Why I Took My Daughter to the Trillion Peso March

Last September 21, my wife Luanne and I brought our daughter Zoe to the Trillion Peso March at the People Power Monument. The protest was organized to call for accountability in light of the massive corruption issues in flood control projects—scandals that have cost Filipinos not just money, but lives and dignity.

Zoe had just been sick the week before, so we decided not to push too hard. We went at the tail end of the rally, thinking it was the safest way for her to still experience it without exhausting herself.

It also was a good coincidence that the Trillion Peso March fell on the 53rd anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law. Two different eras, but the same call: to resist abuse of power, to demand justice, and to remember that silence is complicity.

As parents, Luanne and I wanted Zoe to see what it means to fight for your country, to stand up for good governance, and to witness how people come together when things go wrong.

We’ve always believed that children learn not just from what we say, but from what we do. By bringing Zoe to the rally, we were telling her:

Be counted. Stand up. Fight for what is right.

We also wanted her to know that young people have a huge role in nation-building. She might only be a child now, but one day, she’ll be making choices for herself, her community, and our country. And when that time comes, we want her to have the courage to choose truth, justice, and compassion.

For me personally, attending the Trillion Peso March was more than just showing up. It was about hope, which is something I haven’t really felt for the Philippines since 2022.

I’ve experienced periods of cynicism, frustration, and fatigue. But that day, watching the crowd, especially the young people leading the chants, waving placards, and refusing to be silent, something inside me lit up again.

Hope.

Hope that our country isn’t too far gone. Hope that a new generation will demand better leadership, better governance, and better accountability. Hope that people are not giving up, even when it feels tempting to do so.

Of course, Zoe is still young. She doesn’t fully understand the details of corruption in flood control projects, or the depths of Martial Law history. But she can understand something simple and powerful: when people see something wrong, they come together and speak up.

That’s exactly what we wanted to teach her. We wanted he to know that protests are not just noise. They are essential in calling out the ills of our society. They are a sign that democracy is alive. And they are proof that silence is never the only option.

I didn’t expect it, but when I posted about our experience on Twitter, Threads, and Facebook, the story resonated. Maybe it struck a chord because so many parents feel the same tension:

Maybe it’s because, deep down, many Filipinos are still hopeful, too. They want to believe that their children will inherit a better country, and they know it will take both courage and community to make that happen.

As parents, we carry this delicate balance—keeping our children safe while also equipping them for the struggles they will one day face. At the Trillion Peso March, I felt that balance in full force.

I was holding Zoe’s hand, watching her look curiously at the crowd, hearing the chants echoing through the night. And I thought: this is how hope is passed on.

From one generation to the next.

From parent to child.

From me to Zoe.

And I pray that when her time comes, she will not hesitate to stand up, be counted, and keep fighting for the Philippines we all deserve.

How can you teach your child to reject corruption? Here are some tips.