God's Country (Part 2)

The right to peaceably assemble is enshrined in the 1987 Constitution: “No law shall be passed abridging the freedom of speech, of expression, or of the press, or of the right of the people peaceably to assemble and petition the government for redress of grievances” (Sec. 4, Article III). But the Arroyo regime had, time and time again, nonchalantly flouted the fundamental laws of the land whenever they conflicted with its agenda.

During Mrs. Arroyo’s rule, it increasingly became obvious that nothing was sacred. The integrity of the National Archives office, for instance, was severely undermined when certain personalities associated with Arroyo, cast aspersions on the citizenship of presidential candidate Fernando Poe, Jr., citing documents furnished by the Archives. Three employees later revealed before the Senate that then director Ricardo Manapat ordered them to forge and fabricate the birth certificate of Poe’s father and the marriage contract of his parents. Analysts also began to grow wary of the economic statistics published by the regime. The stark disconnect between the glowing numbers and the grinding and pervasive poverty prevailing across the nation fuelled the scepticism among the intelligentsia.

As Filipinos, from all walks of like—farmers, fishermen, professionals, executives, businessmen with scruples, people from academe, the religious, enlightened students, stressed housewives, underpaid wage-earners—desperately awaited 2010, gasping for deliverance from the anguish that the regime steadily administered, formidable contenders had already started to jockey for the presidency.

Chief among them was senator and real estate mogul Manuel Villar who angled for the post as early as 2007, spending heavily on public relations blitzes. Lurking closely behind him was ousted ex-president Joseph “Erap” Ejercito Estrada whom Arroyo immediately pardoned after the courts convicted him of plunder.

In October 2000, an acknowledged gambling racketeer, Luis "Chavit" Singson, governor of the province of Ilocos Sur, professed that he had personally handed over to Estrada the sum of 400 million pesos (,255,933) as payoff from illegal gambling profits, as well as 180 million pesos (,715,170) from the government price subsidy for the tobacco farmers' marketing. That triggered a series of events that culminated in the impeachment trial of Estrada. As the process drew near to its denouement, 11 senators voted against the opening of an envelope that was suspected to contain damning evidence against the defendant. The act of the “craven eleven”, as they were later disparagingly referred to, drove the masses to again converge on EDSA to demand the resignation of Estrada. His eventual ouster through People Power catapulted Arroyo to the presidency.

On September 12, 2007, the Sandiganbayan finally promulgate its decision, finding Erap guilty of plunder "beyond reasonable doubt." He was sentenced to Reclusión perpetua or life imprisonment. He was thus the first Philippine President who was impeached and then convicted. In any case, he still enjoyed the unswerving loyalty of hordes of voters, particularly those dwelling in depressed communities. This convinced many observers that the fear of being unseated by the masses motivated Arroyo to hurriedly proffer the executive clemency to Estrada.

With barely a year before the fervently anticipated presidential elections, Villar emerged as the front-runner in surveys. His well-oiled marketing machine portrayed him as a champion of the poor and destitute. He led the polls straddling on a reputation of having overcome daunting odds to rise from dirt-poor beginnings and end up as one of the richest men in the country. His pitched revolved around the premise that he could apply his expertise in generating wealth for himself and his family, to uplift the downtrodden and eradicate poverty. This mortified pundits and those calling for change because some quarters had slammed Villar for exploiting his political clout to further his business interests.

University of the Philippines economics professor Winnie Monsod asserted that the controversial C-5 road extension, for instance, was an "unnecessary" and "wasteful" project from which Villar benefited tremendously. She said the government squandered P6.96-billion in public funds on a duplication of the earlier Manila-Cavite Toll Expressway (MCTEP) construction, linking the South Luzon Expressway (SLEX) to the Coastal Road. The road passes through about 50 hectares of Villar's property holdings, ratcheting up their values significantly. Additionally, in acquiring right of way, the government paid a whopping P168.1 million or an average P7,168 per square meter for Villar-related properties compared to only P22 million or P1,880 per sqm for non-Villar properties.

