"Are they truly representing 'People Power' or just mocking it?"
(or: "when the forces of Darkness assembled at EDSA shrine to counter the forces of Evil")
From an observer’s perspective, the increasing spectacle of political rhetoric surrounding figures like Sara Duterte, whose temper tantrums and death threats have become a regular feature, raises unsettling questions. Add to that the troubling image of her supporters gathering at the EDSA Shrine, and it prompts one to wonder: What exactly are they rallying for when they invoke “people power”?
These voices, once synonymous with the 1986 EDSA Revolution—a symbol of mass unity against tyranny—now seem out of place. How can the same supporters who once decried rallyists as sellouts now flock to the very place that symbolizes people’s struggles for democracy? The inconsistency is glaring. The rallying cry of “people power” is now wielded by individuals whose version of that power appears to be more selective, more opportunistic.
To understand this dissonance, one must consider the shifting nature of political movements in the Philippines. While EDSA is still remembered as the moment when the people united to overthrow a dictator, today’s political landscape is fraught with competing interests, fragmented loyalties, and a narrative that feels increasingly disconnected from the democratic ideals of the past. These contradictions echo larger global trends, with movements like the storming of the U.S. Capitol in 2021 offering a troubling parallel. The Trump supporters who stormed the Capitol believed in their cause with an almost fanatical fervor—much like some groups view their protests as a form of “patriotism.”
Yet, despite the parallels, there are key differences. The Capitol siege was a blatant attempt to disrupt a democratic process—an act of insurrection driven by a delusional sense of entitlement. In contrast, Duterte’s supporters do not appear to be rallying against a specific election outcome. Instead, they seem to be feeding into an authoritarian nostalgia, hoping for a return to the kind of strongman leadership that defined Duterte’s rule. Their calls for “people power” are not about defending democracy but about supporting a political dynasty’s continued grip on power.
Despite these differences, there is a shared sense of discontent between these two movements. Just as the Alsa Masa in the 1980s, an armed and disgruntled group, took matters into their own hands, Duterte’s supporters seem to draw from the same well of frustration with the status quo. But the nature of their movement has changed. They no longer seem driven by the urgency for genuine revolutionary change. Instead, their focus appears to be on consolidating power by any means necessary—whether through peaceful assembly or the threat of violence.
What Duterte’s supporters assembling at EDSA may have truly wanted to resonate with is not the peaceful defiance of their predecessors but the militant energy of the Capitol siege or the Alsa Masa. Both movements—one from the U.S. and one from the Philippines—were marked by their radical right-wing demands for action, and in a twisted way, they feed into the Dutertist fantasy of a military junta taking control. Sara Duterte’s angry rhetoric and death threats mirror the same kind of extremism that many feared would rise from her political ideology.
However, this is where the contradiction becomes even more apparent. In the same breath that Sara Duterte spews violent threats, her supporters retreat into calls for the “constitution,” the “rule of law,” and “respect for order.” This sudden shift toward legalism and constitutionalism is difficult to take seriously. How can one advocate for law and order while simultaneously pushing for the kind of authoritarianism that would dismantle both? The tension between the rhetoric of violence and the supposed defense of the rule of law highlights the hypocrisy inherent in Duterte’s brand of “people power.”
Months ago, many people saw Duterte’s supporters defending his ally, Apollo Quiboloy, at Plaza Bonifacio, also demanding the ouster of Marcos, only to replace him with Sara Duterte as leader. Now that the Duterte family is under scrutiny for secret funds and bloodied works during the “war on drugs,” these same supporters are expected to rally to their defense—whether online or in EDSA shrine. When policemen are forced to remove them, one can’t help but wonder: Aren’t these individuals supposed to be brave enough to face truncheons and tear gas? Why, then, do they suddenly retreat in favor of “sobriety” and "rule od law" when confronted with real resistance?
From an observer’s point of view, the desire for change among the masses is unmistakable. However, it is not change that should be driven by the crass rhetoric of tyrants who claim to represent the “common man.” The notion that all poor people are simply “lumpens,” as some have suggested, is not only inaccurate but deeply insulting. Not all Filipinos are ignorant or naive. The country’s marginalized population understands the complexities of power and politics far more acutely than some might believe. They may demand change, but not through hollow populism, empty promises, or authoritarian fantasies. The distinction between genuine calls for reform and opportunistic power grabs disguised as “people power” is vital.
This brings back the question: Is what we are witnessing truly “people power” as it was originally conceived, or has it become a tool for political consolidation? The term “people power” was born out of a desire to see the oppressed rise against their oppressors. But today, it seems to be used to defend the status quo—perhaps not through violence but through strategic, orchestrated political displays.
In the end, the true answer lies in the motivations behind these rallies. Are they driven by a genuine desire for justice, equality, and reform? Or are they simply a reflection of political pragmatism, using the language of “the people” to secure power? If it is the latter, then it may be time to reconsider what “people power” truly means today, and whether it still carries any real significance in a political climate that seems more concerned with holding onto power than with effecting meaningful change.