Beyond the Barricades: How Manila's Bystanders Experience Martial Law Protests

On Monday, September 21, as thousands marched toward Mendiola to mark the 54th anniversary of Martial Law, an 11-year-old boy named Dwin stood at the edge of the crowd and began chanting along with the protesters. "Mga korap, pahirap sa bayan!" he called out—Corrupt people are a burden to the nation—a phrase he had picked up simply by being there, watching with two friends his own age, Fred and Ken. None of them had planned to attend. They had wandered over out of curiosity, looking for something to do during their afternoon, and found themselves instead absorbing a lesson in civic protest they had not sought.

The rally itself had drawn people to Mendiola because of concrete grievances: a flood control scandal, education budget cuts, rising oil prices, and a controversy known as Pax Silica. Transport groups like PISTON were there to demand action on fuel costs, which were scheduled to spike again the very next day. But for the people who lived and worked along the streets where the march passed, the demonstration meant something different than what the organizers had intended to communicate.

Leonardo Tamayo, a 24-year-old water vendor who has worked Manila's streets for years, saw the rally as an economic opportunity. When crowds gather in heat, people buy water. He and other vendors followed the march from Liwasang Bonifacio to Mendiola, selling to the foot traffic. Tamayo said he respects the cause—he understands that working-class people like transport workers are fighting to survive, much as he is—but he does not track the specific demands being made. For him, the rally is a day when his income rises, and that is what matters.

A shop worker named Ray, standing behind his counter a few steps away, watched the same scene unfold and saw only a surge in sales. He acknowledged that his own political views might not align with what the protesters were calling for, but the event was good for business. He watched from a distance, treating it as simply part of a normal working day that happened to be profitable.

For older residents, the rally carried a different weight. Ariel Makirang, a tricycle driver with three decades of experience on Manila's streets, has witnessed Mendiola through its violent history: the 1970 Battle of Mendiola, the 1987 Mendiola Massacre, and as recently as 2025, a Martial Law commemoration rally where one person was killed and several were injured and arrested. During that 2025 event, Makirang had to pull his vehicle to the side when sudden chases and clashes erupted. This year, he sat comfortably in his parked tricycle, watching the mobilization unfold in front of him.

What struck Makirang was the difference in atmosphere. The rally was safer, calmer, more orderly than the demonstrations he remembered. Police maintained a structured perimeter around Mendiola now, replacing the chaos of earlier eras when protesters could surge forward freely. Access had changed. The violence had not returned. Makirang said he prefers to watch from a distance because joining is exhausting, but he expressed support for the cause nonetheless. "What they are shouting is true," he said in Filipino. "But unlike before, there is no chaos today."

The Palace had appealed for orderly demonstration in a press briefing on September 16, and the streets seemed to have answered. Even from a distance, even without fully understanding or agreeing with every demand, even while selling water or ringing up sales or simply passing through, the bystanders of Manila had received the message. The rally had reached them, whether they came seeking it or not.