Never in the long and turbulent history of the Philippines has there been an election campaign quite like it. In the muddy streets and squares of provincial cities and villages on the island of Mindanao last week, tens of thousands of farmers and plantation workers waited for a glimpse of an unusual political heroine, a retiring, bespectacled housewife with only nine weeks of political experience. Sometimes that vigil lasted for hours, under glaring sunshine and the occasional tropical downpour, but the crowds were quiet and uncomplaining. Finally, when the long-awaited political caravan straggled into view, the throngs invariably exploded into ecstasy. As small children ran alongside the open jeep that bore Opposition Candidate Corazon ("Cory") , Aquino, 53, supporters threw yellow and white confetti and shouted a welcome: "Cory! Cory! Cory!"
Back in Manila, the capital, a different kind of spectacle was unfolding. President Ferdinand Marcos, 68, an ailing autocrat possessed of formidable political powers, made an election foray of his own from Malacanang Palace to address 7,000 longshoremen on the city's South Pier. Everything was carefully choreographed: a stream of local entertainers kept the crowd's attention until Marcos, looking drawn, tired and weak, was escorted to the podium. The President joked about rumors that he had suffered a physical collapse, and dismissed reports of his obvious ill health as so much "black propaganda." Wife Imelda by his side, Marcos then made a fervent pitch for support as a bulwark against the growing Communist-led insurgency that is stalking the country. Said he defiantly: "Once a champion, always a champion."
For the first time in 20 years, many Filipinos were not so sure. Less than two weeks before some 30 million voters are expected to go to the polls on Feb. 7, the strange election exercise that has mesmerized the Philippines since November had blossomed into something unexpected: a real race. As city and rural folk thronged in astonishing numbers to Aquino rallies, her campaign organizers extolled the local outpouring as "people power," an antidote for the highly organized and often unscrupulous campaign machine that has kept Marcos in office since 1965. Members of the President's ruling New Society Movement, who had heard their leader predict an 80-20 victory for himself, were shading that estimate back to 60-40. At least two senior members of Marcos' Cabinet were even more cautious, predicting only a 55-45 win for the President. Exulted Linggoy Alcuaz, an official of one of the country's myriad splinter opposition parties: "There are times in history when things come to a boil, and this is one of them."