for one of them, so I chose the Bible. Even at that age, I understood that was my faith.

Sr. Mary Ann Azanza, right, with novice, Sister Akeneta.

I went into hiding that night, and when I opened the Bible, it was the story of the woman with an issue of blood who
touches the hem of Jesus' garment. And Jesus told her, 'Go in peace, your faith has saved you.' I thought, 'How am I
going to be saved? What does that mean? Will my name disappear from the list of those to be arrested?' Then I
understood that what it means is you will not be alone, and God will be with you.

GSR: And what about when hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets?

You just get swept up in it. When Cardinal Jaime Sin said, 'Go and help them,' we did. To see all the people there, it just
gave you strength. It made you say, 'I want to stand here with everyone and be part of this history.' It was really putting
your body there. We had no arms. Truly, there were millions of people there. You couldn't leave — we had 20 years of
this dictatorship and enough was enough.

The media was controlled, but the church had the radio station, Radio Veritas, and that was telling the truth. When
Radio Veritas said the tanks are coming, everyone turned in the direction of the tanks, and they were saying to us, 'Go to
the front. They won't do anything if they see nuns in front.' The people were crying. At that first moment, you didn't
know if they would open fire and mow you down. People were pushing us — gently — and [gesturing] for us to go to the
front. So we stood there.

You don't really think at those moments, you just think, 'I have to be here.' And the people weren't leaving, so we
weren't leaving.

The soldiers formed a circle around us. We began praying the rosary — we had no other weapons. And the Filipinos with
the guns pointed at us, they were crying. They didn't want to do what they were doing. Radio Veritas said that at 5 p.m.,
if we don't disperse, they would move on us. And just before 5 p.m., a helicopter landed; we were praying and singing. A
man got out and gave the sign to retreat. We just rushed the soldiers and shook their hands and began singing the Our
Father. It was so moving.
No one thought this heavily armed, dangerous military would not shoot us. But the power of prayer and people
overcame that.

I think everybody found their courage again. There were Masses with makeshift altars. Everybody was everybody's
friend. It was incredible.

Marguerite de Leon-Rappler

I interviewed Imelda Marcos – the shoe hound, the Iron Butterfly, the disco-dancing detestation of the desaparecidos –
in 2001, when I was 16 years old.

I’m 30 now, and as the 30th anniversary of the EDSA Revolution draws near, I can’t help but look back at what amounts
to one of the weirdest footnotes of my life and see if I can still take something from it.

How I ended up there

I was a creative writing major at the Philippine High School for the Arts (PHSA) in Mount Makiling, which was founded by
Imelda along with the National Arts Center in 1977.

On the school’s 25th anniversary, we tried, on a whim, to see if we could interview Imelda for Variations, the school
paper of which I was editor-in-chief. When I was told that she had agreed, I literally had to lie flat on the floor in shock.

At 16, it was hard to process the gravity of the situation. I knew it was a very big deal; that was sharp and clear. Growing
up, my family would tell me stories of the life I had only just managed to squeak past: the curfews, the carefully curated
culture, the thin film of fear that had settled over everything. They told me about the Metrocom patrolling the streets.
They taught me what the word "salvage" meant.

And they introduced me to the couple that started it all, and told me about how the woman, Imelda, was this beautiful,
big bouffant-ed, butterfly-sleeved beast, who used the people’s money to live in jaw-dropping excess.

I remember my mom telling me about the Film Center’s construction, about how Imelda supposedly had workers’
bodies buried in the concrete after an accident threatened her already impossible deadline, and it was scarier than any
ghost story I had ever heard.

But having never experienced life under the Marcoses – being, in fact, part of the very first generation to not have to –
still made things more abstract and anecdotal, more removed and theoretical, and that bothered me.

I suppose it was a kind of guilt. Or maybe shame. I felt like a fraud coming into that interview. I mean, who was I, this
random teenage nerd from a relatively comfortable middle-class life, to write a piece on the woman who had gone
down in Philippine history as one of its most notorious villains?

The interview was set in her heavily-gilded penthouse apartment in Makati, and I came with a modest “crew”: Variations
moderator and creative writing teacher Nancy Almonte as adult chaperone, and classmate (and now popular visual
artist) Leeroy New as videographer. PHSA’s then-executive director, the late architect Honrado Fernandez, would also
drop by to round up our group later in the interview.

