*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
On September 21, 2025, I walked once again along EDSA. For many of us, this road is sacred ground — the place where Filipinos twice rose up to demand change. But this time, I was not there as an academician, not as a political analyst, not even as the Secretary-General of Timpuyog Pilipinas. I was there simply as a Filipino, and as a single father walking beside my daughter, Juliana Rizalhea.
She was holding a placard, simple yet powerful: “Ang Anti-Corruption Rally Dapat Dalisay: Walang Politika.” That placard bore the name of Timpuyog Pilipinas, the national unification advocacy organization I belong to, but our group with a contingent of 1430 peace loving Ilocanos made a deliberate choice that day: we would not bring banners, we would not shout our name, we would not claim the spotlight. We were there to blend in with the people, enjoy the festivity of people singing songs about hope and the ills of the society like “Liwanag sa Dilim and Tatsulok”, because the rally was not about us. It was about something bigger — a cry for honesty, a demand for integrity, a call to end corruption.
As I looked at Juliana Rizalhea holding up that placard, her young face full of determination, I felt pride and sorrow at the same time. Pride, because even at her age, she understood that advocacy must remain untainted. Sorrow, because children should not have to march in the streets to demand that their leaders be honest. They deserve better.
The rally at EDSA brought together thousands from every walk of life. Rich and poor, students and workers, professionals and farmers — they stood shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, the lines that usually divide us seemed to disappear. And yet, even there, opportunism crept in. I saw oversized banners carried by groups that clearly had other motives. Some were using the rally as if it were a campaign stage. I leaned close to my daughter and whispered, “This is why we keep our placard simple, anak. Because the real fight is not about names. It is about justice.”
But not all rallies that day carried the same spirit. While EDSA remained peaceful, Mendiola and Luneta turned violent. There, reports spread of alleged paid rallyists by contractors, ex-politician and a noisy lawyer in social media— young people waving One Piece anime flags, pretending to be Gen Z activists. Instead of demanding reform, they vandalized public property, attacked businesses, and even burned part of a well-known favorite motel of cheating wives ironically named “So Clean, So Good.” The violence left many injured, and tragically, lives were lost.
The difference was stark. At EDSA, unity and discipline prevailed. At Mendiola and Luneta, chaos took over. It showed us that while peaceful protest strengthens democracy, violence destroys its message.
Even at EDSA, however, there were moments of tension. In the early afternoon, small groups tried to stir the crowd. They waved banners and shouted slogans, but their agenda was not anti-corruption. Their loyalty was to political idols, not to the people’s cause. They sought to hijack the moment for their own ends.
But here, I must commend the Philippine National Police (PNP). They handled the situation with restraint and vigilance. They stepped in quickly to prevent escalation, containing these agitators without sparking wider conflict. Thanks to their discipline, the rally continued in peace. Unlike the tragedies of Mendiola and Luneta, EDSA stood as a symbol of calm and clarity — a people’s protest that refused to be tainted.
Standing there brought back memories. I remembered the Mendiola clashes of the past during my student activism days at the University of the East, where peaceful marches ended in bloodshed. I remembered EDSA I, wherein we live in front of Gate 2 of Camp Crame, 17 C 1st Avenue to be exact, when I was still in my 3rd Year High School at Aquinas School, when millions toppled a regime with prayers and courage, and EDSA II, when another president fell amid Jueteng scandals. The message in all these moments was the same: when leaders fail, the people rise.
But as I stood in 2025, I also feared a dangerous possibility. Some were whispering about the Nepal model — where protests are sustained, well-funded, and deliberately escalated to collapse governments. In Nepal, leaders fell one after another, but stability never came. Would the Philippines follow that path if corruption continued unchecked? Could Malacañang itself become the next target if anger boiled over?
This is why I say to the President of this nation which our forefathers sacrifice their lives to liberate us from foreign invaders: listen. Listen while you still can. The rally was not just an outburst; it was a warning. The patience of Filipinos has limits.
But resignation will not solve this. It will only trigger constitutional succession, and history has shown us that this changes nothing. When Joseph Estrada faced protests in 2001, he even called for a snap election, believing the people should decide his fate. His call was rejected, and succession was forced. The result? The system remained broken, the cycle of corruption unbroken and got much even worst as we experiencing now.
And let me be clear: declaring a state of emergency or martial law will not solve the problem either. Yes, these tools can silence protests temporarily, but they will not eliminate corruption. They will not rebuild trust. They will not heal a nation already weary from lies and betrayal. We Filipinos have lived through martial law once before. We know that fear may control the streets, but it cannot bring renewal.
So, if resignation is not the answer, and repression is not the answer, then what is?
The answer must begin with reform.
