Paths of Leadership

The oldest among you must have been just a year old when my husband, Ninoy Aquino, a former senator of the land, was killed by government soldiers on the tarmac of the Manila International Airport when he returned home from three years of self-exile in the United States. Most of you were not yet born then so you have no personal experience of the massive outpouring of grief and outrage that the murder sparked, and the peaceful revolution less than three years later that ousted an entrenched dictator.

You must have heard your parents and grandparents talk about the Edsa People Power Revolution of 1986. You must have studied these events in your history and civic classes. But how do young people relate to Edsa? To People Power? To Ninoy, the latest of our national heroes? When you hear or read about Ninoy Aquino, do you think of him in terms of monuments and road signs, like Jose Rizal, Apolinario Mabini and Andres Bonifacio?

Well, I am here to tell you about Ninoy Aquino, my partner in life and my mentor in leadership. It was from him that I first learned about politics and power, its uses, and the responsibilities that go with it.

Ninoy and I were both 21 years old when we got married on October 11, 1954. While he had made it clear to me during our courtship that he wanted to go into public service, I never expected him to be in politics so soon after our marriage. Just one year after we got married, Ninoy was drafted by the concerned leaders of his hometown of Concepcion, Tarlac, to be their candidate for mayor.

And so Ninoy ran and was elected mayor in 1955, when he was barely 23 years old, the age required for that position. Since elections were held on the second Tuesday of November and Ninoy’s birthday was on November 27, he was two weeks shy of 23, which he honestly thought was not a problem, since he was to assume office only on January 1, when he would be 23 years, one month and four days old.

But the defeated candidate filed an electoral protest and two years into his four-year term, Ninoy was unseated by the Supreme Court for being underage at the time of his election. But Ninoy was undeterred by this setback.

In 1959, he was elected vice-governor of Tarlac and two years later, when the governor resigned to join the cabinet of then President Garcia, he assumed the governorship. At age 31, he was elected governor of Tarlac and in 1967, at age 35, he ran for the Senate and won, the youngest person ever to be elected Senator of the land.

Ninoy worked hard and performed exceedingly well in the Senate as evidenced by the approval he got from the Philippines Free Press, then a widely read and prestigious weekly magazine, which named him Outstanding Senator for three consecutive years.

From his perch in the Senate, Ninoy then set his sights on the presidency, focusing on the scheduled presidential elections in 1973. And that was where his problems began because Marcos, who was ending his second and last legal term, was determined to hang on to power–by hook or by crook.

But I’m getting ahead of the story.

On my part, I was determined early in the marriage to be a good wife and mother. I was very shy in those days and I really valued my privacy. Luckily, I didn’t have to do much campaigning for Ninoy because he was a great politician and a charismatic speaker. He did well enough by himself and my vote-getting activities were limited to visiting markets early in the morning and shaking hands with vendors and market-goers, asking them to please vote for Ninoy. When Ninoy ran for senator, I visited all the textile and cigarette factories in Metro Manila and I would shake hands with all the incoming and outgoing employees, asking them to vote for Ninoy, while my two older daughters would give them Ninoy’s campaign leaflets. I would shake hands with at least 2,000 people each day.

One of my regular duties as the wife of the mayor, vice-governor and governor was to accompany sick constituents to the Philippine General Hospital or the Quezon Institute in Manila for medical care. Since the town of Concepcion had no ambulance in those days, I would take the patients to the hospital in the family car.

Another frequent activity as the mayor’s wife was visiting wakes and attending burials by walking in the funeral processions from the church to the cemetery, about two kilometers away.

Ninoy’s political timetable was admittedly ambitious but it seemed to be proceeding very well until September 23, 1972 when he was arrested and detained without charges by Col. Romeo Gatan who informed him that then President Marcos had declared martial law two days before, on September 21, and all civil liberties had been suspended.

Ninoy was taken to Camp Crame and, later in the day, he was transferred to Fort Bonifacio. (Yes, this new playground of Metro Manilans was once a vast military camp with facilities for detention, isolation and torture.) He was detained in Fort Bonifacio with other politicians and journalists of the day–the likes of Ramon Mitra, Pepe Diokno, Soc Rodrigo, Chino Roces, Teddy Locsin Sr., Nap Rama, Max Soliven and Jose Mari Velez.

