Heroes do bleed too

By Herman M. Lagon

There are moments in history when a person shows up not as the perfect hero, but simply as the right person in the right place at the right time. On August 21, 1983, Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. stepped off a plane knowing the risks, armed with nothing but conviction and a bulletproof vest that would prove useless against a bullet to the back of his head. It was not martyrdom for show. It was a calculated gamble, born of love for a country shackled by dictatorship. Like most heroes in our history books, Ninoy was not faultless. But when it mattered most, he showed up—and that, in itself, is heroism.

Our history is filled with men who were complicated, driven, and far from saintly. Rizal was brilliant, but he often hesitated. Bonifacio was brave, but divisive. General Luna was strategic and unrelenting, yet volatile and tragically misunderstood. They were not perfect, but their impact is undeniable. Ninoy belongs in that lineage—of individuals who, despite their flaws, carried the burden of leadership when others backed down. The notion that heroes must be spotless is a myth peddled by those who forget that the call of history rarely waits for flawless men.

Ninoy had his share of criticisms. Some labeled him an ambitious politician hungry for power, while others questioned his ties with the left during the volatile years before martial law. He was also a part of the elite, a product of privilege, fluent in both politics and maneuvering. But these complexities should not erase the clarity of his ultimate act: choosing to return to a country where death awaited. In 1983, amid a nation drained by fear and silence, that kind of moral clarity was enough to spark fire.

I remember Typhoon Frank in 2008, back when I found myself waist-deep in floodwater in Brgy. Quartero, Jaro. Our school principal was stranded. My colleagues later said I risked my life to save her. But truth be told, I did not feel like a hero. I was just the only person near enough, alert enough, and foolish enough not to hesitate. Maybe that is how it works. Sometimes, the ones we call heroes simply move forward when others freeze. Ninoy, for all his human faults, moved forward.

Courage is rarely romantic. Often, it is tired, bruised, and unsure. Jose Rizal wavered before accepting martyrdom. Bonifacio was betrayed by fellow revolutionaries. Luna was shot by his own countrymen. And Ninoy? He was alone, betrayed, and gunned down by men in uniform. These deaths were not neat, not noble in their endings. Yet they continue to echo because they touched something deep and desperate in our national soul—a desire to be free, heard, and led by people who care more about country than self.

A curious thing about remembering Ninoy today, August 21, holiday or otherwise, is how polarizing his memory has become. In recent years, historical distortion and political loyalties have turned his legacy into a battlefield. His statues have been vandalized. His face was quietly removed from banknotes. Malicious quip to change the name of his assassination’s ground zero, Ninoy Aquino International Airport (NAIA), back to Manila International Airport (MIA) continue to linger. And the day meant to honor his death was casually moved year to year either to create a long weekend or just out of trump-up justification. We are told this is harmless holiday economics or apolitical initiatives. But those of us who teach history, who carry memory as both burden and gift, know that symbolic erasures often precede real ones.

The Atenean historian Ambeth Ocampo once wrote that history is not what happened—it is what people choose to remember. This is why context matters. It is why facts matter. It is why storytelling matters. When students ask whether Ninoy is still relevant, I remind them that freedom of speech, academic freedom, and their ability to protest stem from the sacrifices of people who stood up when it was dangerous to do so. It was not just Ninoy. It was the collective courage of an exhausted people. But his death lit the match.

And it matters that he died in full view of the world. It matters that his last breath came not in a dark prison cell but on the tarmac, beneath an afternoon sun, while news cameras rolled and soldiers turned their backs. That image seared itself into the national memory. Sometimes, we need a moment like that—a jarring, brutal interruption of the status quo—to remind us of what we have been tolerating for far too long.

There are students today who ask why Ninoy is a hero at all. They have seen the flaws, the rumors, the politics. Fair questions. Healthy skepticism. But the answer lies in understanding that greatness is not the absence of imperfection. It is the decision to do something right despite those imperfections. It is the embrace of accountability when others chase comfort. It is showing up. As former Ateneo de Manila University President Fr. Bienvenido Nebres noted in a speech, a man with deep conviction will always challenge complacency—not because he is perfect, but because he cannot bear the cost of silence.

It would be dishonest to ignore the criticisms. There are legitimate questions about Ninoy’s early political moves, his ambitions, and his alliances. His son, President Noynoy Aquino, had his own share of missteps, and their family name has not been immune to scrutiny. But honoring a hero is not about canonization. It is about drawing lessons from choices made under fire. It is about what their story adds to our collective conscience. As teachers, students, workers, citizens, parents, and voters, we are responsible for discerning between myth and memory.

When my students debate who deserves to be remembered on holidays, I always turn it back to them. Who do you think deserves your attention? Who stood up when it was dangerous? Who chose country over comfort? It is not about sainthood. It is about service. Ninoy Aquino was not the only hero of his time. But when the moment came, he returned. He stood at the edge of death and did not flinch. That is something our current and future leaders ought to reflect on.

To remember Ninoy Aquino is to remember that freedom has a cost. That heroes are not born from perfection but from purpose. That history is not an altar but a mirror. He is not above criticism, but his choice to come home, knowing what waited for him, remains one of the bravest acts in our political history. In the end, what counts most is that he showed up. And sometimes, in the face of darkness, that is enough to start a revolution.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.