Corazon Aquino 1933-2009: The Saint of Democracy

It shouldn’t have been surprising, really, that the world’s most populous continent would give birth to a movement called People Power. In 1986, a housewife from the Philippines whose given name meant “heart” gave lifeblood to her wounded nation. The only weapon she possessed was moral courage. But with it she discovered a groundbreaking truth: that a populace holding nothing more than candles and rosary beads could face a cavalcade of tanks, topple a dictator and, most improbable of all, usher in democracy.

By the time Corazon Aquino died on Aug. 1 of colon cancer at the age of 76, People Power was so ingrained in our political consciousness that it acquired a patina of tired normalcy that hid its exceptional innovation, like electricity, say, or suitcases with wheels. Yet when Aquino led a sea of yellow-clad supporters to reclaim an election that had been stolen by strongman Ferdinand Marcos, not even the clearest-eyed political sage could have predicted that her actions would be the first crest in wave after wave of citizen-led, nonviolent movements that would reshape the world.

(Read “People Power’s Philippine Saint: Corazon Aquino.”)

Within a few years of People Power in the Philippines, it was hard to keep up with all the peaceful uprisings that were sweeping aside authoritarian regimes across the globe: Solidarity in Poland, the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia, the antiapartheid movement in South Africa, the end of dictatorships in South Korea, Mongolia and Taiwan. Even the extinguished idealism of student protesters in Tiananmen or the monks in Burma drew succor from the example of a certain Filipino homemaker’s bravery — a woman who herself almost inadvertently assumed the mantle of Mohandas Gandhi after the assassination of her political-dissident husband in 1983. “Cory Aquino’s struggle for and success at fortifying constitutional democracy in the Philippines,” says Anwar Ibrahim, the Malaysian opposition leader, “was one of the signal battles in the last quarter of the 20th century.”

Today, the surge of political change during that momentous era, from Eastern Europe to Eastern Asia, seems like an inevitability. Back then, it felt like an impossibility. No one was more surprised than the bespectacled widow who admitted that she didn’t even like politics and might just as easily have ended up spending her days pruning her beloved bonsai. Nevertheless, in 1986 Aquino made People Power — and People Power made the world we now inhabit a freer place. “When we were struggling with apartheid,” recalls retired Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the moral force of South Africa’s political change, “we spoke of People Power. You had to be with the people to make change happen.” At the dawn of a new century, his words may feel stunningly obvious. Yet to a planet conditioned by colonialism or Confucianism or tyranny to think that the people’s obligation is to follow, not lead, Aquino’s inspiration was truly transformative.

A Thin Line
If the purity of people power’s message remains unblemished today, its political legacy is more complicated. True, in recent years, Aquino’s quiet defiance has continued to inspire regime-changing street demonstrations, from the “Reformasi”-chanting crowds who overthrew Suharto in neighboring Indonesia in 1998 to the so-called color revolutions that catalyzed change in places like Georgia (rose) and Ukraine (orange) in the early 2000s. Like People Power, many of these movements gained momentum when the international media broadcast images of thousands upon thousands of people uniting peacefully against corrupt or cruel governments. Under the scrutiny of satellite-TV cameras, traditional exercises of power — guns, truncheons, tanks — often backfired against the force of nonviolent protest.

Also like People Power, many of these latter-day protests have profited from the power of communication to mobilize. Back in 1986, some 1 million marchers who flooded the now iconic Epifanio de los Santos Avenue (EDSA) were summoned by samizdat radio stations that broadcast a political call to prayer. During the recent mass protests in the former Soviet bloc, it was thumbs tapping out cell-phone text messages that brought crowds onto streets. This year in Iran, Twitter and other social-networking sites have served as the carrier pigeons of incipient revolution.

Read “Essay: The Power of People.”

Read “Asian Heroes: Corazon Aquino.”

But politicians and the public have also distorted People Power, using its catalyzing effect not to overthrow dictators but to dissolve democracies. A second EDSA uprising in 2001 against elected President Joseph Estrada cheapened the impact of its noble forerunner. Similarly in Thailand three years ago, an elected — if divisive — Prime Minister was forced out by massive street rallies that culminated in a military coup. In a perverse reworking of history, the Thai putsch’s supporters dubbed it a victory for People Power. Later, in a bid to reclaim the leadership their side lost in another set of elections, the so-called People’s Alliance for Democracy took over Bangkok’s international airport, dealing a body blow to Thailand’s vital tourism industry. Since then, yellow- and red-shirted supporters of two political camps have taken turns occupying the government, and international visitors continue to stay away. Instead of relying on the sanctity of the ballot box, a disenchanted citizenry is finding it easier to simply swarm the streets to foment regime change. The line between mob rule and People Power, it turns out, is dangerously thin.

The warping of an ideal must have distressed Aquino, who was one of the few opposition leaders to succeed as commander in chief. Just three days after a pair of Marcos allies defected from his camp because of the egregiously rigged electoral result that favored a decaying dictator over Aquino, Asia’s first female President was sworn in. At the time, Cory Aquino took office as little more than a symbol: the grieving widow of opposition politician Benigno (Ninoy) Aquino Jr., who was gunned down at the Manila airport just moments after returning from exile in the U.S.

(See Aquino’s life in photos.)

But after a rocky beginning and a slew of attempted coups, Aquino evolved into a President who merited her six years in office. She did so not as the devout Catholic whose impassioned rhetoric inspired EDSA, but as an administrator driven by a more Protestant industriousness. In the end, her tenure was nothing more than a brick-by-brick laying of democracy’s foundation. That, though, was more than enough. Look at what happened, by contrast, to other figureheads of peaceful resistance: Poland’s Lech Walesa, for instance, fumbled so badly after taking office that he lost a bid for re-election. (A further attempt to regain power elicited just 1% of the Polish vote.)

Half the Battle
Aquino also understood, like nelson mandela, that the enduring success of People Power depends upon the leaders it thrusts into office knowing how to make a graceful exit. Even though the Filipino electorate would surely have granted her another presidential term, she anointed a political successor, Fidel Ramos, and eased into retirement. Yet Aquino’s example has not been fully followed in her homeland, where another woman President, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, has taken advantage of electoral loopholes to elongate her tenure. Far worse are the Robert Mugabes of the world, once genuine heroes who long outlived their welcomes. Aquino’s rare gift was to realize that People Power was only half the battle. Equally important was knowing when to relinquish that power bestowed by the people.

Cory’s wisdom — she was, after all, one of the few leaders who was so beloved that her supporters often dispensed with her last name — will be all the more crucial at this juncture in history. Democracy, if only in name, has touched much of the developing world. But the legacy of People Power is constantly threatened by the repressive actions of those who later claim to represent it, from Pakistan and Iran to the Philippines itself. Aquino, in her helium-inflected voice, once mused: “I came to power peacefully, so shall I keep it.” Like much of what Cory said, this idea — that power comes as much from the consent of the governed as the barrel of a gun — seems a simple insight. But in the world today, it remains nothing short of revolutionary.

Read TIME’s 1986 Woman of the Year cover story on Aquino.

See TIME’s Aquino covers.