Aquino’s Final Journey
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Ninoy Aquino leaving the plane (Source: ABC)
First published in the New York Times, October 16, 1983: https://www.nytimes.com/1983/10/16/magazine/aquino-s-final-journey.html
Reprinted with permission from the author.
I was met in the crowded terminal by this friend and, to my consternation, discovered that a Philippine Airlines flight was also departing at 11. Nervously, I glanced around for anyone who looked even vaguely suspicious, and waited for the time to pass.
At about 10:30, Ninoy finally walked into the terminal and we headed for the immigration counter. As we approached, I saw two men with walkie- talkies. ''Security,'' I thought. They were looking at Ninoy and pointing at him.
Ninoy had no problems going through immigration as Marcial Bonifacio - the name on the passport he was carrying. But as soon as he left the counter, the two ''security'' men escorted him around the corner.
I panicked. ''This is it,'' I muttered. ''He's been discovered.'' I hurried through immigration, rounded the corner and there was Ninoy - grinning. ''That was the Taiwan garrison commander,'' he said, ''and he just wanted to make sure I got through O.K. Can you imagine? A general? But he said something very curious. He said he was called by Philippine Airlines this morning and was told to take good care of me.''
''Well, obviously the Marcos Government knows,'' I said.
''I guess so.'' Ninoy didn't seem bothered. Perhaps it was inevitable. He had tried to keep the exact route of his trip home a secret - one shared by only a few of his friends, relatives and a dozen or so members of the press (I was accompanying him not as a journalist but as his brother-in-law) - but that had clearly been impossible.
When we boarded, the journalists who had planned to travel with us and who were already on board were relieved to see us. Ninoy sat in seat 14C, second section coach; I was across the aisle in 14B. I could not relax until the plane took off and an unexplained delay of 10 minutes made me even more nervous. Eventually a television correspondent in first class walked back to where we were and explained that the delay was caused by a member of his crew turning up late with the wrong boarding pass.
China Airlines Flight 811 finally took off at about 11:15 A.M. As the wheels of the Boeing 767 left the runway, Ninoy smiled and said: ''Well, we made it!''
SIX YEARS AGO, I HAD SAT IN A crowded room at Fort Bonifacio as the military tribunal tried Benigno S. Aquino Jr. on charges of illegal possession of firearms, murder and subversion. It was my first encounter with the man who was the most famous opponent of President Ferdinand E. Marcos. Even though Aquino looked gaunt - he had lost 40 pounds during his solitary confinement since 1972 and had almost died during a 40-day fast in 1975 to protest his trial by the military - his legendary energy, magnetism and eloquence were clearly undiminished, if not honed, by his imprisonment. Maintaining all along that the charges were ''obviously trumped up,'' he made it clear he would abide by his belief: ''I would rather die on my feet with honor than live on bended knees in shame.''
Aquino after his hunger strike in 1975 (Source: Presidential Museum and Library/PCDSPO/Philippine Star)
I was then covering the trial for a human-rights story for ABC News. The next time we met - in 1980 - Aquino, temporarily released from prison, was on his way to Dallas for triple-bypass heart surgery, and his sister Lupita and I were planning to be married. During his three-year self-imposed exile in the United States, I found that the public Aquino was not very different from the private man.
An almost stereotypical extrovert, he enjoyed the company of friends, supporters, colleagues, the press - any opportunity to discuss current events. Even when the crowds were gone and he was alone with his family, the conversation inevitably turned to international affairs in general and problems in the Philippines in particular. Blessed with a photographic memory, he could cite the political and economic minutiae of countries many people had never heard of. Since he was a voracious reader - a trait he had developed during his years in prison - the extent of his knowledge was formidable.
He was such an inveterate talker that if he wasn't talking in person, he was on the phone. It got so that whenever he visited, Lupita or I would put a phone in his room.
Through the years, there was never any doubt among the members of the tightly knit Aquino clan that Ninoy had assumed the political mantle of his father and grandfather. Ninoy's grandfather, Gen. Servillano Aquino, was a famous insurrecto who fought against the Spanish and then the Americans at the turn of the century. His father, Benigno S. Aquino Sr., was a senator, Speaker of the Assembly and a Cabinet minister.
