IISA

𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗨𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

𝘐𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘪: 𝘑𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘌𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘩 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘩 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘗𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘔𝘈 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘐𝘭𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘰

This comic commemorates the life and sacrifice of 𝗟𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗼𝘀𝗮 𝗛𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗼, 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 who used the power of the pen to challenge the Marcos regime.

Despite her physical fragility, the artwork depicts her strength as a student editor 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱.

—

𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐲𝐚 𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐧

𝘐𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘪: 𝘑𝘰𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘯𝘦 𝘔. 𝘊𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘰, 𝘗𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘔𝘈 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘐𝘭𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘰

This artwork depicts the struggle between military oppression and the pursuit of justice, 𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗵𝗮𝘀𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗰 𝗱𝘂𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀.

Through the prominent slogans "𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵" and "𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯," the art serves as a powerful reminder to 𝘂𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗶𝗽 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘁𝘆𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘆.

—

𝗪𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡:
𝗣𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗣𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝘁 𝟰𝟬, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗪𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗢𝘄𝗲 𝗘𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗢𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿

Today is February 25, 2026. Forty years ago, ordinary Filipinos — not soldiers, not seasoned revolutionaries, not people with anything particularly exceptional about them except the fullness of what they believed — stood on a stretch of highway in Metro Manila and stopped a dictatorship with nothing but their bodies and their refusal to move. The tanks turned back. The Philippines breathed again. And the world called it a miracle.

𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲. 𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻. A decision made by individual people, alone in their homes, before they knew how many others would come — who chose to treat their own presence as consequential. That distinction matters enormously, because miracles cannot be repeated. 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻.

For most students today, EDSA is a chapter in a book we had to memorize for an exam. It is a long weekend. A black-and-white photograph that feels disconnected from the weight of our tuition fees, the heat of our classrooms, the quiet exhaustion of trying to build a future in a country that sometimes seems to have already decided who gets one and who doesn’t. The fatigue is real. And underneath the fatigue is a question that nobody asks out loud but almost everyone feels: 𝗗𝗶𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸?

That question deserves an honest answer — not a ceremonial one.

—𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗘𝗗𝗦𝗔 𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗨𝗦—

The 1987 Constitution, drafted in the immediate aftermath of Martial Law by people who had lived through what unchecked power does, was one of the most progressive founding documents in Southeast Asian history. It enshrined human rights, limited executive authority, and contained a provision so morally clear that its non-enforcement for forty years is itself a kind of scandal: the mandate, in Article II, Section 26, to prohibit political dynasties.

𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗔 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗱 — 𝘂𝗻𝗲𝘅𝗲𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲.

We ousted one dynasty in 1986 and built a democracy in which dynasties became the norm. Today, the poorest provinces in the Philippines remain under the control of the same surnames, generation after generation. The structural conditions that made Martial Law possible — the capture of institutions, the manufactured dependency of the poor on politically connected patrons, the narrowing of who gets to serve and who is asked to simply wait — persist, not in the form of tanks, but in the quieter, more permanent architecture of inherited power.

𝗘𝗗𝗦𝗔 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘂𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲. 𝗜𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝘁.

This is not a reason for despair. It is a reason for clarity. Because what EDSA proved — conclusively, in front of the entire world — is that the architecture can be challenged. That it is not permanent.

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲, 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁, 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗺𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.

—𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦—

Across the campuses of the PHINMA Education Network, there are students right now who are the first in their families to go to college. Students from Cagayan de Oro and Dagupan, from Araullo and La Union, from Cebu and Iloilo — carrying the investment of parents who worked double shifts, skipped meals, and made the kind of quiet sacrifices that never appear in any history book but are no less real for it.

These students did not come from power. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 — 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁.

That decision is EDSA. Not the event itself, but the spirit underneath it — the insistence, against every reasonable discouragement, that the future is not fixed.

What student councils do, at their best, is exactly what People Power was: a refusal to accept that institutions belong only to those who already hold them. A claim, made collectively and without apology, that the people most affected by a decision have the right to shape it.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗠𝗔 𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘆. 𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝘁.

People Power isn’t a historical event to be commemorated, but a civic habit we simply forgot to use.

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘆 “𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁,” 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁. 𝗜𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀.

—𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗨𝗦—

On this 40th anniversary, the question is not whether we honor EDSA. Of course we do. The question is what kind of honoring we choose. There is the honoring that places 1986 behind glass — reverential, distant, safe. And there is the honoring that takes what happened seriously enough to continue it.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘂𝘀.

The students of this alliance are not asked to stand in front of tanks. They are asked to do something that is, in its own way, just as demanding: to stay engaged when engagement is inconvenient. To raise their hand when silence would be easier. To file the complaint, write the resolution, cast the informed vote, and refuse — quietly, consistently — the cynicism that says nothing changes because nothing can.

Things change. We know this. We have a forty-year-old photograph of it.

What EDSA gave this generation is not a finished country.

𝗜𝘁 𝗴𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘂𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳.

Proof that ordinary people, when they decide their presence matters, can alter the course of things that seemed immovable.

The revolution is not behind us. It never was.

𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘂𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗙𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿.

Forty years ago, they showed up. They did not know it would work. They came anyway.

Now it is our turn. And unlike them, we already know it can work.

𝗪𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘂𝗽.

—

Words by: Louie N. Figueroa, SWU PHINMA

ＥＤＳＡ𝐥𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐨 𝐁𝐚?

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐠 𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐠𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐢𝐧 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤; 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩. Gaze upon the "Wall of Remembrance," where names from valiant labor leaders, to impassioned students and resilient farmers are chiseled into eternity, each one a poignant reminder of a life given for the promise of a free Philippines.

Inside its walls, the museum breathes life into their stories, displaying protest banners that once waved with hopeful defiance, underground publications that secretly fanned the flames of resistance, and personal belongings that connect us intimately to the brave individuals who championed freedom long before the People Power Revolution of 1986. The Bantayog ng mga Bayani compels us to confront the past, to embrace the narratives of courage, and to carry forward the torch of their sacrifices, ensuring that their fight for truth and justice continues to illuminate our path towards a truly free and just society.

𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐧!

𝙿𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚢: 𝐋𝐢𝐳 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞
𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚢: 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