Red Light, Green Light!

By Ariellah Niña Lyn Bayucot

Photo from Danny Pata

“Green light!”

A massive crowd moves.

From the workers’ houses to the highways of España Boulevard, thousands of students and workers march while chanting their grievances. Motorists wait while pedestrians stop to watch. Banners wave above the crowd. At this moment, one of Manila’s busiest roads belongs not to vehicles but to the people.

This event mirrors the famous Red Light, Green Light from the Netflix series Squid Game, where a mass of individuals move in the same direction, compelled by a common goal — to win. In this parallelization, the workers conform not because they want to but because they have to. Remaining still means falling behind, while moving carries risks of its own. As the crowd advances through Manila’s streets, the protests begin to resemble their own version of the game. The workers march together toward a possibility of a dignified life — their very own, well-deserved, and long-withheld prize.

Every year, Labor Day protests occur with remarkable consistency. Thousands of people gather to voice demands that have reverberated for generations: higher wages, secure jobs, and stronger labor protections. This year, protesters filled the streets calling for a P1,200 national wage increase, the repealing of the Oil Deregulation Law, and the abolition of excise and value-added taxes on petroleum products, written on placards and continuously emphasized in speeches. More than a demonstration, this served as a reminder that labor concerns remain unresolved despite annual Labor Day commemorations taking place for more than a century.

Despite the sweltering heat, congested traffic, and the perception that protests seldom attain change, many still choose to march. Such perceptions do not emerge out of nowhere. These viewpoints are intentionally intensified by the state’s suppressive tactics: the heavy presence of police and military personnel during demonstrations, the barricades that restrict the movement of protest groups, and the bureaucratic requirements of mobilization permits.

Because these obstacles persist, physically showing up remains a powerful act. While online engagements play a significant role in amplifying issues and mobilizing support, taking matters to the streets transforms individual sentiments to a more strengthened and collective public resistance. With this, Labor Day rallies continue to draw workers from different sectors because they provide a powerful space where grievances are made visible and solidarity is made firm. The size of this crowd itself communicates a message that workers’ concerns are shared by many and cannot simply be dismissed as isolated complaints.

Participation, however, does not take a single form. While some engage through direct collective action, others encounter movements from a distance, forming opinions and responses without ever stepping into a crowd. These varied forms of engagement are equally part of the political life that surrounds a protest. However, participation alone does not guarantee understanding. A person may witness a mobilization without fully grasping the conditions that gave rise to it.

Along the streets, there are always spectators. Some record videos from car windows and upload them on social media. Some glance briefly before returning to their phones, while others simply watch the crowd pass. Inevitably, there are also yearly perspectives whose questions openly negate the idea of a mobilization. To them, the march appears as a temporary interruption of the city or a disruption of routine rather than a call for reform. However, this disruption is exactly the point. Protests emerge when grievances have already been communicated through conventional channels but remain dismissed. Therefore, mobilizations are designed to draw attention to persistent injustices. This reaction is not necessarily hostility, but rather a widening gap between witnessing a protest and understanding its purpose.

The culture of protests in the Philippines is highly seen but frequently misunderstood. People see the march but not always the message behind it. They notice the banners but not the demands written on them. They remember the congestion of people but not the exploitation of persons. The spectacle is seen but the substance is often left behind. This tendency is shaped by a long history of portraying protests as sources of conflict rather than responses to unresolved social conditions. As a result, many remember the event while forgetting the issues that brought people to the streets in the first place.

In this sense, Labor Day protests face a challenge larger than gathering participants. The challenge is translation. How do workers communicate the urgency of stagnant wages to someone rushing to work? How do organizers explain labor protections to people who only encounter the rally through a short video clip? How does a movement ensure that its message reaches beyond those who already agree with it? These questions matter because protests are not only demonstrations. Instead, they are acts of public communication that rely on being understood as much as they rely on being seen.

“Red light!”

The crowd is now blocked.

Protesters gradually stop in front of the barricades in Mendiola, where armed state forces stand in place to prevent further movement. This is a familiar view, repeated across decades of Labor Day mobilizations. Consequently, it is embedded within the visual culture of a protest itself. The barriers represent the obstacles that every protest encounters: indifference and restrictions. They are reminders that being heard is often more difficult than being seen. In Squid Game, the command is enforced by masked shooters around the field. In the streets, armed personnel and shields halt the movement. The order is not spoken by a giant doll, yet it delivers the same message: stop here and go no further.

However, the people remain.

More than a century after Filipino workers first marched on Labor Day in 1903, the tradition continues not because the demands have disappeared, but because many remain unresolved. Every year, workers return to the streets to remind the public that Labor Day is more than a holiday on a calendar. It is a concrete resistance against systems that keep running an unjust society, higher classes which benefit from uninduced labor, and ideologies that keep laborers from receiving the dignity and protection that they deserve. As long as these concerns persist, workers will continue to gather and make their presence firmly felt.

“Red light, green light!”

The cars move. The banners disappear. Daily life carries on.

Similar to the players in Squid Game, the workers eventually leave the arena. Manila returns to its usual routine as if nothing had happened. However, unlike a television episode that ends when players go home, the consequences of this struggle do not disappear when the streets clear. Some who entered the struggle alongside fellow workers never fully made it out of the game. Across decades of Labor Day protests, there have been individuals who were harassed, imprisoned, or even killed while fighting for their rights. Their absence stands as evidence that the demands heard in movements were not won without sacrifice, and that for some, the price of speaking up was death. On the other hand, somewhere above the streets are the real-life VIPs or the economic and political elites who possess the power to respond to workers’ demands. While the aching masses march year after year for higher and livable wages, business corporations — well supported by the state — watch from their 20-storey offices, far from the streets below.

Labor Day protests continue because the issues that gave rise to them persist as well. The real tragedy is not that the people keep returning to the streets. It is that they have to. As long as workers are compelled to repeat the same demands every year, the game never truly ends.

The challenge, then, is not merely to witness the next round but to change the suppressive rules that make the next round necessary. If Labor Day is to mean more than an annual remembrance, workers’ demands must be translated into concrete action: livable wages, secure employment, stronger labor protections, and meaningful dialogue among labor, industry, and the state. The public must also move beyond seeing protests as spectacles and begin engaging with the conditions they reveal. Otherwise, every year, workers move, authorities stop them, and the demands remain.

“Red light, green light!”

Yet again, another round begins.