Ninoy himself was the Wunderkind of Philippine politics. As a young reporter and intermediary of President Ramon Magsaysay, he made his way deep into the Luzon jungles and persuaded Luis Taruc, communist leader of the Hukbalahap guerrillas, to surrender. At 22, he was the youngest mayor of Concepcion, his hometown. At 28, he became the youngest governor of Tarlac province. (While he was governor, this scion of one of the country's oldest families married Corazon Cojuangco, daughter of the man who owned Hacienda Luisita, an 18,000-acre sugar-cane plantation in Tarlac, as well as banks and other real estate. Around this time, as a self-proclaimed ''radical rich guy,'' he subdivided land owned by the Aquino family, as well as land that he bought, into individual plots and gave them to field and factory workers.) At 34, Ninoy became the youngest senator in the country and a cinch to become the Philippines' youngest president when he was arrested by President Marcos who, hours later, declared martial law.
Ninoy survived imprisonment; he survived the death sentence meted out by the military tribunal in 1977 because an international outcry that followed the announcement forced the Marcos regime to grant Ninoy a reprieve; and he survived open-heart surgery. After his recovery, Ninoy accepted fellowships at Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he lectured, studied and wrote about peacefully transforming dictatorships into democracies, all the while speaking out against the Marcos regime. He traveled around the world in search of political solutions for his country, meeting with Filipino dissidents, exiled leaders of the armed Moslem rebellion in the southern Philippines, as well as winners and losers of past revolutions.
In a book that Ninoy was working on at the time of his murder (''The Philippines: Democracy or Dictatorship''), he concluded that the struggle in the Philippines ''is between those who have been mesmerized by the 'efficiency' of authoritarianism and those who still hold that democracy with all its flaws and inefficiency is man's best hope for betterment and progress. Man's sense of justice makes democracy possible; man's injustice makes it necessary.''
DESPITE 11 YEARS OF EXILE and imprisonment, Aquino was still considered by many in and out of the Philippines to be his country's best hope for a rebirth of democracy. He personally considered a return home urgent and timely. The Philippine economy had deteriorated. So, reportedly, had Marcos's health. The opposition was fragmented, and increasing numbers of moderates were moving to the armed left, which had made such gains that the country now had the largest active guerrilla war in Southeast Asia. From an estimated 500 guerrillas in 1972 who were operating along a handful of fronts and had an estimated 100,000 supporters, last year armed guerrillas numbering in the thousands operated along at least 45 fronts and had a mass base of one million.
Ninoy believed that Marcos, with complete control of the military, was the key to a peaceful transition to democracy. Before it was too late, he wanted to persuade the President to loosen the reins of authoritarianism and institute crucial national reforms. He thought by risking the return home, risking imprisonment and even the death sentence, Marcos would see he was serious about a peaceful national reconciliation. Ninoy was afraid that if Marcos died or became incapacitated, a power struggle would lead to a military takeover or armed conflict.
Aquino was interviewed on the MacNeil-Lehrer Report in 1982 during his exile in the U.S.
Sometime in May, Ninoy decided to return home. His fellowship at M.I.T. was ending and he felt he had done all he could in the United States. Many of his friends, political colleagues and relatives - fearing for his safety - had advised against this step. Yet once he made his decision, his family and friends stood firmly behind him.
The large amount of money Ninoy had been able to raise for the opposition's cause while he was in the United States was particularly encouraging. Many wealthy, pro-Marcos businessmen, obviously covering their political bets, had secretly pledged political capital.
Ninoy's immediate goal was to organize the Philippine opposition for the parliamentary elections in May 1984. He needed at least four months to prepare and four months to campaign, and an August return would give him that time. He had no plans to run for office, neither did he think that with Marcos appointees counting the ballots the President could be toppled politically. But he thought he could break Marcos's financial back.
''The grass is dry. All you need is the spark,'' Ninoy said, referring to the President's serious economic problems. Ninoy thought he could force Marcos into overspending by mounting a well-financed opposition campaign, confident he could raise at least $1 million from foreign sources alone.
