Lost but Found

It was one of the hottest days of 2014, reaching over 36° Celsius. The sun was directly above us at a cloudless sky, robbing us of any shade. I was pacing on the busy streets of Manila along with thousands others, some with umbrellas, many without. The hotness of the day matched the ardor of the endeavor. All were marching towards one destination with one goal.

It’s my first May 1 mob. Labor Day. International Workers’ Day. Since being active in the progressive movement in college, I haven't been to this assembly yet—one of the largest and most anticipated every year. Now that I've graduated and have become part of the working class, it might be the most apt time to do so.

Looking at all sides, everybody was perspiring—messy locks on foreheads, beads of sweat on noses and upper lips, hats failed to aid, placards turned into makeshift sunshades. Despite that, each one still got some energy to chant their hearts out.

A 2-kilometer stretch of road was packed by all these sweating bodies, yet the heat didn’t prevent the mass from moving forward. In the crowd were factory workers, drivers, nurses, students, teachers, mothers and their children, among others. Thousands of them clamored not for some water but for all their rights due to them.

The city stopped for us, literally. Traffic became very slow, if not totally stationary. People going by their daily routines paused to witness the flood of banners, flags and protesters. Some raised their cameras to take footages of the march. Others, heartwarmingly, raised their fists while we passed, seeming to show support as they took a break from their holiday jobs.

At the Liwasang Bonifacio, a plaza at the heart of Manila, our bulk converged with four other large groups from various points of the metro—everybody in tune with the same call to power. Here, the total volume of the rally was sized. The square was entirely filled up to its periphery. Overwhelming, personally, was an understatement.

The program proceeded at a set-up stage. Even as people looked for some shade and took repose after the long march, the piercing cries of the campaign sustained. “End contractualization,” “Raise basic wages,” “Stop privatizing public services” and “Junk anti-people policies” were part of the calls. Some were not at all new, yet were still unheeded.

My sun-burnt skin and awkward tan line that day was certainly no match to the daily toils of the Filipino masses. I hope this once-every-year thing don't just turn in vain.