Miriam made monumental

By Herman M. Lagon

There’s a certain rightness in putting Miriam Defensor-Santiago in La Paz Plaza. The Iloilo City Council’s unanimous push for a statue is more than nostalgia—it’s a civics lesson cast in bronze. Placing her where she once hurried to class, valedictorian ribbon fluttering, reminds every student and teacher that greatness can grow from any public classroom.

The proposal is as real as daylight. The Sangguniang Panlungsod, through Councilor Rex Marcus Sarabia’s “people-initiated resolution,” has asked Mayor Raisa Treñas to formalize the tribute. Local and national news carried the story, framed as an Ilongga’s legacy and a La Paz landmark in a time when we are again debating integrity amid the flood-control mess. A statue may not solve everything, but it sets a public standard. Done right—with transparency, artistry, and community voice—it honors Miriam twice: for what she achieved, and for what she still challenges us to become.

Support for the plan sits in the memory of the 1990s, when the “Iron Lady of Asia” meant brisk hearings, sharp questions, and courage shaped by law. Teachers loved those scenes—the immigration raids that cleaned up syndicates, the Magsaysay Award for moral leadership, the Senate debates that turned legalese into living language. Loud? Yes. But always lucid. She made rules sacred and dared peers to match her logic.

To Ilonggo teachers, she’s not abstract. She’s homegrown—La Paz Elementary, Iloilo High, and UP. Long before “STEM” became a buzzword, she treated logic like breakfast. My college professor once said, “Class, channel Miriam, not chismis,” while writing case facts and issues on a Manila paper. She made intellect feel reachable, and Ilonggos proud. That’s why La Paz Plaza is perfect—the ground remembers her footsteps.

If monuments must teach, let this one teach 1992. Many still call her “the best president we almost had.” The drama of that race—leads, blackouts, defeat, protest—has lessons beyond politics. She lukewarmly accepted the verdict and went back to work. That’s democracy in its rawest form: grace after loss, despite the pain of feeling cheated.

Nonetheless, her legacy runs deeper than fiery speeches. She built a career on procedure and purpose—filing bills, building records, forcing votes. Her work still shapes classrooms: the Climate Change Act, the Renewable Energy Act, the Reproductive Health Law, the Archipelagic Baselines Law. When we carve her in stone, we carve our homework too.

And who can forget her wit? She could silence a hall with one line and make freshmen laugh before dropping a lesson in logic. Her Stupid Is Forever books weren’t just humor—they were pedagogy. She used laughter via pick-up lines to keep people listening, to remind them that intelligence can be warm.

Her early bravery also deserves space. As Immigration chief, she took on crime rings and corruption, earning global recognition and local threats. That moment proved that reform, however brief, is possible when one person dares to clean up a dirty room.

We can also admit the later years were complicated. Some alliances confused even her fans. But she kept showing up—writing, running, mentoring, teaching, challenging the young to care. That’s her truest legacy: resilience anchored in service.

A Miriam statue should not just be a selfie spot. It should move people to learn and serve. Imagine a yearly public-speaking contest, a legal literacy booth, or teacher grants named after her. Picture students holding mock Senate hearings under the trees, learning to argue with evidence, not noise. Granite and pedagogy—that’s how you keep a hero alive.

The statue’s design will spark debate: mid-speech or mid-smile? The process itself must be Miriam-like—clean, fair, and excellent. The sculptor should win by merit, not favor. The plaque must tell truth, not flattery: ICC judge, Magsaysay laureate, author, teacher, Ilongga. And yes, fund its upkeep, so respect does not gather dust.

This project also fits Iloilo’s current rhythm—parks revived, plazas reborn, citizens reclaiming public space. Let La Paz host a monument not to power, but to character. Imagine children buying fish balls nearby, glancing at her statue, and realizing that courage and study can still change a country.

So yes, build it. Root it in the decade when “Iron Lady of Asia” meant intellect with integrity. Keep the text spare, the message strong. Let young Ilonggos find both wit and wisdom there. And when new controversies flood the news, let Miriam’s bronze gaze in La Paz remind us to ask better questions, choose the harder right, and keep faith in the law.

If we do this right, Iloilo won’t just be raising a statue.

It will be raising its standards.

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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 grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.