In early July, Ninoy set Aug. 7 as his homecoming date, a Sunday when workers and students were off, when the welcoming crowd at the airport would be larger than on a weekday. He wanted to make a big homecoming splash to show the world that the Philippine opposition was ready to do political battle, that the people were disenchanted with Marcos.
His announcement to return home was the first salvo in what became a battle of nerves between the two Filipino archrivals.
In the beginning, some Government officials seemed to favor the homecoming. On July 3, for instance, Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile told an opposition leader there was no legal basis to re-imprison Aquino if he returned. Marcos, Enrile said, issued the order releasing Aquino from prison for his heart surgery in the United States and that order had not been rescinded.
An official at the Ministry of Justice said motions filed before the Supreme Court regarding Aquino's death sentence had been dismissed as ''moot and academic'' when Aquino left for the United States. One opposition leader speculated that Marcos would not re-imprison Aquino immediately, but would pretend to be studying his case at least until after President Reagan's planned visit in November. *
But on July 19, the Philippine Government adopted a different strategy. During a visit by Imelda Marcos, wife of President Marcos, to the United States, she had met with Ninoy and had promised to renew his passport for him; it was still in her possession. Ninoy was therefore forced to request a travel document from the Philippine Consulate in New York. But the Government rejected the request, claiming military intelligence had uncovered an assassination plot against Aquino by relatives of victims he had allegedly ordered killed, and suggesting he postpone his trip for one month while Government agents attempted to ''neutralize'' the would-be assassins.
Since he had never ordered anyone killed, Ninoy considered the Government's basic premise ''preposterous'' and was puzzled by its illogic. ''If true,'' he said one evening, ''what it means is that Marcos is more concerned about me, the alleged victimizer, than about the victims.''
Ninoy began to speculate that Marcos had become irrational. His optimism faded and he began questioning whether he should return under the circumstances, whether he should be accompanied by journalists. (He had thought that having journalists along could be a kind of security. ''They'll be my only protection in case something happens,” he had said. Early this month, the White House announced that President Reagan was not including the Philippines among the countries he would be visiting in Asia.
''If I came in quietly,'' he said, ''Marcos might be lenient.'' He would not ask for leniency; he just hoped Marcos had some sense of justice and decency left in him to allow it. House arrest would still allow him to organize the opposition and possibly talk to Marcos, but in solitary confinement he might not be able to. He even speculated the Government might be setting him up for ''the kill.''
But in the days that followed, Ninoy was riding high again. He concluded that the assassination plot was another Marcos ploy to prevent him from going home. During a meeting with Mrs. Marcos in May, she had tried to discourage him from returning by informing him that the President could no longer control the actions of certain parties in his Government; she offered to set him up in business if he remained in this country. He had politely declined the offer and dismissed the threat.
Without a valid travel document, he began to explore alternatives. The Marcos Government had threatened all airlines with revocation of landing rights and stiff fines if they brought an ''undocumented passenger'' to the Philippines. Ninoy was in favor of using a false passport. He had two: one had been bought in the Middle East and carried his nom de guerre, Marcial Bonifacio: ''Marcial'' for martial law, under which he was jailed as a political prisoner; ''Bonifacio'' for the name of the military prison in which he had languished for seven years and seven months. (Fort Bonifacio itself was named after the Filipino hero who had fought against the Spanish in the 1890's and who was executed by a political rival.) The other ''travel document'' was a blank passport which an old Government acquaintance had procured for him and in which he had written his real name.
On July 31, Marcos fired another salvo: he revived Ninoy's death sentence. When he heard it, Ninoy's mood plummeted again. But planning for the Aug. 7 arrival continued and Ninoy settled on a Korean Air Lines flight from New York to Seoul with a connection to Manila. All the flights he had considered landed in Manila between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. Sunday. Five planes arrived then and the jumbo jets disgorging their passengers would add confusion to Aquino's homecoming and help disguise his actual flight.
But on Aug. 2, all that planning became academic when Ninoy received a cable from Defense Minister Enrile: ''. . . We are convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that there are plots against your life. . . . We request you, therefore, to suspend your return to the Philippines for at least one month. . . . Your avowed intention to answer the call for national unity and reconciliation will not be advanced by any attempt against your life which will exacerbate the present situation. . . .''
