Echoes of Resistance

SITTING here at my desk in the boondocks of Cagayan de Oro, looking at a calendar that marks 40 years since the nation tipped on its axis, it’s hard not to feel a profound sense of déjà vu. Tomorrow is Wednesday, February 25. Four decades since the strongman fell. Four decades since Plaza Divisoria erupted into a spontaneous, euphoric street dance.

And yet, as I prepare to join the crowds tomorrow, I have to ask: have we truly left the dark behind, or are we just fighting the same shadows in new clothes?

Long before Manila’s masses formed that famous human barricade along Edsa, the fires of resistance were already burning white-hot right here in our city. We weren’t just a footnote in the 1986 revolution; Cagayan de Oro was the vanguard of the south, a defiant crucible for the democratic struggle during the martial law era.

The convergence

Tomorrow, that unbroken spirit of vigilance hits the streets again. We aren’t just reminiscing; we are mobilizing. The People’s Movement Against Corruption Northern Mindanao Region (PMAC NMR) is pulling no punches, centering their platform on the exact things we should have eradicated by now: the desperate need for good governance and the stubborn plague of political dynasties.

The cloth is out in full force, too. We’re seeing a powerful alignment of the Roman Catholic Church, the UCCP, and the Iglesia Filipina Independiente (IFI).

“The Edsa People Power of 1986 was not only a political transition; it was a moral and spiritual awakening.” — Right Revd. Felixberto L. Calang, IFI Bishop

Bishop Calang hit the nail on the head. The IFI refuses to treat Edsa as a museum exhibit. It is a continuing imperative.

Tomorrow’s schedule is tight but necessary. Fr. Jefferson Palasan and his group will assemble at the Capitol Grounds at high noon, marching to Gaston Park by 1:30 PM. There, they will converge with others, answering the call of Archbishop Jose A. Cabantan. In a powerful circular, the Archbishop directed parishes, Catholic schools, and lay organizations to gather for a Holy Mass at Gaston Park to culminate the day’s events.

For those joining the Archdiocese’s mobilization, the directives are clear and purposeful:

⦁ Wear white: A symbol of purity and renewal.

⦁ Bring a water bottle: Ecological responsibility matters.

⦁ Pack an umbrella: The southern weather waits for no revolution.

⦁ Prepare your placards: Reflect the spirit of Edsa and Gospel values.

Even the youth are bringing their own fire. Local musicians from the Mindanawan Artists for Transparency and Accountability (Mata), like Ian Cornelius Callanta, will be out there singing original tracks like “Ikulong na Yan” and “NagDPWH.” The medium changes, but the message remains.

The architecture of defiance

It is crucial to remember why Edsa holds such resonance for Kagay-anons. Before the National Capital Region paralyzed the dictatorship, a stalwart triumvirate of private citizens had already turned Misamis Oriental into a fortress of opposition.

We had the late Reuben Canoy — broadcaster, lawyer, and former mayor — who used his sharp legal mind to batter the ruling Kilusang Bagong Lipunan (KBL). Alongside Homobono Adaza and Pedro “Loloy” Romualdo of Camiguin, they forged the Mindanao Alliance in 1978. They were joined by the late Aquilino “Nene” Pimentel Jr., the “fourth pillar,” who remains the most recognizable Kagay-anon opposition figure.

As Rhona Canoy recently reminded me, her father formed that alliance because there was literally no opposition in Northern Mindanao at the time. Marcos Sr. had his cabal; the people had the Alliance.

Blood and sweat

But the politicians didn’t fight alone. The ground war was fought by activists and truth-tellers who bore the immediate, violent brunt of the regime.

We owe a debt to people like Froilan Gallardo, who bravely stood his ground as a youth activist and became the city’s youngest political detainee.

We also owe a debt to lawyer Oscar Musni, who led Kabataang Makabayan street protests the very weekend martial law was declared, surviving unspeakable torture at Camp Vicente Alagar.

Quo Vadis, Pilipinas?

Tomorrow, we march. We remember the courage and renew the commitment. But as I wrap this up, the words of lawyer Beverly Selim-Musni echo in my mind. She looked back at the unbridled joy of 1986 in Divisoria and looked at where we are today.

“Forty years hence, ‘no permit, no rally’ na ang Edsa,” she lamented.

It leaves us at our wit’s end, doesn’t it? We ousted a dictator four decades ago, yet we still have to ask for permission to demand a better country.

Quo vadis, Pilipinas? Tomorrow, let’s find out.