I’ll tie a yellow ribbon at my door to welcome you home Ninoy. You have arrived at my doorstep that August 21st, but bloody and dead.
We tie a yellow ribbon around out head and hearts to keep you alive in spirit; and you gave us the exiled democracy, golden and alive.
And so the yellow cuts across the land: yellow headband, yellow dress, yellow flowers, yellow day, yellow smile.
It all started when, on the 25th of February 1986 the King by the Pasig River was forced to desert his palace and given a sanctuary at Uncle Sam’s domain. The howl of a million crowd pierced the King’s ears. The deluge of tears woeing over the thousand victims killed during the reign of teeth flooded his heart. The King could not hold the stabbing thrust; he has to run for his life.
Come out prisoners of cause! “Come out Lazarus” from the tomb and let the sunshine stroke your pale face. Leap over the Pasig River. There’s none to be afraid of.
You, mouths glued by silence, shout on the mountaintop to recapture your fading voice. You, fettered feet, stretch out a mile-step over the yellow fields.
Today, February 26, 1986 is the golden page in our history for we begin the reign of the Corazon whose throne is the will of the people. Today, for the first time in twenty years of suppression of will, we unleash the “people power” by non-violence to crush tyranny. Today we have demonstrated that non-violence is no longer a myth, it is real; that Filipino Christian identity in Asia is not a myth either; it is alive.
That moment of February 24, 25, where the civilians, with courage alone forming a human barricade to prevent a bloody revolution was a show of civilian protection to the military. That was the moment of emphasis on the constitutional truth that the civilian prevails over the military. That was the moment that the civilian regained his political posture in the democratic Philippines.
Today, God reminds the power-hungry politicians that pride can drive them to shame. The life of Mr. Marcos serves as a warning. His pride runs at its peak. He prides over his being a hero without equal, parading twenty-seven medals of heroism on his shoulder, claiming to have a messianic covenant with his people, believing that nobody else but he alone is the brightest son of Juan de la Cruz to make this nation great again, pasting our landscape and homes with his images. So proud is he to feel invulnerable for there are the military hardware to shield him, there are the military dobber-watchdogs to secure his palace, there are the technocrats of international brand baked at Oxford, Harvard, Wharton to read the stars.
The law was at the tip of his fingers and in fact, he ws the law. So powerful was he to believe he was the law; so invincible he believed to be. But, in the slap of time, on the 25th of February he sunk on his knees before a “housewife only.”
It is a gravitational truth that the highest the pride is, the lowest and loudest is the fall. Almost all dictators fall into the same trap.
As Christians, the Filipinos have proved to the world that they have the capacity to break the chain of slavery; not by bullets, but by rosary beads, by crucifix, by candles, by flowers, by holy water, by pan de sal, by pleading knees, by courage. All these things halted the pilots of the steel tanks. For inside that steel is a heart penetrable by love.
Love disarms as David to Goliath.
LOVE DISARMS DEATH AS JESUS DOES BY RESURRECTION.
February 25, 1986