The issue of land-grabbing had also hounded Villar for years. Hundreds of small farmers in Norzaragay, Bulacan, for example, have been fighting an uphill battle to stop the confiscation of their landholdings by the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (BSP). Without their consent and knowledge, a bank owned by the Villars reportedly used dubious titles to the land as collateral for a bail-out loan from BSP about 15 years ago. The Villars failed to repay the loan, and the BSP foreclosed the lands with an estimated area of 715 hectares.

He was likewise embroiled in an intense controversy concerning the stock market. Villar was accused of misusing his influence as then senate president to illegally profit from the public listing of his shares in VistaLand and Lifescapes Inc. at Philippine Stock Exchange (PSE) in 2007. Eager to take advantage of a market boom, he reportedly pressured the PSE board into approving the release of 29.28 percent of his own shares in VistaLand before the mandatory lock-up period of 180 days was up, effectively exempting his companies from stock exchange rules. This allowed him to dispose large blocks of shares to investors—many of whom were OFW’s—and net more than P8 billion. Soon after that, stock prices dropped, causing the buyers to absorb enormous losses. Most of the proceeds from the panned transaction were said to have been earmarked for his presidential bid.

During his term, Joseph Estrada was also linked to stock market irregularities. BW Resources a small gambling company listed on the Philippine Stock Exchange and connected to people close to him, primarily businessman Dante Tan—reputedly one of the select few who comprised Estrada’s “Midnight Cabinet”—experienced "a meteoric rise" in its stock price owing to a suspected trading manipulation. The company was not making money yet the price of its shares soared. Estrada was accused of prodding government-owned financial institutions like the SSS and the GSIS into acquiring huge chunks of the corporation in order to boost share price. The ensuing investigation led only to further confusion when the head of the compliance and surveillance group, Ruben Almadro, of the Philippine Stock Exchange (PSE) and his entire staff resigned saying "I believe I can no longer effectively do my job." The events spawned a negative impression far and wide. "The BW controversy undermined foreign investor confidence in the stock market and also contributed to a major loss of confidence in the Philippines among foreign and local investors on concerns that cronyism may have played a part."

And so the stage was set. The two strongest contenders to succeed Arroyo were bracing for a battle royal on May 10, 2010. To be sure, there were other viable candidates like Senators Mar Roxas and Chiz Escudero.

Manuel "Mar" Araneta Roxas II was the son of former Senator Gerry Roxas, and the grandson of former Philippine President Manuel Roxas. A graduate of the Wharton School of Economics, Roxas excelled as an investment banker, mobilizing venture capital funds for small and medium enterprises. He served as the Representative of the 1st District of Capiz from 1993 to 2000. His stint as Congressman was cut short after he was appointed by then president Estrada as Secretary of Trade and Industry. He resigned from the position at the height of the EDSA II but was later re-appointed by Mrs. Arroyo to her new Cabinet. He resigned again to run for a Senate seat in the 2004 Philippine election. The electorate voted him into office with 19 million votes, the highest ever garnered by a national candidate in any Philippine election.

Francis Joseph "Chiz" Guevara Escudero was elected, obtaining the second highest tally of votes, to the Philippine Senate in 2007. He burst into the public consciousness as the coolly articulate spokesman of Fernando Poe, Jr. Because of his youth, he rapidly captured the imagination of young Filipinos everywhere as a persuasive agent of change. He had previously served as a member of the Philippine House of Representatives from the 1st District Sorsogon, and as the Minority Floor Leader of the 13th Congress of the Philippines on his third and last House term.

Notwithstanding Roxas and Escudero, the smart money was being wagered on Villar and Estrada going mano y mano for the ultimate prize: the presidency of the Republic of the Philippines. The tainted reputations of both men sent shivers down the spines of people who were battling for change. The scenario left many individuals crestfallen and resigned to the certainty that the next six years of the Philippine odyssey would be more of the same, if not worse. Then something that was not factored in the equation occurred.

The Grand Old Lady passed away.

