The Society of Honor by Joe America

By Karl Garcia

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In a few days, the Philippines will mark a profound milestone: forty years since the 1986 People Power Revolution. Four decades since ordinary Filipinos converged on EDSA and, without guns or generals, toppled a dictatorship. It was a moment when fear lost its grip, when collective courage bent the course of history, and when the nation proved—decisively—that power does not always flow from the top.

EDSA reclaimed the country and restored democracy. But forty years later, the harder question confronts us: what have we built since?

A Nation of Participation—Without Power

The Philippines prides itself on being a democracy of participation. We have elections, stirring speeches, constitutional guarantees, and a political culture saturated with the language of “by the people, for the people.” And yet, for many Filipinos, democracy feels more ritual than reality.

We vote—but we do not govern.
We speak—but we rarely decide.
We mobilize during crises—then fade into the background once power is secured.

This is the Philippine paradox: a nation rich in movements, but poor in systems. We possess institutions, but too often they exist in isolation, underused or easily captured. Participation is celebrated symbolically, yet constrained practically. Democracy survives—but it does not fully function.

EDSA as Culture, Not a System

EDSA was not merely a political event; it was a cultural declaration. It said, collectively and unmistakably: we will not be governed by fear. That moral instinct—people power—has since become part of our national identity.

But culture alone cannot run a state.

Moral energy must be translated into institutions. Institutions must be designed to work together, predictably and over time. Without this translation, people power becomes episodic—activated in moments of outrage, then dormant once normal politics resumes. Passion without structure fades into nostalgia.

This is where we consistently fail.

Institutions Exist. Sequencing Does Not.

The 1987 Constitution already provides tools for direct democracy: referendums, plebiscites, people’s initiatives. The problem is not their absence. The problem is how—and when—we try to use them.

Governance is not built by piling reforms on top of each other. It is built through sequencing.

Introduce direct democracy too early, and it does not empower citizens—it empowers whoever can manipulate them fastest. Money, misinformation, and political machinery fill the vacuum where civic capacity should be.

Before people power can function as governance, three things must happen.

First, the system must be cleaned.
Campaign finance must be enforced. Corruption must be punished. The civil service must be professionalized. Without this foundation, participation becomes theater.

Second, citizens must be equipped.
Direct democracy is not about emotion; it is about deliberation. Civic education, access to reliable information, and spaces for reasoned debate are not luxuries—they are prerequisites.

Only then does direct democracy make sense—not as mob rule, but as structured participation that strengthens representative institutions rather than undermining them.

Integration: From Voice to Policy

Sequencing alone is not enough. Institutions must also be integrated.

Citizen decisions must connect to legislatures for implementation, courts for review, and executives for enforcement. Otherwise, participation becomes symbolic—and cynicism grows. Democracy cannot survive on gestures. It survives on feedback loops that prove participation leads to real outcomes.

The Present Moment: A Test of Memory

Today, the Philippines is led by Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr.—a reality inseparable from the legacy of EDSA. This is not merely historical irony; it is a stress test of our democratic memory.

The administration promotes growth through infrastructure and social programs, yet recurring governance failures—such as the flood control scandal—reveal how easily weak systems bend to vested interests. These are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of institutions that exist without sufficient accountability.

“Never Again” was never meant to be a slogan. It was meant to be a system.

Justice, Spectacle, and State Capacity

The same weakness appears in how the Philippine state approaches justice. The so-called war on drugs may have faded from headlines, but its legacy remains: overcrowded jails, paralyzed courts, and a justice system many Filipinos no longer trust.

That campaign revealed a hard truth. The Philippine state knows how to use force. It does not know how to build capacity.

Wars are spectacles. Institutions are solutions.

Justice in the Philippines still depends too heavily on individual courage. But courage is not scalable. Institutions are. If justice is treated as a commodity, every crisis invites another “war.” If justice is treated as a public service, the state must invest—patiently and persistently—in courts, prosecutors, public defenders, and due process, even when it is politically unrewarding.

From Survival to Progress

Filipinos are resilient. We know how to survive. But survival is not progress.

A democracy that only activates during moments of outrage is not a democracy—it is a pressure valve. Real democracy is boring, procedural, and constant. It is practiced daily, not performed episodically.

The Philippines does not lack people power.
It lacks a system that makes people power last.

Renewing EDSA’s Promise

The enduring legacy of EDSA is not simply the fall of a dictator. It is the reminder that democracy is a choice that must be made—again and again—through institutions that work.

“By the people, for the people” must stop being a slogan and start becoming infrastructure.

Because a nation that is not truly built by its people will always end up being built for someone else. And the Philippines was never meant to be built for someone else.

Forty years after EDSA, the question remains:

Are we ready—not just to remember people power—but to finally systematize it?

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