Half a Century Later, the Fight Against Corruption Isn’t Over
Last September 21, the streets of Metro Manila once again echoed with chants of defiance as Filipinos held multiple protests, including the “Baha sa Luneta: Aksyon na Laban sa Korapsyon” in Luneta and the “Trillion Peso March” at the EDSA People Power Monument, to denounce widespread corruption in the country. A separate protest in Mendiola even resulted in a violent clash between the rallyists and the police, resulting in property damage and injuries on both sides.
The protests were not held on a random date, as September 21 marks the 53rd anniversary of former President Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s declaration of Martial Law in 1972. The declaration started a fourteen-year period defined by authoritarian rule, human rights abuses, and the golden age for corruption in Philippine history. Fifty-three years later, the shadows of that dictatorship linger with historical revisionism, the erosion of democratic values, and the proliferation of political dynasties. The Marcos name is back in power, corruption remains deeply rooted, and once again, Filipinos are called to march.
But many will ask: What’s the point? Why protest when nothing seems to change? Why gather, march, and shout when those in power appear deaf to public outrage?
The answer lies in history and in the refusal to forget it.
This anti-corruption rally is more than a reaction to scandals or a single administration’s failures. It is a response and a reckoning with a legacy. Under Marcos Sr., billions were stolen, while propaganda painted the regime as disciplined and progressive. Nepotism thrived, democratic institutions were eviscerated, and corruption became embedded in the working gears of government. It was during the Marcos dictatorship that corruption was not just tolerated, but institutionalized. The so-called “edifice complex” of the regime, with its grandiose buildings and white elephant projects, served as a facade for the decay within the government.
What had once been individual acts of greed transformed into a deeply entrenched system of patronage, cronyism, and state-sanctioned embezzlement. The regime perfected the machinery of theft from the people: siphoning billions from the national treasury, consolidating power through Martial Law, and turning public offices into private kingdoms.
This normalized the idea that public service could be used for personal gain—a mentality that continues to persist today in various forms, as evidenced by the flood control scandals, impunity for the powerful, selective justice, and a bureaucracy often paralyzed by fear or bias. That legacy didn’t end with the ousting of the dictator. It morphed, survived, and adapted over time.
The symbolism of protesting corruption on the very same day Martial Law was declared 53 years ago is powerful in itself. It asserts that the Filipino people remember and that they refuse to let historical revisionism allow this continued abuse. That the president today bears the same name as the dictator we ousted in 1986 is no small detail. It speaks volumes about the country’s political amnesia, yes, but also about the strength of the systems that protect those who are corrupt. Revisionism has crept into textbooks and timelines. “Golden age” narratives flood social media. The idea that corruption is normal, inevitable, or even necessary poisons life at every corner.
Yet, the presence of bodies in the street pushing back against this narrative is a counter-history. It’s saying: We remember what you want us to forget. However, memory alone does not guarantee change, and resistance is often met with indifference. It’s tempting to be cynical, especially in this day and age. After all, we’ve seen those marching; we may have even marched before. We’ve seen social protests online, signed petitions, and prayed for something to change. Nevertheless, the corrupt often remain unpunished. The investigations come to a halt. The headlines get buried under another controversy.
But protesting is not always about immediate results. It is about building and preserving a public conscience and reminding those who have forgotten. It’s about signaling to the next generation that ignorance and apathy are not an option. Every rally keeps the spirit of accountability alive. It affirms that public outrage has not been extinguished, and is a reminder that people are still watching, still resisting, and still refusing to accept the unacceptable. Because in the end, it will always be us fighting against these inequities.
After all, corruption thrives not just in the back rooms and padded contracts, but in silence. It feeds off fatigue and forgetfulness. So we must continue to protest—not just as an act of resistance but to preserve truth, dignity, and democracy. We must march because we remember. March because we refuse to normalize theft in government. March because the legacy of Martial Law is not just in the past; it is right in front of us. The real danger is not that we protest in vain, but that we stop protesting at all.