Maria Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino was a member of the Cojuangco, Sumulong, and Aquino political clans yet the revered former president never aspired to political office. Cory—she was so well-loved that people normally did not bother to utter her surname—always sawher role as that of a supportive wife to Ninoy, the political arch foe of Ferdinand Marcos. Born in Manila on January 25, 1933 (in astrology, January 25th is known as the Day of Destiny), she was the sixth of eight children (two died in infancy) of Jose Cojuangco, a former congressman, and Demetria Sumulong-Cojuangco, a pharmacist. Both her grandfathers were also legislators. As a girl, her life revolved around school, church, and vacations in Antipolo, RizalProvince, the Sumulong bailiwick, and in Tarlac, where the Cojuangcos owned tracts of land.

It was her grandfather, Juan Sumulong, who encouraged her to read. “His eyesight was getting bad,” she recalled. “I was seven or eight and I would read the newspapers to him.” A nationalist who believed that the elite should not dominate Philippine politics, “My grandfather insisted that all of us learn Tagalog first before we learned English,” she said. “I continued this practice, so all my children were taught or spoken to in Tagalog. I’m proud of the fact that all of us are fluent in Tagalog.” She also learned to interact with ordinary folks from the down-to-earth maternal side of the family. “We got a taste of what it was like doing what other people did,” she recounted.

She treasured fond memories of her father. “He was the kindest person that I have ever lived with or met,” she said. “He was a very indulgent father, but at the same time he would not contradict my mother in her disciplining of us. But I knew, and all of us knew, that we could always get extras from my father.” Doing well in school was important in the Cojuangco household. After coasting during the early grades, she ultimately graduated valedictorian. The Cojuangcos put a premium on religion and family togetherness. “On Sunday we would go to LourdesChurch,” she mused of the period before World War II. “We would ride together in the car and all of us would sit in one long pew. My father and mother both made it a rule that all of us would go to mass on Sundays together.” During the Japanese occupation, the brood simply walked all the way to the chapel at De La Salle School. They did other things together as well, including going to the movies. “It prepared us for difficult times.”

She did well in her studies and was on her way to becoming a lawyer when, in 1954, she agreed to marry Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr., whose family dominated the politics of Tarlac’s south while the Cojuangcos ruled the north. Cory and Ninoy first met when they were nine years old. Their fathers were both congressmen and Jose Cojuangco was the godfather of Ninoy’s younger sister, Lupita. Ninoy’s half brother was married to Cory’s cousin, the Cojuangco young woman whom Japanese soldiers massacred at the De La Salle School in 1945. Love began to blossom when Cory spent her summer vacation in the Philippines in her junior year. Ninoy was smitten by the refined lady Cory had become. She admired his guts and knowledge of current events. A journalist since he was sixteen, Ninoy had just returned from Korea, where he covered the exploits of the Philippine expeditionary force in the war there.

Ninoy turned out to be a political boy wonder. The tough but charismatic Ninoy had in rapid succession become the youngest mayor in Philippine history (at 22), the youngest governor (at 29) and the youngest Senator (at 34). He was poised to become the youngest President, as soon as Marcos' second and final term ended in 1973. Before that could happen, however, Marcos declared martial law then threw him in jail. Ninoy chose to endure incarceration rather than succumbed to the blandishments and submit to will of the dictator. As he languished in prison, his self-effacing and devout wife grew to be his eyes, ears and voice in the outside world, serving as his liaison with the Philippine opposition. For seven years and seven months, spending hours alone with her husband in his cell, she received tutorials in opposition strategies from a master of the political arts. In between, she had to smuggle messages to and from him, sometimes on scraps of paper, sometimes committed to memory.

In 1980, Marcos, probably assuming that Ninoy’s political influence had waned, released him from confinement and permitted the ailing prisoner to travel to the U.S. for a triple-bypass heart surgery. After his operation Ninoy and Cory settled down in a red brick house in the Boston suburb of Newton. While he taught at Harvard and MIT, she resumed her favourite routine of raising bonsai trees. Her American neighbors remembered her especially for her Peking duck. The years in Boston were the most uneventful of Cory's adult life; she also considered them the happiest. In 1983, however, she had to steel herself as her husband defied repeated warnings from Manila and decided to return to the Philippines to challenge Marcos. His plane had barely landed when a group of soldiers fetched and hustled him out of the plane. Seconds later, shots rang out, and Ninoy Aquino lay dead on the tarmac.

