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That lump in the throat


'This was the self-effacing man to whom our hearts went out because we recognized the absence of vanity or self-importance in his person.' Rey Baniquet
History is often served best by television, providing as it does a myriad of vantage points, especially when you surf channels. Of course there's nothing like being able to say that one was in situ, on the spot and spot-on for a historic moment, with a closer scrutiny and as actual part of an unfolding weave in time's tapestry — by being right there, in the flesh, or in the crush as it were. That was how we felt 24 years ago when a son and I joined the march from Santo Domingo Church to Rizal Park, to listen to Cory Aquino's protest boycott call after first hearing words of strength from Cardinal Sin. We didn't have to see them; loudspeakers carried their brave messages straight to the hearts we wore on our sleeves, out in the streets. Clad in sweaty yellow, we sought the edge of the mammoth crowd, settling for a spot by the U.S Embassy where we could enjoy the February breeze and the fringe amenities from vendors of boiled corn and dirty ice cream. Weeks later, we found ourselves at EDSA, too — in and out (to drop off old tires for burning at barricades in critical intersections, or to buzz alongside convoys of loyalist APCs) — joining in for those four days of apprehension and resolve that finally led to jubilation. It was all for Tita Cory and what she represented: the heroic best of the Filipino. And now, nearly a quarter of a century later, on June 30, 2010, her son was to take his oath to become President, like her. He would replace someone who had followed the footsteps of her father, although the gap in their case was close to four decades. Those blips in the timeline of contemporary history — our very own — could not have escaped notice by many who either trooped to Luneta last Wednesday or sat back at home to watch TV while appreciating the midweek holiday.
We looked constantly at our watches. At 10:23 a.m., three handshakes were exchanged at the foot of a grand ceremonial stairway (the last two at the behest of cameramen), after which Noynoy and PGMA boarded a black car at Malacañang's driveway. By 11 a.m. their convoy reached the Quirino Grandstand, pushing aside an inadvertent scene-stealer in the form of a gaudy "e-jeep" bearing the Veep-elect. Significations were rife. We were watching history, most of us from our homes. We watched intently, and even before the start of the ritual of transition, we felt that lump in the throat. It would keep growing large as the figure of revulsion — or at best of controversy — took her last walk past the colors, boarded a vehicle and left, to pent-up jeers and cheers of acclaim. Then our President-to-be had centerstage all to himself, despite the collective elegance of all the curious props that were close kin and predecessors, legislators and public servants, foreign dignitaries, the movers and shakers and well-heeled, the girlfriend as pretty as her yellow gown, the nephew with oversized yellow sunglasses, the fashion victims (the occasion not exempting an eye-grabbing headdress), the celebrities and entertainers, the ticket-holders to a place of history, right on the grandstand where all they could see was P-Noy's back and the distant faces of the Pinoy multitude facing them. At a moment of historic import, what do Filipinos do but sing, but trust ourselves to make terrific music? We thrilled to Charice Pempengco, and not because she sang the anthem in the prescribed way — something we always thought was unnecessary anyway, at least for nations who already exercised self-esteem. We admired Ryan Cayabyab, applauded Ogie Alcasid and Regine Velasquez and the Apo, appreciated such metaphorical assurances as "Sasamahan ka namin / kahit gabi ay madilim..." We adored Noel Cabangon, as much for his melodies and lyrics as his folk-icon cachet to get everyone on their feet and raising their hands to pledge — even Erap — to abide by the delicacy of decorum that makes a country, indeed a planet, approach the ideal state of civilization. Oh what a great artist can do, proudly did we salute the master of transformational music. And all the more did we throb with collective pride when Noynoy Aquino took his oath as our President. That pride swelled large, along with that lump we kept swallowing in an effort to hold back tears, as he spoke to us, giving himself and all of us our marching orders sans blaring sirens! We breathed a sigh of relief as we listened to an excellent speech, the first we will hear for the next six years that we've entrusted our yet nascent and often sorry republic to this young leader — whom we now believe can indeed inspire and transform us from the lethargy of poor legacies. "I am blessed with this legacy," our 15th President acknowledged, referring to the exemplary heroism of both his parents, the name and the honor they passed on — and which convinced a plurality of us that he should indeed carry on as Destiny's Child, as The Chosen One, as the fated bearer of a cross that is a culture said to be damaged goods. Now we ourselves should feel blessed with that legacy, and help him step by step through the "kalbaryo" he also acknowledged having inherited. For his inaugural address, he pressed all the right keys and buttons, so that it came off as entirely impressive, seemingly replete with all the bells and whistles. It may have been the kwela mention of wangwang that rang with the most resonance among a public long disdainful of arrogance and abuse. But also connecting with Juan de la Cruz was the declaration of the essence of public service: that we the people were the boss. Gulp. He had won us over again. This was the self-effacing man to whom our hearts went out because we recognized the absence of vanity or self-importance in his person, who walks with an easy gait and a slight droop born of shyness, but whose smile is earnest even as it speaks of good upbringing and a finely tuned moral compass. We saw it all again when he stepped up to his presidency, how he wiped off the mist from his eyeglasses after disembarking from the car before the grandstand, how he used the same handkerchief time and again to wipe the sweat from his brow, or how he couldn't help but cough as he delivered his speech. He appeared not to be preoccupied with form, but truly meant well when it came to substance. But for his fate and the great challenge he now faces, he seems to be the regular fellow who never strives to be the life of the party. But for the attire and accouterments that have been foisted on him by his social and now political status, why, he could be the ordinary Pinoy, the friend or neighbor whom we trust to do right by us. And now he says we are his boss. Should we believe him? Hearing him sing onstage hours later at what was billed as a street party to celebrate a happy transition, we can rest assured that when we sit back and watch what happens, we will see the decency in office of the man who will not grab the microphone if his life depended on it. Better of course for us not to sit back and watch, but to get on our feet and join hands to sing this new dream with him, even with a few false notes thrown in. They will not be false because he lies, or that we intend to be untrue to our pledge to help him. The awkwardness comes with the territory bounded by sincerity and best effort. On June 30, 2010, soon after Noynoy Aquino became President, text and e-mail messages started to pour in from friends and relations here and abroad, as far as Los Angeles, New York, Sydney, Saudi Arabia. They all allowed as to how teary-eyed they had been, how they all felt that lump in the throat while witnessing a dawn that they strongly hope would lead to a better day for all Pinoys. And they all said it better happen now, and that they will help, for they trust this man and are proud of him and are now so very hopeful for our country. After all, we are now the boss of our children's future. Like President Benigno Simeon Cojuangco Aquino III, we better lead by example. - GMANews.TV
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