Enrile is a lawyer and Ninoy was struck by the legal certainty of the phrase ''beyond a reasonable doubt.''
''Why not postpone?'' he asked rhetorically that evening. ''Why not be accommodating on this one point? There's nothing magic about Aug. 7. Why should I push them against the wall? If I do, they may have to prove it's true.''
“As we descended over a Philippine landscape of rice fields and rural villages, Ninoy reached into his bag and handed me a box. ‘’Here,’’ he said, ‘’I want you to have my watch.’’ I was stunned.”
Ninoy weighed the pros and cons of postponing. He might lose the momentum that had been built up among his supporters in the Philippines, but if postponing would help him achieve his primary goal - persuading Marcos of the urgent need for political change - it was worth it.
Some opposition leaders were clearly upset with the postponement, but agreed to go along with Ninoy's wishes. He set a new arrival date: Sunday, Aug. 21, one month and two days after he was first notified of an assassination plot against him. The opposition homecoming committee stressed that the new date had to be firm.
Ninoy began to speculate about the reason the Government was insisting on ''one month.'' It could be a delaying tactic. At the end of one month, Marcos could ask for another month, then another, to keep Ninoy out of the country until after the planned Reagan visit in November. It could be that Marcos's health had deteriorated to such a point that he needed surgery immediately.
Indeed, on Aug. 5, the Government produced more grist for the rumor mill. The New York Times reported a Government official saying that Marcos was going into a ''three-week seclusion'' to write two books. Ninoy was astounded by this development. ''What the hell is going on? It doesn't make sense,'' he said. ''Why would he have to go into seclusion to write books?''
His contacts in Manila informed him that the capital was buzzing with the rumor that Marcos would be undergoing a kidney transplant. Some warned that the ''seclusion'' could be a Government tactic to divert attention from Aquino's homecoming. Ninoy learned from United States Government sources that Marcos might be using the seclusion to reorganize his Government.
More rumors of Marcos's declining health followed, but they made no difference. Ninoy was committed to the Aug. 21 arrival date.
On Aug. 12, Ninoy called and asked where I would be in an hour. I told him. He said he would call from a ''clean one'' - a phone he was certain was not tapped. (Filipino dissidents in this country live with the awareness that their activities may be monitored and their phones tapped; some suspect that the American Government shares intelligence information with the Marcos regime. One anti-Marcos opposition leader living in the United States once used a pay phone to relay information to a man who used an alias to check into a Manila hotel just to receive the call. That man was subsequently confronted with the information and arrested by the Philippine military.)
An hour later, Ninoy called and said he was leaving the next day for Los Angeles and Singapore and would be in Taiwan on Aug. 19. I was to meet him in Taipei, where we would be flying China Airlines to Manila; because Taiwan had no diplomatic relations with the Philippines, he said, there were fewer chances of his being discovered by Philippine Government officials.
Aquino in Taipei (Source: Presidential Museum and Library/PCDSPO/Philippine Star)
On Aug. 14, Ninoy flew to Singapore, using the fake passport with his real name. In Singapore, he was met by the son of the Sultan of Johore and whisked across the border to Malaysia, where he met with high-ranking officials from Indonesia, Thailand and Malaysia, to explain why he was going home and what he hoped to achieve.
Back in Singapore, Ninoy picked up a Taiwan visa for his Bonifacio passport, and on Aug. 19 prepared to fly to Hong Kong, where he would be changing planes for Taipei. At the check-in counter, however, the ticket agent looked at Ninoy's passport and, in apparent surprise, dropped it. She called for her supervisor. ''This is it, they've got me,'' Ninoy thought. But he was allowed to board, and he never found out why the ticket agent was so flustered.
For his flight from Hong Kong to Taipei, Ninoy switched to the Bonifacio passport. Except for the Taiwan visa and a fake Manila departure stamp, which someone had forged for him in the United States, the passport pages were clean - which aroused the suspicions of the immigration officer in Taipei.
''Where did you come from?'' he asked.
Ninoy thought quickly. ''From Manila.''
