My father, Ninoy and Ka Jovy Salonga were the figureheads of the Liberal Party during the days of the dictator. In what seems to be a strange coincidence, Noy and myself are now thrust in that same boat with Ka Jovy still supportive of that never-ending fight against the bad guys. At least, I’d like to think of myself as being one of the good guys. With the recent events involving the Liberal Party and the overwhelming support it’s been getting, I’ve become a bit nostalgic, remembering tidbits of history:

My mother, of course, is a chapter all by herself. Two grenades hurled during the party’s miting de avance in 1971 caused shrapnel to scatter, hitting her leg in the process. I remember her telling me of what happened afterwards: the confusion, the screams in the background, her bodyguard scooping her up and carrying her as fast as possible away from the carnage. They ended up in a stranger’s car belonging to one Mr. Castaneda who was nice enough to bring them to Makati Med. She vividly recalls trying to find out where her wounds were, her head hitting the car’s ceiling frequently as the vehicle raced towards the hospital. My dad, also injured with Ninoy and Ka Jovy in another hospital, went to her the next day as soon as he was able.

I was 14 then. Too young to understand what it was like for my mom, my dad, Ninoy and Ka Jovy, and all the other great ones who stood against the shadow of martial law. I do remember though that my parents were constantly being pressured by Marcos to support his authoritarian regime. I equally remember how they always turned him down.

The national elections obviously did not push through after martial law was declared. Ninoy, my dad, and Ka Jovy eventually found themselves in the States, plotting to restore democracy and civil liberties in our homeland. I remember my father dying before he could see the plans bear fruit. I remember the televised assassination of Ninoy. I remember my family and the Aquinos grieving on both occasions. Ria and I were in New York during the assassination and we were one of the first to reach Tita Cory and her children in Boston. The memories of those events will stay with me forever. The nation was left to fend for itself at a time when its heroes were either dying or being arrested one by one.

And later, from out of nowhere, I remember the turning point in the battle: a reluctant housewife entering the arena against a ruthless military-run government. What’s more, the Filipino people rallying unconditionally behind a yellow banner with two-fingers raised in defiance: Laban!

Fast forward to the present: the enemies of today aren’t as obvious as the past but they still reek of that familiar scent of graft, cronyism, and corruption. History now seems to be repeating itself with a nation uniting under a worthy challenger, forced by circumstance, to overcome another tide and another kind of evil. I, for one, cannot wait for it to happen again.

In memory of my dad,
M.