Ten days after the murder, more than 2 million people streamed into the streets in an unprecedented outpouring of sorrow and shock and transformed Ninoy’s funeral into the most massive procession in the history of the country. In the weeks and months that followed, street vendors and socialites, businessmen and radicals all awoke from years of resignation to vent their rage. But the official opposition to Marcos remained splintered, with each faction focused on its own agenda.

It soon became inescapable that the only person in a position to unite the opposition was the martyr's widow. She was also the only one who did not seek the role. "I don't like politics," she said three months after the assassination.

All the same, the clamour for her candidacy intensified. Finally, in October 1985, Cory relented—on the condition that Marcos called a snap election and that one million people petitioned her. The very next month, anxious over the declining U.S. support for his regime that Senator Paul Laxalt, President Ronald Reagan's special emissary had conveyed, Marcos stunned everyone by announcing a snap election. One month later, Cory Aquino was presented with her million signatures.

In order to forge unity, she approached Salvador “Doy” Laurel, who was also preparing to run against Marcos, and requested him to be her running mate. Laurel headed the United Nationalist Democratic Organization (UNIDO) that held 37 of the 59 opposition seats in the National Assembly. A true patriot, Doy sacrificed his personal ambition and acceded to Cory’s entreaty. The pair filed their certificates of candidacy only 90 minutes before the midnight deadline.

On Election Day, February 7, 1986, in full view of more than 700 foreign journalists, Marcos' men ripped up ballots, bought others and intimidated voters at gunpoint. They prevented as many as 3 million people from voting by striking their names off the voter lists. Thousands of volunteer poll watchers responded by forming human barricades against the armed goons, carrying and shielding ballot boxes through the streets to counting stations. Thirty government-employed vote tabulators walked out in protest against the fraud. The Catholic bishops publicly condemned the election, and the U.S. Senate echoed the protest.

Only eight hours after the election, in the face of widespread cheating by Marcos forces, she seized the initiative by declaring herself the winner. When Philip Habib, the troubleshooter-at-large from Washington, arrived to suggest a compromise with Marcos, she frostily advised him that she would accept nothing less than Marcos' removal from office. "This is my message to Mr. Marcos and his puppets," she declared, "'Do not threaten Cory Aquino, because I am not alone.”

Then in an improbable turn of events, Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile, the architect of Marcos' martial law, and Lieut. General Fidel Ramos, the deputy chief of the armed forces, broke away from the government, declaring that Aquino was the real winner. As the rebels holed up inside two military camps, first hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of common citizens poured into the streets to offer food, support and protection to the maverick soldiers.

Finally, what was once considered impossible—there had never been a bloodless revolution in world history up to that point--unfolded. Marcos' tanks rolled toward the crowds, only to be stopped by nuns kneeling in their path, reciting the rosary. Old women went up to gun-toting marines and disarmed them with motherly hugs. Little girls offered hardened combat veterans flowers. In the face of such quiet heroism, thousands of Marcos loyalists defected; many simply broke down in tears. Less than 24 hours after Marcos had had himself inaugurated, he found himself being helped off a plane in Hawaii, sickly, exiled and bewildered. The new leader of the Philippines was now the quiet housewife who had worn plain yellow dresses every day of her campaign.

Through 24-hour cable news, the world witnessed, in awe, a singular and unprecedented mode of rebellion, the precursor of similar uprisings that would later shake out the autocracies of Asia, Eastern Europe and lead to the disintegration of the Soviet Union. Filipinos, spearheaded by Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino, had moulded a template so forceful that it set off a democratic domino effect throughout the world.

Ninoy had envisaged that the one who would succeed Ferdinand Marcos would end up smelling like horse manure six months after taking power. The residual effects of the dictatorship of Marcos and his wife Imelda, he maintained, would guarantee no success—only disaster, despair and failure.

The day after her victory, Cory found herself responsible for one of the world's most desperate countries, saddled with a foreigndebt of billion, 20,000 armed Communist guerrillas and a pile of government institutions that her predecessors had debased. At first, the new leader's inexperience showed. However, as the year wore on, she began to take charge. She survived eight coup attempts by plotters who hoped to overturn the new constitution and undo the return of a bicameral Congress. "I have to project my confidence even more than some men do," she said early in her presidency. "No one can say that Cory did not give it her all."

