The other day, I woke up to a text from my grandfather, telling me to get dressed and to wear white. I faintly recalled him telling me a few days ago that he would take all his apo to the “Million People March.”
It was 9 a. m., and I got up, excited to join the rally, to be a part of something bigger than my usual teenaged world. My grandfather and cousins then picked up my brother and me from our condominium, and we all headed to Luneta.
During the car ride, we were all speaking of how exhilarating it was to be doing something for our country. My grandfather then looked at us in the rearview mirror, and emphasized how “this is one of the rare times in our history that Filipinos are coming together in the face of corruption.”
His statement set off a symphony of voices from our Ford Everest, and everyone was suddenly asking questions. “When was the last rally?” “Did you go?” “Where was it?” “Can you tell us more about Martial Law?”
The 45-minute car ride to Luneta turned into a history class, with my grandfather further educating us on past rallies and corruption in our government.
As we neared the site, it became clear that we needed to leave our vehicles because of the swarm of cars entering Malate Park. When we finally arrived, we all got out of the car, and crossed the street to where the bay was. We started the long walk, and eventually got swallowed up by the crowd.
We couldn’t tell who was who, as we were quickly immersed in a blank, white sea of bodies protesting against the pork barrel scam. Fortunately, there was a slight drizzle, so none of us got burned by the sun.
I ran into two of my friends on the march to Rizal Monument, which only made me smile wider, as there was something to be shared by all of us.
My friend even said later on, “Only having heard of Edsa 1 and 2 in history books, I’ve never actually experienced or seen Filipino nationalism. It was amazing to see all these people from all walks of life together, demanding the same thing. It felt as if Filipinos have awakened again, and cared just as much as they cared during the Edsa Revolution. I’ve never been prouder to be Pinoy.”
Quiet and loud
On the trek toward Rizal Monument, I could not help but notice both the quiet and loud protests. Quiet in the sense that people were holding up signs, and loud because I passed by many people standing in the middle of the road shouting their slogans of rebellion against the pork barrel.
Looking around, I saw how the security was tight, as there were many men in dark blue on their bikes, or walking around scrutinizing everyone in white. People were marching with their dogs, riding their bikes; there were ice cream and corn vendors on the streets, loud tunes coming from speakers piercing the air, balloons littering the street, bold writing on posters with multicolored designs, and speeches being delivered with fervor.
All these actions happening simultaneously only heightened our feeling of togetherness, as it was almost like we were all one, and had only one goal and wish in mind.
I noticed, however, that the division between classes was evident. I saw poverty-stricken children on the streets eating corn, and the affluent with their bodyguards wearing white. It then became clear that we needed to bridge the gap. It dawned on me that this was why the rally was being held.
It makes me both angry and sad to see the money that is supposed to be spent alleviating the plight of the poor (millions of pesos) being misused by corrupt individuals. Our country has that “in your face” kind of poverty, the extreme kind. Driving down Ortigas, there is always a flock of children begging for money.
In all honesty, I had never given much thought to Philippine politics, as I did not understand it. Attending this protest was the first time I was a part of something that did not involve school projects, friends, parties, or family. It was the first time I felt pride in being a Filipino.
As I followed the crowd headed to Rizal Monument, I could not help but revel in the cohesiveness I felt all around me. It emanated from all the people in white, all marching toward the same site, all marching with vehement protests, and it gave me a sense of belonging.
We are studying nationalism in our history class at the moment, and it made me glad to feel this loyalty and duty to my country. Standing in the middle of a crowd of white, I could not have been more proud.
