6/7

On my reading of the four days’ events – that it was the presence of the people in EDSA in huge numbers waving Cory’s colors and ready to die defying the dictator that forced Cory (widow of Ninoy) and Enrile (jailer of Ninoy) to reconcile their differences and join forces which, in turn, brought about the ouster of Marcos – well, no one has disputed it to this day.  Late in 2000 my brother Butch uploaded a digital version of Himagsikan on his website stuartxchange.com. Not too long after, historian and scholar Reynaldo Ileto emailed, congratulating me on my EDSA essays, he thought I was on track.  I had met Rey in ’86 at the height of the snap election campaign, when he visited my mother for permission to photocopy the first volume of my Lola Concha’s “Fragmentos de Mi Juventud” [1978] covering friar times, the 1896 Revolution, and the Fil-Am War.  I was thrilled to meet him then, and to find each other on the Web 14 years after.

In 2001 after Edsa Tres, we exchanged emails on Dos and Tres, “pale reflections” of the original, he said, and I agreed.  I wished that the People had known more about EDSA Uno, the better, the more wisely, to navigate those four days.  In Edsa Dos, for instance, the People might have known to make sure that Erap was abandoning not only the Palace but all claims to the presidency; and that four-day deadline was silly, to put it bluntly. In Tres the People might have known better than to allow sour-graping politicians to goad them into violent attack-the-palace mode; and that blackout by mainstream broadcast media was shameful, to say the least.

And so I thought maybe I’d write an English edition of Himagsikan and wrap it up with my take on Dos and Tres.  Just one more book. Of course it took me forever, that is, another 12 years, to come up with EDSA Uno, A Narrative and Analysis with Notes on Dos & Tres [2013]. In 2002 Anvil published Nita Umali Berthelsen’s Tayabas Chronicles: The Early Years (1886-1907), a lightly fictionalized version of her mother’s, my grandmother’s, life story in historic times. The next one was mine, Tia Nita said at the launch, and I plunged into that, too, writing Revolutionary Routes: Five Stories of Incarceration, Exile, Murder, and Betrayal in Tayabas Province 1891-1980 [2011], a book on family and country. I would shift from one to the other as the spirit moved me.

Meanwhile, everytime an EDSA anniversary rolled around, I’d check out the Web in case someone was saying anything that was new to my chronology. In 2007 son Joel built me a blog, stuartsantiago.com, and I started doing political commentary on the side, perfect for quick breaks from the book projects, and every February I would post a piece, usually on the state of EDSA discourse, or to challenge the usual fictions (Marcos did not give the kill-order, Cory was not even in EDSA, Enrile should not have given way to Cory) with the facts, over and over, to the point of plagiarizing myself, as I must be doing here.  In 2011 Joel built a site for the original manuscript of the chronology, edsarevolution.com, with Mang Nick’s Foreword and an essay on growing up with EDSA by daughter Katrina. In February 2012 Manolo Quezon – already in Malacañang – tweeted the link: an excellent timeline, he said.

I was updating and fine-tuning my sequence of events until the very end.  In February 2012 I was ecstatic over Interaksyon Online’s “Listen to History: The Veritas/Radyo Bandido Broadcasts – February 22-25 1986.” Finally, the exact time of Cardinal Sin’s first broadcast over Veritas, 10:40 PM, not “around 9 PM” as most early reports said; and confirmation that only in his second broadcast, at the stroke of midnight, when people were already marching to EDSA, did the Cardinal echo Butz’s call for non-violent action.  Oh, and I found a precious interview of FVR by the EDSA Stories Project [2011] on YouTube, where he says, “’Ika nga ng isang well-known author ng EDSA history, ang conclusion niya ay, Walang himala!… ‘Yon ang katotohanan.” Good of him, even if he couldn’t quite name me (maybe I have yet to be forgiven for the Arenas interview).  Anyway, I meant to mention it in EDSA Uno the book but simply forgot in the frenzy of production.

