Silencing the Nation: Martial Law and the Struggle for Truth

By: ArcRomero

Cartoon by: kino

On September 21, 1972, a single signature changed the nation’s destiny. With the stroke of a pen, Proclamation No. 1081 declared Martial Law across the country under then-President Ferdinand Marcos Sr. Overnight, democracy was muted. The once vibrant sound of typewriters in newsrooms fell silent. Printing presses froze mid-roll. Radio stations cut to static. Once hailed as the freest press in Asia, the Philippines was suddenly thrust into darkness.

Under Martial Law, fear became a daily reality. Curfews, checkpoints, and constant surveillance marked every street. Political opponents were jailed without warrants. Reports estimate 70,000 were imprisoned, 34,000 tortured, and more than 3,000 killed or disappeared during the duration of Martial Law. Families searched in vain for their loved ones who never returned, and businesses critical of the regime were seized and handed to cronies. Even the Constitution was rewritten to cement absolute power. Life was lived under the shadow of bayonets, where dissent was not only punished—it was erased.

At the center of this erasure was the press. Within hours of Martial Law’s declaration, independent newspapers and broadcast stations were shuttered. Journalists were dragged from their desks, and reporters asking questions were suddenly silenced. Publications like The Manila Times vanished, replaced by state-controlled news outlets such as Daily Express and Bulletin Today. Sole survivors operated under strict censorship. Their continued existence served as a chilling reminder: a press that lives in chains is no press at all.

Yet, silence was never absolute. The underground “mosquito press” emerged, buzzing defiantly with stories of corruption and abuse that the dictatorship tried to bury. Produced in secret, mimeographed in hidden corners, and passed hand to hand, these papers carried risk but also resistance. The New Builder, Mapúa University’s official student publication, was among the pens that remained steadfast and published under Balawis. These underground publications proved that truth, no matter how suffocated, finds a way to breathe.

Controlling the press gave the regime immense power; by silencing these critics and dictating the narrative, it manufactured an illusion of stability and prosperity to the other countries. People are forced to live under carefully constructed lies. Headlines praised infrastructure projects like the Cultural Center of the Philippines and the San Juanico Bridge, masking he ballooning foreign debt, deepening poverty, and rampant human rights abuses.

When the press is stifled, a nation loses its mirror.

The methods may change, but the lesson remains: silencing the press is one of the most effective weapons of tyranny. By shutting down independent voices, the dictatorship no longer needed to argue–it simply dictated. What the people saw in the headlines was not the country they lived in, as it was just a carefully constructed lie.

And yet, the truth never bowed. The mosquito press, underground radio, and whispered testimonies from survivors carried the truth through the cracks of censorship. These small acts of defiance kept memory alive, proving that even under chains, truth fought to endure. The story of Martial Law reminds us that freedom was not preserved by silence, but by those who dared to speak.

Remembering Martial Law is not just about looking back: it is about honoring those voices that refused to be silenced and recognizing the cost of freedom when it is taken for granted. “Never Again” must not remain a slogan repeated every September, but a lesson drawn from history itself. Because when we protect the press, we protect our democracy. When we defend truth, we defend our people.

We cannot afford silence.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.