For the generation unlucky enough to have not witnessed the first EDSA revolution or was still too young to understand how Cory Aquino became a symbol for democracy, it’s hard to talk of how she can be best remembered.
Should we remember her as hero, when we weren’t there when she toppled a powerful dictatorship? Should we remember her as an icon, when what we know of her is mostly based on the media and history books? How do we make sense of a Cory Aquino who, despite her uncorrupted image compared to recent presidents, and non-existent desire for power, had her faults? How do we honor her, while at the same time, not risk romanticizing her?
Certainly, hers was a great loss to a country always searching for heroes, always searching for role models. Her influence cut across nations, and she has been compared with the world’s noblest leaders. With her death came the questions: What now? Now that the icon of democracy is gone, who will Filipinos hold on to?
In context of Cory being a symbol of democracy, however, these questions evoke a needless hopelessness—one that even misinterprets what Cory meant for countless Filipinos, whether they had lived in the Martial Law era or not.
She was among thousands of Filipinos who helped liberate the country from a dictator. She was a woman who rose up to the occasion when it was called for, did her best despite inexperience, and then relinquished her position. She was a person thrust to a crux of history, and, however flawed and privileged, joined the people in the streets to rally for their ideals.
In short, Cory would not be Cory without the people who put her in place, those who joined her in rallying, those who supported her, or even those who criticized her. Cory is an icon of democracy, no doubt: a representation of all that is ideal for Filipinos wanting for freedom and sincerity. Her representation, however, is also representative of every single Filipino who calls Cory ‘the mother of democracy’ or ‘an icon for freedom.’ Every Filipino can be his own fighter for democracy. Every Filipino can be an icon for freedom.
Thus, even though ours is a generation unlucky enough to have not known Cory too well, this is her legacy: that we are Cory. We do not mourn the loss of a great hero or icon, but rather celebrate what Cory means, ultimately—that we are our own heroes, our own icons, if we allow ourselves to be.
