The torch is passed

I was back in the streets this week, protesting, ranting, chanting, with fist clenched and jaw jutted in conviction. It felt good to be back in the midst of a friendly and familiar crowd, doing what we used to do over 30 years ago.

It is the run-up to Christmas, a time when we are normally caught up in giddy preparation for the holidays. However, in spite of the lights and the trees in the malls, it is a grim season that is upon us. It is hardly a time for celebration.

The signs are ominous: the daily extra-judicial killings, the coddling of drug lords, the misogynist kangaroo congressional hearings, the hero’s burial accorded a hated dictator, the threat of a Marcos comeback via a rumored Supreme Court reversal of the results of the vice-presidential elections in favor of Bongbong Marcos, the fake news sites on Facebook manufacturing lies, the threat to suspend the writ of habeas corpus, and more recently, to kill human rights advocates who protest the EJKs if his war on drugs fails.

It is a crazy, Kafkaesque time, and the call for action has been sounded. But please, does it have to be me? Do I really have to do this again? I’ve been there, done that. Done good, actually. Thirty years ago, my generation ran an entrenched dictator out of Malacañang and the country, just by being out in the streets. And now, the dictatorship is trying to make a comeback and we are again called to stand up and be counted.

We marched in protest so often in our day, walking tens of thousands of steps holding placards and banners, my Fitbit’s step count, if it was available then, would have gone through the roof.  We were angry and fit and nicely browned by the sun. There were the occasional tear gas and water cannons fired at demonstrators, infiltration by government agents that led to scuffles, even gunshots and arrests, but nothing deterred us.

We didn’t complain. We regarded every mass action as a necessary step to push the limits of martial law and end the dictatorship. Would it lead to the restoration of democracy? Who knew? There were no guarantees if, when or how that could even happen. But we soldiered on until we got what we wanted. We restored democracy and the freedoms it guaranteed.

But this time around, my body complained. It was not difficult to decide to join the rally. I welcomed it. The old fire is still in me. I am as angry as the next person at the way things are going. And my spirit was charged upon seeing old friends, other veteran rallyists at the site, still strong in passion and purpose.

It was just like old times. But I don’t remember my feet feeling like cement blocks, my jeans clinging tight and heavy around my legs, my ingrown toenails screaming in pain inside my sneakers, my knees feeling they would buckle after standing for three hours, my bladder nagging me to find a clean toilet, and my voice faltering as we sang our protest anthems from yesteryear.

That is why it was truly heartening seeing so many young people at the rally last Wednesday. They were not there only as participants, they were in command. They had a rock band that played music the young crowd sang along with, but my generation did not know. We swayed to the music anyway. They spoke of hashtags and used their cellphones as flashlights and video cameras for live streaming. They held up homemade placards and banners with creative messages, and they happily passed around boxes of snacks to share with all and sundry, including the many policemen and women who were assigned to line the periphery of the crowd.

And they listened attentively to their elders who sang, spoke, performed poetry, and read manifestos of support. Newly-resigned National Historical Commission chair Maris Diokno was given a rock star welcome. 

Who would have thought the surreptitious burial of the late president as a hero would trigger such anger and resentment in what has been described as a self-interested “me” generation? The millennials are informed, and they are incensed. They rallied with a passion akin to ours when it was our turn.

We left the rally early, walking over a kilometer to get to our waiting vehicle. I was wasted, but my heart was full. The torch has been passed.  The lies will be countered. The wrongs will be righted. My prayer is — all will be well.