EDSA DIARY

DAY 1: Saturday, February 22

I was watching the vampire movie "Fright Night" on that fateful Saturday night when Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Armed Forces Vice Chief of Staff Fidel Ramos announced their split from President Ferdinand Marcos. Along with the foreign and local press, and reformist soldiers they're holed in at Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame, separated only by the highway known as EDSA or Epifanion de los Santos ("Epiphany of Saints). Little did we know that the events in the next three days would be far more exciting, scary, and fun than any movie.

Everyone must have had trouble sleeping that night. Since it was only weeks after the presidential snap elections and the start of the opposition’s civil disobedience movement, we braced ourselves for the worst. My roommate at the Molave Residence Hall in the University of the Philippines – Diliman campus, was a fearless student activist. She gleefully enumerated different scenarios: the return to Martial Law, more arrests and salvagings or summary executions of opposition leaders and student activists, and, perhaps, civil war.

DAY 2: Sunday, February 23

The following morning, everyone’s ears were glued to Radio Veritas. Copies of the Philippine Daily Inquirer were passed around. Those who opened the TV set were disgusted by the government propaganda and frustrated by the lack of information from the other channels that aired regular programs as if nothing happened. Confusion, fear and worry were evident in my dorm mates’ faces. Nobody dared to go out. Those who had relatives in Metro Manila had already left the night before or early that morning.

The mood brightened towards noon when we heard that hundreds had already responded to Cardinal Sin’s call to go to EDSA. Later in the afternoon came a glimmer of hope because some military and police units had expressed support for Ramos and Enrile. We sobered a bit when reports came in that Malacanang had sent its troops to Camp Aguinaldo. Another plea was made on the air for people to surround the military camp in the hope that the government forces would think twice about harming civilians.

We had an early supper that evening. Dorm officers who were also student activists briefed us on the situation. For those who wished to go to EDSA, they announced, the assembly place was the school chapel. Without exchanging a word, my roommate and I went up to our room. I packed my wallet, a shirt, a hand towel, a flashlight, some Band-Aid strips, and my camera while she did the same. We hesitated about bringing our student Ids. If we got arrested, our UP identification would surely incriminate us. But if we got killed or hospitalized, there might be some problem about identifying us. (UP students are notorious activists and leftists and at that time that was the only excuse the police or military needed to detain anybody on the suspicion of being a subversive or communist).

We walked to the chapel just the same. The sight of many dorm mates and other students moving towards it buoyed our spirits. It was a beautiful night. The breeze was cool, there were a few clouds, the stars were shining bright and the moon lit our way. There weren’t many people in the chapel. We heard that those who came earlier had already left for Cubao. There were a couple of buses and passenger jeepneys that were commandeered by the UP Student Council to ferry students to the "battle site."

We joined our dorm mates in one of the buses. There were about 50 of us. Our student leaders were well organized; they assigned dispatchers, scouts and team leaders. They even brought food packs for everyone. From my window I saw a mini-cab from a local bakery delivering freshly baked bread. Another panel was also delivering gelatin snacks and juices.

We rode in silence. When the bus reached EDSA, we were awed by the sight of the traffic snarl. All vehicles appeared to be heading towards the same direction, honking gaily like it was New Year’s Eve. People everywhere were flashing the Laban ("Fight") hand sign. We reached a point where no vehicles could drive through the throng. We detoured around the residential area behind Camp Crame. Soon after our driver gave up as he could no longer maneuver the bus through the narrow alleys. Our team leader gave the command for everyone to disembark and start walking towards Ortigas Avenue that was still about five kilometers away.

My roommate and I stopped by a sari-sari store to buy batteries and candies. A male dorm mate waited for us. Which was just well since we could no longer find our group, which left without us. "Might as well hitch a ride if we want to catch up with them," I suggested. To our relief, the first vehicle that came along, a white pick-up, stopped for us. There were maybe six people in the back and strong hands pulled us up. Imagine my surprise when the one who helped me up turned out to be Philip Salvador, the action movie star. When he learned that we were on our way to Camp Aguinaldo, he looked at us with undisguised admiration. Our 90-pound frames literally swelled with pride. "You’re so young and so brave," he commented.

