To my children, my grandchildren, and to all the young Filipinos who will inherit the story of our nation,

I am writing this not as a historian with all the answers, but as someone who has lived through the decades that followed a single, monumental event: the EDSA People Power Revolution of 1986. You will read about it in your textbooks. You will see the iconic images of yellow ribbons and people flooding the highway. You might hear it spoken of with a holy reverence, as the moment we proved that the Filipino is worth dying for.

I am writing to give you a different perspective – not to diminish what happened, but to help you understand its complicated legacy, so you can better navigate the world you are building for yourselves.

Forty years ago, in February 1986, we celebrated the end of a long dictatorship. And yes, it was a cause for celebration. For many, it felt like a miracle. But the full story, like most stories, is more complex than the legend.

The dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. did not fall by people power alone. It collapsed because of a perfect storm: a flawed snap election he was declared the winner of, a powerful opposition led by Corazon Aquino, key defections from his own defense minister (Juan Ponce Enrile) and military vice-chief (Fidel V. Ramos) who saw his illness as an opportunity, the immense influence of the Catholic Church under Cardinal Sin, and the strategic decision of the United States to finally withdraw their support and fly the Marcos family into exile. The people who gathered on EDSA were the final, beautiful, and crucial piece of the puzzle, but they were not the only ones moving the pieces on the board.

When the dust settled, we had our “Democracy.” Corazon Aquino was proclaimed president by the people. And for the first time in over a decade, we had free speech. We could criticize the government without fear. Newspapers went wild. Political prisoners were freed. It felt like the sun had finally come out.

But here is the painful truth I want you to remember: We settled for the freedom to speak, but we did not demand the discipline to govern well. We prayed so hard for the rain of democracy that we forgot to prepare for the mud it would leave behind.

And yet, and this is the part you must wrestle with: the fact that Ferdinand Marcos Jr. sits in Malacañang today may be the ultimate proof that People Power succeeded. Think about it. The revolution was fought so that Filipinos could choose their leaders freely, without fear, without a dictator imposing his will. In 2022, millions of Filipinos made a choice. Many of us disagreed with it. Many of us mourned it. But they made it freely, and their votes were counted, and power transferred peacefully. That is what democracy looks like. In a free society, you may not like what a person chooses or says, but you must defend their right to choose or say it. That is the bargain. That is the gift EDSA gave us—even when that gift produces an outcome we find painful, even dangerous. The tool works. The question is whether we, the people, have learned to use it wisely.

Why did we keep choosing this way? Because my generation and the generations that followed made a critical error. Traumatized by the memory of a dictator, we developed a deep fear of strong, decisive leaders. We over-corrected. We preferred soft, popular, non-threatening figures, mistaking gentleness for goodness and weakness for humility. We forgot that a leader can be both strong and just. Time and again, we were presented with candidates who spoke hard truths, who offered bold visions, who showed the kind of leadership that could actually reshape our country – and time and again, we rejected them. We chose the comfortable lie over the uncomfortable truth. We wanted to be soothed, not challenged.

This pattern held – until Rodrigo Duterte.  For thirty years, the “Imperial Manila” elite, the old political families, the “yellows,” the leftist intellectuals‚ debated and argued in our free press. But for many Filipinos outside the capital, especially those who just wanted peace and order in their streets and food on their table, this democracy felt like a noisy, ineffective game.

And then came Rodrigo Duterte. He was the first president who did not come from that Imperial Manila elite. He was a man from the periphery, the south. He spoke a different language. He didn’t care about the “rules” of EDSA democracy. He saw the mud and decided to bulldoze through it.

He was the first strong leader we allowed ourselves to embrace, precisely because we had grown so tired of the weak ones who gave us nothing but empty promises. Finally, we thought, someone who breaks the mold. His tenure became the clearest sign that the EDSA consensus was dead. He was deeply appreciated by millions who felt ignored by the democracy of the elites, and deeply hated by those who saw him as a threat to the very freedoms we gained in 1986. Today, “Duterte” is no longer just a name; it has perhaps become an “ideology” – an ideology of illiberal pragmatism that questions whether our kind of democracy can ever truly deliver.

