Mourning for Cory, Morning for Country

In the flurry of broadcast news on the day the Filipino people laid to rest President Corazon Aquino, an incredulous and emotion-gripped radio commentator asked: what is it that brings these ordinary people from all walks of life, in the tens of thousands, out to the streets, braving heavy rains, displaying such an outpouring of affection and respect, painting, as it were, a metropolis yellow? On the Sucat Junction leading to the Manila Memorial Park, as in every stretch of the 25-kilometer funeral route, people had congregated hours before the cortege bearing the remains of the former president made its way out of the Manila Cathedral.

People packed every inch of the pedestrian overpasses, huddling under umbrellas, peering silently into the distance, waiting patiently for a glimpse of the beloved Tita Cory.’  A bedraggled group of several bare-chested and barefoot boys marched up and down a stretch of the concrete road chanting Cory, Cory’, following an older boy who hoisted what looked like a faded yellow curtain on a long stick and waved it vigorously. Close by, another group of rowdy teenaged boys pasted photocopied sheets of Cory’s photo onto their shirts and busily tied yellow ribbons to fences lining the thoroughfare.

Four chattering women from the ranks of the urban poor, bedecked themselves in hurriedly-made yellow paper hats and ribbons, and spread out a flimsy, yellow wrapping paper on which they wrote delicately: “dasal, pagmamahal at pasasalamat ang pabaon naming sa inyo President Cory.” (Prayers, love and gratitude are what we send you off with, President Cory.) The intermittent rains that morning reduced their poster into a humble tribute, making the words marked in black ink barely legible. But there they were, planting themselves as close to the road’s edge as possible, as if to say that their message had to be conveyed for all to hear.

These were stunning tableaus to behold and marvel at – and one had to be too stoic to be unmoved by such massively public, and yet intensely personal, expressions of respect and gratitude. It was not only the rich and the middle class motorists in their private vehicles who were present along the streets and highways. Everywhere, the members of the vast underclass who live in cramped dwellings all over the city spilled out to briefly claim public spaces of the metropolis.  It was not only older Filipinos who recall the history-changing energy of the People Power Revolution, but post-1986 youth who only know of Ninoy and Cory as iconic figures in recent history, who came out in droves and meandering queues – in blazing sun or pouring rain – to pay their last respects to an adored leader who passed on.

But what, indeed, brings about this kind of a once-a-lifetime (or twice-in-a-lifetime) national catharsis? A schoolboy was asked why he put offered flowers for Cory at the Aquino home in Quezon City and he answered in a breathtakingly simple paean that captures it all:  “because she was good.”  An older man would intone: “she made me proud to be Filipino.” Or from yet another: “She simply made us believe we could be better, that we just have to keep the faith in ourselves and the country.”

In the thickening throngs surrounding Cory’s wake and final funeral procession, there was lively chatter and even animated laughter.  Yet the prevailing atmosphere was of collective grief and somber reflection of the leadership of one who has not only been touted as our icon of democracy,’ but time and again has simply returned us to our higher selves. More than the enduring respect for Cory the person of simple ways, or as the grieving, valiant widow who rose to the immense challenge of taking on a ruthless dictatorship, Cory’s hold on the national consciousness is deeply symbolic and personal.

For a battered people yearning for a sense of pride in their own capacities, Cory offered the invitation to embrace the higher commitment to country and each other.  Her narrative (and Ninoy’s) of tragedy and triumph not only made for a compelling national morality play with the euphoric climax of good wining over evil in People Power.  Notwithstanding whatever we may point to her presidency as policy failures or grossly missed opportunities, her struggle mirrored many of our own stories of despair and difficulty, and the abiding, blazing hope for a better day.  In the homily of Father Arevalo during the funeral mass for Cory, he evoked: “Cory was the only true queen our people ever had, and was queen because we knew she truly held our hearts in the greatness and gentleness of her own.”

In our “grateful yet breaking hearts” we mourn the loss of our corazon, the closest we can get in our time to an embodiment of Inang Bayan.  But in the reawakened power of a people finding yet again the wellsprings of their goodness and giftedness, we are offered the promise of a new morning for a country in whose greatness — despite the unrelenting forces of greed, ambition and cynicism — Cory always believed and kept faith.

Neric Acosta was Liberal Party Member of Parliament of Bukidnon from 1998-2007 and is secretary general of the Council of Asian Liberals and Democrats.

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This post was written by CALD