My dearest Kim,

I am deeply sorry that I failed you as a grandfather and guide.
You were voting for the first time, and I could sense your exuberance in finally participating in a momentous event in our country’s history, in being able to help shore up a badly battered democracy, in restoring respect and decency in many aspects of our public life, in finding our moral bearings as a people.

I was so proud of you when I found out you were campaigning vigorously for a rose-colored future, and that you even spent your own money for those nifty and witty posters and flyers. You didn’t stop at that. You were engaging others in your age group in conversations on why pink is not just about Leni but about how everyone could have a voice and that all voices will be listened to.

You felt compelled to join the rallies and house-to-house campaign because, as you reminded me once, “Lolo, you told me that citizenship is not just about voting, it is as much participating, holding power to account, and freely expressing our beliefs and concerns. Out on the streets if necessary.”

In the past you asked me for books and stories about what it was like during the dark period of Marcos’ martial law, and I thought then that it was just for your school projects and other research activities. How wrong I was!

You worked tirelessly, drawing strength from your Mom and Dad, friends, classmates, cousins, neighbors, and even people you met on the street who buoyed your spirit with words of encouragement and support because they, like you, were seeing a beautiful tomorrow. You were also jeered and heckled by others but chose to engage them instead in meaningful conversation, something I should earnestly learn from you and others your age. We may not see that beautiful tomorrow just yet, my dearest Kim, and I have no words of comfort to assuage the pain that is in your heart, how at such a young age you had tasted betrayal, how your vision of the future was snatched from your hands, how you have put so much heart, soul and sinew into something that millions believed in, only to have that dream shattered by a nightmare.

But do not ever lose heart and courage. I will need you to help me devote the last few years of my life contributing whatever I can to building a country for all, like what you did, like what countless other young people like you did over the last couple of months. To paraphrase a particularly noteworthy Filipino novelist, I may not wake up to see the dawn but you, my beloved granddaughter, will be there to see it for me.

Red Batario worked in newspapers and TV for 30 years, and received awards for his
investigative reports undertaken in dangerous conditions and also for leadership in journalism. Since 2007, he has been conducting hostile environment and emergency first aid safety training for journalists and human rights defenders in Southeast Asia. Together with Girlie Sevilla Alvarez, he wrote the long-running travel and social commentary column “On the Road with Victor and Adelle” in the now-defunct Manila Chronicle.