Our EDSA

Too bad. The commemoration of a historic event has been infected by the passing factional bickering of the day.

On hindsight, it has always been like that. The definition of who is important and who is not, who will come to the commemoration and who will not, has been subordinated by the squabbling within the political class.

Recall how Cory Aquino, when she was president, purged Juan Ponce Enrile and his allies from the Edsa Day celebrations. Later, in one Edsa Day speech, she slapped down her vice-president Salvador Laurel and consigned him to political purgatory. Subsequently, her appearances at the celebrations became conditional on her current opinion of the sitting president.

Needless to say, the heroine of the uprising will not make an appearance in any of the official events associated with the 22nd anniversary of Edsa. She will instead hold her own protest mass at Sto. Domingo on Monday, attracting the crowd that now seems infatuated with replaying the event and honoring the imperfect man Cory had elevated to the status of contemporary equivalent of her martyred husband.

Too bad. The public appreciation of an event that dignifies us all has been ruthlessly commandeered by elite political players, using its symbols and images to serve the purposes of the political games they play.

Because public appreciation of the event has been commandeered, the slogans and symbols of the Edsa Uprising have been used as bludgeons by the elite figures who lead rival factions. Some are elevated to statuses they do not deserve, others are tarred with charges of “betraying the spirit of Edsa.”

Then there was February 2006. Completely desecrating the memory of a democratic event, a band of military adventurers tried to use the demonstrations during the 20t anniversary of the uprising as a cover for mounting a coup.

Too bad. Through all these, the real, positive value of the Edsa Uprising has been snowed under by the sound-bites power players who exploit the annual commemoration of the event.

These power players forget what is essential in that event.

The main force of the uprising are masses of people who stood courageously for freedom. They were bound together both by a profound faith in the power of compassion as well as a profound conviction in the fundamental values of our community.

One might say this remarkable event demonstrates the power of virtuous community. We did not need heroes to man the frontline, although we needed symbols to catalyze our sentiments. We did not need to be commanded; we acted on trust that others will do as we do. We did not need an organizational hierarchy to plot events for us; we acted in concert because we had common faith.

It was the political philosopher Rousseau who first argued that beneath the rubble of greed, of imposed identities that separate us, of diverse and contrary interests, there was that undefinable and often unrealized element that kept us in community through it all. He called it sentiment: a compassion for others that is intrinsic to our humanity. When all else fails, that compassion takes command of our actions.

When we huddled in the barricades, peering into the darkness for tanks that could roll ruthlessly and run us down, we were somehow sure compassion would rule. We were sure our ranks would not break: not because we were all heroes, but because we were all united.

We did not threaten and therefore did not expect to be threatened. We did not taunt and therefore did not expect to be humiliated. We did not intend to kill and therefore expected the other side to be similarly inspired.

For a moment, we were all existentialists: undivided by rank, race or religion, undistinguished by the usual places we occupy in society. None was more intelligent than the rest, none braver than the other. We were all equally unwashed and equally impassioned.

None gave orders and none obeyed. We acted as one. And because we did, a marvelous force was unleashed, powerful enough to tear down tyrannies. We called that force People Power.

People Power is not another word for cannon fodder. We did not stand in the barricades so that one faction of the elite could outmaneuver the other. We stood there because by doing so we reaffirmed what we are and what we want our community to be.

I have never been comfortable with the description of Edsa as a “miracle.” That might serve to magnify the importance of the clerics who joined us in the streets. But it also disempowers the ordinary men and women who found, by standing in unity with other citizens, by upholding the common values we often take for granted, took destiny in their hands.

We did not stand there as agents of some omnipotent force with a plan for the universe, although that was a comforting thought when standing before hostile troops aboard tanks. We stood there as ordinary mortals convinced we are acting on behalf of the values we shared — and will therefore stand united and act in unison.

The discourse of the elite, who constantly squabble for possession of the “Edsa franchise” and attack each other for “betraying” Edsa, insults us, those of us condemned to anonymity and inconsequence by superimposing such labels as “the masses” or “the people.” That makes us lose sense of where the power came from in the first place: from the reaffirmation of commonly-shared values.

We should reclaim Edsa from the elite factions who prostitute its symbolisms for power plays. It is, after all, our uprising. Our communal reaffirmation.