I was thinking a February 2013 launch. By mid-2012 I had a foreword from activist feminist Ninotchka Rosca and blurbs from film director Peque Gallaga and sociologist Randy David but a third was proving elusive. I had asked one historian-blogger-turned-establishment who said yes, an honor, but changed his mind upon reading the manuscript – he preferred a pure timeline a la Chronology, didn’t like my “editorializing,” promoting a point of view along the way.  So I tried a young EDSA scholar who said yes, an honor, too, but never got back to me (he did send Katrina a draft, with a note wondering if it was good enough). And then I virtually bumped into Philippine Studies scholar Jojo Abinales on Facebook via Katrina and he said yes, an honor! even offered me, and I accepted, a copy of his notes on the side as he was reading the text. It was great feedback that had me tweaking the “Marcos Times” run-up to EDSA, and his notes on the four days told Katrina to push our luck, ask for an Afterword instead, and he said yes. He also sent me the link to an unpublished unedited February 2003 interview of Stephen Bosworth on file in the US National Archives, and when I couldn’t access it from here, he did a cut-and-paste, and I was combing through that when Juan Ponce Enrile: A Memoir [2012] came out in late September. I knew then to forget about a February 2013 launch.

Enrile finally confessed, in detail, to the failed coup – without mentioning, of course, that he denied it all through the four days of EDSA. And then he lashed out at errors in two books, one of them Chronology. At first it felt like a fist to my solar plexus, the way he made it seem that the original sin, the alleged falsehood, was mine when it was Seagrave’s, whom he did not name at all. So what took him so long, all of sixteen years, to dispute that goodbye in the park?  Later I heard talk that the goodbye happened not in the park but in Clark; if true, I’m thinking now, it would explain why he stopped short of challenging Seagrave, because the story is only half false?  But the real uproar was over his account of the ambush on his convoy in September 1972 that was used to justify martial rule: in February 22 1986 when he broke away from Marcos he said the ambush was staged; in the book he says that the ambush was for real. Also, he was not a crony, he has no ill-gotten wealth, and it was Ver who was to blame for all those human rights violations during martial law. In-your-face historical revisionism.

Next: Coming out

5/7

Meanwhile, thinking to spread the word to the tabloid-reading masses via a newsprint edition, I had started translating the chronology into Tagalog early in 1997. When it was announced that the National Centennial Commission was sponsoring a literary contest to commemorate the 1898 Revolution, I shifted to essay mode, time to give credit where credit was due. I ignored warnings that my kind of Tagalog (I had written columns for the short-lived Diyaryo Filipino, 1989-1990, and experimented with Taglish in Isyu, 1995-’96), lightly peppered with English words as well as street slang that have become part of the vernacular, might not meet with the judges’ approval. The urge, nay, the challenge, was to write in a prose that was easy to read and understand.

Of course, I got my comeuppance. Honourable Mention was all Himagsikan sa EDSA—Walang Himala! got. I wondered if it was my prose, and the three other sanaysays honourably mentioned, written by academics, did not make the grade either?  No one knew the rules? And then, again, it could have been different reasons across the four essays.  In my case, given the government’s disinterest in studying EDSA, perhaps it was part of some conspiracy to belittle the event? As it happened, I had a backstory with the head judge for Sanaysay  – the only category without major prizes awarded – Virgilio Almario aka Rio Alma, now National Artist for Literature. He was known to be an anti-Marcos activist poet in the first decade of martial law; but in the early eighties, he changed sides, supported Marcos. In 1983 he became involved in the Philippine Sesame Street Project to be co-produced by Imelda’s Ministry of Human Settlements and the Children’s Television Workshop, New York. He was to be the headwriter, even flew to New York with a core group (among them, Feny de los Angeles, head of research, and Noel Añonuevo, light-action-film director) for orientation on the Sesame system, but somewhere along the way, he lost the gig to me.