They dropped us off the corner of Ortigas and EDSA and wished us luck as the pick-up sped towards Makati. We found our group in no time. Our group leader had just consulted with the others and was issuing new instructions over a bullhorn. He explained that there were unconfirmed reports that the Marcos forces would try to attack late that night. Tanks and truckloads of soldiers earlier tried to approach the two camps but were blocked by civilians led by rosary-wielding nuns near Ortigas. We might have to do the same if they tried again, he warned. "But we can stop them if we link our arms together and form a human barricade," he added. Our first line defense comprised of buses, cars and jeepneys that blocked EDSA from Ortigas.

Just the same, we should prepare ourselves for the worst. If they used tears bombs against us, he said, we should cover our faces with a damp cloth. He pointed to the service station where we could get water. If they started firing, drop to the ground and keep perfectly still. Don’t panic, remain calm at all times, he added.

Each of us tried to find a comfortable spot for the night. My roommate and I agreed that the island was the best spot. The earth and grass looked more comfortable than the hard pavement. We had light from the street lamps and a good view. I climbed one of the posts to look around and I observed the mood was somber. People were either praying or talking in hushed tones. Others listened to reports on the radio. Still others slept. We ate our sandwiches and promptly fell asleep sitting up, leaning against each other’s back.

DAY 3: Monday, February 24

We were awakened in the morning by a voice on a public address system barking out "to the left, one, two, three…" Looking around we saw many early risers exercising gamely. People seemed to be in high spirits. The arrival of movie stars Edu Manzano and Ernie Garcia sent many of us girls in a tizzy. We combed our hair and checked our faces in the mirror. The morning revelry was rudely interrupted by the appearance of two Sikorsky helicopters in the sky. Everyone held his breath as the choppers flew towards Crame. Nobody was sure of the choppers’ intentions. Earlier, at around 5:00 a.m., anti-riot teams attacked one of the barricades with tear gas bombs. To everyone’s relief, the Sikorkies – ordered to fire at Crame – instead defected to the rebels’ side. We held hands and offered a prayer of thanks and sang "Ang Bayan Ko" with clenched fists raised.

It was time to return to the dorm. We strolled along EDSA and had our first opportunity to look closely at other people. I never saw so many people from different walks of life. There were nuns, laborers, old women, students, foreign and local reporters, yuppies, and street children. Two respectable-looking matrons walking ahead of me, each carrying a bright yellow umbrella with Ninoy Aquino’s famous smiling face and the theme "You are not alone" to shield them from the morning sun. A little girl on the curb gingerly held a statue of the Virgin Mary while a man who appeared to be her grandfather wiped it clean. Families sat on the sidewalks ate breakfast. Farther ahead the crowd parted to allow a young mestizo couple through. Each was holding to a leash attached to a magnificent dalmatian. His n’ hers. Like they were taking their pets for a stroll in the park.

It was easy to tell that quick-thinking entrepreneurs had, likewise, been up all night. Youthful vendors were already hawking freshly printed t-shirts, stickers, sun visors, caps, etc. There were regular vendors everywhere as well, selling cigarettes, newspapers, candles, peanuts, boiled eggs, corn, fishball, juices, etc.

We flagged a passenger jeepney somewhere on Santolan Road. The driver willingly agreed to drive us to the campus. That was kind of him considering there were 40 of us and the jeepney could only seat 17 people. Some of the guys sat on the roof, others hung on to the fenders or clung to the hand rail. One poor fellow found himself sprawled over the hood with only the stainless horse decal to hold on to.

When we reached the dorm we were met by news that the Marcoses had fled the country. This later turned out to be untrue. Tired and depressed, my roommate and I slept for hours. I woke up early in the afternoon refreshed. Since my roommate was still asleep, I went out to find other friends willing to go out with me.

The government station, Channel 4, had been captured by the rebels. Marcos sent his troops to secure the other TV stations. "Let's go to Broadcast City," I decided. The TV compound housed channels 2, 9 and 13. It was located about a kilometer behind the campus and took us less than 30 minutes to reach on foot. There was a smaller crowd, composed mainly of residents, curious bystanders and a handful of movie stars like Christopher de Leon.

