On September 21 the streets of Manila filled with bodies, voices, and banners. It was not the first time Filipinos had risen in anger, and certainly not the last. The date is loaded with memory: the anniversary of Marcos Senior’s declaration of Martial Law in 1972. What began as a day of remembrance turned into a day of fury. From students and laborers to clergy and flood victims, people poured into the streets to denounce a familiar enemy. Not merely a president. Not merely a government. The target was something far more insidious: a culture of corruption that has defined the Philippine state for generations.
This was not a simple rally against one contract scandal. It was an indictment of a system where every major infrastructure project seems like an opportunity to steal. Flood control funds were the trigger this time. Billions had been allocated to protect communities from typhoons and rising waters. Yet people still drown in chest-deep water, homes still collapse, children still wade to school through filthy rivers. The reason is obvious. The money was siphoned off, ghost projects filed on paper, roads and walls built with sand instead of cement, and fat kickbacks handed to political families and their friends.
It is an old story in the Philippines. Only the faces change. The machine keeps humming.
Corruption as the National Operating System
In most countries corruption is an aberration. In the Philippines it is an organizing principle. From the barangay level up to the Senate, from local permits to national infrastructure, the practice is not a deviation but the expectation. Contracts are padded. Kickbacks are built into project costs. Families in politics see their positions not as service but as franchise, inherited like a family business.
Every peso stolen from public funds is stolen twice. First, from the taxpayer who contributed. Second, from the poor who never see the promised services. Flood walls that crumble mean farmers lose harvests. Clinics that were never built mean mothers give birth without proper care. Roads that collapse after one rainy season mean children miss school. The rich still fly over the floods in helicopters. The poor drown beneath them.
This pattern is so entrenched that entire bureaucracies are designed around extraction. Procurement offices become toll booths. Permits are held hostage. Agencies meant to regulate become cash cows for the families who control them. And because the justice system itself is compromised, consequences are rare. A senator may be caught with millions in pork barrel funds, a contractor may be exposed with luxury cars bought from public money, yet trials drag for years, and the guilty often walk free.
Two Nations, One Archipelago
The Philippines is not one country. It is two. There is the Philippines of the elite: gated communities in Makati and Quezon City, malls filled with imported brands, children educated in London or Los Angeles, families who spend Holy Week in Singapore or Japan. And then there is the Philippines of the poor majority: shanty towns along the Pasig, children selling sampaguita on traffic-choked roads, farmers in Nueva Ecija whose rice cannot compete with imports, fishermen in Leyte who rebuild their huts each year after the typhoons.
The gap is not simply income. It is survival. The rich can buy private doctors, private schools, private security, private water, even private generators when brownouts come. The poor are left with whatever scraps of public service remain after officials have stolen their cut. When the floods rise, the poor climb onto their roofs while the wealthy retreat to highland villas.
This inequality is not a natural accident. It is engineered. Public funds that could build genuine resilience are redirected to feed dynasties. Taxes collected from jeepney drivers and market vendors are spent on golf courses for contractors. The system produces inequality as its main output.
The Protest Tradition
Filipinos are no strangers to uprising. They toppled Marcos Senior through People Power in 1986. They forced out Estrada in 2001. They have marched for wages, for land reform, for press freedom. What gives these current protests their edge is the clarity of their demand. This is not just about one scandal. It is about systemic rot.
The anger is rooted in experience. Flood victims know that their misery is not the result of an unavoidable act of God but the predictable outcome of theft. Students know that their overcrowded classrooms exist because billions supposedly earmarked for education are spent on ribbon-cutting ceremonies for projects that never materialize. Workers know that their stagnant wages are tied to a political class that enriches itself through monopoly and corruption.
On September 21 the protests echoed with chants that cut across generations. “No more impunity.” “Return what you stole.” “End dynasty rule.” The slogans may sound simple, but behind them lies a profound demand: a restructuring of the state itself.
Dynasties and the Machinery of Plunder
To understand corruption in the Philippines you must understand dynasties. Families dominate politics across the archipelago. Positions are passed from father to son, mother to daughter, husband to wife. Mayors become governors, then senators. Even when term limits are reached, relatives step in as placeholders until the original returns. These families treat their provinces as fiefdoms.
With control of local government comes control of contracts. Flood control, school construction, road repair—all funneled to allied firms. Money circulates within the same tight networks. The result is a cartel-like system where competition is an illusion, and the public pays inflated prices for defective work.
Attempts to legislate against dynasties have repeatedly failed. Why? Because the very people who would have to pass such laws are themselves products of dynastic power. Reform is strangled at birth.
The Role of the Church and Civil Society
One striking element of the protests has been the return of the Church as a political force. Priests and nuns marched with banners denouncing theft as a sin against the poor. Homilies echoed with calls for justice. Civil society groups organized legal clinics, relief operations, and forums on transparency.
For many Filipinos who distrust both politicians and corporations, these networks are the last line of moral defense. They connect the anger in the streets with long-term organizing in villages and schools. The challenge is whether they can sustain momentum in the face of repression and fatigue.
The Culture of Impunity
Why does this continue decade after decade? Because the cost of corruption is lower than the rewards. Politicians caught stealing often manage to negotiate settlements, or worse, return to power after a few years. Contractors blacklisted in one province are welcomed in another. Law enforcement is selective, targeting small-time thieves while shielding the powerful.
Impunity is not an accident. It is cultivated. Trials are delayed until the public forgets. Judges are influenced. Witnesses are intimidated. Media is co-opted through advertising contracts or outright ownership. The system is designed to ensure that accountability remains rare, and fleeting.
The Psychological Toll
The damage is not only material but psychological. Filipinos learn to expect little from their government. Cynicism replaces hope. Ordinary people shrug and say “ganyan talaga” — that’s just how it is. This resignation is itself a victory for the corrupt. It ensures that the status quo endures.
Yet the protests reveal that resignation is not universal. There is a counter-current of outrage, especially among the young. They see how other countries in the region, once poorer, now race ahead in development. They know that the Philippines is not doomed by fate, but by theft. And they are no longer willing to stay silent.
What Would Real Change Look Like?
Change cannot come from slogans alone. It requires structural shifts.
- Transparency: all contracts and budgets must be public and traceable.
- Accountability: genuine prosecution of corrupt officials, not scapegoating of minor players.
- Redistribution: recovery of stolen wealth must fund hospitals, schools, and climate adaptation.
- End to dynasties: a constitutional amendment or legislation that finally severs the monopoly of families over politics.
- Empowered civil society: protection for whistleblowers, journalists, and activists who expose wrongdoing.
Without these steps the cycle will repeat: outrage, protest, promises, and then betrayal.
And of course we cannot ignore that there is also a communist insurgency.
Conclusion: Between Flood and Fire
The Philippines is an archipelago both blessed and cursed by water. Typhoons, floods, and rising seas are part of its geography. But the real disaster is man-made: a political system that turns every crisis into a cash cow. The protests are more than resistance to theft. They are a demand for dignity.
When citizens march under banners calling for the end of corruption, they are not asking for charity. They are asking for a country that does not abandon them each monsoon season. They are asking for a state that does not treat disaster as opportunity. They are asking for leaders who serve, not feed.
Whether this moment becomes another forgotten rally or the start of a genuine reckoning will depend on the resolve of those who marched, and the courage of those who refuse to accept that “ganyan talaga” is destiny.
The Philippines stands between flood and fire: drown in corruption or burn with resistance. The choice is urgent, and history is watching.