Where is the pride of your nationality now?

3 March 2022

Considering I was frothing at the mouth on the Ukraine debacle, I should write about it. I definitely am an insular creature, always relating occurences to my inchoate grasp of the world.

Much as I despaired the war on Syria, I related better with Kyiv's battle. Moreso after finishing Netflix's Winter on Fire. It was a civil war reminiscent of Les Miserables where they made ramparts from unplaned wood pillars and barbed wire and was rudiculously rebellious to the point of wearing metal colanders and pans on their heads.

I could relate because just recently, we commemorated the only real people power revolution my country had. That revolution against the 20-year Marcos regime that went on for 3 days. And, was purported to be among events orchestrated by more powerful nations as an experiment; an aftermath of the cold war in their incessant desire for world domination, no matter how subtle or shadowed.

Ukraine's revolution, if that documentary had not completely duped me, was really a presentation of united people of different backgrounds - in the face of interracial crime and hate - embracing their belonging to a place and coexisting as its citizens. Every last bit of them appeared heroic despite their rather easily offended sensibilities with statements, "No mother would raise their child to be like that" (I surmised that vein of thought does not apply to the Taliban whose young militia had their minds exonerating all acts to achieve their goals). Their rallyists were orderly despite the absence of ranks and decisions were not on the shoulders of the few prominent individuals but was open to contention from any member of the group——they were all under equal risks of harm. Not that our people power protesters did not risk their lives, but the number of Ukrainians and their diligence to stand in cold weather together and to go against snipers with plywood shields was memorable. Even their chanting as one was imposing.

I barely see protests go that way; the numbers alone, not to mention how unitedly outspoken they were. When protests become rife with tension, protesters become quiet. They do not call out against the berkut equivalents to go home to their families, to honor their parents or cherish their children. They do not voice their displeasure as one by repeating "Shame!" over and over. When guns are raised against them, protesters disperse and run for cover, not look around for weapons and attack as a unit using stones or raise thin boards as shields. Protesters do not remain as a mobilized unit  once leveled with guns. Protesters I am familiar with find safety in numbers and back away in the face of violence, not stand their ground even if they are alone in facing imminent death from and before their countrymen.

That must not be unusual for a nation, where 3 decades after, is on the throes  of electing as supreme leader the progeny of a dictator our ancestors deposed. Must be that having to read Lualhati Bautista's Dekada '70 nor watching Vilma Santos and Christopher de Leon and Piolo Pascual enact a movie rendition of how inhumane and atrocious citizens were treated under the Marcos administration, as citizens constantly living under mortal peril should the slightest shroud of censure slip their shoulders——neither was enough to instill the trauma to the collective subconcious of the Filipino people. It's pathetic. Where is the Filipino pride that brings a stillness on Pacquiao's bouts, that bated breath on pageant coronation nights or that bragging when personalities of Filipino descent make it as social media stars or talent discovery show-stoppers?