What appears before us today feels less like the flowering of People Power and more like its shadow expression. The rallies reveal the intersecting fault lines of religion, political influence and legal accountability.
MT. Banahaw stands as a long-revered site of pilgrimage and reflection, where traditions of lakaran continue to symbolize spiritual journeying, solidarity, and inner renewal.
Photo courtesy of Sariaya Municipal Government
PLUTO'S transit through Aquarius is often interpreted as a period of deep societal change, where innovation and collective movements reshape existing power dynamics.
Photo courtesy of Astro Butterfly
Social media’s version of local news has been filled with images of new “people power” rallies organized in support of political causes. Watching these unfold has led me to reflect on the psychology of the herd, especially when mass mobilization is rooted in a religious community. The photographs look impressive from a distance, yet there is something curiously hollow about them. One senses not the spontaneous stirring of a people’s conscience but mass action orchestrated by leaders whose agendas appear less than noble.
This contrast brings me back to what our country offered the world in 1986. The peaceful People Power Revolution was not merely a gathering of bodies filling EDSA Avenue. It was the flowering of a shared spirit that arose within the Filipino heart — a collective longing to restore democracy and end authoritarian rule. It was history shaped not by coercion but by conscience.
When we trace the socio-spiritual and cultural roots of People Power, we encounter an older Filipino tradition: lakaran. More than simply walking together, lakaran is the peaceful act of moving in solidarity, expressing unity, faith, and resistance against injustice through nonviolent means.
I have been fascinated by this concept since that historic period. One of the books that deepened my understanding was Reynaldo Ileto’s Pasyon and Revolution, first published in 1979. Ileto describes lakaran as a “journey on foot,” modeled after Christ’s path to Calvary. Other Filipino scholars, particularly Virgilio Enriquez, continued this line of thought, presenting lakaran as both pilgrimage and mission — a physical journey that transforms both the traveler and the community.
My interest in this is deeply personal and situational because, here in Mt. Banahaw, throughout the years I have been rooted in the rainforest mountain, I have observed how lakaran is practiced as devotional walking and is an important expression of Filipino spirituality. Closely connected to Mt. Banahaw’s history, in Quezon from 1840 to 1841, the Cofradía de San José of Hermano Pule practiced lakaran as missionary journeys and acts of sacrifice in Tayabas Province. The 1986 Philippine Revolution saw Katipuneros use this symbolism, where their revolutionary journey represented sacrifice and commitment to the nation. The Millenarian and Colorum movements continued the tradition of religious walking and pilgrimage, particularly around Mt. Banahaw during the American colonial period.
There is remarkable cultural continuity in this collective act of walking. It has helped shape the uniquely Filipino way of peaceful mass mobilization. Yet what gives lakaran its enduring power is not the act itself but its inner essence. At its heart lies kalooban — the sacred interior life of the Filipino. It calls forth our kadakilaan, our heroic nobility, and our aspiration toward kaliwanagan, the search for greater light and moral clarity. These are not merely cultural ideals but spiritual disciplines. When thousands walk together carrying these values, the result becomes authentic People Power. It is not simply the power of the people. It is the power of a people awakened by conscience.
This distinction feels especially relevant today. Astrologically speaking, we are living through Pluto’s long transit through Aquarius, a cycle that will continue reshaping humanity over the next two decades. Pluto represents deep transformation, exposing what has become corrupted and obsolete. Aquarius governs the collective, social systems, communities and the future itself. Together, this transit symbolizes the redistribution of power away from entrenched hierarchies and toward ordinary people, networks and collective movements. Yet Pluto always works through both light and shadow. It amplifies empowerment, but it can also magnify manipulation, groupthink, ideological extremism, and the seductive power of mass movements that lose connection with ethical purpose.
I believe this is precisely what we are witnessing in our own political landscape. What appears before us today feels less like the flowering of People Power and more like its shadow expression. The rallies reveal the intersecting fault lines of religion, political influence and legal accountability. At the center stands a senator facing serious non-bailable charges if found guilty of allegedly receiving millions in illicit campaign donations. Around this issue swirl accusations that these mobilizations are intended not simply to express support but to pressure institutions and perhaps even destabilize the present administration.
As of this writing, the rallies remain peaceful. That deserves acknowledgment. But peace alone does not define the spirit of People Power. What becomes unmistakably clear is the demonstration of organizational muscle. The Iglesia ni Cristo has shown that it possesses an extraordinary capacity to mobilize large numbers and significantly disrupt everyday life. Such organizational strength is neither inherently good nor bad. Its moral meaning depends entirely on the purpose it serves.
Equally noticeable is the seeming tolerance extended by the administration, a posture that many perceive as accommodation or even coddling toward the religious organization. Whether this reflects political prudence or strategic calculation is for history to judge. Yet these dynamics inevitably shape public perception.
This is why discernment becomes essential. Not every mass gathering is People Power simply because thousands occupy the streets. Numbers alone do not sanctify a cause. Collective action divorced from conscience risks becoming merely another instrument of political theater. The deeper question is always this: What spirit animates the gathering? Does it arise from the Filipino kalooban seeking justice, truth and the common good? Or is it driven by fear, loyalty to personalities, institutional self-interest, or the pursuit of power itself?
The outward forms may appear identical. Both involve people walking together. Both produce dramatic images. Both fill public spaces. Yet one carries the quiet dignity of lakaran — a pilgrimage toward truth. The other risks becoming only a mass political rally, where collective energy is directed less toward the healing of the nation than toward protecting vested interests and sowing greater disorder.
As Filipinos, we have inherited a sacred tradition. We know, perhaps better than many nations, that authentic People Power cannot be manufactured. It cannot be commanded from above. It cannot be borrowed for political convenience. It emerges only when the people’s inner light walks together.
