It was the best of times.
It was the worst of times. It was the time of the First Quarter Storm,
which Nelson Navarro described as “that cathartic student revolt in the
first months of the 1970 that shook the nation with its
La Gran Passion, its
intense and all-encompassing life-changing experience.”
The “Storm” was triggered
by the fraudulent presidential elections of November 1969 in which the
incumbent unleashed his 3-G formula of Goons, Guns, and Gold to secure
an unprecedented second term.
But while the public
responded to this massive fraud with fatalistic resignation, the
students were enraged. Throughout the Greater Manila area, student
councils and related organizations gathered together in preparation for
a massive protest rally in front of the Philippine Congress on its
opening session.
On January 26,1970, more
than 60,00 students amassed in front of Congress to listen to speeches
describing what they believed to be the true state of the nation while
Ferdinand Marco gave his own self-serving version to the self-serving
politicos inside.
After finishing his
speech, Marcos quickly made his exit from Congress and, just as he was
about to board the presidential car, a papier mache crocodile (the
symbol of political avarice) was hurled at his car. Instantly, the
phalanx of government soldiers then charged the rank of the assembled
throng swinging their rattan truncheons and bashing the heads of the
helpless students. Hundreds were seriously injured as the whole nation
watched the tumult live on their TV screens.
In the days that followed,
indignation rallies denouncing police brutality were held in many
campuses culminating with the
January 30 March to
Malacañang. Thousands of students surrounded the fortified palace when
suddenly, the light went off and the eerie silence of darkness became
deafening.
The riot police retreated
into the night only to be replaced by battle-hardened soldiers armed
with high -powered armalites out to quell a rebellion. Before that long
dark night was over, four students were to lie dead, score paralyzed,
and hundreds maimed from gunshot wounds.
As Mario Taguiwalo
recounts its, “The death of friends. The terror of gunfire, the taste of
a truncheon taught a lot of ‘isms’ in one night. By the morning of Jan.
31,1970, a thousand chapters of student organizations had begun taking
root in school and communities nationwide.”
On the 20th anniversary of
that historic day, I found myself at Freedom Park in front of Malacañang
at the scene of that epic battle between unarmed students and fully
armed soldiers. There were simple ceremonies to mark the occasion and
small cast of notable from that period gathered together to remember.
There was Jerry Barican,
then the radical president of the UP Students council and now a
conservative lawyer and businessman. Jerry rationalized his political
transformation by quoting from Churchill:” If you’re not a radical by
the age of 18, you have no heart. If you’re still a radical by the age
of 40. You have no head.”
There, too, was Nelson
Navarro, then the articulate spokesman of the student coalition, now an
acerbic columnist and political analyst. Mario Taguiwalo was present –
once a pillar of student mass action, now Cory’s Undersecretary of
Health. Also present was Diggoy Fernandez, who was a radical student
from the elite La Salle College, now a wealthy banker and adviser to the
Philippine Aid Plan (PAP). Maan Hontiveros read the Manifesto. She was
at that time a curious student, now she is a well -known TV personality
and the owner of her own communications company.
We were reunited with John
Osmena , then a freshman congressman and a supporter of the students,
presently a distinguished senator from the booming province of Cebu. Dr.
Nemesio Prudente also attended our reunion. He was then and now
president of the Philippine College of Commerce (PCC) now renamed the
Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP). ‘Doc” has survived
several assassination attempts from rightist death squads since 1986.
Also there but feeling a
bit out of place was Gen. Rafael “Rocky” Ileto, then the Commanding
General of the Army with responsibility for the defense of the palace,
now the National Security Adviser of President Aquino. “We were on
opposite sides of the gate then.” He said, “but now we’re on the same
side.”
And then there was I, once
a fledgling nationalist eager to change the world, now a practicing
California attorney and recently reelected president of the San
Francisco Public Utilities Commission.
Not there but present in
the manifesto he had drafted and faxed from New York was Gary Olivar,
then the boy wonder of the radicals, now a vice-president of a major New
York Bank with a Harvard MBA diploma on his wall.
In his Manifesto, Gary
reflected on how “a singular dream moved a generation”
“A dream so compelling in
its inception, so irresistible in its sweep that it hurled thousands of
us against the wall of this palace – as if somehow through the sheer
weight of our passions on that endless night, we would reclaim the
palace for our own.”
Gary mirrored our
sentiments when he declared that “in the conceit of our youth.” We
believed we could “repair the broken bones of a people long despoiled
and fulfill a dream of human freedom of national sovereignty, or
equitable progress for every Filipino.”
Those present in the
simple rites were now 20 years older, and at least 20 pounds heavier,
reeking with the respectable air of the very Establishment we had once
hoped to change. Except for the general and the TV lady, the cast
exhibited prosperous tummies and shy graying hairlines. The
authoritative mien of the bourgeoisies had replaced the lean and hungry
look that was the activist trade mark. The future had arrived, tomorrow
had lapsed into today, so how had we fared?
We came together to share
a collective memory of an era gone by. One simply could not have been
part of that Storm and nit been affected by its weeping fervor and the
surge of nationalist ideals. But the stark realities of a grown family
and coping with their economic needs conspired to set aside the Utopian
dreams and like gravity bring is back down to earth.
Mario the Undersecretary
reflected about the “gem” of the First Quarter Storm this: “Every time I
am tempted to give up on people, I am reminded of the utter power of
ideals deeply held and I persevere again in seeking to convince not
compel. I recall the sense of community in the whole and the sense of
helplessness in the chaos, and I realize again that futility of solitary
happiness in the midst of widespread misery.”
“As I raise my children, I
remind them of our honorable past. Of the vast reservoir of common
sentiment that drive violators, trip cutters, lane jumpers and other
unsavory characters among us.”
Mario spoke for all of us
when he wrote about the values the experience left in him:
“The courage to stand by
one’s principles, the desire to freely express one’s dream for the
nation, the willingness to pay the price , the eagerness to depend on
one’s fellowman, the exhilaration of finding new ones.”
The First Quarter Storm,
for those who lived through it, was not just a historical event. “It has
become an attitude insists Mario,” a part of a value system that colors
one’s view of society, a powerful memory that sparks one’s hopes for a
possible Philippines. These things are important in protesting the evils
in our midst as they are invaluable in affirming the good around is.”
The most poignant part of
the ceremony was the moment of prayer offered to the memory of those who
died that fateful night and in the many years since then. Ma-an read the
responsibility never to forget. To them we owed the broadest
appreciation of their heroism – whatever their particular vision of the
future, however, they chose to fight on its behalf whenever they were
taken from us.”
At the Ceremony’s
conclusion, we embraced each other firmly and with moist eyes. “Reunions
are beautiful,” Nelson mused “because the older we get. the more we
cease seeing ourselves as friends or enemies, “he said, “we are simply
survivors sharing a common memory.”
Published 1/26/2020