‘What the people must guard, therefore, is not only the end of rallies, but the end of hearings. After the Senate inquiries, after the congressional investigations, after the noise has died down, what will we do?’
LAST Sunday, the streets of Metro Manila once again became sanctuaries of memory and protest. From the EDSA Shrine and Monument, to Camp Aguinaldo, Luneta, and even the restless grounds of Mendiola, where mock battles played out, Filipinos from all walks of life gathered.
Civil society groups stood beside clergy from the Catholic Church, students marched in cadence with progressive circles, and artists lent their voices to the chorus. Different beliefs, different convictions, yet united by a common wound: the disdain for corruption, the rejection of excess, and the moral outrage at the ostentatious display of stolen wealth.
It was a march not only against the past but also against the present, a reminder that history is never too far behind. Demonstrations like these are powerful manifestations of a people’s clamor for change.
They remind us that democracy is not merely written into constitutions but must be lived and defended in the public square. Filipinos, perhaps more than most, know how to fill the streets when injustice becomes unbearable.
And yet, rallies carry their own ambiguities. As noble as the intentions of many are, others will always seek to harness the people’s anger, to control narratives, to bend collective pain into the service of vested interests. The danger is not only in forgetting why we march, but in failing to ask what happens after the placards are lowered and the chants fade into silence.
The harder truth is this: our country is susceptible to corruption not merely because of greedy individuals, but because the very systems and institutions tasked to watch, to govern, and to protect the common good are themselves ripe for compromise. Weak guardrails invite abuse, and so apart from rallying, the greater challenge lies in seeing more, examining more, and cultivating a watchful eye that is consistent, patient, and true.
What the people must guard, therefore, is not only the end of rallies, but the end of hearings. After the Senate inquiries, after the congressional investigations, after the noise has died down, what will we do? Filipinos love a good show, public exposés, grand speeches, and revelations that dominate headlines. But too often, after the curtain falls, the quiet lull returns. Life goes on, and the cycle waits to repeat. The irony is that while controversies are exposed, corruption is already reinventing itself, morphing into more sinister forms, airtight schemes, perfected crimes that slip through the cracks of a distracted nation.
Our history shows we are capable of great uprisings; what it demands now is follow-through. Beyond the drama of demonstrations, there must be the patient work of citizenship: holding leaders accountable, choosing wisely at the ballot, and refusing to be seduced by spectacle.
September 21 is both a date of mourning and of moral awakening. May it remind us that freedom is fragile, and that true change requires not just the courage to gather in the streets, but the discipline to guard our institutions and the vigilance to ensure that the sacrifices of the past are not betrayed by the complacency of the present.
