Trillion Peso March – EDSA Shrine, Quezon City | Photo by Russco Gray
In the fall of 2025, two mass mobilizations—separated by oceans but united in spirit—captured the world’s attention. In the United States, the No Kings March surged through over a thousand cities, with millions rallying against authoritarian overreach and the erosion of democratic norms.
Just weeks earlier, on September 21, 2025, the Philippines erupted in its own nationwide protest: the Trillion Peso March. Sparked by revelations of corruption in flood-control infrastructure projects, the march mobilized tens of thousands across cities such as Manila, Cebu, Davao, and Baguio. Protesters demanded institutional reforms, transparency, and accountability in government spending. The movement was especially notable for its strong Gen Z presence, echoing a generational shift in political engagement across Asia.
Though rooted in different political systems and cultural contexts, both movements reflect a shared global cry: enough is enough. Enough with impunity. Enough with unchecked power. Enough with leaders who forget that they serve the people—not the other way around.
The No Kings March: A Rejection of Authoritarian Drift
The No Kings March, held in early October, was a direct response to President Donald Trump’s increasingly aggressive policies. Protesters decried the use of federal troops in cities, attacks on press freedom, and sweeping immigration raids. The name itself—“No Kings”—was a pointed reminder that America was founded in rebellion against monarchy. The message was clear: democracy cannot coexist with authoritarianism.
From New York’s Times Square to the streets of Portland, signs read “We the People Say No” and “No Crown for a Conman.” The march was diverse, intergenerational, and deeply American in its insistence on constitutional rights. It was not just a protest—it was a reaffirmation of civic identity.
The Trillion Peso March
In Manila’s Luneta Park, protesters carried signs that read “Saan Napunta ang Pera?” (“Where did the money go?”) and “Walang Baha Kung Walang Kurakot” (“No floods if there’s no corruption”). The march echoed the spirit of the 2013 Million People March, but this time, it was younger, angrier, and more digitally coordinated. TikTok videos, livestreams, and memes fueled the movement, making it impossible for politicians to ignore.
Shared DNA: Grassroots Power and Moral Clarity
Despite their differences, both marches were grassroots-driven, decentralized, and morally urgent. Neither the political parties nor the traditional institutions orchestrated them. Instead, they were powered by students, workers, artists, and everyday citizens who had reached a breaking point.
In both countries, the marches were as much about reclaiming agency as they were about specific policies. They asked: Who gets to decide what kind of country we live in? Who holds power—and who holds them accountable?
The emotional tenor was also strikingly similar. In the U.S., the No Kings March channeled frustration into chants of “This is what democracy looks like.” In the Philippines, the Trillion Peso March turned grief into grit, with survivors of floods sharing stories of loss and resilience. Both movements were deeply personal—and profoundly political.
Diverging Realities: Risk, Repression, and Response
Yet the differences between the two marches are just as instructive.
In the United States, while tensions ran high, the right to protest remains constitutionally protected. Most demonstrations proceeded without mass arrests, and media coverage was widespread. The No Kings March, though urgent, operated within a system that still—however imperfectly—allows dissent.
In contrast, the Trillion Peso March unfolded amid the threat of repression. The Philippines has a long history of protest crackdowns, and participants risked surveillance, harassment, and even arrest. That so many still showed up speaks volumes about the courage of the Filipino people.
Moreover, the stakes in the Philippines were often more immediate. Corruption wasn’t just a moral failing—it was a matter of life and death. When floodwaters rise because funds were stolen, the outrage is not theoretical. It’s soaked into the clothes of evacuees and etched into the memories of grieving families.
A Global Pattern, A Local Pulse
These two marches are part of a broader global pattern: the rise of people-powered movements demanding accountability. From Chile’s protests over inequality to Nigeria’s #EndSARS movement, citizens around the world are asserting their right to be heard.
But context matters. The No Kings March drew on America’s revolutionary heritage and constitutional ideals. The Trillion Peso March drew on the Philippines’ legacy of People Power and its deep cultural emphasis on community and bayanihan (collective action).
Both are reminders that democracy is not a finished product—it is a living, breathing struggle. And in both cases, the people made it clear: they are not subjects. They are citizens.
What Would These Mass Actions Do?
The true test of any protest is what follows. Will the No Kings March translate into electoral change, policy reform, or a renewed civic culture? Will the Trillion Peso March lead to prosecutions, legislation, or a shift in how public funds are managed?
One thing is sure: the world is watching. And more importantly, the people are watching. In an age of disinformation, disenchantment, and democratic backsliding, these marches offer a powerful counter-narrative—one of hope, resistance, and the enduring belief that power belongs to the people.
Both the No Kings and Trillion Peso marches are part of a broader global pattern: the rise of mass mobilizations against concentrated power. From Chile to Hong Kong, from Nigeria to France, people are taking to the streets to demand accountability.
Yet, these movements also underscore the importance of local context. The No Kings March was shaped by American constitutionalism and media saturation. The Trillion Peso March was shaped by Filipino resilience, humor, and a history of people power.
In the end, both marches remind us that democracy is not a given—it is a fight. And whether in Times Square or the EDSA Shrine, that fight is being waged by ordinary people who refuse to be silenced.
