It was a shining period in our nation’s history exactly 40 years ago when millions of Filipinos at EDSA showed the world what the collective power of a united people can achieve.

That period from Feb. 22 to 25, 1986 gave the Philippines one of its proudest moments, as international headlines bannered the “bloodless revolution that surprised the world” and honored the courage of ordinary folks who became human barricades against advancing tanks and armored carriers.

Filipinos of all ages and from all walks of life gathered along the vast stretch of highway between Camps Aguinaldo and Crame to stand their ground in protecting a small group of mutineers who had broken away from the authoritarian regime of then President Ferdinand Marcos Sr.

The world watched in disbelief as unarmed Filipinos faced grave danger, praying the rosary and offering flowers and food to heavily armed troops sent to confront the mutineers.

In an era before Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or even text messaging, the call to gather spread like wildfire. The voice of Jaime Cardinal Sin over Radio Veritas echoed through living rooms, urging people to go to EDSA. And they responded—by the thousands, then by the hundreds of thousands—until EDSA became a sea of humanity.

The climate of fear cultivated during years of authoritarian rule dissolved in the collective courage shown by those who responded.

As a human rights lawyer at the time who actively campaigned for Cory Aquino when she sought the presidency during the earlier snap election, I played my own role at EDSA, helping organize, coordinate and rally people to take strategic positions to block troop movements targeting the mutineers.

For me, the EDSA uprising was the culmination of years devoted to the collective struggle against dictatorship, beginning when I was a 17-year-old student activist who narrowly escaped bullets that killed three people beside me during violent rallies in the 1970s.

The euphoria of the EDSA People Power Revolution that ousted the dictatorship brought immense hope for our country’s future. The historic event was also seen as a model of peaceful uprising that inspired similar protest movements that toppled unpopular regimes in other parts of the world.

It is believed to have inspired other peaceful upheavals in Poland, Chile, and South Korea, including the “singing” revolutions in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, as well as the Velvet Revolution in the Czech Republic that ushered the fall of communism in the heart of Europe.

The People Power Revolution showed how Filipinos can unite and sacrifice for love of country, as had been proven many times in the past—from the Battle of Mactan to the Philippine Revolution against Spanish rule, the Philippine-American War, and World War II.

But it was also, in a sense, a defining moment for President Marcos, who stopped the use of deadly force against fellow Filipinos. “No, no, no!” Marcos was seen on live television ordering then Armed Forces chief Gen. Fabian Ver and his loyal forces not to attack and massacre the people.

“This was President Marcos at his finest, in his hour of greatest peril. That his survival in power was now at stake became clear when, at noon, the mutineers’ helicopter gunships bombarded Malacañang Palace with rockets,” wrote author Cecilio Arillo.

When the regime fell, changes were immediate and tangible. Democratic processes were reinstated. Congress reconvened, and the Supreme Court resumed its full constitutional role. A new Constitution in 1987 enshrined civil liberties, strengthened checks and balances, and revived a free press.

The euphoria of 1986 also carried immense expectations—that political freedom would swiftly lead to social justice, that restored democracy would dismantle entrenched inequality, and that massive corruption and widespread poverty would be significantly reduced.

Yet four decades later, many wonder why those expectations remain unfulfilled, or only partially fulfilled.

Critics argue that what transpired in 1986 was, in some respects, merely a changing of the guard — one faction of the elite replacing another. Political dynasties endured. Land reform advanced unevenly. Oligarchic influence remained potent. The structures that concentrate wealth and power were not dismantled overnight.

Amid this frustration, some even suggest that the revolution should have been violent — that a bloody rupture might have swept away entrenched interests and forced genuine nation-building. They point to the American Civil War or the French Revolution and ask whether violence produces deeper transformation.

But that argument ignores the profound cost of bloodshed. Nations scarred by civil war often suffer trauma for generations. The greatness of EDSA lies precisely in what it refused to become. It ended authoritarian rule without plunging the country into widespread violence. That moral victory matters.

Does the “EDSA spirit” still live? If defined as mass mobilization on the scale of 1986, it appears dormant. Political polarization and digital disinformation are reshaping public life. Commemorations of EDSA sometimes seem merely ceremonial rather than transformative.

But if the spirit of EDSA means civic courage—the willingness to defend truth, accountability, and the rule of law—then it persists, though less dramatically.

The EDSA revolt is neither pure triumph nor hollow myth. It is a reminder that revolutions open doors without guaranteeing what lies beyond them. Its promise remains unfinished, its work ongoing.

Whether the spirit of People Power fades into nostalgia or matures into lasting reform depends on what Filipinos—especially the youth—choose to do with the freedoms reclaimed on those historic February days 40 years ago. ([email protected])