On September 21, the anniversary of Martial Law, a brief program at Mendiola was supposed to end quietly. Instead, it unraveled into hours of violent expression of anger and frustration of hundreds of unorganized but politicized youths demanding an end to government corruption.

Many of these young protesters engaged in political protest for the first time, from marching in Luneta, to experiencing the suffocating smell of teargas, to seeing fellow young protesters getting dragged, beaten, and detained. 

Strangers, then friends

Jerry, 25, and Mike, 26, were strangers to each other. 

Both are young professionals in Quezon City. Mike used to live in Pasig, and supported Mayor Vico Sotto’s campaign against corruption. Their prior political participation was in chat groups, discussing the state of the nation. Mike also took part in the 2022 presidential campaign of Leni Robredo. 

Jerry and Mike – and three others – chatted with each other about joining the September 21 protest. “We actually met each other for the first time during the (Luneta) protest,” said Mike, laughing. “Now, we’re friends.”

They joined both the Luneta and Mendiola protests, and thought the ending anticlimactic. “We saw nothing much happening,” Jerry recalled. “About a hundred of us were headed to Mendiola. Some of us had gone home. Only three (of the five) stayed. I just wanted to capture something on video — anything at all. It’s been my hobby since I got into photography, video, and design. But I never expected to capture what I did that day.”

They came from Luneta straight to Mendiola, where the short program ended quickly. “We looked at each other: Was that it? Was it already over?” Jerry said. 

“The anger of the youth had no outlet,” Mike observed. “They were furious.” Soon, that anger would spring open: police taunted protesters, who taunted back. Someone threw a bottle of water as more got thrown in, Mike said. The police answered with water cannons – and teargas.

A teargas canister hit Jerry in the face, ricocheted, and struck Mike’s face, too, before hitting the pavement. Their faces stayed swollen for nearly a week. Jerry had brought an Aqua Flask, anticipating gas, and poured water into his eyes, sharing it with others. It was briefly taken in the chaos but later returned by someone who only had used it to wash away the sting.

As police and SWAT pressed forward, bystanders urged Jerry and Mike to remove their masks to avoid identification. Jerry complied and kept filming. His phone captured a boy surrounded and beaten by police – punched, clubbed, kicked, his clothes shredded until he was almost naked.

In the videos that later spread online, the youth was carried like a rag doll, then dropped onto the concrete, his head smacking hard against the pavement. The crowd gasped; the police were unmoved.

“Mike and I thought he was dead,” Jerry said. “We saw a policeman check his pulse and shake his head.” Human rights group Karapatan later confirmed the boy was alive, but detained at the Manila Police District.

Despite the chaos, Mike said he saw how genuine and good-natured the protesters were. “They came from different backgrounds. Some were angry because their homes had been flooded. They cursed the police for protecting politicians who stole flood control funds. It was clear they weren’t paid. No one was. They were well-meaning, helping each other. Whenever gas hit, people shared water right away.”

Taunting game

For Jason, a labor organizer from Pasong Tamo, Quezon City, the protest revealed the fury of first-timers. His group brought 35 participants, 19 of them youth joining a demonstration for the first time.

“When the program ended, the young ones weren’t satisfied,” Jason said. “They had so much anger at corruption, and nowhere to express it.”

Like what Mike and Jerry saw, Jason witnessed the game of taunts between the protesters and police. Police mocked the masked youths, gesturing as if to make them cry. The teenagers jeered back. When one threw a plastic bottle, others followed. Jason and his team tried to stop them. “We commanded them to stop, but it was unstoppable. Their anger was uncontrollable.”

Police fired water cannons. Instead of retreating, the youth tore down steel barriers and barbed wire. “Some of them cut their hands,” Jason noted. A Molotov was thrown at a backhoe. Others rushed at riot police at the Mendiola Peace Arch. Jason kept close to his group, ensuring none were left behind. In one instance, they even helped an injured policeman with a broken shield and bleeding arm back to his line.

Then came heavier tear gas, and SWAT with their Israeli-made IWI Tavor X95 assault rifles raised. Along Recto Avenue, the clashes moved in waves: police advancing, youths forcing them back with stones and shoves. It continued until it was dark.

Near Hotel SOGO, two police motorcycles burned. Jason saw plainclothes officers firing into the crowd. Protesters hurled rocks, forcing them to retreat inside SOGO, where security locked the accordion steel gate. Glass walls shattered under the barrage of rocks and sticks and anything else the young protesters could find to throw at.

“I went in too,” Jason admitted. “I needed to watch over my group. But I was also curious.” Inside, wooden chairs were seized, police jackets taken, then burned outside. As SWAT stormed SOGO, Jason made sure none of the young protesters were left inside. 

But he saw something that disturbed him: a boy in red shorts being shoved by SWAT, a rifle mounted by the cop on his shoulder as he was forced into the hotel. In a viral video, another youth was dragged upstairs and beaten by SOGO employees.

Jason also recalled a man in yellow, later presented in a press conference by Manila Mayor Francisco “Isko Moreno” Domagoso as Richard Francisco, 52, a civilian supposedly defending his watch repair business. The man admitted to stabbing a youth accused of trying to torch another motorcycle. 

Jason was skeptical. “There were no stores or watch repair shops there,” he said. “I think he was a police spotter.” At first, Jason thought Francisco had only punched the boy, but realized later he had stabbed him when protesters hurled a motorcycle helmet at him. The man walked toward the crowd at Quezon Boulevard and Recto, chased briefly by youths until others intervened, mistaking him for a bystander.

By then, Jason had regrouped his companions beyond Quezon Boulevard.

For him, the lesson was clear. “The young ones had no more outlet for their anger at corruption,” he said. Parents from their community in Pasong Tamo later confronted him, demanding to know why their children had joined. “But the youth protesters themselves explained the situation to their parents. They were still angry, and ready for the next actions. Hopefully more organized, but still militant.”

On Recto and Mendiola that day, September 21, amid the teargas and flames, one thing stood out: a new generation, young ‘stunnas’ with “no more place to put their anger,” had taken the streets – and they are not finished.

*Jerry, Mike and Jason’s real names are withheld for security reasons