Manila, June 13, 2010 - The whole country is engulfed in celebration this week. We're observing the 112nd anniversary of the Declaration of Philippine Independence from Spain.
That was in 1898, when our revolutionary leaders were emboldened by American money, guns and political support to fight the Spaniards. We did not know that the United States was, all the while, sitting down with Spain in the Treaty of Paris, purchasing us for a couple of million dollars.
Did having an active rebellion by the natives lower the asking price considerably?
Of course, after the Spaniards left, our leaders realized that we had new white-skinned masters -- the very same people we thought were our allies against our old colonial masters.
So right after the Spanish-Filipino rebellion, we were engaged in the Filipino-American war.
That was my simple and short history lesson for my grandson who asked what all the celebration in our district of Malate and on TV was about. There are street decorations, food stalls along Roxas Boulevard, colorful buntings over streets and alleys. Truly, although parades and programs are being held everythwere in the country, the spirit and zest of the event are more intense in Manila, which turned into one big fiesta city this week.
The party started for us last Thursday night, when 7-year-old grandson Kyle and I danced in the streets (there are live bands nightly at several points on Roxas Boulevard) in front of Aristocrat and the Malate Church, a few meters from our apartment.
Yesterday, Independence Day, Kyle and I were with thousands of Filipinos, mostly from the poor and middle class, standing a few feet away from President-elect Estrada as he raised a huge flag in front of the Rizal monument at Rizal Park.
The flag was so big it took everybody's breath away. And we all applauded. It was the first time in my life to hear applause for a flag. It was so big it did not wave the way flags do. Instead, it rippled in slow motion like quiet waves on a lake.
I actually had tears in my eyes. It was a very emotional moment as I watched the flag, our new president and little children singing Lupang Hinirang with their right hands over their hearts. A WWII veteran next to me was crying unabashedly as he bent his crippled arm to salute the flag. He had wanted to stand up and away from his wheelchair.
I have been taking my grandson to see and feel as many of the Centennial activities as possible. To give him memories -- the grand parade, the religious procession, Santacruzan, the speeches, and the spectacular fireworks (handled by the same group that did the Atlanta Olympics fireworks display) -- of a time in our history when all bickerings stopped and everyone just had a good time while remembering our past.
To watch the fireworks on Independence Day, I was being offered an overnight room and dinner for the family by a five-star hoel along the bay. I had thought it was a great idea. But after dancing at a public park with real people, some of them homeless, I decided to picnic on Roxas Boulevard instead of at some hoity toity 5-star hotel.
So I rolled out my giant Weber barbecue-smoker, filled an icebox with beer, coke and ice, staked out a nice spot on Roxas Boulevard under the coconut trees, and cooked a giant meal of hotdogs and hamburgers for the family and for some friends who found us by following the barbecue smoke.
A giant party. That's what the country is having. That's what we need -- a break.
Roxas Boulevard and many roads leading to Manila Bay were closed for the party. People Power? Yes.
The whole length of Roxas Boulevard -- from the Manila Hotel to the grounds of the Cultural Center and the Folk Arts Theater -- had people shoulder-to-shoulder. Everyone was smiling. Those who had food gave away food, those who lived close by sent their sons to fetch drinking water for the crowds. Despite the booze, the merriment, the afternoon heat and the lack of food and water and scarcity of public toilets, there was not a single incident of violence reported.
Fireworks lit up the sky over Manila Bay. For half an hour, millions of spectators along Roxas Boulevard and at parks elsewhere in the metropolis applauded, necks craned towards the sky above the bay. The bands played. Giant floats depicting historical moments of the past 100 years continued to drift by well into the night.
And we ate, drank and danced all night. We walked home, like most of the people who trekked on foot to watch the parade. People who insisted on driving to Roxas Boullevard had to wait many hours to get their parked cars out of the crowded streets.
Many did not get home till dawn. But no one is complaining. The Centennial Week is giving everyone the experience of a lifetime.