''But the flight came from Hong Kong,'' the officer pressed.
''Yeah, but I had to fly to Hong Kong to make a connection because I couldn't get a direct flight.'' Ninoy was convincing and the immigration officer let him go.
In Taipei, Ninoy stayed at the Grand Hotel. Soon after his arrival, he received indirect word that China Airlines had learned of his presence in Taipei. He was shaken and decided to do something he hadn't planned: inform the Taiwan government through an intermediary to determine if the government would prevent him from boarding the China Airlines flight.
Shortly, through another intermediary, the government responded. ''We have never heard of Aquino and we do not know he is in Taiwan.'' Ninoy relaxed a bit. He noted there was no love lost between the Taiwan government and Marcos, who had unceremoniously ejected Taiwan's Ambassador from the Philippines when Manila established diplomatic relations with Peking.
Saturday, Aug. 20, the journalists who were to accompany us to Manila arrived in Taipei, and Ninoy spent most of the day and night being interviewed in his room.
The reporters asked about the alleged assassination plot, which he answered with bravura, although - as he was to indicate later - he still believed that the plot was a Marcos ploy.
''Assassination is part of public service,'' he told one reporter. ''Look at what happened to President Reagan. If my fate is to die by an assassin's bullet, so be it. But I cannot be petrified by inaction or fear of assassination and therefore stay in a corner.''
To a Japanese television crew, he said: ''You have to be very ready with your hand camera, because this action can happen very fast. In a matter of three, four minutes, it could be all over and I may not be able to talk to you again.''
Ninoy had been in constant telephone contact with his family and supporters in the Philippines, and he told another reporter he had received word that he might be ''hit'' at the airport and that the assassin would be shot in return. ''That's why I'm going to wear this,'' he said, holding up a bulletproof vest. ''But if they hit me in the head, I'm a goner.'' Though tragically prophetic, it was not so much a premonition as an indication of another rumor he had heard.
Still, on the eve of an uncertain homecoming, Ninoy seemed to take the death threats more seriously than he had in the past. Max Vanzi, a U.P.I. correspondent, had just arrived from San Francisco with the latest wire story from Manila: Gen. Fabian C. Ver, Marcos's powerful right-hand man and chief of the Philippine armed forces, was quoted as saying that if Aquino arrived in Manila, he would be put back on the plane and returned to his departure point.
Ninoy dismissed that statement as preposterous, laughing at the notion of himself becoming a diplomatic ping-pong ball: Marcos sending him back to Taiwan, Taiwan refusing to accept him and sending him back to Manila.
But in the same wire story, Ver also warned that Aquino might be assassinated at the airport. When he heard that, Ninoy's face fell. ''Oh, my God!'' he muttered. Ver was the Philippine Government official Ninoy distrusted the most, describing him as ''blindly loyal'' to the President.
''Ver is so loyal if Marcos told him to jump from a building, he would salute and say, 'What floor, sir?' '' Ninoy quipped.
Later, when all the reporters had left and we were alone, he commented that this was the first time Ver had talked publicly about assassination. He voiced another concern. He had just heard from Manila that the opposition leaders would not be allowed to meet him at planeside. He had wanted them there to demonstrate to Marcos that the opposition was united.
''That's a bad sign,'' he said. ''What it means is that they're going to play hardball. You know,'' he added quietly, ''the best thing might be if they turn the plane around tomorrow.'' He still considered assassination only a remote possibility and certainly not at the airport - not with reporters and cameramen accompanying him.
Ninoy's biggest concern was that the Philippine Government might stop the plane at the end of the runway and whisk him off to prison where he would be held incommunicado.
I told him of the preparations being made for his Manila homecoming. Leaflets were being distributed at universities, yellow ribbons were being tied to trees (to recall the song ''Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree,'' about a former prisoner returning home) and a big crowd was expected at the airport.
''Boy, Direk is really doing it, huh?'' he exclaimed, his face beaming. ''Direk'' is the Filipino slang for director, his nickname for Lupita, who is a movie director and who already had been dispatched from San Francisco to Manila with an 18-point list of instructions. Teresa Aquino Oreta, another sister, also had left for Manila from the United States. And Aurora Aquino, his 74-year-old mother, and other family members had an active role, as well, in planning the homecoming.
