The early morning air over Luneta Park in Manila was thick with more than mist. As dawn’s dim light stretched across Rizal’s monument, Mara, a college student from Quezon City, joined hundreds gathering, placards in hand, voices hushed yet full of resolve. It was September 21, the anniversary of Proclamation 1081—when martial law was declared under Ferdinand Marcos Sr’ dictatorship in 1972. For many Filipinos, the date still marks a wound that refuses to heal.
But this year, the vigil, the march, and the banners had another sting: they were not only about remembering past authoritarianism, but also demanding accountability for present corruption.
The symbolic weight of Sept. 21 looms large. It is a day when generations recall curfews, disappearances, suppression of free speech, and red tagging of journalists. As citizens assembled, there was a shared feeling: to let the dead weight of history rest, but not to let its shadows go unchallenged.
These protests coincide with revelations about massive irregularities in flood control infrastructure projects—some allegedly ghost projects, many underfunded or never completed, billions lost. The public is furious at what many see as a betrayal, the misuse of funds meant to protect the poor from typhoons and floods.
For Mara, it wasn’t just about corruption as a concept—it was personal. Her neighborhood was flooded last year. The flood control infrastructure nearby failed. “They say they build, but when the rains come, we drown,” she said.
Students & Youth Activists were the majority of the protesters. Some rode jeepneys offering libreng sakay (free rides) to reach Luneta. They carried signs reading “Never Again to Dictatorship,” “P1.9 Trillion Lost. Whose Lives Matter?” priests, religious leaders, and civic organizations stood alongside the youth, calling for moral leadership and institutions that serve the people. Mothers with children, working folks, retirees walked the roads. Even celebrities and beauty queens were seen, demanding accountability for the lost trillions for flood control. They shared stories of past fear—raids, silence, protest suppressed—and current fear: of checks and balances eroding, of corruption becoming normalized.
The protest is called the “Trillion Peso March,” a name that nods to accusations that nearly P1.9 trillion meant for flood control projects over the past 15 years has been mishandled, siphoned off, or simply wasted.
Why turn Sept. 21 into a day of protest rather than just remembrance? Because for many, the abuses under martial law echo in today’s alleged corruption, skewed infrastructure, and failures to protect citizens during disasters. The past is used to illuminate the present.
Authorities were on high alert. The police and military forces were deployed in key areas. Some security forces expressed concerns about protestors crossing lines; others issued reminders that protests must remain peaceful.
President Marcos Jr. has publicly acknowledged public frustration, promising that no one will be exempt in corruption probes. Yet many protesters question whether promises will translate into accountability. The shadow of past abuses looms large—for if power can be abused once, what prevents it now?
As crowds dispersed under a growing afternoon sun, there was exhaustion but also defiance. Mara wiped sweat from her brow, her placard damp from rain during that day. She said she would stay—not just for today, but until something changes: better laws, honest audits, leaders who answer, not evade.
It’s not just about remembering that martial law was a grave mistake. It’s about ensuring that power, when abused, is neither forgotten nor repeated. For many Filipinos, Sept. 21 is no longer just a memory: it is a call to action.