By December 4, 1972 everyone in the group, except for Ninoy and Pepe Diokno, had been released. In 1974, on the second anniversary of the declaration of martial law, Pepe Diokno was released. We were happy for those who were sent home and thought that maybe Ninoy’s turn would soon come. But unfortunately, Ninoy was to suffer incarceration for much longer–seven years and seven months. And he was finally released only when he developed a heart ailment and needed emergency surgery in the United States.

After his surgery, Ninoy decided to stay on in the United States for a while. We settled in Newton near Boston, since Ninoy had been awarded a fellowship at Harvard University’s Center for International Affairs. We finally lived together as a family and more importantly we were living in the land of the free. Those three years from 1980 to 1983 proved to be the happiest years of my married life.

But even in idyllic Boston, Nonoy was restless. He wanted to come home, to be relevant to our people. As a leader, he believed he should be with his people, specially in time of suffering. He wanted to return and join those struggling to restore our rights and freedoms through non-violence.

In Boston, Ninoy and I would sometimes talk about his imprisonment and we agreed that the seven years and seven months he spent in detention were the greatest of our learning experiences.

There was, first of all, a reversal of roles: Ninoy, the public person, was effectively put out of sight by Marcos, the dictator. He was placed in solitary confinement for most of his years in detention and so Ninoy, the extrovert, learned what it was like to be alone, 24 hours each day, except for those times when we were allowed to visit him.

As for me, the private person, I had to be more visible. Ninoy gave me special tutoring on politics and politicians. I became Ninoy’s eyes and ears and mouthpiece, attending meetings with his lawyers, especially his chief counsels, Senators Lorenzo Tañada and Jovito Salonga. As his liaison with his lawyers and political allies in the opposition, I mainly listened and reported back to him what was discussed, the questions his colleagues needed answers to, and their suggestions for action. I also would meet with the leaders of the opposition, both political and religious.

Ninoy also encouraged to me to give interviews to the international press, which his sister Lupita arranged. During my conjugal visits, Ninoy would prepare a set of questions which he thought would be asked by foreign journalists and he would coach me on the answers. Of course I was very nervous at the start, but in time, with Ninoy’s encouragement, I somehow managed to get his message across.

My children and I also learned to smuggle letters and articles to and from Ninoy. When one of his articles saw print in the Bangkok Post in February 1973, Ninoy was banished by the military authorities to Fort Magsaysay in Nueva Ecijia. Pepe Diokno, who had nothing to do with the smuggled article, was also punished along with Ninoy. We were not informed about the transfer to Fort Magsaysay and for 43 days, my family and I did not see Ninoy and we could only hope and pray that he was still alive.

Under the circumstances, it was only a matter of time before I would get directly involved in politics. My first major involvement was in 1978 when Ninoy decided to run from his prison cell for a seat in the Interim Batasang Pambansa, President Marcos’ martial law version of parliament.

It was a season of firsts for me.

I was given the task of presenting the 21 candidates of Laban at a press conference in my house. I called a meeting of the spouses and relatives of the 21 candidates so we could plan our schedules for the campaign. It was also my first time to approach Ninoy’s friends and to personally deliver letters from Ninoy that we smuggled out of his detention cell asking for support for his campaign.

Before his incarceration, it was Ninoy who took care of all the requirements of his campaigns and mine was a very minor, almost inconsequential, role. And here I was, in charge of so many details, and having to make speeches on Ninoy’s behalf.

Since I was not about to take on all these responsibilities by myself, I enlisted the help of my five children. Luckily, my youngest child, Kris, who was then seven years old, had the knack for public speaking and enjoyed facing the crowds. Coached by Doy del Castillo, a radio commentator, Kris became a very effective campaigner for her father and all the candidates of the Laban party. I suppose you could say this was the prelude to her Game ka na ba? show.