Throughout the day, reporters in Manila were attempting to locate Ninoy to determine what flight he would be on. As a precaution, Ninoy called a friend in Indonesia, who booked him on Garuda Indonesian Airways under ''B. Aquino.'' He had also been booked on an Air France flight, and had even hinted that he might arrive on a private plane.
Ninoy finally went to his bedroom about 12:30 a.m., exhausted. He lay face down on his bed, hands outstretched, fingering his rosary beads and praying.
He was subdued that last night. ''You know,'' he said, ''I'm so tired. Maybe it's better if they take me straight to prison so I can rest for a while.'' Even with all the talk of assassination, Ninoy still clung to the hope he might be placed under house arrest.
Ninoy slept only about four hours. Up by 5 a.m. Sunday, he said his rosary again and called his wife, Cory, in Boston for the last time. She read the Bible to him. He spoke briefly with his children and cried. He then sat down and wrote each of them a letter.
When I arrived in his room, he was his usual exuberant self.
I was wearing a beige safari shirt, similar to the ones I used to wear when I was covering the Vietnam War. Ninoy looked at me and broke out in a huge grin.
''My God, man, what's that you're wearing? You look like you're going to cover a war!''
''Look at you,'' I bantered. ''What are you, a white knight in shining armor? And look at that patch? What does that stand for? Boy Scouts of America?''
For a moment, I became serious. ''Listen,'' I said, ''if they come to get you on the plane, I want you to tell them that your brother-in-law is with you and you want him to go with you.'' He agreed.
The mood at breakfast continued to be jovial. He had ordered room service: eggs, bacon and toast. He asked for ketchup, which he poured over his eggs. He always ate his eggs that way. I looked over in mock revulsion and said, ''That's disgusting.''
Ninoy talked about the phone call to his wife and said, ''One regret I have is that Cory has had to suffer so much.'' Ninoy's political life had kept him away from home a lot and Cory knew there was some risk in his return home, but had stood by him.
''You know, Kris really wanted to come with me,'' he continued wistfully. Kris is his 12-year-old daughter. ''But I had to tell her 'no.' ''
As the Boeing 767 reached cruising altitude, the cameramen and reporters noisily went into action, crowding the aisles near Ninoy's seat. They were quickly asked to go to the rear of the plane, which was virtually empty.
Ninoy spent most of the in-flight time posing for photographs and giving interviews. Finally, interviews over, Ninoy returned to his original seat, but was besieged by a handful of Filipino passengers. One woman kept kissing him and the cameras rolled again. Ninoy was embarrassed. ''My wife's not going to like this,'' he muttered. Other Filipinos asked for his autograph. One shoved her passport in front of him and asked him to sign. He started to do so.
''Noy, you can't sign a passport!'' I exclaimed. He hadn't realized what he was signing and autographed her boarding card instead.
Aquino on the China Airlines flight home
Just before the plane began its descent, Ninoy took out his bulletproof vest, went to the bathroom and put it on. When he sat down again, he turned to me and wondered if we were going to land. There had been speculation that the Manila control tower would refuse to permit the plane to touch down and would order it back to Taipei.
''I think it's a victory if we just land,'' he said. ''Everything else is a bonus.''
As we descended over a Philippine landscape of rice fields and rural villages, Ninoy reached into his bag and handed me a box. ''Here,'' he said, ''I want you to have my watch.'' I was stunned.
''Why? Why are you doing this?'' ''I just want you to have it.'' I took it as a symbol of our adventure together.
Then he repeated instructions he had given me earlier. ''Don't forget to go to my house as soon as we land and have someone take my belongings to me in prison. It's the same stuff I had there before. They'll know.''
I turned away for a few minutes, and when I looked back, Ninoy was fingering his rosary beads, his lips moving in silent prayer.
