Today marks another year since the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos Sr. signed Proclamation 1081, declaring Martial Law in the Philippines on September 21, 1972. More than half a century has passed, yet the wounds inflicted on the nation, on the Filipino people, and most deeply on Mindanao, remain raw and unresolved. To commemorate this dark chapter is not an act of dwelling on the past—it is an act of truth-telling, a rejection of amnesia, and a defense of democracy against the creeping tide of historical revisionism.

This day is also now remembered as the National Day of Protest—an expression of people’s outrage not only against the horrors of Martial Law in the past, but also against the massive and unimaginable corruption plaguing the present under the leadership of the very son of the dictator, Ferdinand Marcos Jr. From flood control projects riddled with anomalies, to questionable PhilHealth funds, to the massive selling of the country’s gold reserves, and the never-ending dole-out system (ayuda) that masks deeper systemic failures, the people see history repeating itself. Will Marcos Jr. suffer the same fate as his father? The public is growing restless, angry, and demanding reforms, accountability, and the prosecution of those involved. Yet the government appears to be doing little, with corruption often shielded by cover-ups. The burning question now is: how long can this government stand before it finally listens to the people’s cry?

Martial Law was not just a suspension of rights; it was an assault on the very soul of the nation. Amnesty International, human rights groups, and survivors themselves documented how tens of thousands of Filipinos were arbitrarily arrested, tortured, and disappeared. At least 70,000 were imprisoned, 34,000 tortured, and more than 3,200 killed in the years that followed Marcos’s declaration. Journalists, priests, labor leaders, and students were targeted. Communities were terrorized into silence. Meanwhile, the Marcos family plundered the treasury, turning the Philippines into one of Asia’s most notorious kleptocracies.

But beyond the numbers are stories etched into the lives of survivors who were tortured into confessing crimes they never committed, and of countless families who never saw their loved ones again. These wounds cannot simply be dismissed as “things of the past”—they are scars carried across generations.

For Mindanao, Martial Law meant a blood-soaked nightmare. From the Jabidah Massacre in 1968, to the burning of Jolo in 1974, to the Palimbang Massacre where thousands of Moro men were executed and women raped inside a mosque, the brutality of Marcos’s rule was felt most heavily in the South. Military atrocities treated entire Moro and Lumad communities as enemies of the state. At least 50,000 were killed and half a million displaced in Mindanao alone, many forced to flee as “evacuateers” to distant provinces or foreign shores.

These were not isolated events but systematic campaigns of terror—massacres, scorched-earth tactics, forced displacements—designed to crush resistance and silence dissent. Ironically, they only deepened the conflicts Marcos used to justify Martial Law in the first place, fueling the armed struggle of the Moro National Liberation Front and strengthening the Communist movement in the island.

The damage was not only political but cultural. For years, Maguindanaoans hid their gongs underground, fearful that their traditions would be criminalized as symbols of rebellion. Tausug families buried their grief in silence as they rebuilt their shattered towns. Marcos’s corporate cronies took advantage of weakened communities, exploiting Mindanao’s rich lands for bananas, pineapples, and tuna, leaving behind depleted soils and seas. To this day, many Mindanawons still grapple with the aftershocks of these economic and environmental plunders.

Five truths must be remembered on this day of commemoration:

  1. Martial Law unleashed extensive and systematic human rights violations—torture, killings, disappearances—that left deep scars on individuals and communities.
  2. These violations followed a clear and deliberate pattern of repression documented by Amnesty International, the UN, and human rights groups.
  3. Accountability remains elusive. Marcos died in exile, unpunished, while many victims still struggle to gain recognition and reparations.
  4. Historical revisionism now threatens to erase the blood and tears of those years, as disinformation spreads lies about a so-called “Golden Age.”
  5. Justice is still unfinished business. Victims deserve truth, reparations, and guarantees of non-repetition—not silence or erasure.

To remember is to resist. Every year that we mark September 21, we are reminded that democracy is fragile, that silence enables impunity, and that forgetting ensures repetition. The horrors of Martial Law are not myths, not exaggerations, not figments of political propaganda—they are lived realities of thousands of Filipinos, especially in Mindanao, where mass graves and memories remain.

Those who today glorify the Marcos years and urge us to “move on” betray the sacrifices of those who died for freedom. Moving on without truth, justice, and reparations is not healing—it is surrendering to lies.

As we stand at a time when disinformation is rampant, when the children of the dictator rule again, and when history itself is under siege, we must recommit to telling the stories that others want silenced. We must listen to the survivors. We must honor the dead. And we must never allow tyranny to be dressed up as nostalgia.

The legacy of Martial Law is not just a chapter in history books—it is a deep wound in the nation’s conscience. Until truth and justice prevail, that wound will never close.

Remember Martial Law. Reject the lies. Demand justice. Never again. Never forget.

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