There was once a debate between Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. Du Bois on the act of protesting, specifically on whether protesting was self-respecting if the protesters could do nothing about correcting the injustice themselves.
To Washington, protesting about situations which one could not change was simply “advertising” one’s miseries. To protest, therefore, was to rely on the “sympathy” of others rather than take steps to change what was wrong. If no steps could be taken, Washington said, it was best to simply be stoic, in an act of self-respect.
Du Bois countered this: failing to openly acknowledge and call out injustice could, in the long term, also lead to one’s loss of self-respect. To speak up was to show that one respected oneself and those who shared one’s miseries, regardless of the nature of the issue being protested.
The spirit of protest has been alive and well these last few days. Sadly, some continue to label protests as mere disturbances; others shrug, saying that the system is too broken, and protesting cannot change anything.
The protests continue: on the streets of Seoul, after martial law was declared in the middle of the night by a president who thought that muzzling his liberal parliament would get the job done; on the streets of Tel Aviv, demanding a rescue of hostages rather than carpet bombing whole cities across national borders; on the streets of major cities, in solidarity with the innocents killed.
Even our own Pablo Virgilio “Ambo” David, once a bishop, has been given an even louder voice as a cardinal. He who once spoke up against the evils of the drug war can speak even clearer on national issues—can be a genuine moral compass and guide, rather than a prelate emerging on occasion to berate politicians abstractly, as though they were merely tantrum-throwing children.
To echo Dubois: the voice of protests means speaking up despite the protesters being locked in forces and systems outside their control—speaking up because these systems and forces are neither shackles nor muzzles, but challenges.
The voice of protest is not a mere complaint born in the heat of the moment, but a shout of frustration shaped by years of waiting and disappointment. It might be a successful protest, like our own Edsa 1986. It might be ongoing, like the protests in Seoul. Or it might have been a jubilant memory, like the Pink rallies of the 2022 national elections. Whether or not the protests succeeded is immaterial. That they were possible at all is a testament to the freedoms we must uphold.
Those of us who speak up carry within us hope that not all is lost, that not everything can and should be blamed on faulty systems, that not everything arising from broken systems is automatically absolved of accountability.
Those of us who continue to protest, whether on the streets or in writing, carry on a tradition that has always seen the voices of the few grow in number until their demands were deafening and the world had to change.
Thousands did it, for the civil rights movement, for the right of women to vote, for the right of a country to govern itself, for freedom.
One girl did it, 2,000 years ago, as an angel asked her if she would be the Mother of God. The angel gave her a choice, unheard of in a society where women were destined to be mere vessels for childbirth, mere vassals for men who would discard them when they had outlived their use.
The foundations for her consent had been laid down at her conception, when she had been created free from the stain of original sin, so that she would be the most perfect vessel for the Son of God Made Man. Her existence had been ordained for millennia, after the first parents were said to have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, and in so doing, had banished humanity from Paradise.
She, the simple woman of Nazareth, had been made ready for that moment, but she was still given the choice. Her yes then became a protest against a society that would see her as an adulteress, could one day shun her as a widow, would pierce her heart when it condemned her Son to death on the cross.
The voice of protest is formed by years of deep commitment to memory and truth. It is the voice of many, speaking up because we, as humans cannot be blind to injustice, should not sit back and watch people destroy themselves or each other in the name of short-term gains, must not be silent if we truly respect the integrity and sanctity of all life.
Labeling protests as irrational, useless, or futile is as good as ignoring and perpetuating evil. We can be prelates in cassocks or people on the street, modern employees or a woman sitting afraid in her room in Nazareth—no matter who we are, we must speak up when there is something that must be defended or reprimanded, when there is a cause greater than our nameless fears.
To mock protests, to ridicule those who speak up, is to lose all respect for humanity, and to condone sins that seek to destroy it.
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iponcedeleon@ateneo.edu