What a change this was from my life before martial rule, when Ninoy himself did not want me to be involved in public matters! I think he never wanted to be accused of having a wife who interfered too much. At that time, many people were quite critical of the conjugal dictatorship.

But the best thing that happened to Ninoy and me during martial law was that we became more prayerful. In detention, Ninoy would read the Bible everyday and he read many books on spirituality. He became devoted to the Holy Rosary, praying at times as many as 50 rosaries a day.

At the start of our ordeal, Ninoy and I both indulged in self-pity. We could neither understand nor accept why we were suffering so much while others, whom we thought had worse faults than us, were living it up and lording it over us. But with prayer came discernment and we learned to accept the suffering as part of our life in and with Christ.

In 1975, Ninoy went on a 40-day fast to protest the trial of civilians by a military commission, when the civil courts were still functioning at that time. He lost 40 pounds as he subsisted on water, accompanied by salt tablets, amino acid capsules, potassium tablets and sugar capsules. As he hovered between life and death during his hunger strike, we both learned to surrender everything to the Lord.

Difficult as his incarceration was, Ninoy and I could always rely on each other. I could still go to him for advice on political matters and other problems. But after he was gone, I had to learn to make difficult decisions by myself. When I came home to the Philippines in August 1983, after Ninoy was killed, people looked up to me to somehow take his place and lead the opposition, a task I felt I was not prepared to do.

Although his friends and allies guided me as best they could, I missed Ninoy’s political savvy, his wise counsel, his take-charge personality, and the charisma that made everyone listen when he spoke.

During the 1984 elections for the Batasang Pambansa, the opposition was divided into those who wanted to boycott the elections and those who felt it was right to participate. I had made up my mind which way to go but I wanted to keep my decision to myself, until I was told that many people were waiting for me to announce my stand on the matter.

I spent many sleepless nights praying that Ninoy would appear to me in a dream and give me his expert advice. But of course, he didn’t and I had to rely on my own smarts. After much discussion and prayer, I announced that I would go for participation in the elections. Like Ninoy in 1978, I believed that even if we were cheated, the opposition could use the campaign as a forum to inform the people about the evils of martial rule.

The boycott stand was supported by Senators Tañada and Diokno, two of Ninoy’s closest allies. It would have been easier for me to just go along with them. But I felt I would not be true to myself and to Ninoy’s memory if I had not seized the opportunity to reach out to the people opened up by the election.

It was even more difficult to make the decision to accept the clamor for me to run for the presidency in the 1986 snap election. Had it been Ninoy on the spot, there would have been no hesitation to accept the draft. But I did not have his experience, his temperament, or his ambition. How I missed his guiding hand! But I remembered what he said when he decided to return home in spite of the possible danger to his life. He had said: "I will never be able to forgive myself if I could have done something and I did not do anything."

And since many of the opposition leaders had told me that I alone could unite the opposition, I finally decided to accept the challenge to run against the dictator. Like Ninoy, I did not want my conscience to bother me and make me wonder later on if I could have made a difference. I believed after much prayer that I had to at least give it a try.

And so I ran against Marcos in what initially looked like a lopsided contest. The opposition was a scrappy coalition of political parties and movements with rusty campaign machineries–if we had any at all–and we were up against the mighty organization of the martial law regime. But the people’s will prevailed and I won the election, and when Marcos tried to steal victory from us, the people rose as one in a mighty display of People Power that eventually drove the Dictator out of Malacañang and into exile in Hawaii.

During the four-day People Power Revolution, then Minister of Defense Juan Ponce Enrile had confessed on television that I had been cheated out of at least 350,000 votes in Region 2 alone, which happens to be Enrile’s region.

It was People Power that faced the goons of the Dictator to see to it that our votes were counted. It was People Power that, in protest, mounted a boycott of consumer products that were identified with Marcos and his cronies. And it was People Power that installed me in Malacañang after having stood down the tanks and guns of the Dictator in Edsa.

