First published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on March 2, 2002
WHY should we celebrate? After the so-called “revolutions,” not much has changed. The poor remain poor. Peace is still elusive in Mindanao. Politicking continues to be the favorite pastime of our national leaders. So, why celebrate?
These sentiments greeted the anniversary of Edsa I and Edsa II this year. The attitude is clearly one of cynicism. In the seminary, we are told that cynicism is poison to the spiritual life. It deadens the soul. It is the proud stance of the calloused man who says that he has seen and experienced everything there is to see and experience in life. He has life all figured out. There is no more room for surprises, or mystery, or change. We played the music, but you did not dance.
The opposite of cynicism is hope. It is looking at life in perspective: there are bad times, but there are good times as well. It is the stance of the old warrior who says that in life, you win some, you lose some. In life, change takes time, and in the meantime, one cherishes the small victories. One counts his blessings.
The man of hope knows how to wait. He learns to be patient with himself and with the vagaries and vicissitudes of life. Above all, he trusts deeply that life is unfolding as it should, that it is marching toward a completion, a finality.
In the political realm, the man of hope sees history as an evo-lutionary process. In Edsa I, the Filipino people discovered power and strength in united action. But this was not enough. This was only the start of their education on democracy and nationhood. In Edsa II, we learned about governance, leadership and public accountability. These pushed further what we had already learned at Edsa I in 1986.
But again these were not enough. Three months later, the whole nation was held hostage by the May 1 revolt of the poor, now slowly gaining acceptance as “Edsa Tres.” Amid our shock, we reflected and realized that democracy is nothing if a big part of the populace is mired in misery and poverty. This realization then has pushed further in our collective consciousness the meaning of democracy and nationhood. It has pushed further the gains of Edsa I and Edsa II.
It was observed oftentimes before that the fundamental problem with our nation was our lack of a common sense of citizenship. We were clannish, cliquish, elitists, regionalists. The Philippines was a mere grouping of islands. The long and proud history of the genesis of our nation lost its appeal to us. It was as dead as the dates and figures on the pages of our history books, destined to be forgotten. Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio seemed like a thousand centuries away from the modern era.
Nevertheless, there were rare moments when we easily thought and felt that we were one nation, such as when one of our athletes or one of our beauty queens won an international competition. These were the times we experienced a quickening in our national soul. But these occasions were few and far between.
Then came Edsa I which awakened us as a nation. We were proud again to be Filipinos. We could confidently raise our heads again in the community of nations. But this was just the start. Our learning process in the modern day and age—a process albeit painful, tedious and at times seemingly hopeless—had only just begun. And it continues to this day, in spurts such us Edsa II and “Edsa Tres,” or slowly as in the formation of people’s organizations and civic groups all over the country. These are not separate events. They form a continuity, a process, an evolution.
In this light, when we celebrate the past, when we commemorate significant turning points in our history, we help push forward this evolutionary process. Because of this, the past becomes present to us.
We do not remember of course to dwell alone in the glories of the past. We share our stories of the past, as Hannah Arendt would say, to celebrate, more than anything else, the power of the individual or groups to begin anew, to start afresh, such as we have seen in Edsa I and Edsa II. We celebrate then the Filipino as a political actor, the Filipino as Pope John Paul’s “acting person.”
As for the Christians among us, we tell the stories of the past to celebrate, more than anything else, God’s loving action revealed and manifested in our own place and time. Indeed, from the theological standpoint, the “miracles” of Edsa I and Edsa II, and in some profound sense, even “Edsa Tres” were but precious moments, parts of the unfolding of the history of salvation.
We remember then, and from this remembering, gather strength and move forward into the future, hopeful, courageous. Again and again, we will celebrate, we will remember, until we can truly imagine ourselves as a nation, until we can truly conceive in our collective consciousness our bonds as Filipinos. Remembering then becomes a political act, a patriotic duty.
In this evolutionary process that we find ourselves in, cynicism about the gains of the past is destructive. It leads to a dead end. On the other hand, hope in our moral progress as a nation inspires possibilities and creativity.
In these crucial times of our history, cynicism then becomes an act of cowardice. Hope is an act of courage.