Those who knew her well were not quite surprised by the manner with which she had firmed up herself to tackle her new role, transforming herself in 30 months from a modest patrician lady to an assured leader of an entire nation. Those who were scarcely acquainted with her were often so disarmed by her outward gentleness that they overlooked her gritty decisiveness.

Even the White House was clearly hesitant during the dying months of the Marcos era to acknowledge the petite grandmother as a credible leader of the country that housed the largest U.S. military installations abroad. Even after the election, a White House aide publicly complained, "How the State Department thinks that Aquino can govern on her own is just beyond us." When she came to power, however, Cory systematically dispelled those doubts. Before visiting her in Manila, then U.S. Secretary of State George Shultz privately harboured reservations about her ability to govern. Afterward, and thereafter, the normally pokerfaced Secretary would brighten up at the very mention of her name. When she spoke before a joint session of the U.S. Congress, she received the most thunderous reception given any foreign leader in more than a generation. The entire U.S. tour, observed a State Department official who accompanied her, was "staggeringly successful. She had hard-bitten politicians eating out of her hand." She was convinced that her presidency was divinely conceived, even as her political foes mocked her piety. "If the country needs me," she said, "God will spare me."

A lot of people did everything in their power to convince her to seek a second term, calling attention to the fact that since her presidency was a result of a revolution, she was still entitled to one elected term as provided for by the constitution. She was, however, unwavering in her determination to set an example. At the end of her term, she stamped her class on the presidency and relinquished power, without an iota of hesitation and devoid of any fanfare. She was succeeded by Fidel Ramos whom she anointed him despite the opposition of the Church. He became the first Protestant to lead the overwhelmingly Catholic country. He would later give the Philippines a taste of stability and economic prosperity. But without Cory standing firm against the enemies of freedom, he would never have had the opportunity.

When she returned to private life, Cory ran a think tank and a center on non-violence that carried her husband's name. She also periodically led public protests opposing the policies of her successors, and on several occasions, her successors themselves. She headed demonstrations to remind Ramos that she had promised to dismantle America's bases in the Philippines. He complied. She joined crowds that resulted in the overthrow of the inept and corrupt government of Estrada. She also led demonstrations against her former ally, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, in the wake of corruption charges against her and her husband. She had called for her resignation following the 2004 election cheating scandal. Arroyo later retaliated by stirring up anew the Hacienda Luisita caldron and, just for spite, pulling out Mrs. Aquino’s two remaining bodyguards who had been with her for many years.

Invariably, whenever the country was in a crisis, she would rise above the bureaucratic foot-dragging and remind her people that they once astonished the world with their bravery — and that they could do it again. Cory Aquino was a guardian, a silent protector.

A few months before her passing, she reportedly bemoaned the growing apathy of Filipinos towards the spate of indignities discharged by the Arroyo regime. She was said to have remarked that perhaps it would take another death to rouse the people from their stupor. Little did she know that it was to be her own.

Her funeral procession evoked scenes from the People Power revolt and reminiscent of that of her husband. Hundreds of thousands of Filipinos from all walks of life thronged the convoy that transported her remains even as thousands of people perched on buildings and rooftops incessantly showered yellow confetti and flowers down on the cortège. Traffic screeched to a halt as motorists honked their horns and stopped to pay their last respects to their cherished leader. People from every sector of society, mostly clad in yellow shirts and with yellow ribbons tied around their hands and heads, braved the rains as they clapped, flashed and waved the now-famous Laban hand sign, chanting her name unceasingly. Words of admiration, gratitude, and affection emblazoned countless posters, streamers, and placards along the route. Instead of stock prices, the Philippine Stock Exchange (PSE) ticker turned yellow and displayed messages of thanks. Even ships moored on ManilaBay blew their horns while the convoy was inching its way along Roxas Boulevard as a sign of respect. “We feel sad because who will defend us now that she’s gone? ... But with her death, the Edsa spirit returned and united us again,” Makati bank employee Araceli Franco, 42, said in Filipino. “I hope this kind of unity will last, because Ninoy and Cory’s sacrifices will become futile if we don’t stand up as one people,” she added.