It is ironic that I, whom Ninoy kept away from the political limelight, eventually became President, the position he prepared for early in his political career. He once told me that the successor to Marcos would have an impossible task of running a country that the Dictator had run to the ground. In fact, he even said in an interview in Boston that whoever succeeded Marcos would have a most difficult time, because not only would the successor inherit a bankrupt economy, but there would be such great expectations that in six months the successor would be booted out. Of course, Ninoy never imagined the successor would be his widow. And for the first time, I was glad that Ninoy had made a mistake in his assessment.

For a political tyro, I was able to restore democracy, dismantle destructive economic monopolies and initiate peace processes with the two longest running insurgencies in the land. In the process, my government tamed the military and repelled seven coup attempts. And at the end of my term, I, peacefully and in an orderly manner, transferred power to my successor, which was a feat of sorts, given the rambunctious nature of Philippine elections.

Before Ninoy left Boston for the Philippines in August 1983, he briefed me about the possible scenarios upon his arrival in Manila. "If Marcos makes a mistake and has me killed, then that will be the best thing that will happen to me," Ninoy said, "because I have always wanted to die for our country."

When I told this to my children moments after we were informed of his assassination, it gave them much comfort and strength.

Ninoy was a restless sort, a man in a hurry–to get out of school, to be a journalist, to be mayor of his town, to be governor of his province, to be senator of the land, to be president. As if knowing he didn’t have much time to be of service to country and people, he rushed headlong into life, doing as much as he could, only to be stopped in his tracks in 1972 when Marcos declared martial law and imprisoned him for seven years and seven months.

But detention did not end his public life. It only enhanced his role as the voice of the opposition.

To be sure, Ninoy was no saint. He was a politician through and through. But the crucible of his prolonged detention made him see that there were more important things in the world than winning elections, wielding power and influence, and amassing wealth. And when the occasion called for the ultimate sacrifice, he embraced the challenge to give up his life so that his people might live in freedom, peace and justice.

Ninoy was a born leader. But I was not. What I learned from him was that you have to walk the talk, back up what you say with action. Lead by example. Stand on principle. Be ready to bite the bullet and give your all–your life, if necessary, for what you believe in. These were what guided me in my actions as president, and they continue to guide me in the choices I have made since I left Malacañang 12 years ago.

Since I left the presidency, I have been asked to support political causes, such as the movement against charter change, protests against dagdag-bawas and more recently, the campaign to defeat the impeachment complaint filed against Chief Justice Hilario Davide in the House of Representatives. I have led countless rallies at the Edsa Shrine, in Makati, at the Luneta, and I have been approached to endorse candidates for national and local office, to raise their arms for photographs that would land on campaign posters and fliers. And I have willingly lent whatever influence I have left to urgent causes and worthy candidates.

But last year, while planning the 20th commemoration of the murder of Ninoy in the midst of the growing disillusionment with our government and our leaders, and in the People Power revolution of 1986, I asked myself–20 years after his ultimate sacrifice, what would Ninoy have to say about where we are as a country and people?

The 20th anniversary of Ninoy’s death was also the 20th anniversary of the first stirrings of People Power. I asked myself, what have we done with People Power? Have we wasted this gift of the Filipino people to the world?

Going by the dwindling crowds during observances of the Edsa anniversary in the past couple of years, one would think that People Power was gone. The cynics asked, where are the cheering crowds, the dancing in the streets by the champions of democracy?

But the cynics have a very shallow understanding of what People Power really is. The ouster of the Dictator in 1986 was only the beginning of our deliverance from justice and inequality. Since then, the People Power that drove away the Dictator has been harnessed in the grassroots where people are helping people create jobs and livelihood, deliver social services, bring about peace and order, and improve lives. People Power lives, not on Edsa, but in the nation’s communities where ngos and people’s organizations are helping one another help themselves.

The People Power that we have seen periodically to counteract coups, shame some ambitious politicians or remove a corrupt and erring president, is its political manifestation. But People Power is much more than a political tool; it is an ideology of hope.

People Power is the collective effort of individuals and communities to take control over their lives. We accomplished this politically in Edsa in 1986 and again in 2001. People Power has even been misused by politicians, government workers and religious cults to further narrow and questionable agendas.