We remember, we celebrate
First published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on March 2, 2002
WHY should we celebrate? After the so-called “revolutions,” not much has changed. The poor remain poor. Peace is still elusive in Mindanao. Politicking continues to be the favorite pastime of our national leaders. So, why celebrate?
These sentiments greeted the anniversary of Edsa I and Edsa II this year. The attitude is clearly one of cynicism. In the seminary, we are told that cynicism is poison to the spiritual life. It deadens the soul. It is the proud stance of the calloused man who says that he has seen and experienced everything there is to see and experience in life. He has life all figured out. There is no more room for surprises, or mystery, or change. We played the music, but you did not dance.
The opposite of cynicism is hope. It is looking at life in perspective: there are bad times, but there are good times as well. It is the stance of the old warrior who says that in life, you win some, you lose some. In life, change takes time, and in the meantime, one cherishes the small victories. One counts his blessings.
The man of hope knows how to wait. He learns to be patient with himself and with the vagaries and vicissitudes of life. Above all, he trusts deeply that life is unfolding as it should, that it is marching toward a completion, a finality.
In the political realm, the man of hope sees history as an evo-lutionary process. In Edsa I, the Filipino people discovered power and strength in united action. But this was not enough. This was only the start of their education on democracy and nationhood. In Edsa II, we learned about governance, leadership and public accountability. These pushed further what we had already learned at Edsa I in 1986.
But again these were not enough. Three months later, the whole nation was held hostage by the May 1 revolt of the poor, now slowly gaining acceptance as “Edsa Tres.” Amid our shock, we reflected and realized that democracy is nothing if a big part of the populace is mired in misery and poverty. This realization then has pushed further in our collective consciousness the meaning of democracy and nationhood. It has pushed further the gains of Edsa I and Edsa II.
It was observed oftentimes before that the fundamental problem with our nation was our lack of a common sense of citizenship. We were clannish, cliquish, elitists, regionalists. The Philippines was a mere grouping of islands. The long and proud history of the genesis of our nation lost its appeal to us. It was as dead as the dates and figures on the pages of our history books, destined to be forgotten. Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio seemed like a thousand centuries away from the modern era.
Nevertheless, there were rare moments when we easily thought and felt that we were one nation, such as when one of our athletes or one of our beauty queens won an international competition. These were the times we experienced a quickening in our national soul. But these occasions were few and far between.
Then came Edsa I which awakened us as a nation. We were proud again to be Filipinos. We could confidently raise our heads again in the community of nations. But this was just the start. Our learning process in the modern day and age—a process albeit painful, tedious and at times seemingly hopeless—had only just begun. And it continues to this day, in spurts such us Edsa II and “Edsa Tres,” or slowly as in the formation of people’s organizations and civic groups all over the country. These are not separate events. They form a continuity, a process, an evolution.
In this light, when we celebrate the past, when we commemorate significant turning points in our history, we help push forward this evolutionary process. Because of this, the past becomes present to us.
We do not remember of course to dwell alone in the glories of the past. We share our stories of the past, as Hannah Arendt would say, to celebrate, more than anything else, the power of the individual or groups to begin anew, to start afresh, such as we have seen in Edsa I and Edsa II. We celebrate then the Filipino as a political actor, the Filipino as Pope John Paul’s “acting person.”
As for the Christians among us, we tell the stories of the past to celebrate, more than anything else, God’s loving action revealed and manifested in our own place and time. Indeed, from the theological standpoint, the “miracles” of Edsa I and Edsa II, and in some profound sense, even “Edsa Tres” were but precious moments, parts of the unfolding of the history of salvation.
We remember then, and from this remembering, gather strength and move forward into the future, hopeful, courageous. Again and again, we will celebrate, we will remember, until we can truly imagine ourselves as a nation, until we can truly conceive in our collective consciousness our bonds as Filipinos. Remembering then becomes a political act, a patriotic duty.
In this evolutionary process that we find ourselves in, cynicism about the gains of the past is destructive. It leads to a dead end. On the other hand, hope in our moral progress as a nation inspires possibilities and creativity.
In these crucial times of our history, cynicism then becomes an act of cowardice. Hope is an act of courage.
Published in Commentary and From the Archives