As the China Airlines jet touched down, I turned and said: ''Noy, we're home.'' He smiled. Then came some tense minutes while the plane taxied. Kiyoshi Wakamiya, a Japanese correspondent and close friend of Ninoy's who sat next to me, was clearly agitated. Looking out the window, he exclaimed that the tarmac was deserted. I leaned over to look. As we taxied by other planes parked at the terminal, the absence of activity appeared ominous. But then I caught a glimpse of two maintenance men under two of the planes and dismissed the fear.
As we turned into Gate 8, Wakamiya could see part of the welcoming crowd in front of the terminal building. Ninoy looked pleased.
But as we pulled into the gate, I noticed several soldiers dressed in khakis standing under the jetway. A vehicle was parked there, too. Then a blue van pulled up, the back door opened and a group of soldiers dressed in blue fatigues and carrying rifles and pistols jumped out, fanning out around the plane. Inside, a ripple of nervous chatter spread through the plane as people crowded around the windows, watching the activity on the tarmac. Shutters clicked in a half-dozen cameras.
As soon as the engines were shut down, three khaki-clad soldiers began climbing the service stairs of the jetway. The tension increased.
''Noy, they're coming to get you,'' I warned. I was nervous, but still assumed they were going to escort him to prison and that the soldiers in blue were there as ''window dressing'' - to provide security because of the alleged assassination plot.
Passengers began standing up to disembark. Cameramen and photographers remained at the windows. Then came an announcement over the plane's intercom: ''Would all passengers please remain on board.'' For a few seconds there was silence, then everyone resumed talking.
The three soldiers began making their way down the aisle, stepping around photographers and cameramen, who by now were standing or kneeling on seats, camera shutters clicking. The first soldier walked right past Ninoy, but the second one, who wore sunglasses, recognized him. The third soldier bent down; Ninoy smiled and shook his hand. (I remembered Lupita once telling me that Filipinos are cordial even to their enemies.) They exchanged a few words in Tagalog. Then Ninoy stood up and the three began to escort him out.
By now the sound of excited chatter had gone up several decibels. All the while, the shutters clicked and cameramen, photographers and reporters shouted and jostled for vantage points.
Aquino being escorted off the plane
I waited for Ninoy to tell the soldiers that he wanted his brother-in-law to accompany him, but he didn't and began walking away from me. Over the noise, I shouted a reminder to him: ''Noy, can I go with you?'' He turned back and looked at me for a split second, unsmiling. Without breaking stride, he said quickly: ''Yeah, come on.'' The last soldier leading him out was just ahead of me. I leaned forward and said: ''I'm his brother-in-law. Can I go with him?''
He turned back and ordered: ''You just take seat.''
I decided to follow anyway, but the passenger compartment had become chaotic. Television crews and photographers jumped in front of me to follow, too, pushing and shoving as we left the plane and stepped onto the jetway leading into the terminal. But once inside the jetway, the soldiers abruptly rushed Ninoy out the service door. Plainclothes security guards who had been waiting in the jetway pushed the windowed door shut and blocked it on the outside. Cameramen and reporters pushed against the door, shouting at each other and at the guards. I pushed too, straining to see over them, but couldn't.
Then, nine seconds after Ninoy went out the door, we heard the first shot. There was instant pandemonium. Everyone pushed harder, trying to get the door open. Four seconds later, we heard three more shots. The jetway was filled with shouts. Then there was a burst of automatic-rifle fire.
''Goddamit!'' I yelled. ''Bastards! Bastards!'' This wasn't supposed to happen! It couldn't have happened!
I had to see what was going on, but couldn't in the crush. I ran to a window of the jetway, but couldn't see anything from there either. Reporters and camera crews stampeded back into the plane, hoping for a better view. I ran after them. Inside the plane, passengers were screaming. The journalists were pushing against the windows to see what was happening, climbing over passengers to do so.
''What happened? What happened?'' I shouted, shaking with rage. Vanzi, the U.P.I. correspondent, approached. ''I'm sorry,'' he said, a stunned look on his face. ''I saw him on the ground. He was shot in the head. There was a lot of blood. I'm sure he's dead.''
''Are you sure it was him? Are you sure?'' I was frantic.
'Yeah, I'm sure. I'm sorry, man.''
I wasn't satisfied. I asked Wakamiya. ''They killed him! They killed him!'' he gasped.