The moment of truth with Madame

It’s true that Imelda is really something else. She emerged from the hallway looking every bit like she was supposed to:
shiny, towering bouffant; an emerald green, butterfly-sleeved terno; a wacky pair of zebra-print high heels (and the
clutch to match); ramrod-straight posture; and an impenetrable sense of grace and calm.

And she was disarming from the very beginning, calling me “maganda” (beautiful) – which, as a pimply, overweight
adolescent, was outright ludicrous to me, though she was a pro at sounding authentic. These expert-level social graces I
also expected.
But what I really didn’t expect was the emotional roller coaster ride the interview would become. Chalk it up to naiveté.
I had in hand what I thought was a very safe set of questions, all of which were about the founding of the school and art
in general.

I was told by my moderator not to ask anything political, and since I was freaked out and wanted everything to go as
painlessly as possible, I had obliged.

No matter what kind of questions I had, however, it became clear that Imelda was in charge. She hijacked that session
and steered it from an innocent chat with a kid to a burning plea for mercy and justice.

If you’ve seen the 2003 documentary “Imelda” by Ramona Diaz, the way Imelda rambled aimlessly to the director about
love and peace, and about the true, the good, and the beautiful, was nearly identical to how she started the
conversation with me.

Stream of consciousness

To give you an idea of the kind of stream-of-consciousness litany she kicked off with, here is an excerpt from her self-
help book “Circles of Life” (a copy of which she gave me from a small stack on her coffee table, and which was also
featured in the documentary):

“To have love in your heart is to have peace. The energy of life is love. The energy of love is peace. Only evil complicates.
A Mother’s Love comes from a heart of peace. It precedes birth and antecedes death, and throughout one’s life, it is the
constant source of serenity and security.”

Imelda also took out a pen and paper and drew a series of hearts and stars and circles to illustrate her philosophies,
which at that point looked to me like script from another dimension. Suffice it to say that while I looked calm taking
notes on the outside, I was running around and screaming on the inside.

Soon enough, though, things got way too lucid for my taste. She had managed to segue somehow from drawing me
random shapes, to talking about renowned pianist Van Cliburn and all the other famous people she’s been with, to
recounting the very last thing I had hoped she would: the Marcos regime. A concrete topic if there ever was one.
Specifically, she spoke about her husband, whom she referred to the whole time as “Marcos”, as if to acknowledge his
historical heft. To paraphrase:

“Marcos saved this country. The only thing Marcos ever cared about was the people. For Marcos, it was all about love. I
loved Marcos and Marcos loved every Filipino.”

And then, the clincher:

“But what did the Filipino people do? They persecuted Marcos and his family. They persecuted us. They said Marcos
stole from the people. They drove us away from the land we loved, when all we ever did was take care of the Filipino
people. Why would they do this to us? How did Marcos deserve to be treated this way? Did he do anything wrong? Did I
do anything wrong? Did I? Did I?”

It took me a moment to realize that this was not a rhetorical question. Imelda, at that point, had begun to stare at me,
waiting for me to answer what is, to this day, one of the most frightening questions of my life.

“Did I do anything wrong?”

I can’t blame you if you find this (and another moment, which I will get to) hard to believe; it’s like it came from the
mind of a sadistic scriptwriter. But I promise all of it’s true. They say truth is stranger than fiction, and what we often
forget is that it can be a thousand times more terrifying.

In turn, though, maybe you’d expect my response to be like something out of a movie as well. Maybe I could have stared
straight back at her and, with a single tear rolling down from my steely eye, whispered, “Yes.” Or maybe I could have
flipped her coffee table over. Or maybe I could have grabbed the Picasso (yes, there was a Picasso – and a Miro, and a
Gaugin), lifted it over my head, and screamed, “This belongs to the people!!!”

Instead, I forced a tight, vague little smile and shrugged, but barely. A non-answer at best, an act of cowardice at worst.
And whatever bodily spasm it was that I made, Imelda didn’t seem to care, and soon went on with her mishmash of New
Age-isms and memories of a glorious yesteryear like she hadn’t just thrown me for a loop.

It was a missed opportunity. I understand this clearly. Now, at 30 years old, I’ve met quite a few people who probably
would have given anything to have been in my place, to have gotten the chance to meet face to face with Imelda in
private and tell her how she and her family had done them wrong – and then some.

A different EDSA story

Short memories, unfinished businesses

by Ed Lingao

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24TH, 2012

THERE IS another version of the EDSA People Power story, but it is one that EDSA veterans aren’t liking.

