At Quezon Memorial Circle, thousands gathered for a music-driven commemoration linking the People Power Revolution, the 2022 elections, and today’s fight against corruption.
The choice of music as medium was deliberate.
In 1986, songs carried courage through tense streets. Hymns of hope rose above tanks and uncertainty, turning fear into faith and strangers into allies. Four decades later, in 2026, music once again carried conviction—this time aimed squarely at corruption, apathy, and the fatigue of disillusionment.
At Quezon Memorial Circle, around 20,000 Filipinos gathered for “People Power @ 40 sa QC: The Kick Off Concert – Awit at Aksyon Kontra Korapsyon,” transforming a commemorative event into something more urgent: a reminder that melodies can mobilize.
Mounted by the Kaya Natin! Movement for Good Governance and Ethical Leadership and Mayors for Good Governance, the free-admission concert did not merely look back. It drew a line across time—1986 Revolution, the 2022 elections, and now the 40th anniversary of People Power—each moment marked by music that unified, amplified, and demanded accountability.
A soundtrack of resistance, then and now
In 1986, music was not background noise. It was a shield. It was prayer. It was protest.
In 2022, during a highly charged national election, songs once again filled rallies and public spaces, becoming vessels of collective longing for good governance. Campaign jingles, volunteer anthems, and crowd-led sing-alongs reminded the nation that rhythm can rally people as powerfully as rhetoric. And in 2026, the 40th year of People Power, that tradition continued—not as nostalgia, but as necessity.
“The spirit of People Power lives in people who get involved, who act, and who care for others,” said Ogie Alcasid, underscoring that remembrance without participation is empty.
The stage became a living archive of Filipino sound. Veteran hitmakers stood beside indie voices and emerging performers, proving that protest has no single genre. Among those who lent their voices were Ice Seguerra, Elmo Magalona, Arkin Magalona, Ogie Diaz, Alex Calleja, Ebe Dancel, Amiel Sol, Nica del Rosario, Pio Balbuena, Morobeats, Bea Binene, Red Ollero, Femme MNL, Chelsea Alley, Janno Gibbs, Iza Calzado, Over October, Earl Agustin, and Rivermaya, alongside drag artists, DJs, and youth acts representing multiple sectors.
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The mix was deliberate: OPM icons beside rising artists. Nostalgia beside new narratives. Veterans whose songs once filled cassette players now share the same platform with musicians whose tracks trend on streaming apps.
They performed as volunteers. No talent fees. No exclusivity.
It was music for the youth, but not youth alone. It was music that connected parents who once marched in 1986 with children now discovering their own political voice.
Harmony beyond political lines
“Ano man ang kulay, pwede kayo rito,” declared Ogie Diaz, a statement that resonated across the park.
In movements sustained by division, music offers something rare: shared tempo. Strangers can disagree politically, yet still sway to the same chorus. In that synchrony lies possibility.
“Whatever your age, whoever you are—you have a voice, and you deserve to be heard,” emphasized Iza Calzado, reframing the concert not as spectacle, but as civic space.
The loudest moments of the night were not just the choruses, but the declarations.
“Kailangang ipaalala sa kabataan na ang Pilipino, kahit mabait at tahimik, kapag napuno na, kikilos at kikilos.”
The line from Webster Letargo, representing Mayors for Good Governance and Kaya Natin!, did not fade into the program. It lingered. It landed.
Around him stood thousands of young Filipinos—cheering, chanting, waving ribbons. The youth presence was unmistakable. In gatherings as simple as this concert, modern People Power breathes again, not through barricades, but through basslines.
Music, after all, does what speeches sometimes cannot. It synchronizes strangers. It lowers defenses. It makes movements feel possible.
More than a commemoration
They say remembering is an act of resistance. But music transforms remembrance into movement.
“Simbolo ito ng pagkakaisa kontra sa isang bayang walang bahid ng korapsyon.”
The words of Quezon City mayor Joy Belmonte reframed the entire gathering. This was not just a concert in a park. It was a symbol—of what unity looks like when it chooses integrity.
The crowd waved ribbons and lifted phones not just for documentation, but for declaration. Against corruption. Against indifference. Against the creeping belief that change is impossible. Because when thousands sing together, apathy has no rhythm to cling to.
But the music was not the final note.
Organizers announced that the commemoration continues today, February 25, with an upcoming protest action marking the 40th anniversary of People Power—a reminder that celebration and resistance can coexist. That singing can lead to marching. That remembrance can lead to reckoning.
From EDSA in 1986, to the charged rallies of 2022, to this 2026 kickoff concert, music has remained the Philippines’ most democratic instrument.
Accessible. Collective. Impossible to silence.
And on this night in Quezon City, it did what it has always done in the country’s most defining moments:
It united people—and pointed them toward action.
Thousands of young Filipinos [were] cheering, chanting, waving ribbons. The youth presence was unmistakable. In gatherings as simple as this concert, modern People Power breathes again, not through barricades, but through basslines.
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