Every June 12th, stories of heroism are retold as the Philippines commemorates its declaration of independence from the Spanish Empire. Filipino forebears asserted their power and identity in pursuit of a national vision for sovereignty.
On the same day in 1898, Emilio Aguinaldo issued the declaration of independence at Kawit, Cavite. It was one of the glorious days of the revolution when the Philippines, in all of Asia at the time of 1896, was the only country to fight for its independence. Following the establishment of the Malolos Republic in 1899, it also became Asia’s first proper constitutional republic.
But when all seemed to be going according to what our forefathers had envisioned, the republic was short-lived. It was doomed to fail when Spain agreed to cede the Philippines to the U.S. in the Treaty of Paris for $20 million, months before our independence was declared.
When the Filipinos took 300 years to reach their consensus of having to risk a nationwide revolution in 1896 to overthrow a colonial power, it would take another 90 years before the same oppressed people launched another revolution, but this time, to overthrow a Filipino dictator sustained by imperialists.
Just as we all thought, our country became truly independent when the U.S. “abdicated” its hegemony over the Philippines on July 4, 1946; we were under the impression that we had achieved the dream that sparked in 1896. But in hindsight, our notion of the word independence may be vague.
Beyond military influence, when the Filipinos signed the Treaty of Manila, just as we thought we would become independent, we were subconsciously signing into a new form of subjugation where our economic and political arrangements ensured economic dependence on the US. The Bell Trade Act of 1946 and its subsequent Parity Amendment ensured preferential treatment to American interests in our markets and resources. This gave us economic dependency as American businesses became more competitive in the Philippines.
What emerged after the Treaty of Manila was not independence, but “in dependence” and a semi-colonial republic where foreign capital dictated national policy and the succeeding presidents were obedient stewards of imperial interests.
Looking back at 1896 and 1986, both dates are remembered as revolutionary moments. The former was waged in the name of national liberation against a foreign colonizer and built a republic from the ground up. The latter was a revolution for the restoration of liberal democracy against a Filipino autocrat whose regime was based on imperial powers and fueled by systemic greed.
What unites the two revolutions is not just the historic weight it carries, but more importantly, the fact that when the oppressed Filipinos could no longer say “pwede na” or settle with “pwede pa,” the social conditions shapes them into revolutionaries to confront the chains of superpower hegemony, colonialism, and neocolonialism in a united front out of will and desperation. It was not Aguinaldo or Aquino who made this alone. It was the land tillers who joined the Katipunan with nothing but a bolo and conviction; the workers who bore the weight of exploitation; the youth who dared to dream; the church members who turned faith into action against tyranny; and patriotic leaders who aligned themselves with the people’s cause.
What made the 1896 and 1986 revolutions significant is that both were unfinished revolutions. Fast-forward to 2025, and the question is no longer what we once raised but what we are willing to confront today.
The impeachment of Sara Duterte stands as a moment of reckoning, not only for the blatant betrayal of public trust but also for the broader decay of accountability in the highest levels of government. In many ways, the controversy unmasks the presence of authoritarianism beneath the surface of democracy. Her political survival is tightly woven into the same dynastic and militarist structure that has long insulated the powerful from public scrutiny.
The assertion of people’s power today continues the legacy initiated by the unfinished revolution of the Katipunan.
As history demonstrates how the people’s democratic movement advances in waves, the Filipinos are again gaining strength in another resurgence to struggle for the sovereignty they have long denied. Suppose the Cry of Pugad Lawin in 1896 was a cry for nationhood, and 1986 was a cry for restoring democracy. In that case, the years spent crying for an ambition still denied have ripened into a revolution that can no longer wait another hundred years.
There’s a strange symmetry between these numbers, 1896 and 1986, as if it is trying to tell us something.
The Filipinos waited 300 years to say, “Enough of your empire!”
The Filipinos waited 90 years to say, “ Enough of your dictatorship!”
And again, we are experiencing another wave of Filipino nationalism. Whether triumph comes in another 61 years or much sooner, what is certain is that the future is no longer distant. But for now, we remain a people twice denied the freedom and democracy we were promised.
Not pwede na.
Not even pwede pa.
But tama na. sobra na.