In this new version, former President Ferdinand Marcos is portrayed as the real hero of EDSA for refusing to fire upon
the assembled crowds in February 1986; EDSA was a gathering of military adventurists, veteran professional protesters
and communists, and hakot crowds; and Corazon Aquino stayed tucked away in the safety of Cebu while unwitting
civilians put their lives on the line.

Marcos is hailed as the one who built massive infrastructure projects and rebuilt the economy; he is also the one who
turned back the communists at the gates of Malacanang by declaring Martial Law. In addition, Marcos is portrayed as a
close friend of oppositionist Benigno ‘Ninoy’ Aquino Jr., whom he jailed during Martial Law. In fact, this version says,
Marcos and Ninoy would even chat with each other using scrambler telephones. As such, Marcos could never have
ordered Ninoy’s assassination.

As the nation marks the 26th anniversary of what the world has come to know as the People Power Revolution, young
Filipinos who never experienced the events of February 1986 are left wondering again what all the ruckus is about. But
what is most striking is the fact that this alternate version of the story is one that more and more young Filipinos are
tuning into – and apparently identifying with and liking.

This new version of the People Power story is being told over the Internet through social media sites, in a nine and a half
minute video that seems like a cross between the Angry Birds game and the movie ‘Gladiator,’ with heart-pounding
music, bold primary colors, and moving graphics, yet with simple lines of text that are well attuned to what one viewer
calls the “Powerpoint generation.”

Hidden truths?

Titled “Ninoy + People Power: Hidden Truths the Media is not Telling Us!”, the video began gaining popularity in
YouTube by the middle of last year and has since become viral. It has appeared or has been reposted in numerous
websites and YouTube channels, and pops up repeatedly in FaceBook.

The video’s creator, who calls himself Baron Buchokoy, maintains a YouTube channel called PinoyMonkeyPride. As of
mid-February, the video that was posted in Buchokoy’s YouTube account in June 2011 already has more than 200,000
views. Buchokoy implies that the video has had more views, saying that the video in fact was just re-uploaded “since the
powers that be hacked and removed it recently from YouTube.”

This is proof, Buchokoy says in his introduction to the YouTube video, that “someone or some group is trying to hide the
truth.”
“Please spread the message,” he adds. “Marcos is the least suspect in the Ninoy assassination and that only 2% of the
1986 Philippine population attended EDSA People Power. Let’s end Filipino ignorance. It ends now.”

IN THE past, such assertions had merely been dismissed as rumblings of Marcos sympathizers keen on putting their own
spin into the history books to rehabilitate a fallen icon.

“The points are not very new,” says Mon Casiple, executive director of the Institute for Political and Economic Reform
(IPER). “These came out immediately after the assassination of Ninoy and right after EDSA 1.”

“All these arguments were made by Marcos-aligned groups,” Casiple says. “It is a mixture of truth, lies, omissions, and,
of course, a little bit of popular handling.”

“That falsification or distortion of history may go some length, but it is like you can change the perception of Hitler and
the Nazi regime,” comments Rene Saguisag, former spokesman of then President Corazon Aquino. “You saw the human
rights violations and the plunder committed by the Marcoses during their merciless martial rule.”

Old version, new traction

But if the number of views and the lively and passionate comments on YouTube are to be any indication, this new “old”
version appears to be gaining traction with the youth. Too, the video is told in the language and the pace of the Net and
video generation, something that neither pro-EDSA nor pro-Marcos proponents were able to maximize before.

“It’s effective,” says 20-year-old Darlene Basingan, a PCIJ intern from De La Salle University in Cavite, after watching
Buchokoy’s video. “Marcos was portrayed very negatively in the stories I had heard about EDSA. So I wondered if it
could be true that everything about Cory was positive. Now I have been enlightened as to the truth after watching this
video.”

She says Marcos “wasn’t all negative” during the uprising. “Hindi naman pala niya gusto atakihin ang mga tao (He didn’t
want to attack the people).”

“This should be viewed by the youth,” says Basingan. “I suppose everything said here is true, based on facts, and not just
someone’s imagination. If that is the case, this should be seen by other youth so they can have a bigger perspective of
People Power.”

“This is the only time I learned about this,” says JB, a sophomore computer science major. “I had never seen or heard
about these things in any documentary. Not everything we heard about EDSA was true.”

In Buchokoy’s YouTube account, a post by MrLangam read, “I used to be fooled by our history teacher using a false
book.”

