In the Philippines, music has always been more than just sound. It carries the weight of memory, the voice of conscience, and the stories a nation tells itself when the noise of news and the bitterness of politics become overwhelming. As we conclude a reflection on cycles and the long road ahead, a powerful narrative emerges. This story spans four generations, four distinct musical genres, and four profound ways of understanding our identity and our potential.
The Awakening: Asin and the Language of Grace
The journey begins with the band Asin, formed in 1976 during the most oppressive years of Martial Law. They sang at a time when the country had nearly lost its voice. Their music drew from the nation's rural soul—its mountains, rivers, and deep ancestral memories of struggle. Hits like Masdan Mo ang Kapaligiran were not mere environmental anthems. They served as early warnings, showing that conscience often awakens first in forgotten places, long before protests fill the streets.
Looking back, it is remarkable that this initial voice spoke in terms of grace. While much protest music of the era used secular and ideological language, Asin framed the world as a divine gift, singing, "Lahat ng bagay na narito sa lupa, biyayang galing sa Diyos." Many listeners heard the urgency but missed the underlying grace. This perspective does not lessen the era's struggles but clarifies them. Grace was not a later addition to conscience; it was present from the start, waiting to be acknowledged.
Asin also gave a clear voice to captivity. In Balita, they sang of "mga lorong 'di makalipad, nasa hawlang ginto,"—birds of beauty trapped in a gilded cage. This was not just a metaphor for censorship but a reflection of a deeper Filipino condition: talent that is admired yet confined, dignity that is praised yet restricted. Decades later, in a powerful concert image, artist Mikha emerged from a winged, gilded cage. This moment echoed Asin's lament but introduced a new idea: the cage itself can learn to move. Freedom is portrayed not as a solitary escape but as a shared readiness for flight.
From Memory to Moral Clarity: Buklod's Testimony
If Asin stirred the nation's memory, the group Buklod sharpened its moral clarity. Their songs became anthems of testimony for a generation that organized and marched its way out of darkness. Tracks like Kung Saan-Saan are not exercises in nostalgia but acts of witness. Places like Diliman and Mendiola are not just locations on a map; they are symbols of collective courage. Buklod taught the painful lesson that loving the Philippines sometimes requires directly confronting its wounds and refusing to look away.
However, protest cannot be the only language of a nation. Activism must mature into something steadier, yet equally brave. The journey reminds us that when accountability is deferred for too long, it may arrive not as justice, but as a profound absence.
The Daily Discipline: Ben&Ben and the Choice of Patriotism
This brings us to the place of Ben&Ben in this cultural arc. Their song Araw-Araw, often interpreted as a love song, reveals a deeper truth when viewed through the lens of national life. It speaks of making a deliberate choice, day after day. Patriotism functions in the same way. It is the disciplined practice of choosing integrity over convenience, the long-term view over quick shortcuts, and responsibility over resentment. Araw-Araw is not mere sentiment; it is the embodiment of civic virtue.
Renewal in Unity: BINI and a Modern Filipino Dignity
From memory, to protest, to daily choice, the arc bends decisively toward renewal. This renewal appears in a surprising form: the pop group BINI. While not born from the folk protest tradition, they embody qualities our politics has often struggled to produce. Their unity, discipline, and instinctive love for the flag have fostered a cultural dignity that is both contemporary and deeply Filipino. When they performed Infinity as the finale of their historic Philippine Arena concert, the entire arc came into focus. The song acknowledges that cycles return and tears may repeat, but it also suggests that patterns can instruct rather than imprison. A loop can prepare the ground for a new ascent.
This is the crucial turning point—the loop can represent our national sorrow, but it can also become our collective redemption, if we consciously choose that path.
In summary:
- Asin reminds us where our conscience first awakened.
- Buklod reminds us why we had to fight.
- Ben&Ben teaches us how to make the daily choice for our country.
- BINI shows us what that consistent choosing can ultimately become.
Together, they form a single, continuous story told across decades. The nation that once marched for freedom later learned that freedom requires daily responsibility. Now, in a generation shaped more by formation than by slogans, we see the outline of a renewed patriotism: it is gracious, grounded, modern, and fearless. This is not the loud nationalism of resentment, but the quiet nationalism of dignity.
This four-generation arc is vital. It proves that the Philippines' moral imagination never disappeared; it simply changed its instruments. Through these diverse musical voices, we catch a glimpse of a pride untainted by bitterness and a hope resilient against cynicism. We rise when we remember who we are. We falter when we forget the daily work of choosing each other. And we begin again whenever a new generation steps forward to declare that the choice is always worth making.
