A poignant moment from the Trillion Peso March 2.0 rally in Iloilo on November 30, 2025, remains etched in memory. A parishioner from Jaro, her neck glistening with sweat, held a cardboard sign with a powerful message: “Corruption is paid by the poor.” While the crowd was smaller than the 5,000 who braved the rain last September 21, the defiant hope in her eyes was unmistakably familiar. The faces were the same—teachers, vendors, churchgoers, students, and workers—all bearing the brunt of collapsed dikes and flooded homes. Their anger had not diminished; only the attendance had.
Understanding the Shift in Momentum
The change between the September and November rallies speaks volumes about the nation's political pulse. Both were held on Sundays. Both honored courage—the first against martial law, the second in the name of Bonifacio. Both demanded accountability for ghost canals, padded budgets, lawmakers accused of budget insertions, and conniving contractors. So, what led to the drop in numbers? Analysts point to the intense heat, a change in venue, public exhaustion, fear of potential scuffles, and a growing sense that “gumagalaw na ang kaso” (the case is moving).
This phenomenon is partly explained by the “delegation effect,” a psychological tendency where people believe someone else will take up the cause. Ironically, early progress, like engineers being questioned and a few officials facing handcuffs, can lead to premature withdrawal. It mirrors a classroom dynamic: a student who starts strong may relax, thinking the work is done. Similarly, after the initial surge of public vigilance—where citizens measured dikes and fact-checked budgets—complacency began to seep in as people unclenched their fists, trusting the fight to others.
The Dignity of Protest and the Real Enemy
However, a smaller turnout does not mean fewer patriots. Life's demands intervene: a teacher edits modules, a parent shields a child from the heat, a student finishes a thesis, an activist recovers from laryngitis. Civic fatigue is a documented reality. The maturity of the Iloilo protest was evident in its dignified conduct—no vandalism, no messy aftermath, and no outsiders stirring trouble. Volunteers managed the march and cleaned up afterward, proving that order and moral outrage can coexist.
The real adversary is not low attendance but the cultural shrug, the “Normal naman na ‘yan” (That's normal) mentality. This attitude has cost the nation far more than any rally. With the Philippines ranked poorly by Transparency International (2024) and IMF estimates suggesting a fifth of the budget lost to corruption, every stolen slope protection or missing rebar is not just theft—it's a threat to lives. This is why figures like Catriona Gray, Elijah Canlas, Ben&Ben, Pinky Amador, Maris Racal, and Maki, alongside nurses, farmers, and students, continue to speak up despite risks. The movement may be smaller in bodies but broader in heart, treating injustice as deeply personal.
The Structural Fight Beyond the Rally
Emotion alone cannot sustain change; structural understanding is crucial. The nation's history with political dynasties shows how concentrated power fosters inefficiency and abuse. Research, such as that by Mendoza et al. (2016), links “fat dynasties” to worse development outcomes. Supporting an Anti-Dynasty Law is about preventing monopoly and undue influence, not punishing families. When citizens grasp these systemic roots of corruption, they become harder to placate.
The real work begins when the placards are put away. It lies in the routine acts of monitoring hearings, demanding transparent budgets, inspecting local projects, and voting wisely. Corruption thrives in silence; accountability thrives in consistent, daily vigilance. The size of the crowd matters far less than the consistency of a nation's refusal to look away.
The message is clear: smaller crowds do not mean smaller courage. The Trillion Peso March 2.0 has already rattled systems, inspired whistleblowers, and put the powerful on the defensive. What it needs now is not louder voices, but steadier ones. As long as ordinary citizens keep paying attention—to ask, to check, to question—corruption will never feel safe again. The streets may empty, but the public conscience must not.
