The Filipino people have long demonstrated that democracy is more than a ritual of casting ballots every few years. A true democracy is a living, breathing system in which citizens engage with their leaders, hold power to account, and insist that public resources serve the common good. Our nation has shown this in vivid, undeniable ways: through peaceful, organized protests that refuse violence while demanding accountability; through the steady insistence that corruption be confronted and redressed; through a willingness to raise our voices when institutions falter. In these acts lies a profound, beautiful political value that we should proudly carry to the world.
From the Iglesia ni Cristo peace rallies to the more expansive A Trillion Peso March, these movements were not merely demonstrations; they were statements of national identity. They said, in no uncertain terms, that Filipinos are awake: alert to the grand claims of leadership, and unafraid to demand the transparency and integrity that democracy requires. They conveyed a simple truth with a powerful resonance: that the people, when united and nonviolent, can press for change without surrendering the sanctity of life, law, or social harmony. The message was clear—public trust in institutions cannot be taken for granted, and it will not be restored by rhetoric alone but by concrete, accountable action.
This is not an empty triumph of rhetoric. It is a recognition that the legitimacy of any government rests on the consent of the governed, tested regularly by the public’s ability to mobilize, organize, and articulate what is right and just. When people gather to demand accountability, they are not seeking chaos; they are insisting on the rule of law, the dignity of the taxpayer, and the protection of the vulnerable against predatory tendencies—whether in public offices or private corner offices that siphon off resources meant for education, health, and infrastructure. The value here is democracy’s moral backbone: power exists to serve, not to overwhelm. Yet, as any student of history will remind us, the mere act of protest is not a substitute for governance. It is a catalyst, a pressure mechanism that should compel leaders to respond with seriousness, speed, and fidelity to the public good. When protests are heard, they must yield more than headlines; they must yield reforms that endure beyond the next election cycle. The problem arises when the energy of the moment fades and promises become euphemisms for inaction.
The litmus test of a mature democracy is when the call for change translates into actual policy—into budgets that reflect priority needs, into anti-corruption measures that are enforceable, into institutions that operate with transparency and accountability. In this context, the presidency of Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. stands at a crossroads. The nation sought assurance that the voices raised in streets would be matched with concrete governance—swift, decisive actions against corruption; reforms that restore public trust in institutions; and a steadfast commitment to the welfare of ordinary citizens. The disappointment many feel arises not from dissent or disagreement, but from the perception that meaningful listening did not translate into meaningful action. When policy responds more slowly than the tempo of protest, faith in the system frays. The willingness to challenge leaders is a sign of a healthy democracy; the expectation that those challenges yield tangible results is equally essential. This is not a call to cynicism or to a permanent state of grievance. It is a call to sustained citizen engagement that moves beyond the immediate moment of outrage to the long arc of reform. The Filipino people must continue to exercise their electoral power with discernment, ensuring that the lessons from past rallies inform future voting choices.
The 2028 presidential election cannot be a simple referendum on personalities or slogans; it must be a rigorous choice about who will steward public resources, uphold the rule of law, and protect the vulnerable. The ballot is the most powerful tool we possess to translate the energy of the streets into a governance that reflects our highest ideals. There are, of course, risks and responsibilities that accompany this path. Nonviolence is not a passive stance; it is an active discipline that preserves the moral legitimacy of a movement while pressuring those in power. Violence would betray the core values that enabled peaceful protests to gain legitimacy in the first place, and would be counterproductive to the aim of restoring public trust. The Filipino tradition of Bayanihan—cooperation, communal solidarity, and mutual aid—should inform not only our protests but our politics as well. We must build platforms for dialogue that enable grievances to be aired and addressed without fracturing the social fabric that binds us as a nation. But conversation alone will not suffice. The republic requires institutions that are capable of learning and adapting. Auditing public finances, strengthening anti-corruption infrastructure, and protecting whistleblowers are not merely bureaucratic tasks; they are moral obligations.
A culture of impunity—whether tolerated by the state or normalized by the public—destroys the very fabric of democracy. We must insist on consequences for plunder and mismanagement, not as a punitive impulse, but as a fundamental prerequisite for the possibility of a just society where every peso is accounted for and every citizen has a stake in the future. Public trust is not an abstract concept. It is earned through transparent decision-making, consistent rule of law, and visible accountability. It is reinforced when leaders demonstrate that power is not private privilege but a public trust that can be questioned, audited, and, when necessary, replaced. The path to restoring trust will be arduous and incremental, but it is the path that has sustained democracies around the world. Our collective memory—of historical moments when citizens stood up for their rights, of the sacrifices made to advance education, healthcare, and fair governance—should serve as a compass for the choices we make as voters and advocates. To those who question whether peaceful protest is effective in a modern political system, I would offer a simple counterpoint: effectiveness is measured not only by immediate outcomes but by the durability of the changes that result. A peaceful, persistent demand for accountability can redefine the terms of political engagement. It forces leaders to justify policies, endure scrutiny, and justify expenditures that affect millions of lives. Even when immediate concessions are not announced, the mere act of sustained vigilance reshapes what is deemed acceptable in public office. It creates a political culture that expects answers, not excuses.
Let us also acknowledge the role of media, civil society, and the international community in shaping accountability. A vigilant press, independent and fearless, acts as a watchdog that can spotlight corruption, amplify marginalized voices, and corroborate claims of misgovernance. Civil society organizations provide the scaffolding for sustained advocacy, from town hall meetings to grassroots committees that translate grievances into concrete policy demands. The international community, recognizing the Philippines as a democracy with enduring potential, can offer support in the form of best practices, not interference, ensuring that reform is homegrown and legitimate. The goal is not to vilify institutions or personalities but to elevate the standard of public service. If leaders are found wanting, the remedy is not cynicism but a recommitment to the social contract: that public office is a privilege granted by the people for the purpose of serving the common good. The remedy is to vote with a conscience sharpened by past experiences, to support candidates who demonstrate integrity, competence, and a genuine commitment to governance that prioritizes the most vulnerable among us.
There is also a dangerous temptation to equate “reform” solely with punishment. While accountability for corruption is non-negotiable, reform must be constructive: it must strengthen institutions, improve service delivery, and reduce the opportunities for abuse. If we are to redeem public trust, we must pair the punitive impulse with systemic fixes—transparent procurement processes, independent fiscal audits, and robust protections for whistleblowers and whistleblowing facilities. We must demand a governance model where checks and balances are not only enshrined in law but practiced in daily public life.
As we approach the 2028 presidential election, let us carry forward the lessons of our most powerful political moments. Let the energy of peaceful protests be transmuted into sustained civic engagement: informed voting, active policy critique, and persistent advocacy for reform. Our democracy is a living organism that requires constant care—clean water for the citizenry, honest accounting for the public purse, and a judiciary that lives up to its duty to deliver justice without fear or favor.
In the end, democracy in the Philippines is a beautiful paradox: it requires quiet courage—nonviolent, disciplined, persistent—to claim the public good, while simultaneously demanding ambition and accountability from those entrusted with power. If we can translate the voices raised in the streets into responsible, well-considered votes, we will not merely protect what we already have; we will expand what democracy can deliver for every Filipino. The road ahead is long, and the horizon may seem distant. But every journey begins with a first step, and every step forward strengthens the nation’s resolve. Let the memory of peaceful demonstrations, the spirit of Bayanihan, and the fidelity to the rule of law guide us toward a 2028 election that is not only about choosing a leader but about reaffirming a national commitment: to govern with integrity, to serve with humility, and to ensure that justice, indeed, is served—so that public trust in our institutions can be restored and our democracy can flourish.