“The only thing I can say is that this country needs a new Marcos, and history needs some revision,” said Maimiewow.

“I cried after watching this video… this country is dying,” said Dyna1226. “Like a patient with cancer stage4.”

Meanwhile, anelio21 said, “Dami na nating nagising na mga Filipino dahil sa video na ito. Maraming salamat sa gumawa
nito (There are a lot of us who were awakened with this video. Thank you to the one who made this.).”

Yet while the comments were overwhelmingly in favor of the video and its message, not everyone has been a happy fan.
Said genocide222: “Most people who are commenting here are probably too young to really know what happened so
please just don’t comment. Cory had a country that were in ruins in every aspect and was destined to fail, Marcos on the
other hand came in with an economy that was one of the best in Asia and he just built on that, and he did a good job on
that. I just think he became obsessed with the idea that he is the savior? of the country and did not want to let go. That’s
why he was threatened by Ninoy.”

Macoy, Ninoy ties

THE VIDEO is divided into three parts. The first part opens with the accomplishments of Ferdinand Marcos during his 21-
year reign, including the building of structures like the San Juanico Bridge, the Philippine Heart Center, and the Cultural
Center of the Philippines. Marcos, the video says, built more roads, bridges, and schools than any of the other presidents
who succeeded him combined; the exchange rate was two pesos to the U.S. dollar, and the country had supposedly
become self-sufficient in rice. The video transitions to Martial Law, where Marcos throws suspected communists in jail,
including his main opponent, Ninoy Aquino.

The video then relates how Marcos did not implement the death penalty on Ninoy, and even allowed him and his family
to travel to the United States. The video goes to some length, using quotes and video clips, to show that Marcos and
Ninoy had a special relationship that was “intentionally silenced in Philippine history.” Buchokoy then asserts that Ninoy
was never a threat to Marcos, and that Marcos had selected him as his successor.

The second part sets the stage for the EDSA revolt. Marcos won in the 1986 snap elections even though, the video says,
there was massive cheating on both sides. When then defense minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Police Constabulary chief
Fidel Ramos break away from Marcos, Buchokoy says that “Cardinal Jaime Sin called upon innocent Manilenos, hakot
crowds, communists, curious civilians, and the yellow army” to assemble in EDSA.

There were four elements in EDSA, Buchokoy says: an “absent leader” who was identified as Cory Aquino; “zealous
nuns”; “veteran professional communist protesters”; and “catholic (sic) civilians” summoned by Sin.

“EDSA revolution was only peaceful and non-violent because of one completely ignored and silenced fact,” Buchokoy
says in his video. And this was that Marcos ordered the marines “not to attack.”

In the last part of the video, Buchokoy says the “old oligarchy that Marcos abolished” was back in power, controlling
industry and the media and demonizing everything about Marcos. Twenty-five years after EDSA, Buchokoy says its
legacy is “monopoly of the oligarchs, hegemony of the media, mediocre life of the middle class, and eternal suffering of
the poor.”

Gloss & drama

Veteran television news producer and blogger Paul Farol says there is no denying that Buchokoy’s video was successful
in pushing its message across to the youth.

“When I first saw it, I actually had to stop myself from buying into everything it was saying,” confesses Farol. “It was so
well-made, it was glossy, it was sexy, it had all the elements, it had dramatic tension, it had imagery that played out the
story well. And it did not do it with a voice over or anything like that. It was just images and words and sound bites.”

University of the Philippines professor and former student activist Vim Nadera also says it’s a far cry from all the other
documentaries or stories made about EDSA.

“The one who made this comes from the Powerpoint generation,” he says. “The style indicates someone young, not
someone from our generation who relied on the mimeograph.”

Speculating that the videomaker could be as young as his students, Nadera says that the text is laid out like poetry —
“line by line.” He explains, “If you’re looking for a fair, deep, or accurate message, this is not the kind of sentence form
you would use. It is like poetry, with line-by-line cutting. I suspect a youth made this, and he fit everything into the space
that can be handled by a cell phone or an Ipad.”

“IT IS a professionally made video, the one who conceptualized this knows his stuff,” says political analyst Casiple. “He
observed the rules of mass communication: give just a hint, nothing heavy-handed; it tried to portray itself as balanced.”

