MOST of you readers were probably unborn yet on Aug. 21, 1983.
Today marks the 35th anniversary of that historic day when Sen. Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. lost his life to an assassin at what used to be the Manila International Airport (renamed Ninoy Aquino International Airport in his honor).
This writer was 33 years old then and was already writing a column for Panay News (yes, this paper, at that time a weekly).
On that day, I was in my brother Efren’s house in Lagro, Quezon City. I woke up before the break of dawn to listen to the biggest news on radio – the arrival of Ninoy, who had been living with his family in Boston, Massachusetts. I was a fan of the man who could have been elected President in 1973 had President Ferdinand Marcos not declared martial law in 1972, jailing him and many other opposition leaders in various military stockades.
The late Salvador “Doy” Laurel (one of Ninoy’s pre-martial law fellow senators) was at the airport’s terminal building, complaining about tight airport security. His group would not be allowed to walk down to the tarmac. He had no idea about Ninoy’s flight and time of arrival. The secrecy was intentional. Although Marcos had supposedly lifted martial law two years earlier, he was still in complete control of the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government.
However, because there had been rumors that Marcos had undergone kidney transplant, Ninoy had no choice but come home and be around for whatever post-Marcos scenario at the risk of losing his own life to an assassin.
“The Filipino is worth dying for,” he had told the international media while living in Boston Massachusetts.
I was still listening to my transistor radio when a neighbor asked my brother Efren and me to join him in his house nearby for beer.
“This early?” I asked while turning the radio off.
“Yes,” he answered. “Let us have beer and pulutan to celebrate the homecoming of Ninoy.”
We were laughing and drinking when somebody barged in, shouting, “Pinatay si Ninoy sa airport.”
My brother and I ran back home. A flash report on TV was showing a lifeless body in white garments being lifted by uniformed military personnel from the tarmac and thrown like garbage into the Aviation Security Command van. I cried as if the assassinated politician were a relative.
A few days later, I joined the long two parallel lines of people from all walks of life who queued to take a last look at his remains at Santo Domingo Church. It took me an hour of slow walk to reach the coffin that showed Ninoy in his bloodied white raiment.
We were not allowed to linger, but the walk-by triggered memory of the one and only occasion I personally rubbed elbows with the late Ninoy Aquino. I was then a graduating college student at the Manuel L. Quezon University in Manila.
On a day in 1970 – two years before Marcos’ declaration of martial law – Ninoy Aquino came to our school auditorium to deliver a speech.
He minced no words in hitting the “fabulous First Lady,” Imelda Romualdez Marcos, over her expensive cultural projects, notably the Cultural Center of the Philippines.
President Marcos fought back through his controlled media for being “ungentle to a lady,” motivated by his intention to run for President in 1973. Imelda was shaping up to be his most likely opponent.
That political battle was not meant to be. It was aborted by the President’s declaration of martial law on Sept. 21, 1972. (hvego31@gmail.com/PN)