At a Mass officiated by Tarlac Bishop Florentino Cinense, he lauded Mrs. Aquino during his homily, for being "the light that brought change to the country," adding that even in death, she had managed to unite the country. “Her steadfastness to defend life, family and the Constitution was so clear. She remained faithful to the Church teaching, especially that every life should be welcome while her imperfections were never a hindrance for her to govern wisely,” Cinense said. “The more we praise her, the more we reveal that we too desire to be like her. May these stories continue to be told and better still may these stories unfold forever,”

Unlike in Ninoy's funeral procession—wherein the mourners were filled with anger over his assassination, Cory's was filled with expressions of deep love and appreciation. For a large number of Filipinos, her departure was a death in the family. At the same time, a palpable undercurrent of resentment towards the Arroyo regime noticeably simmered beneath the outpouring of grief and tenderness. Much to their horror and chagrin, the enemies of democracy soon discovered that Maria Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino had become even more powerful in the afterlife. Once again, she was galvanizing the Filipino people to gear up for battle. Good versus evil, night against day.

In the blink of an eye, the entire political landscape of the Philippines seismically shifted on the day she died.

When all hoped seemed lost, the Nation turned, yet again, to its premier political family and conscripted its services. Filipinos of all stripes began to badger Benigno Simeon “Noynoy” Cojuangco Aquino III—who had been quietly and diligently toiling to craft laws as a Senator of the Republic—to run for President. He resisted at first, citing the fact that he never aspired to the position. But then the outcry for his candidacy grew so loud, reverberating across the archipelago, that it left him with no alternative but to seriously consider throwing his hat into the ring. The people were hell-bent on drafting him and they were not in the mood to take no for an answer. Noynoy wrestled with such a monumental decision, to the extent of secluding himself in a convent to reflect. Ultimately, it probably dawned on him that there was no escaping his heritage. Like the dutiful and obedient son that he was, he yielded to the will of the people.

While the other front-running contenders already had their campaign machinery and operational blueprints snugly in place, Noynoy and his swarm of reformists were racing against time, scrambling and girding for an acrimonious war of attrition—deprived of advanced planning and, worse of all, lacking in logistics. The preliminary survey results that showed him leading by a wide margin only hardened the resolve of his rivals to cut him down to size.

Even before the campaign officially kicked off, opposing camps had already fired a barrage of black propaganda designed to sow scepticism about his qualifications for the job. Confronted with a protagonist so prestigious—the only son of Ninoy and Cory Aquino—his adversaries probably felt they had no recourse but to stoop down, pull out all the stops, and besmirch themselves by employing every trick in the book to stem the yellow tide. The death of undeniably the most famous housewife in the world was stymieing their ruthless drive to perpetuate themselves in power.

The candidacy of Noynoy did not exactly thrill his four sisters: Maria Elena “Ballsy” Aquino-Cruz, Aurora Corazon “Pinky” Aquino-Abellada, Victoria Elisa “Viel” Aquino-Dee, and Kristina Bernadette “Kris” Cojuangco Aquino-Yap. They worried about his safety. Ballsy, Pinky and Viel also valued their families’ privacy greatly and they had always favoured a low profile. Kris, at least, was unperturbed by the limelight, being one of the biggest show business celebrities in the country.

The Aquino women had attempted to dissuade their brother from running but when it became inevitable, they unhesitatingly threw their support behind him. Ballsy and Pinky helped raise funds for his campaign. They werealso tasked with saying “no” to certain donations running in the millions of pesos that he refused to receive. Viel watched over the campaign expenses. Kris sold her house to pay for his initial TV ads and got her showbiz friends to endorse him.

Ballsy said Noynoy was initially reluctant to run because he was a long-time supporter of Sen. Manuel “Mar” Roxas’ own political plans. (Roxas was then the Liberal Party standard-bearer.) She said her brother only began to seriously contemplate the possibility “when people he admired and looked up to said, ‘Noy, you have to.’”

The Rubicon was crossed when Roxas announced on Sept. 1 that he was no longer gunning for the presidency and was stepping aside in Noynoy’s favor.

Written by Francisco Antonio
Veteran Corporate Executive & Freelance Writer

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