Thirty-nine years ago, the People Power Revolution—the nonviolent uprising that ended the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos—marked a turning point in Philippine history.
In 1983, dictator Ferdinand Marcos, backed by the U.S., ordered the assassination of his rival Benigno Aquino and imposed media censorship. Only Radio Veritas defied the blackout, sparking weekly mass protests. By 1986, cornered, Marcos called a snap election. Corazón Aquino, Benigno’s widow, emerged as the opposition leader. A civilian army of 20,000 poll watchers tried to prevent fraud, but Marcos declared victory. No one believed him. Lawmakers abandoned Congress, boycotts crippled his businesses, and the Church condemned him. Strikes emptied streets and factories. A military faction attempted a coup, but Aquino insisted on peaceful resistance. When Marcos ordered troops to crush dissent, Cardinal Jaime Sin called for nonviolent resistance. Nuns knelt before tanks. Citizens offered soldiers rice, water, and flowers. Troops refused to fire. For three days, the people paralyzed the nation. In the end, Marcos fled, and Aquino assumed power.
That February 25th became not just the fall of a dictator but a symbol of the people’s ability to heal old wounds and forge democratic peace through grassroots action.
Today, the Philippines reacts to President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. (son of the ousted dictator) erasing the official commemoration of this date from the holiday calendar. This raises profound questions about the evolution of national reconciliation, domestic politics, and the country’s historical memory.
The Legacy of a painful past and the “Quest for reconciliation”
The 1986 Revolution not only toppled an authoritarian regime but symbolized the closure of a bloody chapter. For many, it remains a triumph of peaceful protest—a society rebuilding its identity on freedom and justice.
The Filipino people, with their cultural diversity and history of resistance, have repeatedly shown a commitment to change. Some argue that electing Marcos Jr., despite his controversial "legacy," reflects a collective desire to test whether old wounds could transform into dialogue between the streets and elites. This tacit consensus is not blind acceptance of the past but a bet on hope—a belief that a nation forged in struggle can reinvent itself.
Maybe many considered Marcos Jr.’s election as a chance to heal, by trusting the dictator’s son. In this sense, perhaps society aimed to separate the man from his family’s historical guilt. The vote was less about the past than a reconciliatory experiment, where memory and hope converge. From a nonviolent perspective, the true credit lies with the people, who sought to transform authoritarian legacies into opportunities for change. That’s for sure.
The “power of the streets” and the transformation of Historical Memory
The decision to abolish the holiday cannot be viewed in isolation. For nearly four decades, schools, universities, and groups like Pace e Bene have kept memory alive through educational tools—even colouring pages on nonviolence—to teach new generations about the revolution. This effort reflects a collective aspiration to honour sacrifices made for freedom.
Yet it is jarring that a democratically elected government would omit a milestone symbolizing citizen victory over oppression. This could be seen as an abrupt attempt to “close the wound” without national reflection, erasing a fundamental historical lesson: true social transformation requires acknowledging past wrongs.
For many Filipinos, scrapping the holiday impoverishes collective memory. The expectation was that Marcos Jr. would pair reconciliation policies with symbolic gestures honouring the people’s struggle. Shifting the commemoration to the following Monday—minimizing socioeconomic impact—would have affirmed the revolution’s spirit as a pillar of democracy. By not doing so, his government’s transformation project appears ambiguous.
The ambivalence of Marcos Jr.: Atonement or Continuity of a “family legacy”?
Marcos Jr.’s dilemma lies in his complex relationship with his family’s legacy. His election signals a popular will to move past dictatorship, yet actions like erasing the holiday echo authoritarian shadows.
This duality splits Filipino society. Some believe the people’s hope for change is genuine, trusting that elites have embraced reparations. In this view, electing Marcos Jr. is a collective effort to turn pain into a better future.
Critics, however, argue that without symbolic gestures or structural reforms, historical atonement remains hollow. Cancelling the holiday sets a dangerous precedent. Not rescheduling it—despite minimal socioeconomic disruption—is seen as rewriting history,
silencing freedom fighters.
This raises broader questions: Is the Philippines succumbing to old power structures and external influences, like U.S. geopolitics, or is it undergoing genuine renewal? The answer is unclear, and fears of backsliding fuel public uncertainty.
A Global Parallel: Authoritarianism, shady and fishy Powers, and the Dark Era of tech-surveillance
The Philippine situation mirrors a global trend. Over the past two years, authoritarian drift has surged worldwide.
As Levitsky and Ziblatt note in “How Democracies Die”, modern democracies collapse not through coups but via elected leaders hollowing out institutions, enriching the elites and morbidly rich, and stifling freedoms. Europe’s Hungary, Poland, and Italy, along with many other countries across Latin America or Asia, reflect this shift toward strongman rule and inequality.
Meanwhile, tech-surveillance advances enable governments to suppress dissent efficiently. By 2025, drones and AI could replace easily street police, chilling free expression. In this context, scrapping a democracy holiday signals a willingness to sacrifice historical memory for “stability” that benefits elites—a stability that breeds chaos.
Reconciliation vs. backsliding: A critical look at the Philippines’ Future and further on…
The Philippine paradox lies in balancing hope and scepticism. Electing Marcos Jr. was an act of faith in overcoming authoritarianism. Yet erasing the holiday without compromise suggests old power structures endure.
Globally, the fight against concentrated power and surveillance defines our era. The Philippines’ challenge is twofold: proving reconciliation is genuine and ensuring democratic transformation isn’t hijacked by authoritarian interests.
Filipinos, with their legacy of peaceful resistance, could set a precedent where memory and reconciliation anchor true democracy. But this requires leaders, elites, and society to act in unison, remembering that power resides in the streets and collective ability to turn history into justice.
This is the crossroads many democracies face: capitulate to authoritarianism or empower the marginalized while honouring past struggles. In the Philippines, the answer unfolds daily—through acts of memory, peaceful protests, and policies valuing history. Only then can the nation transcend its dictatorial past.