This, Casiple says, is where the danger lies: In presenting itself as a balanced account of EDSA, the video liberally uses
facts and quotes out of context. For example, says Casiple, it may be wrong to portray EDSA as a gathering of
professional communist protesters when the communists themselves were divided over EDSA.
“The context at the time was that the communists had a boycott stance,” he says. “They actually have a problem
politically on how to identify with EDSA. And in history, it’s clear that there was a debate about it within the movement.”

“The communists stayed away and admitted that they committed a blunder,” says Saguisag. “In other words, when they
say people power, it was really the people, it was not military power or communist power, kundi pami-pamilya na handa
magbuhos ng dugo para sa bayan (but families that were ready to shed blood for the nation). That was the time we were
asking what can we do for the country, and not what the country can do for us.”

Twisting truth

Nadera’s objection is more fundamental. His sector, the youth, was not even included in the video. He says that he is
upset that he wasn’t among those included by the videomaker as having joined EDSA. “He didn’t include me,” he
repeats. “There was no youth or student seeking change.”

On the point about Cory Aquino being in Cebu during EDSA, Casiple says the facts had never been in dispute. When
Enrile and Ramos announced their breakaway from Marcos on Feb. 22, 1986, Cory Aquino was in a convent in Cebu.
“That’s also clear in history, Cardinal Sin was the one who called for EDSA,” says Casiple. “What’s not debatable is that
Cory was identified by the people as part of EDSA.”

“There’s a certain twisting of the truth,” he says, “because the video cites actual video and actual quotes, but they’re all
out of context. If you’re not careful and you don’t know your history, you can be easily convinced (by it).”

INTERESTINGLY, THE person responsible for all this renewed debate about EDSA has not even revealed himself. For all
the attention he has gotten, no one seems to know Buchokoy’s real name, his affiliations, or if he is one person or a
group of persons.

“Why doesn’t the creator of this video identify himself? By keeping himself anonymous, the video creator is no different
from the other “propagandists” he is? railing against,” said tetablanco in Buchokoy’s YouTube channel three months
ago.

In his YouTube channel, Buchokoy described himself as a 35-year-old artist who is “fighting against ignorance in
Philippine society through the utilization of graphic materials such as animations and comic strips.”

“This Filipino visual artpiece is created, authored and directed by a conservative Filipino citizen residing in the
Philippines,” Buchokoy said. “This video is not Marcos propaganda. It is all about what media is not telling us. After 25
years, it is now obvious that Cory administration is more violent with more journalist dead in her 6 year term compared
to Marcos’ 29 years. She also suffered 8 coup attempts which is a reflection of her administrations rampant corruption.”

Buchokoy’s videos in PinoyMonkeyPride have already had a total of 2.1 million views, with 11,909 subscribers.
Buchokoy’s channel contains 25 videos, all of them running along similar themes critical of EDSA, the Cojuangcos and the
Aquinos, of economic and political policies implemented since 1986, and of the influence exerted by television giant
ABS-CBN and the broadsheet Philippine Daily Inquirer on the public and on the government.

PR’s handiwork?

Farol is one of a few who have been in contact with Buchokoy in the past, and only then, it was done through private
messages on the Net. Even he is not clear who Buchokoy is or who he represents.

“Some part of me thinks Baron may or may not be just one person,” says Farol. “The work he did I think he cannot do it
by himself, unless you have help. Maybe he is working as a group.”

In one message last year, Farol told Buchokoy that a reporter wanted to schedule an interview with him. Buchokoy
replied that he would rather remain anonymous. “He said, ‘It is better that no one surfaces, so that people just focus on
the work and the message that I’m trying to give’,” Farol recounts.
Casiple, however, believes that Buchokoy is the product of a well-funded production house contracted by a public
relations firm whose message is simple: “Si Marcos ay para sa tao, at ang lahat ng nangyari, including people power,
were plots against the people (Marcos was for the people, and everything that happened, including people power, were
plots against the people).”

Says Casiple: “As a propaganda video, nag succeed siya.”

The PCIJ tried to get in touch with Buchokoy through his Facebook and YouTube accounts, but there was no reply.

Another blogger, Warlito Vicente, who goes by the online name of BongV, says Buchokoy is an animator for “a firm that
contracts animation from overseas.” Vicente says Buchokoy preferred to use a pseudonym “as he is cautious about
security – you know how it is in the Philippines.”

Flaws in psyche

VICENTE SAYS Buchokoy merely translated into video some of the ideas that he had seen in the websites antipinoy.com
and getrealphilippines.com, which he supports. The two websites are not purely political websites. In fact, they are
meeting places for politically and socially active Filipinos who have a critical take, not only of Philippine politics, but of
Philippine society, culture, and current events.