Project Director Lyca Benitez Brown offered me the job in March 1983, and I almost fell off my chair. At the time I was writing a TV review column, “Notes of a TV Junkie,” for Parade, a Times Journal magazine; I had heard about Sesame coming to Manila and was looking forward to reviewing, not writing, for it. I didn’t feel qualified; my only TV experience was writing for June Keithley’s late night talkshow directed by Peque Gallaga, and the only scripts I had written in Tagalog were Pinoy adaptations of a couple of Broadway plays directed by Leo Martinez, all for adults. Also, I had no desire to be part of a Marcos project, why not tap professional gag writers or children’s lit writers instead? But, Lyca said, TV gagwriters had too many bad habits, like resorting to slapstick, put-downs, and other no-no’s to get a laugh, while the academics who went all the way to New York had yet to learn how to write for TV in a Tagalog that pre-school kids would understand. She begged that I think of it as a project heaven-sent for Filipino children; she was convinced I could do it, having two kids of my own and some grounding in psychology would help, I could learn the ropes quickly and teach it to six new writers.  As it turned out, I had to play catch-up with the six who had been through workshops, among them Rene Villanueva of UP’s Filipino Department, already a two-time Palanca winner, who was easily the best of them, the best of us. It was through him that I met Rio, who dropped in one day at the Sesame offices in the University of Life, and Rene introduced us, even as our backs were turned to each other, only our heads swinging for a quick glimpse and nod. “O, magsayaw na kayo!” Rene even joked, to laughter all around. I supposed Rio was curious about the scripts we were putting out.  He must have heard that every single one went through three rounds of rigorous review and comment by the project director, the executive producer, the research team of psychologists, the art department, the studio directors or (as the case may be) light-action-film directors, and, for a time most difficult, by CTW producer Tippie Fortune, a big African-American lady who didn’t speak a word of Tagalog so that every script had to be translated into English for her, and she’d sit me down, one-on-one, and she’d make sure that every script ended on a funny note – she called it a “tag,” I called it a punchline. I learned, with great difficulty and humility, to take criticism without batting an eyelash, and to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite until everyone was happy.

I was just getting the hang of it all when Ninoy was assassinated, and when my car with yellow ribbon was refused entry in Imelda’s UL, I knew it was time to go. Contracts were being renewed all around. I asked only for another month, time enough to tie up loose ends, put together a guidebook for writers, and prime Rene to take over. Poetic justice, sort of.  I supposed that Rio was pleased. So 15 years later, when I spotted him at a drinking party some days after the Centennial Literary Prize awarding ceremonies, I didn’t hesitate to go up to him to say hi and to ask, just curious, what the problem had been with my EDSA essay, why only an Honourable Mention?  After quickly getting over the shock of me daring to ask, he said, “Dapat nagpa-edit ka muna.” Ah, so, it was my Tagalog, not EDSA as subject matter.  Fine.  Early in 1999, when word spread that for lack of funds only major prize winners would be published by the UP Press, I despaired for Himagsikan anyway.

As fate would have it, that run-up to the new millennium saw Eggie Apostol back on the scene (she had retired from the Inquirer in the early ‘90s), this time to do battle with a President whose bullying tactics – a P101-million libel suit filed against The Manila Times in April, an advertisers’ boycott of the Inquirer whipped up in July – were a menace to hard-won press freedom.  In September, Eggie launched Pinoy Times, a Monday-to-Friday tabloid for the Tagalog-reading masses, dedicated to exposing Erap’s evil ways and other political scandals. In February 2000 her People Power foundation published Himagsikan sa EDSA—Walang Himala! The book was also serialized in Pinoy Times.

Eggie had my Tagalog edited first, of course, by Marra Lanot of the charmed literary circle, and it was good to find that, apart from inconsistency in my use of ng and nang (that I always thought I had down pat, haha), the problem was not really my prose but my spelling, yes, my ispeling of certain words, Coryista not Corysta, tsismis not chismis, taumbayan not taongbayan, and my use of hyphens where they had been outlawed, how was I to know; and it wasn’t as if my spellings and hyphens compromised my prose or its comprehensibility in any way. But, hey, water under the bridge, ‘ika nga.  Reviews of Himagsikan unfailingly praised my prose, how easy it was to read, even, “Ang sarap basahin!” National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera read it not too long ago (sent him one of my last copies) and he loved my Tagalog: “Ang dulas!” sabi niya.

