Caecus

Chapter 2: The Weight of Forgotten History

Lucas sat at his small desk in his cramped apartment, surrounded by stacks of old books, newspapers, and notes scrawled on loose sheets of paper. The rain outside tapped softly against the window, but inside, his mind raced. He had spent the last few days diving deep into the history of the Philippines—something he had always known but never fully appreciated until now.

The past was more than just a series of dates and events. It was a mirror, reflecting the mistakes, triumphs, and failures that had shaped the country into what it was today. But that mirror was often ignored. People looked at it briefly, saw only what they wanted, and moved on. And that’s what worried Lucas the most.

He flipped through a faded history book, stopping at a chapter about the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos. The brutal martial law era, the corruption, the stolen wealth—this was a time when the people had been silenced, when fear had reigned supreme. Yet decades later, after the revolution that ousted him, Marcos’s family had clawed their way back into power, slowly but surely. The irony was bitter.

It wasn’t that Filipinos didn’t know their history. The problem was they didn’t seem to connect it with the present. How could they vote for the same names, the same families, who had once looted the country dry? How could they not see the pattern?

Lucas rubbed his temples, frustrated. He had spoken to people on the streets, in cafes, in the markets. Whenever he brought up politics, the same excuses came up.

*"But he built so much infrastructure!"* 
*"At least she cares about the poor!"* 
*"It's not like the others are any better."*

People remembered the shiny projects, the roads, the bridges. They didn’t seem to care that those same politicians had siphoned off millions from public funds, or that the very infrastructure they admired had been built on the back of debt that their children’s children would still be paying.

It wasn’t just forgetfulness, Lucas realized. It was willful blindness.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. It was an article notification from a local news site. He opened it and saw a headline that made his stomach turn: **“Senator Marcos Jr. Leads in Presidential Polls, Promises Unity and Progress.”**

Lucas tossed his phone on the desk, disgusted. He couldn’t understand it. How could the son of a dictator be leading in the polls? How could the people be so easily swayed by promises of progress when the scars of the past were still so fresh?

He thought about his father, who had been a student activist during the martial law years. His father had marched in the streets, protested, and fought for the freedom that so many seemed to take for granted now. Lucas remembered the stories he had heard growing up—of the fear, the disappearances, the tortures. His father had always told him, *“Never forget, Lucas. Never forget what we went through.”*

But it seemed the country had forgotten. Or worse, they didn’t care.

The rain outside had grown heavier, and Lucas found himself staring out the window, lost in thought. There was something deeper at play here, he realized. It wasn’t just about the politicians. It was about the system. Filipinos had been conditioned to believe that their votes didn’t really matter, that no matter who they elected, nothing would change. Corruption was inevitable, so why not vote for someone who could at least give them something in return?

That was the root of it: the transactional nature of politics. Politicians bought loyalty with handouts, infrastructure projects, and temporary relief. They talked about unity and progress, but all they really cared about was power and money.

Lucas’s mind drifted to a conversation he had with a tricycle driver just days before.

“Bakit si Marcos?” Lucas had asked the man, curious about his support for a candidate with such a tainted legacy.

The driver had shrugged. “Lahat naman sila magnanakaw eh. At least yung pamilya niya, may nagawa naman.”

That was the narrative Lucas kept hearing. *They’re all thieves, so why not pick the one who built something?* It was a dangerous mentality, one that allowed corruption to flourish generation after generation.

But what angered Lucas most was the lack of critical thinking, the unwillingness to connect the dots between past and present. The country had seen this all before—dictators, thieves, promises of prosperity followed by economic collapse. It was a cycle that kept repeating because no one was paying attention.

He stood up from his desk and began pacing the room, his thoughts swirling. It wasn’t just the people who were to blame. The education system had failed them, teaching history as a series of memorized facts without context, without relevance to the present. The media, too, was complicit, often too afraid or too compromised to call out the powerful.

Lucas knew what needed to be done. He had to make people see the connections, make them understand that the politicians they were voting for weren’t just corrupt—they were part of a long line of self-serving rulers who had kept the country poor while enriching themselves.

But how? Articles hadn’t worked. Speeches hadn’t worked. People were tired, struggling to make ends meet, and politics was the last thing on their minds. They couldn’t afford to think about history when their bellies were empty.

Lucas sat back down, a new sense of urgency gripping him. If he didn’t act now, if people didn’t wake up soon, history would repeat itself yet again. And this time, the consequences could be irreversible.

He opened his laptop and began typing, the rain outside intensifying as if the sky itself was weeping for the country.

*"Filipinos have forgotten their history."* 
*"We have voted for thieves and dictators before, and we are doing it again."* 
*"Our past is not just a story—it’s a warning. And if we don’t heed it, we will be condemned to repeat it."*

Lucas paused, staring at the screen. His words felt like they carried the weight of the nation’s future. He didn’t know if anyone would listen, but he had to try. The people needed to open their eyes before it was too late.