“Their thing is about critical thinking, not politics,” Farol says. “Although some have adopted more political lines like
economic liberalization, parliamentary form of government, and decentralization. They look at the flaws in the Filipino
psyche and highlight them so that other people look at it and try to change it.”

Farol dismisses any insinuation that the sites’ active members are pro-Marcos and anti-Aquino. “They are not anti-
Noynoy or anti-Cory, but it is very convenient for them to have these characters to dissect, to use Cory as a symbol of
what may be wrong in the country,” he says. “There are a lot of people in that group that are anti-Marcos also.”

He also doesn’t think that Buchokoy’s take on EDSA is a rewriting of history. Says Farol: “I think everyone came from
EDSA with their own story. Each person who walked between the length of those two camps came out with their story.
Maybe this is Baron’s story. Maybe his parents were there. Maybe he heard the story and absorbed it and then made his
own story about EDSA. One view of EDSA is no more valid than the other views of EDSA.”

Nadera and Casiple acknowledge that Buchokoy’s identity is not as important as his message, and its impact on a new
generation that never experienced EDSA and live through it only through the little they find in the history books.

Promise, results gap

“We did an analysis of the textbooks in the Philippines,” Casiple recounts. “For the period covering martial law, there
was a deafening silence by the textbooks on the human rights violations. They treated it like an ordinary period of any
presidential term. Edsa was never given a special place.”

He says Buchokoy’s video taps into the yearning and frustrations of the youth for a better life. After hearing all the
promises of EDSA that the older generation like to talk about every time February rolls around, many youths feel
alienated and at a loss. If EDSA was such a good thing, Casiple notes, then why are we were we are today?

“They see that there are the same problems like corruption,” he says. “What tie them together are aspirations, but there
is a twist. They go by the results, not the process.”

“If that trend is not reversed,” says Casiple, “in a few years, we will have a majority of voters who did not go through
that period, and who therefore, will be susceptible to videos like this.”

Saguisag for his part says he is not worried, and that there is enough evidence around of Marcos’s dictatorial rule, if only
people would bother to look. “I feel confident that this video will not gain a far reaching effect because the relatives,
friends, and grandchildren of the victims of Marcos are still here,” he says. “It will not succeed. I hope not. I do not want
my grandchildren apologizing, saying my grandfather was stupid for fighting against a hero.”
Not quite finished

But Nadera says the success of Buchokoy’s video is still a reminder to Filipinos that we live in a country of “short
memories” and “unfinished businesses.”

“It is the fault of our generation that should have cared for the torch of EDSA,” he says. “We neglected it because we
thought that it all ended after we got rid of Marcos. It is easy to get the medal, but to be worthy of wearing it always is
another thing altogether. The same goes for our victory in EDSA. It should not have ended with the ouster of Marcos.”

“There is a shortness of memory because there are no reminders,” says Casiple. “If all you know of Marcos is that he is a
great speaker, or that he is handsome, well, you are dead, because you do not know roles these people played in the
history of the Philippines.

“Some people have realized that when something happens like EDSA, it is not the end of the road where everything is
resolved and the hero goes off to lalala land where everything is made of gold,” Farol says. “Democracy is a continuing
struggle that is never finished. People must challenge the views out there.”

“Maybe,” mulls Farol, “Baron is challenging the view that Cory gave us democracy. And that is his view, and it is his
right.”

Nadera agrees with Farol, but adds one more point. Baron Buchokoy may be critical of the democracy that came after
EDSA, but it is the same democratic space that he now uses to have his voice heard. Points out Nadera: “In the time of
Cory, you could just criticize her, and you would hear all sorts of things, that she was an ordinary housewife who knew
nothing. But you would not be jailed for that.”

“That is democracy, that is what Cory’s government gave us, and that is the legacy of EDSA,” he says. “That you can
criticize all you want without fear, just as this video is doing.” – With additional reporting by Winona Cueva, PCIJ,
February 2012

Sources:

http://pcij.org/stories/a-different-edsa-story/

https://www.rappler.com/rappler-blogs/122087-interview-imelda-marcos

http://opinion.inquirer.net/110599/edsa-retold-memory-song

http://www.assumptionsisters.org/news/16/03/witness-people-power-revolution-interview-sr-mary-ann-azanza-ra