Now it is time to make People Power work for the Filipino economically and morally, by using it to create a dynamic, progressive, caring and compassionate society, the kind our people, especially the youth, would be proud to be a part of.

So, on August 20 last year, to commemorate Ninoy’s death anniversary, I launched the People Power People Movement to reclaim People Power and redefine it by taking it out of Edsa and bringing its essence of selfless service into our daily lives.

I have been traveling around the country visiting models of People Power and documenting these for our countrymen to emulate. I have met many ordinary people who are doing extraordinary things, people who have made personal choices to take responsibility for the space around them to make life better for their communities.

They do this because they believe in empowering others–regardless of the political environment–thinking only of what they can do for their country and their countrymen, and not what their country can do for them.

Just imagine, if enough of us stopped complaining about how bad things are and did something to improve our environment, if we took responsibility for our communities, if we placed duty to country and people ahead of our personal interests, if we set aside politics for the higher goal of national unity and progress, we could inspire and uplift, teach and transform our society.

I, for one, have resolved to set aside politics to concentrate on promoting the People Power People Movement. I will not endorse any candidate and I will not campaign for anyone, except perhaps my son Noynoy, who is running for his third and last term as congressman in Tarlac.

While there are those who accept my decision, some have wondered why I am shying away from politics at this crucial time when it is so important to inject morality and principles in our political life. Some of you might see my withdrawal from politics as a cop-out. But I feel that while it is important that we elect the best people to lead us, I cannot allow myself to be distracted from my crusade.

Presidents will come and go but our people’s needs are constant. If the people are not empowered–economically, morally and politically–they will be condemned not only to being poor but to seeing bad presidents come and go for a long time to come.

Amid the confusion of this election season, I would rather spend time working with the ngo community for clean elections. There is a great need for voter education, election monitors, poll watchers, Namfrel volunteers, if we are to keep the process clean.

I invite you to join me in this endeavor. Instead of wringing our hands in despair at the seeming hopelessness of the choices before us, I invite you to be People Power people and work to preserve the integrity of this important pillar of our democracy.

On Feb. 25, the 18th anniversary of the Edsa People Power revolution, the Edsa People Power Commission will launch a volunteers’ fair for the May elections. I urge you to participate in this fair. Bring your friends and families and get them involved in an active non-partisan way.

The youth, however, have a compelling reason to get involved in a partisan way in the May election. I understand that Filipinos aged 18 to 35 comprise almost 62 percent of the total number of registered voters in the land. That makes you a powerful and crucial bloc in the coming polls. You must therefore make the candidates listen to you. You must communicate to them your concerns, your agenda for government, your idealism and your aspirations. The youth, voting as one, could actually elect our next president.

By all indications, the May elections will be hotly contested and therefore will be prone to dirty election practices like media manipulation, vote buying, ballot snatching, random violence and terrorism. We must inform our voters of their right to a clean and honest election process, and of their responsibility to demand this from the candidates and their political parties.

And then, for the hard part: after the winners are proclaimed, I enjoin you to support them, whoever they are. Because if the process is clean and unassailable, they would be the choice of the majority of our people. And in a democracy, the majority wins.

Elections are a confusing and divisive exercise where the nation is polarized and passions run high. But, after the battle is won or lost, we must strive for unity and reconciliation. We must all work to unify the country–not through politics which always tends to tear us apart, but by building on what we Filipinos share in common: love of country, community spirit, a sense of fairness and compassion.

We must strive for unity because after the noise and passions of the elections have died down, our people will still be poor. They will still need health services, livelihood, education, housing and, most important of all, empowerment. And government will still be hard-put to deliver on these.

Which is why it is important not to lose our focus in the face of this partisan exercise. In the end, whoever wins, our people will still need the selfless non-partisan service to the community that People Power People have been doing quietly, willingly and without fanfare, but making a real difference in their communities.

The People Power People movement must take root and flourish, regardless of who is president of our country, its fruits benefiting the Filipino people, and not any politician who might want to exploit it.

Simply put, leadership is about giving our all, selflessly, so that others may live. It is about being men and women for others. While leadership takes a lot out of you and me, it is not about us, but about the others out there who look to us to lead them.