I elbowed my way to the front for a better view and soon found myself face to face with a grim-looking marine. He stood just an arm's length away. There were less than a hundred of them but they sure looked tough. My heart sank when I saw that they were not wearing the patches of the rebels. Some men in our crowd yelled at them to surrender, while the women pleaded with them not to hurt anybody. Somebody started shoving from the back and I was pushed forward. The marine in front of me raised his armalite and pointed the barrel to my chest. "Walang tulakan, walang tulakan," sensible heads shouted. A passenger jeepney suddenly arrived to our rescue. It was singer Joey Albert leading a group of young seminarians wearing white cassocks. The crowd promptly let them through, as she efficiently directed her group to form a line between the soldiers and the civilians. The tension lifted when they led everyone in praying the rosary. Afterwards, the civilians squatted on the road as the seminarians started singing religious hymns and nationalist songs.

We returned to the dorm before it got dark. I did little else but watch the revolution unfold on television that night and the whole morning of the next day.

DAY 4: Tuesday, February 25

It was elating to see Cory Aquino and Doy Laurel take their oaths as president and vice president. Of course, all of this would have meant more if Marcos was no longer around. But there he was in the other channels, doing his own thing. On that same morning, loyalists and rebel soldiers waged a battle for the takeover of the Channel 9 transmitter tower. Clearly, there were still forces willing to die for Marcos.

In the evening my roommate and I walked about six kilometers to Channel 4 for another night of vigil. It was hard to believe that I had marched to the same place with 600 other student demonstrators just a week earlier to demand press freedom. And here I was again, I thought. We passed many roadblocks, burning tires, buses, garbage cans, rusty metal drums, traffic signs and even a decrepit tanod outpost lying on its side in one of the intersections.

Camping in Channel 4 was even less comfortable than at EDSA. The narrow streets were roughly asphalted and had many bumps and potholes. There were no paved sidewalks. We settled for a small space in one corner where lumps of carabao grass sprouted. Beside us were a group of women who conveniently brought many cartons and boards which they used as mats. Eyeing these with envy, I whispered to my roommate, "let's steal some when they go to sleep." The woman next to me shifted a bit and with a smile motioned to us to sit with them. We accepted her invitation meekly. She asked us where we came from and we returned the courtesy by asking likewise. "Batangas," she said. "You mean you came all the way to Manila just to join the revolution?" my incredulous companion asked. Yes, she said they arrived that morning and waved her hand at the bags and bayongs they brought with them. We didn't feel worthy sitting beside them, so my roommate and I shyly excused ourselves.

Lured by the sound of cheers and laughter near Camelot Hotel, we moved to the next corner. A young priest was entertaining everyone with an on-the-spot program around a campfire. He cracked jokes and strummed his guitar while everybody else sang along with him. Then he declared an amateur singing contest. The first volunteer was a Bisaya who sang Baleleng. Each time he sang a line, the audience hooted merrily.

The news everyone waited for finally came at past 10:00 p.m. Marcos and his family had left the country. We assembled with the other UP students to find out what would happen next. Lean Alejandro, the president of our student council, assured us they would verify the information just to be sure. Confirmation came 30 minutes later. "Let us go back to the campus and celebrate with a noise barrage," one of them suggested. I have joined many noise barrages in the past and they were all fun. They often took place late at night. We would march -- bearing torches, chanting, singing, whistling and clapping, making noises with cans and sticks -- from one dormitory to another around the campus.

But somehow the prospect of doing it one more time had lost its appeal. They herded us to several waiting vehicles and we rode back to UP in a convoy. Most of us in our vehicle were not really in the mood to party all night so we requested the driver to take us to our dorms instead. I guess the psychological rollercoaster we had gone through in the past three days just caught up with us.

Lying in bed that night, with all the noise of people shouting and cars honking outside my window, I wondered what tomorrow would be like. I grew up under only one president. In two months' time I would be graduating from college. Although the future seem uncertain, the country had a new lease in life. With that thought in mind I closed my eyes and dozed off.

POSTSCRIPT

My eldest brother Nards was also a witness and participant in the real-life drama that was the EDSA Revolution. He was at Camp Crame when those two Sikorkies, instructed to fire at the camp, defected to the rebels' side. Later the same choppers would be used to fire a warning missile at Malacanang to send a message to Marcos. My brother was also among the first wave of civilians to invade Malacanang Palace after the first family left. Nards said the crowd was wild with joy and rage, they started stomping all over the place, looting and vandalizing everything they can lay their hands on while the matronly ladies from Paranaque whom my brother accompanied pleaded with them not to.

"ah! woe unto them that build their strength on ignorance or in fanaticism ... believing that all are asleep! when the light of day illuminates the monster of the shadows, the terrible reaction will come"

-- "Noli Me Tangere" by Jose Rizal