EDSA 1986

by Justine C. Tajonera

"Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!"

 - Rudyard Kipling, Recessional

1986 was the year my youngest
brother was born.
1986 was the year I was in
fifth grade.
1986 was the year
that a dictatorship ended.
1986 was the year
I witnessed a miracle
of nationhood.

There was a silence
in the streets of Cebu
when we listened to the
radio and heard of tanks
forging through EDSA
and the people
who met them
with flowers
in their hands.

On that day, the opposition's
presidential candidate,
the widow of
a slain hero,
was praying with
the Carmelite
nuns
in our city.

We were at home
praying the rosary,
wondering incredulously
at what had
transpired
so far.

Then there was
a miracle.
No blood
was shed
and the dictator
and his family
flew off
in a helicopter
headed to
Hawaii.

A surge of triumph
wove its way
through the
city.
We joined the people
on the streets
dancing, shouting,
waving yellow
ribbons
in the air.

Rich and poor,
young and old
converged
with relief and a
palpable sense
of unity.

I write this
lest I
forget.

I write this for
you.
One day,
this will be a dry
lesson
in history.
But let me tell you
as if it happened
only
yesterday.

It was possible.
And it still is.
Lest we forget. 

For the Filipino children
(March 13, 2010)
On the cusp of a new government

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/layamaria/3613071550/

Polis

By Justine C. Tajonera

I remember my lessons
from Philosophy
about this thing
called Politics.

I had come to
the conclusion
that power
corrupts.

But what I had
failed to grasp
was that politics
did not mean
"those in
power" but
the power
of the public
space.

Before you,
the people,
I leave
my hearth
for today
to declare:
that I am
responsible
for my hope
and the choices
that I make.

(Nov. 30, 2009)
Image is of me reading Obama's The Audacity Of Hope.

Res Gestae

by Justine C. Tajonera

This thing has been done.
This thing cannot
be taken
away.

There are no words
to describe
the sound of her
voice
as she saw
her grave
already
prepared.

Evidence is hardly
the appropriate
word
for her
horror or her
fear.

There is hardly any
place to stand
as things public
cross into
the hearth.

Women and scribes,
who will
protect you
now?


These things
have been
done.

Children,
listen to your mother.
There is no hope
in retribution.


They must not
be done
again.

(Nov. 26, 2009)
For Genalyn Mangudadatu, the massacred civilians, lawyers and journalists of Maguindanao and the children who were left behind


'Res gestae' - Collins English Dictionary definition

1. things done or accomplished; achievements

2. (Law) Law incidental facts and circumstances that are admissible in evidence because they introduce or explain the matter in issue

Image from http://www.chippewa.com/articles/2009/11/25/ap/headlines/as_philippines_hostages_killed.txt

AP Photo/Aaron Favila

Windmills

by Justine C. Tajonera

The beach was paved
with windmills,
white and tall
stretching into
the horizon.

It was like I was
in a different world:
post-apocalyptic
Japanese anime
or Scandinavian coastline,
anywhere
but here.

Anything massive
or environmental
or a machine
that actually works
couldn't come
from
here.

Little faith,
accumulated losses,
a history of
disappointment
color these blank,
white windmills
of the North.

Like the blowing arm
of nature,
collectively unleashing
its amoral force,
circumstances threaten
to drown
my hope.

But an ember
remains.

It is slow to fan,
dragging in pace,
but it is there.
I hold out my hands
harnessing
what approaches.

Our time

will come.

(Nov. 4, 2009)
Contemplation on the windmills of Ilocos Norte

Standing in Line

By Justine C. Tajonera

We are there for only
two hours
and yet
it is a flashback
of cliches:

that there are
professional fixers,
that there are
obsolete
equipment, like
a rundown
automated
cashier,
hanging around
for no reason,
that there are
lines that go
nowhere
and counters
with no
labels.

The rain
pours
and styrofoam boxes
stand agape, pointless,
collecting water leaking from
the roof
and trash from
people who have mistaken
the boxes
as trash bins.

For once,
I look into the eyes
of the man suggesting
that I short-circuit the line
with a few hundred pesos
and I tell him sincerely,
"Okay lang sa akin
pumila."*

I am not a cow
being herded.
Despite the
inconveniences,
I choose
to stand
in line.

NBI Satellite Office in Quezon City Hall
Sept. 9, 2009


*English translation: It's okay for me to stand in line.