February 25, 2022 marks the 36th anniversary of the first EDSA People Power Revolution.
Courtesy: CODE-NGO
What happens when a ruler loses
the loyalty of his own people
and the soldiers can no longer be counted on to protect him?
In February 1986, the Philippines witnessed an extraordinary turn of
events. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens filled the streets. Key
military leaders withdrew their support from President Ferdinand Marcos. Within
days, a man who had ruled for two decades was leaving his palace by helicopter,
eventually flying into exile in Hawaii.
No invading army had captured his capital. The story of how it happened is worth reading—and praying over. Here is a true story from history, with a reminder for us as we intercede for the nations today.
Read on..
When fear began to
lose its grip
It was the Philippines, and the year was 1986.
For more than two decades, Ferdinand Marcos had dominated Philippine
politics. Elected president in 1965 and re-elected in 1969, he declared martial
law in September 1972, citing national security and the need to restore order.
In practice, political opposition was suppressed, newspapers and
broadcasters were shut down or controlled, critics were arrested, and serious
human rights abuses followed.
The palace continued to speak of stability. Outside its walls, many
citizens experienced something very different.
People learned to be careful about what they said. Journalists learned
what they could not print. Political opponents learned the cost of challenging
the government. Institutions that were supposed to protect citizens
increasingly appeared to be protecting those in power instead.
Yet fear has a limit. So does the patience of a people.
In August 1983, opposition leader Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. was
assassinated at Manila International Airport shortly after returning from
exile. His death shocked the country. Public anger grew, and the opposition
movement gained renewed momentum.
His funeral drew enormous crowds. People who had previously kept their
distance from politics began to recognise that silence would not necessarily
protect them. The streets became places where grief turned into public courage.
Marcos continued in office, but the foundations beneath his authority
were weakening.
The election that changed everything
In February 1986, Marcos called a snap presidential election, hoping to
strengthen his claim to popular legitimacy. His principal challenger was
Corazon “Cory” Aquino, the widow of Ninoy Aquino.
The election was marred by widespread allegations of fraud and
irregularities. The official count declared Marcos the winner, while an
independent citizens' vote-monitoring organisation reported a different
outcome. Opposition supporters rejected the official result, and the political
crisis deepened.
Then came the moment when the loyalty of the machinery of power was
tested.
On 22 February, Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Lieutenant
General Fidel V. Ramos, a senior military leader, withdrew their support from
Marcos. They took refuge at military camps in Manila, fearing the consequences
of their break with the president.
Their position was precarious. They had armed personnel, but they could
not be certain how much of the military would stand with them. If the
government ordered an assault, the consequences could be disastrous.
Cardinal Jaime Sin, the influential Catholic archbishop of Manila,
appealed over Radio Veritas for people to go to the camps and support the
breakaway military leaders.
And the people came.
When the streets became a shield
Thousands gathered along Epifanio de los Santos Avenue, better known as
EDSA. Soon, the crowds numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Priests, nuns,
students, workers, families, and ordinary citizens stood together in the
streets.
They brought food and water. They prayed. They sang. They linked arms.
Some placed themselves between armed forces and the people inside the camps.
The soldiers had been trained to obey commands. But the people standing
before them were not an anonymous enemy. They were their neighbours, relatives,
fellow citizens, and countrymen.
Some soldiers fraternized with the crowds. Civilians offered flowers and
food to military personnel. Images of religious sisters praying before armed
troops and ordinary citizens appealing to soldiers captured the extraordinary
character of the uprising.
Not every soldier defected, and the military did not move as one united
body. Some units remained loyal to Marcos. Others joined the breakaway forces,
while still others did not carry out the actions expected of them.
The situation remained dangerous. There were confrontations, and people
faced the possibility of violence. Yet the government could no longer rely on
unquestioned obedience from the armed forces.
The movement that had begun as a political crisis became a historic
demonstration of people power.
The crowds were not merely asking for a different president. They were
challenging the assumption that the machinery of the state existed to serve the
person who controlled it.
The palace grows smaller
As the demonstrations continued from 22 to 25 February, Marcos's hold on
power deteriorated. International pressure mounted, and the United States, a
longstanding ally of his government, became involved in efforts to secure a
peaceful resolution.
On 25 February, Corazon Aquino was inaugurated as president. Marcos also
held a ceremony claiming the presidency that day. But his authority was
collapsing.
