Monumental was the “miting de avance” of Vice President Leni Robredo in Makati City on May 7, dwarfing those of the other presidential candidates in terms of size and passion. 

The 780,000 estimate served to cap the throngs that came out to greet Robredo in cities and towns nationwide in the weeks and days leading to Election Day, from the muscular 280,000 at BarakoParakayLeniKiko in Batangas on May 1, to the astounding 412,000 in Pasay City on April 23, and the 306,000 in Naga City, 45,000 in Dipolog City, 100,000 in Dasmarinas City, 225,000 in Laguna, even 25,000 in a night full of rain in Baguio City.

As important as the crowd size gleaned from drone shots and estimates of people on the ground was the creativity of the hosts: bold and brash, ranging from drones spelling out the candidate’s name on the night sky in Bulacan, to a display of the famous lanterns of Pampanga, to a Mangyan dance in Occidental Mindoro, to a dramatic presentation of “Urduja’s sword” to the candidate in Pangasinan, and much more. 

And the endorsements of Robredo by farmers and indigenous peoples made significant points in the campaign: rare moments that seized pride of place in a terrain long taken over by warlords and political dynasties.  

Surely this is no fluke. The momentum of the Robredo rallies was unstoppable, each buoyed by the one before it in the fluid manner of birds in flight. They were backed, not by unlimited resources and a curated narrative that distorts history, but by volunteers thousands upon thousands strong, by residents who walked to the sites when transport was suddenly made unavailable (such as the Negrenses cheerfully making their way to Bacolod on foot), and stayed whether in sweltering heat or pouring rain (such as the people of Palawan, or of Rizal, whose hands she clasped, the candidate noted in her speech, were all cold and wet).

On Election Day, Robredo told the crowd that stretched as far as the eye could see at her miting de advance, don’t be afraid to wear any color you want: “Huwag matakot dahil napakarami natin.” (Don’t be afraid because there are many of us.)

 

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Irony flew thick and fast as the weeks dwindled down to May 9.

Last month in Tarlac, the mayor of the capital city hosted a rally/program for Ferdinand Marcos Jr. that literally and metaphorically effaced the monument to the province’s most famous son, Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr., whose assassination in 1983 was a critical turning point in recent Philippine history.

The mayor, Cristy Angeles, called for an expunging of political colors, for forgetting, and for “moving on,” mimicking the dictator Ferdinand Marcos’ son and namesake who made “unity” a rallying cry that attempted statesmanship and also a blurring of accountability.

Unthinkably, PDP Laban— the so-called ruling party by virtue of President Duterte being its chair — has no standard-bearer to pit against the candidates for No. 1. But the ruling faction— so-called because of its association with the President— endorsed, first, the vice-presidential candidacy of Davao City Mayor Sara Duterte and then, belatedly, her running mate Marcos Jr.’s own candidacy. 

Thus did the party founded nearly 40 years ago in the course of the anti-Marcos resistance make a complete about-face. 

At the University of the Philippines Diliman’s Oval, promenaders may view pictures of some survivors of the terrors of martial law — a few who serve as living proof to belie the “new society” fostered by the dictator and his heirs. But the damage has been done: Institutional memory is fading even before it can rub off on a large portion of Gen Z, apparently the leading group of first-timers at the polls. That portion of Gen Z is giddy over voting Marcos Jr. into the presidency; in a TV clip a group held up a sign cheering him on and calling him “Pops.”

But their Pops fled public debates — even the separate invitations of Robredo and Sen. Manny Pacquiao to a one-on-one— despite the considered opinion of his “manang” that he should participate. Sen. Imee Marcos might have been annoyed at the craven image acquired by her kid brother — jobless all these years and should find employment soon, she had remarked, laughing — but the hashtag #Marcosduwagparin slid off his back, along with the odium generated by the issue of ill-gotten wealth long determined by the Supreme Court. 

There was no embarrassment in his declared slogan of a nation “rising again” under his leadership nor in the election ads as slickly produced as bottomless funds will allow (despite his yearslong joblessness). The P200-billion estate tax for which the Bureau of Internal Revenue has dunned his family — to no avail — was, per his spokesman, only part of “negative” and “hateful” campaigning (as if he were actually the wronged party). 

And he continued to claim ignorance of what he should apologize for in his father’s brutal reign.

But the memoir of Wanna Ver, a daughter of Marcos Sr.’s henchman Fabian Ver, reveals the prevailing high irony as well as the high crimes that occurred in the “golden age” that brutalized Filipinos and brought the economy to its knees.

In the flurry of lies and disinformation flooding social media and orchestrated by a well-funded troll army, the battle lines are firmly drawn for today’s reckoning.

“What we need is a captain who will bring us out of the storm,” market strategist Jonathan Ravelas was quoted as saying in a Bloomberg report on a survey of investors and analysts, in which Robredo emerged as the top choice among the five main presidential candidates.

Between a determined effort to regain the power severed by a people that had had enough and a people’s campaign that, as Robredo noted, operated on faith and volunteerism — “kahit walang bayad, kahit abonado” — to achieve an upright government that will elevate the lives of all Filipinos, the choice is clear.