REBEL: EDSA at 30

People spent yesterday in various ways — some stayed at home and read up on the events that gave us back our democracy, others went outside and retraced the steps taken by quiet heroes, a few went away to unwind, and many still did not do anything out of the ordinary.

Last night, armed with anticipation and clasping nothing but my ticket and phone in hand, my friends and I watched REBEL, a full-length performance of Ballet Manila which brought together two of the things I love the most: dance, and (our struggle with) democracy. (Here is where I put the disclaimer: I’ve always loved ballet, and while present me is a cantankerous mess of limbs and bones and messy hair, past me donned a bun, leotards, and tights, and learned how to do proper pirouettes and arabesques.)

In a word, the performance was ethereal.

When Bayan Ko started playing, my arms erupted with goosebumps not attributable to the near-freezing temperature of the theatre. In front of me I saw history unfold — Ninoy refusing to heed requests to stay away from the Philippines; Ninoy being shot (I knew it was going to happen, yet my heart still jumped when the bang erupted); Marcos’s charisma and strength fading, fading, and Imelda stepping in; unrest and clamour; and eventually, peaceful revolt. Ballet Manila told a story beautifully without having to utter a word.

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I think, on one hand, this is why I think ballet was a great way to relive the EDSA revolution. Both are, in my opinion as a former (and frustrated) dancer, oxymorons. Ballet showcases strength in grace, power in softness, hours upon hours of training amounting to calloused feet and dead toenails that lead to sublime performances. I think, in a way, that EDSA was the same: it was a revolution in so many ways that revolutions as we know them are not — it was peaceful with arms linked instead of arms fired, and underneath the strength and power was grace, was softness, was a quiet call for change.

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It was a beautiful performance, and it was a story told beautifully, but the events which led up to EDSA — those were not beautiful. They involved torture in the form of pulled fingernails and electrocution; of rape and other forms of sexual abuse; of walking on eggshells and living in perpetual fear; of being told where to go, when to go, and what to do all the time; of parents abducted and families torn apart; of corruption and crippling debt and cronyism; of cover-ups and frame-ups and being told to shut up. They involved many things, many of which I do not claim I understand.

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Lisa Macuja-Elizalde went onstage before the show started, and reminded us one thing: “There is a rebel within us all.” (I chuckled when she said something to the effect that we were being rebels on the other end of the boulevard, there being a Madonna Rebel Heart concert going on a few blocks away.)

But it’s true: there IS a rebel within us all.

And if there is one thing we can be sure of: it’s the fact that that rebel inside us will not survive an era as despicable as that of Martial Law.

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When Handog ng Pilipino started to play, and the crowd started to rise in applause (I was seated behind the Macujas, and it filled my heart with vicarious pride to see Mrs. Macuja cheering her daughter on), I turned to look around me. I saw people from government and people from the arts — politicians, musicians, writers — many of them well above 30, many of them people who I know where there when EDSA happened.

Their distinctions, I realised, quickly dissipated when the chorus of that Jim Paredes song came up. People lifted their hands in the air, many in the letter L shape that is reminiscent of 30 years ago. Some had tears in their eyes as I did (maybe from the performance? Maybe from nostalgia? Maybe from relief? I will never know, and it will never be my story to tell), a few were cheering on, raising their hands higher and higher each time the company would curtsy.

Even after the curtains closed, the song played on, and everywhere around me, people continued to sing:

“Handog ng Pilipino sa mundo,

Mapayapang paraang pagbabago.

Katotohanan, kalayaan, katarungan

Ay kayang makamit na walang dahas.

Basta’t magkaisa tayong lahat.

Mag sama-sama tayo, ikaw at ako…”

And I may not have been there when the EDSA revolution happened, but when I looked at the people around me and saw that they were singing the same song — the younger ones were bobbing their heads along, some mouthing the words to the now familiar hymn — I thought maybe this is what it felt like then: relief, happiness, sadness, oneness, hope.

And then I thought, this is what they fought for — my ability to sing songs without fear of persecution, my ability to watch performances, my ability to go with friends to watch said events, my ability to speak out (and speak loud, should I wish to do so), and many, many other things.

At the time, they probably thought they were only fighting for the removal of a dictator in power.

Little did they know that 3 decades later, I would experience the freedom they fought so valiantly for.

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Walking to my unit, I shaked my head and managed a smile as I entered the key and unlocked the door. “I could not have been able to do that freely if not for what happened 30 years ago tonight,” I said to myself. #NeverAgain