He never stitched a cape. On the morning of November 24, the one who stood between two Marcos administrations, two people powers, a pandemic, and, I must say, dinosaurs, was finally laid to rest. His political journey, only short of a century, is now buried under dirt, but his actions—or the lack thereof—remain felt. And what's worse is that he's six feet below along with those we considered heroes.

At the start of the Marcos regime in the 1960s, Juan Ponce Enrile stood beside the one who would change the political landscape of the whole nation. In the short span of six years, from a personal lawyer, he jumped from two government positions until landing as justice secretary. Since then, his gradual rise to power was consequential. He became the minister of defense during the barrage of martial law, serving as the prime mover that sustained 14 years of Marcos Sr.'s authoritarian rule—a decade and a half marred with suspended liberties, torture, media censorship, human rights violations, illegal arrests, and the most notable and commonly forgotten—massacres.

But his story was far from over. He no longer held power, but I guess he knew power does not solely come from the president himself. After feeling betrayed, he came to plan a coup together with a cabal of officers from the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP), but it never saw the light of day. The People Power did. So is the rise of Former President Corazon Aquino, who's fast enough to see the agile side of Enrile, that what could have been another coup ended with the same fate as the former. And him being kicked out for good.

Yet it seems like he was never fond of giving up. He was still able to serve four terms in the senate—the longest in the upper chamber's history and possibly also the most controversial crusade—and became the chief legal counsel to the junior of the man he once served and ratted on. But just like his unwavering inclination to the political throne, the shadow of controversies and an indictment never left him like a pet he leashed on his belt. From the so-called Dagdag Bawas vote—rigging scandal that he was allegedly involved in, up to the pork barrel scam that only held water for quite a short time before it was spilled back to square one.

His luck is something commendable; the life led? Well, that’s a whole other story.

Before the term “side quest” can even proliferate, Enrile made it his life motto while denying allegations and being unapologetic became his custom. His death—for certain—brought pain, but not only to those who cherished him, but also to the families of the 3,420 killed, 34,000 tortured, and 70,000 arrested which—mind you—a huge portion of it is done with no probable cause. And his burial just added more salt to an old age impending wound because even in his deathbed, he remained the man he thinks of himself whenever he looks in the mirror—all good and by his own words, he did the truth as he saw it. I guess his truth was good enough to have his casket on sacred lands.

100 years lived at the cost of thousands dead. Now, even in his tomb, he reminds us of how much control he still holds—how many strings he can still pull and how much pain he can still cause. There, he proves that it isn’t about the truth, the people or his; it’s about what you can prove in court. When you look at Enrile, you must not see him on a legal peephole or by military standards of what a hero should be, you look at him as he is—a political chameleon to some, a wicked man to most, and the man who engraved a mark so deep you cannot easily remove it.

The Frontman