Why we march

Aug. 26, 2013, was a holiday, but my friends and I had been awake and texting each other since 6 a.m. We had plans to join a Luneta rally that we had read about on Facebook, and we knew we had to arrive early to find parking. Some people we knew had booked a room in nearby hotels, but we were all young professionals then and didn’t have the budget for that. Fortunately, a friend had generously volunteered to be the designated car and driver so we could all go together, while another had brought coffee for everyone. I remember packing crackers and a small trash bag because the Facebook post had reminded everyone to clean up after themselves.

By 9 a.m., Luneta was already filled with people from all walks of life, demanding the abolition of the pork barrel system. The public outrage was in response to reports that businesswoman Janet Lim Napoles had stolen billions of pesos in government funds through various fake nongovernment organizations pretending to cater to farmers. Instead, these were funneled to ghost projects with the involvement of several incumbent lawmakers.

What struck me the most was how orderly and even festive the rally seemed. The chanting never stopped: just as the voices from one group would begin to tire, another would step in. The Million People March, as the event would come to be known, was estimated to have gathered 100,000 to 400,000 people in Manila and other cities, and became one of the major peaceful protests that was effectively mobilized through social media.

Twelve years later, another anticorruption rally is being organized via social media. Catholic and Protestant leaders have recently called Filipinos to join the Trillion Peso March to be held on Sept. 21 at the People Power Monument. My friends and I joked that we are now approaching midlife, with families of our own, yet we find ourselves protesting the same old problem: losing billions of taxpayer money to bribes, kickbacks, and ghost projects.

The feeling of disillusionment is hard to shake. Adding insult to injury is how some of the “main characters” from the previous scandal are part of it again. Sen. Jinggoy Estrada—one of the senators who was implicated in the Napoles scheme—was recently named by former Department of Public Works and Highways engineer Brice Hernandez as one of the senators who had allegedly received payoffs for fake flood control projects. In one of my group chats, someone had asked, “Kung papakahirap ba kong pumunta, meron bang mangyayari? (If I go through the trouble of showing up, will anything really change?)”

As difficult as it is to believe at times, protests do work. Political scientists note, however, that their impact does not always unfold in the outcomes and timeline that people imagine. In the short term, protests are important for raising public awareness, setting political agendas, and pressuring policymakers. Taking to the streets in large numbers is the most visible assertion of dissent—reminding those in power that unacceptable actions will not be tolerated or easily forgotten. And while it does not always lead to immediate changes, sustained protests slowly erode the foundations of legitimacy that authorities rely on to govern, especially in democratic institutions. When public trust and support weaken, so does a government’s grasp on power. Protests keep leaders in check and help create enabling conditions for long-term social and policy reforms to take place.

Protests also shape collective consciousness. Whether the protest took place in the Philippines, Indonesia, or Nepal, these events leave behind indelible images that carry forward narratives of resistance and serve as enduring resources for future struggles. And while the age of social media has made it easy for protests to be coopted into performative activism for the gram, participating in a demonstration, even for the wrong reasons, can transform individuals in ways that ripple outward.

For instance, protests restore and amplify moral courage and expand what citizens believe they can accomplish in their civic lives. Studies show that attending a public demonstration enhances one’s perceived political efficacy and restores the belief that change is possible even when the arc of reform feels long. In an era marked by political fatigue and growing cynicism, these seemingly small wins are significant achievements in themselves.

I still remember the deep sense of accomplishment I felt after attending the 2013 Million People March. As a nonprofit worker who knew how desperately disadvantaged communities needed funding, and as someone who felt the pinch of a 30 percent tax taken from a modest salary, learning about the Napoles scandal was quite demoralizing. At the rally, however, it was as if all my anger and frustration were absorbed into a bigger collective voice that felt indestructible and hopeful. When I got home, I immortalized the day by sharing a photo of my muddy white sneakers on Instagram with the caption: “Proud casualties of the rally.”

As I was writing this, a good friend asked me on Telegram if I was planning to join the rally on Sept. 21 because she was looking for someone to go with. I told her I wouldn’t miss it. The road to a better country is long, uncertain, and often disheartening, but marching together with vigilance keeps the horizon of possibility alive.