The man who had commanded the country's institutions was about to leave
the palace he had occupied for years.
He would not depart in a presidential motorcade or at the head of a
military procession. His final journey out of the country would depend on
American military aircraft.
The night Marcos fled
On the evening of 25 February 1986, arrangements were made to evacuate
Marcos and his family. The United States became directly involved in securing
their departure.
American military helicopters arrived in Manila that evening. Reports
place their arrival at the palace area at around 8:30 p.m., with the evacuation
taking place shortly afterwards. The helicopters carried Marcos, his wife
Imelda, their children and grandchildren, and members of his entourage.
They flew north to Clark Air Base, an American military installation
near Angeles City, approximately 80 kilometres from Manila. They arrived later
that evening and spent the night at the base.
The departure was not an ordinary transfer of a head of state. It was
the hurried evacuation of a president whose political authority had collapsed.
The next stage took Marcos beyond the Philippines.
On 26 February, US Air Force aircraft transported Marcos, his family,
and members of his entourage from Clark to Andersen Air Force Base in Guam.
From there, they continued across the Pacific to Hickam Air Force Base in
Hawaii.
Marcos arrived in Hawaii on 26 February 1986, beginning his life in
exile. He would never return to power in the Philippines.
Consider the contrast.
For years, Marcos had exercised authority through the country's
political institutions and military establishment. Yet, when his rule
collapsed, he depended on a foreign military to take him and his family out of
the country.
Meanwhile, the crowds remained in Manila. They had not captured the
palace through a military assault. Their sustained presence, together with the
withdrawal of crucial military support, had helped make Marcos's continued rule
untenable.
The palace had not physically disappeared. Its occupant had lost the
authority to remain there.
The president had fled. The people had reclaimed their voice.
What history leaves us to consider
The Philippines did not become a perfect democracy overnight. The
country continued to face political dynasties, corruption, inequality, and
struggles over human rights. The departure of one ruler did not automatically
resolve every injustice.
Yet February 1986 remains a powerful reminder that political authority
has limits.
A government may control the police, the military, the media, and the
institutions of administration. It may use the language of law and order to
justify suppressing dissent. It may even convince itself that criticism of its
leadership is an attack on the nation.
But a nation is not its president. The law is not the ruler. Public
institutions are not the private property of those temporarily entrusted with
them.
The most consequential moment comes when those entrusted with protecting
the public must decide whether they will serve a political personality or
fulfil their duty to the people and the constitutional order.
The soldiers at EDSA did not all make the same choice. Some remained
loyal to Marcos. Others withdrew their support. Still others stood aside or
responded to the changing situation. History was shaped by that breakdown in
unquestioned obedience, together with the courage and persistence of millions
of civilians.
The lesson is not that every protest must end at a presidential palace,
or that every government can be brought down in the same way. It is that no
government can indefinitely assume that the instruments of power will always
compensate for the loss of public trust.
A ruler may command the gates, but cannot permanently command the
conscience of a nation.
Sometimes, the beginning of an ending is not the moment when the crowds
grow larger.
It is the moment when those ordered to stand against the people begin to
remember that they, too, are the people.
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From history to intercession
This account is not a prediction that events in one nation will be
repeated in another. Nor does it suggest that every political crisis has the
same causes or demands the same response.
It does, however, give us reasons to pray for nations: for leaders who
exercise power responsibly, for citizens who have the courage to stand for
truth, for public institutions that serve the people, and for those who face
injustice, fear, or oppression.
We can pray that leaders will listen before anger turns into crisis,
that those in authority will recognise the limits of their power, and that
moments of political change will not descend into bloodshed and revenge.
We can pray for nations where people are afraid to speak, where
institutions have been weakened, and where the vulnerable have little
protection. We can pray for wisdom, courage, justice, restraint, and peace.
History reminds us that the future of a nation does not rest in the
hands of one person alone. It is also shaped by the choices of its citizens,
its institutions, and those who must decide whether to obey an order or follow
their conscience.
I have written hundreds of stories over the years, but
I have never asked you to forward them to your friends. This time, I am asking
you to do so.
Please read this account, intercede for the nations,
and forward this post (use the link you received) to your friends. Let us encourage more people to join in
prayer for nations, their leaders, and the people who long for justice and
peace.
See the New Release, Trekking the Tribal Trail Click Here
My Focus on People Groups
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