Caecus

Chapter 9: No Justice, No Peace.

Lucas sat in front of his computer, his hands poised over the keyboard but not moving. The words he wanted to write, the story he wanted to tell, seemed just out of reach. Outside his apartment, the noise of a protest reverberated through the air—angry voices, banners raised, and the steady beat of footsteps marching down the street. It was becoming a familiar sound.

The message of the protesters was simple, clear, and growing louder by the day: *“No justice, no peace!”*

It was a slogan that had been shouted in every major city across the country over the past months, and it was now spreading to smaller towns. The people were done waiting. They were done asking. After years of watching corruption fester, of seeing the rich evade punishment while the poor suffered, Filipinos were finally reaching their breaking point.

Lucas stood up from his desk and walked to his window, staring down at the mass of people moving like a living wave through the streets of Manila. They carried signs denouncing government corruption, demanding accountability, calling out the failed promises of politicians who had gotten rich off the backs of the people.

He could feel the energy of the crowd even from his small apartment. It was a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else—something new. It was a sense of purpose, a recognition that things could not continue as they were. The people had learned that if there was no justice for them, there could be no peace for the government.

The protest wasn’t just about a single incident of injustice, though there were plenty to choose from. It was about the accumulation of years—decades—of broken systems, of laws designed to protect the elite while the masses were left to fend for themselves.

Lucas knew it had been building for a long time. He had seen it firsthand, covering the stories of ordinary Filipinos—farmers, laborers, vendors—who struggled to survive while the rich grew richer, protected by a government that seemed more concerned with maintaining its own power than with serving its people.

He thought back to the countless stories he had written, each one a testament to the failings of the system. He remembered interviewing a mother who had lost her son to police violence, accused of being a drug user with no trial, no evidence. He remembered talking to the workers who were laid off during the pandemic, left with no financial support while corporations and government officials lined their pockets with pandemic funds. And he remembered sitting across from families whose land had been taken from them, their rights disregarded in favor of wealthy developers who had the government on their side.

And now, the people were done waiting for the system to change. If the government would not give them justice, they would take action to make sure the government could no longer enjoy peace.

Lucas grabbed his camera and notebook, ready to document the protests below. He was not just a journalist now—he was part of this movement, a voice among many, demanding change. He quickly made his way out of the building and into the crowd, the heat and the noise enveloping him as he walked into the heart of the protest.

The crowd was vast, diverse. It was made up of students, workers, and families, all marching side by side, their faces set in determination. One woman, holding a sign that read *“Justice for All, Not Just the Wealthy”*, caught Lucas’s attention. Her face was lined with the weariness of years of struggle, but her eyes burned with the fire of someone who had finally had enough.

Lucas approached her, pulling out his notebook. “Can I ask you why you’re here?” he asked.

She looked at him, her voice steady. “I’m here because I’m tired of waiting for justice. My son was accused of a crime he didn’t commit. He’s been in jail for two years without a trial, and we can’t afford a lawyer. Meanwhile, the politicians who stole millions are living in their mansions, walking free. This government doesn’t care about people like us. So if they won’t give us justice, we won’t give them peace.”

Her words hit Lucas hard. He had heard similar stories countless times before, but something about the rawness of her voice, the fire in her eyes, made this moment feel different. The crowd around them echoed her sentiment, chanting louder, their voices filling the air.

*“No justice, no peace! No justice, no peace!”*

The march moved forward, and Lucas followed, capturing the faces of those who had been left behind by the very system that was supposed to protect them. It was a sea of frustration, and yet, within it, there was hope—a hope born from collective action, from the realization that together, they had the power to force change.

As the protest reached the gates of the government complex, the chanting grew louder, reverberating off the tall walls that symbolized the divide between the people and their leaders. Policemen stood in formation, a show of force, but Lucas could see the uncertainty in their eyes. This was different from the usual protests, where people showed up, shouted for a while, and then went home. This felt like the beginning of something much bigger, something the government could not easily ignore.

Lucas’s phone buzzed with a message from Jaime: *“You see the news? They’re starting to call it the ‘Justice Uprising.’ They’re scared, man. They should be.”*

Lucas smiled grimly. The government had every reason to be scared. They had ignored the cries of the people for too long, thinking that they could get away with it indefinitely. But the people had had enough. And now they were demanding more than just apologies and promises—they wanted accountability, they wanted reform. They wanted justice.

He watched as a young man climbed onto the makeshift stage at the front of the protest, his voice booming through a megaphone.

“We are here because we are tired!” he shouted. “Tired of being lied to, tired of being ignored, tired of a system that only works for the rich while the rest of us are left to suffer. They tell us to wait for justice, but we’ve been waiting for decades. We’re done waiting. If there’s no justice for the people, there will be no peace for the government!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices rising to meet the call. Lucas felt a surge of adrenaline as he snapped photos, capturing the passion, the anger, and the resolve of a people who had been pushed to their limits.

He knew that the government would try to paint these protesters as troublemakers, as agitators, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that these people were tired of waiting for a justice system that had never served them. They had seen too many corrupt officials walk free, too many innocent lives destroyed by poverty, and too many promises broken. Now, they were reclaiming their power.

Lucas returned home late that evening, exhausted but filled with purpose. He sat back down at his computer, ready to put into words what he had witnessed that day. He knew that this was just the beginning. The people had drawn a line in the sand, and they would not back down.

He began to write:

*“In a country where justice is reserved for the rich and powerful, the people have finally decided that enough is enough. They have watched for too long as politicians and elites escape the consequences of their crimes, while the poor are punished swiftly and without mercy. Today, the people have sent a clear message: If there is no justice for us, there will be no peace for those who have failed us.”*

The words flowed easily now, filled with the passion and determination he had felt on the streets. Lucas knew that the road ahead was long, and the fight for true justice would not be won overnight. But for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful. The people were awake, and they were ready to demand the change they deserved.

*“The time for complacency is over,”* he wrote. *“The time for empty promises is over. The people have spoken, and their message is simple: No justice, no peace.”*