Next: Multiple EDSAs

4/7

By October, I was still fine-tuning the sequence of events and had long given up on the 10th anniversary that was just four months away. But in November, serendipity struck. Tia Nita, then based in Denmark, was in Manila for a visit; she phoned with the news that her friend Eggie was looking for material on EDSA 1986, gave me Eggie’s address, and urged me to send at once a copy of my work. I agonized over the title; “Chronology of a Revolution” hadn’t worked for FVR. After consulting my brother Louie, I sent the manuscript off with the title “Compendium of a Revolution,” which of course didn’t work either. National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin, who later wrote a rave Foreword, told Eggie to change the title to Chronology of a Revolution.  Why not, indeed.

Eggie also sent me some news clippings and books, among these The Marcos Dynasty by Sterling Seagrave [1988] where I found on page 419 the tidbit that Enrile angrily denied in his 2012 memoir, about him being in Malacañang Park Tuesday night to say goodbye to Marcos. No wonder, maybe, that when Lorna Kalaw-Tirol requested an interview, Enrile wanted editing privileges.  No dice, we all agreed.

Lorna was editing both Chronology of a Revolution 1986 and Looking Back, Looking Forward 1996, an anthology of essays on the 10 years since – a coffeetable Duet for EDSA package to be published by the Foundation for Worldwide People Power. Lorna tried to get word to Imee Marcos, too, for an interview; no reply.  But Cory, bless her, said yes, and to my surprise I was mesmerized by her presence. I found myself hanging on to her every word as she recounted her EDSA story, the familiar cadence bringing back memories not of her presidency but of the exciting days of the snap election, when both sides of my family joined rallies and campaigned for her like mad, and the heady days of the crony boycott when change was palpably in the air. I did manage to ask her about an interesting piece of information, this one from Eggie’s EDSA anniversary clippings: that she had met with Enrile and Ramos back on the long night of EDSA Sunday. I had long assumed that Cory and Enrile must have had to sit down and agree on a modus vivendi at some point. Cory confirmed the meetings, and added that it was she who sent word to Crame that she wanted to speak with them, but they couldn’t be both away from Crame at the same time, so they came separately.  Cory would not reveal any more details about the separate conversations /negotiations, but just the same it was a huge AHA! moment. Cory was in command from the first, and feeling-president – she summoned Enrile and Ramos and they came.  Even if Enrile regretted it the next day, by EDSA Tuesday he capitulated, and Cory appointed him Defense Minister.

The Chronology was generally well-received. Cory was quite happy with it because it documented her brief visit to EDSA on Monday afternoon, giving the lie to Enrile’s allegation that she wasn’t even there.  Buddy Gomez, once Cory’s press secretary, congratulated me: “A yeoman’s job!” I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment, but he seemed impressed.  Sylvia Mayuga phoned: “What a tour de force!”  Other writer friends though sniffed at it: “Just a compilation.” LOL.  So when I read somewhere, sometime in ’97, that Chronology won the Manila Critics Circle’s National Book Award for Documentation, I was pleased. Even if I did not understand (I still do not) why the editor, who barely touched the text, got as much credit for Chronology as I, the author, or why the anthology of essays Looking Back… won for Documentation, too.  Nothing personal against Lorna, rather, the literati that dictate the rules who sideline as editors maybe? Even more droll, there was an awarding event and I wasn’t invited. Lorna apologized profusely when we ran into each other in a mall; she had no idea that I hadn’t been informed or asked to come. Media, like literary, circles can be quite exclusive, rather than inclusive, of freelancers. Or maybe it’s just me, haha.

Next: Himagsikan for Revolution

3/7

My next aha! moments were in 1991 during and after close encounters with then Defense Secretary Fidel V. Ramos. He was running for president in 1992 and his people were looking for a writer to put together a biography, was I interested? I said yes, if I could also ask him about EDSA; I sent them forthwith a copy of my work titled “Chronology of a Revolution” that had grown to slim-book proportions after I had taken in data from six more books, including Worth Dying For (1987) by Lewis M. Simon.  According to Simon, Enrile badly needed Ramos to defect along with him that Saturday afternoon. I wanted to know if Ramos knew this, and if he knew about the aborted coup, and why it took him some three, four, hours to join Enrile in Camp Aguinaldo; was it true that he hesitated because Ferdinand was family?