By the time I fought my way to the window, Ninoy's body was gone. The soldiers had lifted him into the blue van and driven off, I was told. There was only a body dressed in blue on the tarmac.
''Those bastards! Those - bastards,'' I muttered over and over. Reporters began asking passengers what they saw. Some passengers were crying; some reporters were in a state of shock. Photographers were still pointing their cameras out the windows. With Ninoy's body gone, the only thing I could think of at that point was getting out into the terminal to tell my wife, Lupita, and Ninoy's mother what had happened.
I ran through the jetway toward the terminal. There was a long line at the immigration counter. I ran to the front and told the first man in line: ''My brother-in-law has been shot. I have to get through.'' He quickly stepped back.
Once through immigration, I ran into some journalists who were there to cover the homecoming. ''Where's Lupita?'' I asked frantically. Lupita had been the family's contact with the press. They pointed me to the V.I.P. room in the far corner of the terminal. On the way there, some members of the family called my name and tried to stop me. I kept walking.
The V.I.P. room was jammed with reporters and cameramen. I called for Lupita. Cameras began pointing toward me; microphones were thrust in my face. ''What happened?'' they asked. I didn't answer. I found Lupita. I was still shaking. She took me into a corner. I told her what had happened. Someone else stuck a microphone between us. I lost my control. ''Get that goddamn thing out of my face!'' I yelled, shoving it away. ''He was my brother-in-law.'' Unconsciously, I had used the past tense. I saw Ninoy's mother sitting in a chair looking at me, deep sorrow in her eyes. I didn't have the heart to tell her. I went over, kissed and hugged her. ''Mommy'' was all I could say.
I still wasn't convinced that Ninoy was dead. Instinctively, I began thinking of sources as if I were covering a news story. Two sources are not enough, I thought. I need more.
I went back to the arrival area and waited for the other journalists who had accompanied us. The welcoming crowd had gathered outside the terminal. Then I heard them cheering: ''Ninoy! Ninoy!'' My heart stopped. Ninoy was outside, I thought. I told Lupita to run back into the V.I.P. room to tell her mother that Ninoy might be alive. I strained to see over the crowd, to see if Ninoy was there. Soon someone said they were cheering opposition leader Salvador H. Laurel, who was working his way through the crowd to tell them Ninoy had been shot.
I then saw Jim Laurie, an ABC News correspondent, walking out of immigration. He, too, had seen Ninoy lying on the tarmac, shot in the head. ''I'm sure he's dead,'' Laurie said.
I was devastated, and paced up and down until Lupita took my arm and said, ''Let's get out of here.'' Our car inched its way through the horrendous Manila traffic and my impatience grew with every second. I wanted to get to a phone to call Cory. I had promised I would call as soon as we got to Manila.
Finally, at the home of one of Lupita's sisters, I phoned Boston. I was still shaking. I dreaded making the call. Cory answered and spoke very calmly. She had already been called by Japanese Congressman Shintaro Ishihara, a close family friend, who had heard the news from Wakamiya. I related more of the details. Cory is amazingly strong, I thought, stronger than I. She said she was O.K., relatives were on their way over. She thanked me for all I had done for Ninoy. I was touched she would say such a thing at a moment like that. I emphasized we still had no official confirmation that he was dead. She asked me to let her know of any developments.
A few minutes later, the phone rang. It was an Army officer from the Fort Bonifacio hospital. He said Ninoy was there.
''Is he dead or alive?'' Lupita shouted repeatedly into the phone. He would not answer. Our hopes were raised again. Lupita raced out the door to the hospital. I said I would stay at the house and asked her to call me as soon as she confirmed anything at all. An anxious hour passed before she finally relayed a message to me.
I called Cory again.
Ninoy was dead.
Ken Kashiwahara
Ken Kashiwahara [was] an ABC News correspondent based in San Francisco. A version of this article appears in print on Oct. 16, 1983, Section 6, Page 41 of the NYT National edition with the headline: AQUINO'S FINAL JOURNEY.
[Editor’s note: A shorter version of this article was published in Positively Filipino on August 20, 2013: https://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/ninoys-final-journey
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