Ramos is going away with a bang. Erap is getting a grand welcome.
Wish you were all here.
That was in 1898, when our revolutionary leaders were emboldened by American money, guns and political support to fight the Spaniards. We did not know that the United States was, all the while, sitting down with Spain in the Treaty of Paris, purchasing us for a couple of million dollars.
Did having an active rebellion by the natives lower the asking price considerably?
Of course, after the Spaniards left, our leaders realized that we had new white-skinned masters -- the very same people we thought were our allies against our old colonial masters.
So right after the Spanish-Filipino rebellion, we were engaged in the Filipino-American war.
That was my simple and short history lesson for my grandson who asked what all the celebration in our district of Malate and on TV was about. There are street decorations, food stalls along Roxas Boulevard, colorful buntings over streets and alleys. Truly, although parades and programs are being held everythwere in the country, the spirit and zest of the event are more intense in Manila, which turned into one big fiesta city this week.
The party started for us last Thursday night, when 7-year-old grandson Kyle and I danced in the streets (there are live bands nightly at several points on Roxas Boulevard) in front of Aristocrat and the Malate Church, a few meters from our apartment.
Yesterday, Independence Day, Kyle and I were with thousands of Filipinos, mostly from the poor and middle class, standing a few feet away from President-elect Estrada as he raised a huge flag in front of the Rizal monument at Rizal Park.
The flag was so big it took everybody's breath away. And we all applauded. It was the first time in my life to hear applause for a flag. It was so big it did not wave the way flags do. Instead, it rippled in slow motion like quiet waves on a lake.
I actually had tears in my eyes. It was a very emotional moment as I watched the flag, our new president and little children singing Lupang Hinirang with their right hands over their hearts. A WWII veteran next to me was crying unabashedly as he bent his crippled arm to salute the flag. He had wanted to stand up and away from his wheelchair.
I have been taking my grandson to see and feel as many of the Centennial activities as possible. To give him memories -- the grand parade, the religious procession, Santacruzan, the speeches, and the spectacular fireworks (handled by the same group that did the Atlanta Olympics fireworks display) -- of a time in our history when all bickerings stopped and everyone just had a good time while remembering our past.
To watch the fireworks on Independence Day, I was being offered an overnight room and dinner for the family by a five-star hoel along the bay. I had thought it was a great idea. But after dancing at a public park with real people, some of them homeless, I decided to picnic on Roxas Boulevard instead of at some hoity toity 5-star hotel.
So I rolled out my giant Weber barbecue-smoker, filled an icebox with beer, coke and ice, staked out a nice spot on Roxas Boulevard under the coconut trees, and cooked a giant meal of hotdogs and hamburgers for the family and for some friends who found us by following the barbecue smoke.
A giant party. That's what the country is having. That's what we need -- a break.
Roxas Boulevard and many roads leading to Manila Bay were closed for the party. People Power? Yes.
The whole length of Roxas Boulevard -- from the Manila Hotel to the grounds of the Cultural Center and the Folk Arts Theater -- had people shoulder-to-shoulder. Everyone was smiling. Those who had food gave away food, those who lived close by sent their sons to fetch drinking water for the crowds. Despite the booze, the merriment, the afternoon heat and the lack of food and water and scarcity of public toilets, there was not a single incident of violence reported.
Fireworks lit up the sky over Manila Bay. For half an hour, millions of spectators along Roxas Boulevard and at parks elsewhere in the metropolis applauded, necks craned towards the sky above the bay. The bands played. Giant floats depicting historical moments of the past 100 years continued to drift by well into the night.
And we ate, drank and danced all night. We walked home, like most of the people who trekked on foot to watch the parade. People who insisted on driving to Roxas Boullevard had to wait many hours to get their parked cars out of the crowded streets.
Many did not get home till dawn. But no one is complaining. The Centennial Week is giving everyone the experience of a lifetime.
Ramos is going away with a bang. Erap is getting a grand welcome.
Wish you were all here.
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