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After the suicide of former Korean President Roh Moo-hyun, the news of the death of Kim Dae-jung would confirm, in the minds of democratically minded observers, the passing of an era. Those with a pan-Asian sensibility would find further confirmation of that remark in the overseas death of still another symbol of another anti-dictatorship struggle, that of Corazon "Cory" Aquino in the Philippines.
Two prominent names in the parallel historical experience of the two countries, linked by the involvement of the U.S. as each country's wartime liberator - the Philippines from Japan (Korea's colonizer) and Korea from the Communists in the North and from China.
Indeed, an enterprising film epic might well show the paths of Kim and Aquino's husband, Benigno "Ninoy" Jr., virtually crossing each other during the Korean War, which the then-teenage Aquino covered as a newspaper correspondent.
Ninoy Aquino subsequently parlayed his reportage into a script, eventually turned into a much-celebrated but now-lost film titled Korea, directed in 1952 by Filipino National Artist Lamberto V. Avellana.
Further cinematic license, though a likelier occurrence, would depict the Aquinos and the Catholicized Kims socializing during their exile in Boston, perhaps during a spiritually uplifting celebration of Sunday Mass.
As survivors of their respective countries' triumphant pro-democracy movements, Kim and Corazon Aquino were each seen, by commentators looking at both national experiences, as the other country's version of herself or himself: Kim as the Aquino of Korea, Aquino as the Kim of the Philippines and each the Nelson Mandela of Asia.
The comparison may be inaccurate in several crucial areas - for one thing, it was Ninoy, not Cory, who returned from exile just as Kim did, but Kim was not assassinated upon arrival as Ninoy Aquino was - but there was widespread global acclaim that sealed the similarities between the two former presidents: Cory Aquino's "Woman of the Year" distinction in Time magazine (an honor for which Imelda Marcos would surely have gladly walked barefoot), and Kim's Nobel Peace Prize.
The outpouring of grief that attended each leader's recent demise threatened to shape up as the latest challenge against each one's respective current President Lee Myung-bak and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.
At some point in the late ex-presidents' last few months, in fact, each one expressed oppositional dissatisfaction with her or his present-day successor, with Aquino even suggesting she could resume her presidential functions if ever the need for a replacement came up.
Yet amid the waves of nostalgia washing over the mostly middle-aged middle classes of Filipinos and Koreans, one would hear insistent rumblings of dissent, and not always from supporters of the incumbent leaders either.
Kim, the allegations go, handled the aftermath of the IMF crisis in a manner that made Korea more vulnerable to foreign intervention, and pursued his Nobel to the extent of pandering (possibly including a cash-for-summit arrangement) to a regime that has proved weirdly incapable of reciprocating properly. But Kim's Korea was Shangri-La in contrast to Aquino's Philippines. She resisted the long- (and still-) overdue exigency of land reform in order to retain the family hacienda, agreed to repay an entire clutch of corruption-ridden foreign loans (including the ultimate white elephant, a nuclear plant constructed near earthquake fault lines and a now-active volcano), and otherwise responded to a string of horrendous political, economic, and natural disasters ― including increasingly violent coup attempts, multiple and extensive daily brownouts, and the worst volcanic eruption of the last century ― by hurrying to prayer, a manner admirable for a mother, or mother superior, but not a serious President, even in the Third World.
In the end it all comes down to the reality that resilient people will devise ways of coping, and good democracies enable (pardon the appropriation) people power by allowing the population to change ― or retain ― its elected leaders every so often.
If Filipinos were too aghast, then, that Ferdinand Marcos's arrogant, sexist, and self-serving prophecy ― that Aquino would prove an even worse Chief Executive than he ― had somehow come true, by 2009 they could take heart that Roh Moo-hyun's supporters still remembered, during his funeral, to use the color yellow that Aquino, following her late husband's prescription, had adopted for her admittedly righteous and courageous anti-dictatorship campaign.
We see this principle played out ― down to the level of schools and families, and way across the Pacific during George "Dubya" Bush's presidential term ― in which those who best embody certain cherished causes do not necessarily have equally sterling management skills.
But if people continue to select charismatic candidates who turn out to be utter duds (Filipino Exhibit A: Joseph Estrada), it could only mean either that they refuse to learn their lesson, or that they still believe in miracles.
Just to ensure that the former scenario never fully plays out its tragic outcome, we ought then to constantly remind ourselves of our heroes' failures, alongside their finest achievements. Such an option might keep us awake longer, but it would help future generations abide the past more securely.
The author is an associate professor for cultural studies at Inha University in Incheon.
