This burger house — the one on Taft corner Kalaw — closed its comfort room doors to the public last September 21, protest day. The security guard points to management prerogative. Management points to the surge of non-paying customer at the time: the rallyists.
Is it constitutional to be refused access to a toilet? In the Philippines, “constitutional” is relative. What is illegal to Juan may be lawful to Pedro.
Knock-knock-knockin’ on restroom doors.
For that reason, the Constitution, or the defense of it, forced a few good citizens to march back on the street anew. Workers, students, priests, nuns, the twitterkind. Out of cyberspace and into the Boulevard of broken dreams. On this infamous twenty-first day of September. I can’t believe we’re facing fascism once again after only thirty years.
And there’s more to be indignant about:
One, Extra Judicial Killings.
Two, Return of the Marcoses.
Three, Rise of Dictatorship.
Four, Martial Law Menace.
Five, Lumad Decimation.
Everyday’s a new day.
The Luneta flag was too tall for our necks when the Lupang Hinirang was playing. So we stand at attention facing the Torre De Manila instead. Misty-eyed. Weeping like the portraits of mothers on the video wall behind Bituin Escalante as she performs the chilling “Sa Ugoy Ng Duyan.”
I left the crowd at the first sign of rain. The Masters of Ceremony failed to make many of us stay. Walang latoy. With fervor burning please next time.
I must be missing the passions of yesteryear.
I got caught in the rain, with Musikang Bayan’s brilliant tune fading in the distance:
“Sinungaling ang pinaniniwalaan, magnanakaw ang pinagtitiwalaan
Sa lipunang ito, sila’y pinararangalan
Ano ba ito ang gulo-gulo ang gulo-gulo
Baliktad na ang mundo…”
And so they shouted at the top of their lungs. But Rizal seems to look the other way.