A People Power 2 Journal
By Dennis A.S.Aguinaldo

In Mass
From the EDSA DOS Journal
*5:44 AM 1/17/01*

WE FIGHT again over the masses. The first technique, of course, is to claim you already have them. "Sambayanan," "Masa," "Pilipino"--words in all their mutations, permutations, and font sizes; underscored with various number of lines, italicized in varying degrees, boldened in differing intensities; oriented in different ways, involving various collectives. We bind them behind us, piling numbers to our convictions (or lack thereof). Yet, we also scatter them. Pro vs Anti. We vs Them. Speaker vs Audience. Center vs Periphery. Rich vs poor. Elite vs Mass.

"I was there." Another rally to my "resume?" What is it to me? Another conversation piece? Party tidbit? Pick-up line material? Essay fodder? So what? Everybody else was there too.

"Everybody Else"--how crude huh? There in the multitude and you feel so alone. One in sentiment but somehow aspiring for something else. Like a few of the people there maybe? People whose minds are closed to me, alone in their own respect? Or maybe I'm just constructing another elite.

The confetti whirls down from the fly-overs of EDSA. Newspapers teared to little mimeo squares, propaganda minced, position papers, voices broken down. Were they read before they were shredded? These serve now the function of middle class dandruff. Petit Bourgeousie refuse. Recycled articulation. Emphases of action. Flashy decay. A righteous death of paper.

My gaze was fixed on the Lady of EDSA. I mused that it could be outfitted with streamers just like our Oblation. I mused too much though, for from were I viewed it, it seemed that she was wearing us. We were the streamers of our moment.

The Lady seems rounder. More human. Not as sharp-edged as I used to see her as mute passengers of noisy smoke-belchers made signs of crosses as they passed her in thousands of trips, thousands of times.

She is ominous now. Still sinister in her promise. Of justice? The more human she got, the more alien she became. She stood there before the throng like a natural monarch. Now she is among us - there in the light of candles and spotlights, among a flurry of banners, embraced by different noise and smoke--an unlikely peer. As if the night made her one of us. As any other unmicrophoned individual, she was present yet indistinct and un"seen". As any other banner, existent yet un"felt".

"Everybody Else"--how crude can I get? How about the cigarette vendor getting a surprisingly unusual market size in his adjustment of his work hour? How can I differentiate him, place him too far, from the political aspirant getting an spontaneous press release campaign? Or the people behind the lugaw. From me?

It's not just cheap unity we should be after. Humanity is a larger scale a project than we think. Or than any politician may care to acknowledge or embark upon.

Of course I'm anti-Erap. Anti-Manythings, Pro-Manythings. I am standing my ground, one way or another. Such a small part in the whole thing. What will become of all this? Tomorrow, another day on the streets, maybe? Among the same people or another mass? I hope all this ends well.

II. Divinity and Politics
From the EDSA DOS Journal
*12:14 AM 1/18/01*

The younger Revilla is on the side of the angels eh? But what's my business getting divinity into all this muck? Well everybody else seems to be doing it. We have Santiago's "litigant," the pro-erap's "crucifixions", and Jurado's "pharisees" (if Sin and his lot were pharisees, that makes Erap...). Jayvee the businessman Ejercito can't be expected to be as subtle as either Jurado or Santiago. His allusion fell short of naming his daddy Erap Messiah.

So corrections are in order. The younger Revilla has publicly aligned himself with Sin's angels. (Or are all anti-erap angels sin's?) He braved the volley of boos. I wonder what price he's paying. Wife Lani is definitely in tears over it, whatever it is.

Sobra nang pahirap, patalsikin si Erap.

I just hope these personalities - Aquino, Sin, Singson, and Macapagal don't get to claiming this soiree as their achievement.

A contingent of the left always have their slogans blasting through the air as they unite with the crowd already in place. It's a war cry and greeting combination. It's a bold voicing of an expression of solidarity, of alliance, of a shared experience under the (presumed) common consciousness of the reigning condemnable condition. The predominantly uninitiated to the left's style showed shock last night whenever a shouting contingent joined the Danny Javier-centered program. They probably thought these were pro-Erap rallyists engaging them. I hope they get the hang of this. Because, truth be told, I don't want the left shedding this habit anytime soon.

The "habit" I find interesting is the rally before cameras. Wherever the lights of a cameraman would drop upon a slice of the crowd, that slice grows noisier than usual. The people move toward the path of the light flashing their handsigns (usually thumbs down, sometimes middle finger up), shouting their slogans, and flaunting their principles. Some jump around. Appearances. "Hope somebody who knows me sees me."

"I hope they get their butts down here."

I shout there precisely because no one can hear me. I cry my flawed cries for justice precisely because within this mass, I always sound perfect. Here I am not wrong because I am not. I am nothing and everybody at the same time. This crap doesn't claim to be original. but it's my crap nonetheless.

Hate is a tricky thing. And maybe, to the end, only hate will truly bind us. If it continues to do so. It's frail. When we hate in those rallies, we attach to the names of our objects of our hate other stuff we hate (or find fashionable to hate). Maceda bading. Osmena bakla. Oreta pokpok. Miriam baliw.

But have hearts people. Not all homosexuals are devoid of integrity. Not all promiscuous people are liars. Not all of the reality challenged are despicable. Take care not to debase them. Do not bring them down to the level of the Eleven.

Next page