But here is where the story turns tragic. When some of us finally recognized our mistake and tried to fix the system – by pushing for laws against political dynasties, for example – it was too late. The very people we were trying to protect, the voting public, saw these efforts not as reforms, but as the same old elite trying to change the rules to keep their power. The push for anti-dynasty laws was perceived not as a strengthening of democracy, but as a weakening of the people’s choice. Trust had eroded so deeply that even good-faith reforms looked like manipulation.

And so came 2022. Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. was not presented to us as a return to the old dictatorship. No, he was presented as something far more seductive: the continuation of Duterte’s legacy. The “Uniteam” narrative was a masterpiece of political storytelling. It told us we could have the strength of Duterte without the controversy. We could have continuity without confrontation. We could have the son of the dictator, rebranded as the heir to the populist revolution. And when faced with this choice, the trauma of the past and the distrust of the present led millions to embrace him. They chose the man who promised no disruption, no hard truths – just a return to a glorified memory they never actually experienced, packaged as the next step forward.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking proof of this pattern came from someone who should have known better. Sara Duterte, the daughter of the very man whose legacy was being hijacked, made a crucial choice that she may one day regret. She defied her father’s wisdom  (for it is said that the elder Duterte was wary of the Marcoses) and chose to align with the family her father had openly criticized. Why? Because even she, who grew up in the shadow of a strong leader, was not immune to the allure of a softer one. Her own supporters, the same masses who adored her father, believed in the promise: a lighter version of Marcos Sr., repackaged as the cheerful heir to Duterte’s revolution. They wanted continuity without confrontation, strength without the edge. And so the daughter followed her voters, proving that the gravitational pull toward soft, soothing leadership is so powerful that it can override blood, loyalty, and even a father’s warning. In doing so, she may have unwittingly helped deliver her father’s legacy into the hands of the very dynasty he stood against.

We learned the hard way. We learned that a soft voice can hide a hard reality. We learned that a well-told story is not the same as good governance. We learned that our trauma, left unhealed and unexamined, could be exploited to lead us right back to where we started. And most painfully, we learned that when a people lose trust in everyone – in leaders, in reformers, in the very idea of change itself – they become vulnerable to the most dangerous deception of all: the lie that looks like a familiar friend.

So, what is the lesson in all of this for you, the youth, my descendants?

First, do not be satisfied with symbols. A yellow ribbon is not good governance. A free press is useless without a just and honest society. Democracy is a tool, not the finished product. The goal is not just a system where we can vote; the goal is a system that delivers a dignified life for every Filipino.

Second, demand more. Do not just ask for freedom from tyranny. Ask for the freedom to live well – through leaders who are competent, ethical, and accountable. Do not just vote for the most popular name; vote for the most prepared public servant.

Third, understand the whole story. The past is never as simple as the heroes vs. the villains in the history books. Question everything. The people you admire will have flaws; the people you despise will have their own truths. It is in understanding this complexity that you can avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.

Fourth, heal your trauma. Do not let fear of the past dictate your choices in the present. A strong leader is not automatically a threat. A soft leader is not automatically a savior. Learn to see beyond the packaging and examine the substance.

Fifth, build, don’t just react. EDSA was a reaction, a beautiful and necessary one. But a nation cannot be built on reactions alone. It needs a vision. It needs institutions that are stronger than any single family, any single leader, or any single ideology.

The EDSA People Power Revolution was a moment of profound hope. But hope is not a strategy. My generation celebrated the rain. Your generation must learn to drain the mud, repair the roof, and build a house that can withstand any storm – whether it comes from a dictator, a dynasty, or a demagogue. 

The story of our country is now in your hands. Write it wisely.

With all my hope for you,

ROBERT  GANTUANGCO
Filipino
February 22, 2026

(Robert Gantuangco lived in Mindanao, the Visayas, and Central Luzon during his younger years. At the time of the EDSA People Power Revolution, he was residing in Paco, Manila – just a short walk from Malacañang Palace.

Too young to vote in 1986 but old enough to grasp the gravity of events unfolding around him, he went to EDSA and witnessed history firsthand, from tanks positioned near the palace to the helicopters that eventually carried the Marcos family into exile.

One moment remains especially vivid: being stopped and searched by military police without a warrant‚ an experience he has never forgotten. Today, he continues to live and work in Metro Manila, carrying those memories and lessons with him.)