“AGBIAG ni Apo Lakay” they proudly shout in Norte. Behind those cheers are the agonizing howls of the victims of Martial Law. The dark figure the blind ones vainly praise is a man whose sagging skin is stained with blood.
September 21, 1972 was the date the Philippines became an inferno. The moment a signature scribbled on an infernal piece of paper and the declaration announced with the voice of a brute, everything fell apart.
Men, women, and children—everyone howled in pain. There were brave fighters who defied him but it came with a cost. The women were pinned by beasts who forcibly spread their legs. Even the men whimpered as they were tortured multiple times. Some of their lifeless bodies were found, but most of them vanished as if they never existed. Still unseen and unfound, they are now ghosts whose misery still lingers until now.
Time drifted by with justice still unserved and until now, the scars run deep; it is a reminder — a memory.
The new generation of warriors form a crusade and gather around with their placards held high like a weapon—screaming with flaming rage and contempt. “Not. A. Hero!”.
A polyphony of voices fill the street with sorrow, grief, and disdain. “Never again. Never forget.”
Behind all of it is the man who defied the law like a savage who bathed in boiling blood. In the northern winds, they call him Apo Lakay.
To most, he is Ferdinand Marcos, the dictator F PATRICK V. MIGUEL