If the President truly wants to regain trust, he must act now. He must reshuffle his Cabinet, remove those with stained reputations, and bring in men and women of proven integrity. He must give space to people from civil society, from the academe, from the professional world — individuals who have earned respect through clean and honest work.
Most importantly, he must prove that accountability is real. Those implicated in corruption scandals — whether in flood control or in other departments — must face justice. Not selective justice. Not symbolic sacrifices. Real justice, where the guilty are punished and the innocent are cleared. No sacred cows. No untouchables.
If he can do this, the people may see sincerity. Trust, though cracked, can still be mended. And if trust is restored, there may be no need for drastic measures.
But what if he does nothing?
What if the guilty remain untouchable like his cousin who is now baptized by the masses as “Kim Bon Jing? What if reforms are blocked, and the people’s anger is ignored? Then unrest will continue. And when trust collapses, chaos follows.
That is when a snap election becomes necessary. Not as the first option, but as the last recourse.
A snap election is not just a shuffle of faces. It is a renewal of legitimacy. It allows the people to decide again who deserves to lead. It prevents coups, revolutionary governments, or authoritarian shortcuts by offering a peaceful, democratic alternative.
In such an election, the President and Vice President may run again. Let the people decide if their mandate should be renewed. Other leaders can step forward — Bong Go, Benjamin Magalong, Gilberto “Gibo” Teodoro, Raffy Tulfo, Ping Lacson, Bam Aquino, Leni Robredo, and even respected unknown provincial clean public servants like Governor Reynaldo Sucayan Tamayo Jr. of South Cotabato as well as business leaders like Ramon Ang and Manny Pangilinan. The point is not who runs, but that the genuine choice belongs to the people.
A snap election becomes a referendum, a national evaluation. Those who fail will be removed. Those who perform will be sustained. Those seeking higher office will be judged fairly by the people’s will.
Other nations have faced similar crossroads. Italy in 2019 and Greece in 2015 both turned to snap elections in moments of crisis, seeking new legitimacy. Their outcomes were not perfect, but stability was restored because the people’s voice was renewed. In contrast, Nepal resisted returning the mandate to its citizens, they chose violence instead of constructive change and the result will be an academically projected repeated cycles of protest, instability, and disillusion, just like what happened to Myanmar and other nations who chose destructive revolution over constructive revolution.
The lesson is clear: when legitimacy is broken, only the people can restore it.
But even this will not be enough. A snap election can reset leadership, but it cannot fix the system. Changing the driver of a broken car will not make it run. That is why, after a snap election, the Philippines must take the deeper step of drafting a new constitution.
This must not be written by the same politicians who guard their dynasties. It must be written by representatives of the people — academics, farmers, fisherfolks, solo parents, LGBTs, workers, youth, medical practitioners, indigenous people, artists, retired senior citizens, entrepreneurs, professionals. A constitution shaped not by ambition but by conscience. Only then can we dismantle systemic corruption and build institutions worthy of trust.
That day at EDSA, standing with Juliana Rizalhea, I felt the exhaustion of a nation. The chants around us were loud, but louder still was the silence of history echoing in my heart. Filipinos are tired — tired of corruption, tired of seeing poverty, tired of political deceptions, and tired of broken promises.
And yet, in my daughter’s eyes, I saw hope. Hope that her generation will not carry the same burdens. Hope that honesty and fairness will still have meaning. Hope that unity is not just a word from history books, but a living force for change.
In that moment, I knew why I march. Why I write. Why I speak. It is not for me. It is for her. For Juliana Rizalhea, and for every Filipino child who deserves to grow up in a nation reborn.
As National Secretary-General of Timpuyog Pilipinas, I know our role is not to shout our name the loudest, but to live our advocacy of “ Unite rather than Divide, Love rather than Hate, and Build rather Destroy.” That is why we kept our banners folded and our presence humble. Because the fight against corruption is not about organizations or personalities. It is about every Filipino who still dares to believe in justice.
Reform must come first. But if reform fails, then snap elections must follow. And beyond that, we must summon the courage to build a new constitution, a new system, and a new future.
This is the call for an urgent action!
To the President: do not wait until protests consume the streets. Do not hide behind succession, emergency powers, or excuses. Lead by reforming now, while you still can. Show the people that accountability is real.
To my fellow Filipinos: let us guard the purity of our advocacy. Let us reject opportunism and violence that only weaken our cause. Let us demand reforms first, and if those reforms fail, let us demand the chance to choose again.
What our nation needs today is not fear, not shortcuts, not
another strongman. What we need is courage to start anew — a new beginning, a
new mandate, a new leadership, a new constitution, and a new system worthy of
the hope in our children’s eyes.
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