To my relief, FVR went for the EDSA project, never mind the biography.  And to my gratification, FVR had the chronology with him in our interview sessions, often referring to it before answering a question, though never at any point to correct it, rather, I supposed, to remind himself of details and of things he was on record to have said back in February 1986.  Very careful, very measured in his statements, he avoided elaborating on his alliance with Enrile and the political wheeling-and-dealing that went on between the Enrile and Cory camps over the four days: he concerned himself only with military affairs, he said, and left the politics to Minister Enrile. And yet here he was, and not Enrile, playing politics to the hilt, revving up for a presidential campaign to succeed Cory, no less. Good job.

In August 1991 I turned in the manuscript, FVR’s first-ever account buttressed by a fully documented chronology.  I was told to expect a launch of the book, titled “Victory at EDSA,” on the 6th anniversary 1992 and I heard about meetings with Nonoy Marcelo for the cover and illustrations. And then … nothing.  The meetings stopped, the book never happened.  I was aghast, of course. They didn’t like my work? I was willing to edit, rewrite, whatever. I even found the nerve to phone General Joe Almonte – my one-on-one with him in Camp Aguinaldo, set up by Ramos’s staff, finished on a friendly note: he gave me his card, and a copy of Sandra Burton’s Impossible Dream: The Marcoses, the Aquinos, and the Unfinished Revolution [1989] which quoted him a lot, and of which he had a pile. He took my call, bully for him, and I asked him what happened. He said something to the effect that it wasn’t up to him, and that, really, it was people like me, in media, who should be putting out the story of EDSA.  Ganoon. I was paid in full, so I couldn’t really complain, but I wondered what, or is it who, changed their minds.  I imagined the Enrile-Honasan camp (still licking wounds from the foiled 1989 attempt to unseat Cory) expressing grave displeasure, and the Ramos camp graciously yielding, shelving the project permanently for some greater good involving Enrile and the military, forget EDSA.

The bright side was, I now had the stories of FVR, his wife, kids, friends, neighbors, and, even, of Joe Almonte and close aide Sonny Razon, both Reformists in the time of EDSA. And more books were coming my away. In Our Image: America’s Empire in the Philippines (1989) by Stanley Karnow devoted some 10 of 494 pages to EDSA, for the most part telling how the U.S. State Department managed, long distance, the removal of Marcos from Malacañang.  And from Ferdinand E. Marcos: Malacañang to Makiki [1991] by Arturo C. Aruiza, a longtime military aide of the President, at last some stories about Marcos’s final days in the Palace, how sick he really was, no one was in command, Ver was in over his head.

Twice during the FVR presidency, in mid-1992 and late ’94, a PR friend of his who had been privy to the project offered to publish the book. Both times, I was told, the Palace proved unreceptive, as in, don’t call us, we’ll call you. In ’95 I went back to the manuscript and started trimming it down, back to a lean and mean chronology, including the Ramos material, of course – for some reason, I was sure the Ramos camp would not mind if I helped myself. I was still hoping to find a publisher for the 10th anniversary and thinking Eggie Apostol, mother of the mosquito press herself, who happened to be a good friend of my mom’s sister, Nita Umali Berthelsen. But sometime that summer I was distracted by an invitation to come up with a proposal for a coffee table book on the historical Malacañang Palace and to meet with the advertising executive who was behind the project. I didn’t get the gig but I was paid for my time and I was tipped off that Rosemarie Arenas was one of the first people in EDSA in February 1986. Arenas the socialite and rumored mistress of FVR in some past life was so high-profile then, and said to be so influential with the Palace, I couldn’t resist the urge to get her story. I started asking around, and a writer friend said it was true, she fed the rebel generals gourmet food. I was writing a weekly column then for Jarius Bondoc’s all-opinion tabloid Isyu where friend Iskho was again my editor, and he knew exactly whom to call: PR consultant Mila Alora who set up the interview sometime in September.

Next: Finally, a chronology