To Forget is to be Manipulated: NEVER AGAIN

 

Every September 21, the Philippines is forced to look back at one of the darkest periods in its history: the declaration of Martial Law under Ferdinand Marcos Sr. For some, it is simply another date in a history book. For others, it is a painful reminder of a time when fear became part of everyday life.

But perhaps the most dangerous thing we can do with Martial Law is to treat it as something that is already over—and therefore no longer relevant.

Martial Law did not exist in a vacuum. It happened in a country already marked by political inequality, poverty, and institutional weakness. Its declaration gave the government extraordinary power, while ordinary Filipinos were left vulnerable to abuses they had little power to challenge. Thousands were imprisoned, tortured, disappeared, or killed. The press was controlled, opposition was suppressed, and fear became a tool of governance.

And yet, decades later, we still argue about whether it was really that bad.

That argument itself should concern us.

History should not be something we selectively remember depending on which political family, ideology, or narrative we prefer. We cannot praise the infrastructure of the Marcos era while conveniently ignoring the people who disappeared behind the walls of detention centers. We cannot talk about “discipline” without asking who was disciplined, who was silenced, and who benefited from that silence. We cannot reduce an entire period of authoritarian rule to nostalgia for cheaper prices, grand projects, or an image of a supposedly stronger Philippines.

Because a government can build roads and still violate human rights.

A country can experience economic development in certain areas and still leave millions suffering.

And a leader can claim to be saving a nation while simultaneously taking away the freedoms that make that nation worth saving.

This is why remembering Martial Law is not about hating one political family. It is about understanding what happens when power becomes concentrated and accountability disappears.

The problem is that Filipinos have a tendency to become accustomed to suffering. We learn to survive instead of demanding better. We celebrate resilience without asking why people are constantly forced to be resilient in the first place. We praise Filipinos for surviving poverty, corruption, political violence, and inequality, while rarely questioning the systems that keep producing those conditions.

That same mentality can become dangerous in politics.

When people are desperate, promises of order become attractive. When people are tired of corruption, authoritarianism can be disguised as efficiency. When people are frustrated with democracy, restrictions on freedom can be presented as necessary sacrifices. And when historical memory becomes weak, the same promises can sound convincing all over again.

This is why September 21 should not simply be a day for remembering the past. It should be a day for questioning the present.

Are we becoming more willing to tolerate abuses because they are committed by politicians we support?

Are we willing to excuse corruption because the person responsible represents the political side we identify with?

Are we still capable of criticizing those in power when doing so becomes inconvenient?

Because democracy does not mean blindly supporting whoever wins an election. Democracy means having the freedom to question those who hold power—including the people we voted for.

The lessons of Martial Law therefore extend beyond Ferdinand Marcos Sr. They extend to every administration, every political dynasty, every institution, and every citizen who believes that power should never exist without accountability.

The anniversary of Martial Law should remind us that democracy is not automatically permanent. Rights can be weakened. Institutions can be manipulated. Truth can be distorted. And history can be rewritten—not necessarily by changing the facts, but by making people forget them.

The greatest danger is not simply forgetting what happened.

It is forgetting why it mattered.

Filipinos should not have to experience oppression again before we recognize its consequences. We should not have to lose our freedom before we understand its value. And we should not romanticize a past that many people survived rather than lived through.

September 21 is not merely an anniversary.

It is a warning.

Because history does not always repeat itself exactly. Sometimes, it returns quietly—through normalized abuses, political worship, misinformation, indifference, and a population too exhausted to question the people in power.

And when that happens, survival is no longer enough.

We must learn to demand better.

Words by Natalie Mainar

Proofread by Frank Flores

Art by Lloyd Quidlat