Origins of the term
In his introduction to Ang Bagong Lumipas (translated from A Past Revisited, literally The New Past), renowned people’s historian Renato Constantino (1997) unequivocally claims that “ang pakikibaka, kung gayon, ang buod ng buhay, maging ng indibidwal o ng lipunan…at ang lipunan ay produktong historikal ng sambayanang nakikibaka” [“struggle is therefore the essence of life, whether of an individual or a society…and society is the historical product of people in struggle”] (p. 7). This pronouncement frames his book, which seeks to narrate Philippine history from a perspective more radical than those writing before him, as a history of struggle not only in a constitutive sense (in that Philippine history is filled with conflicts and resistance) but also in the causal sense (that it could only exist through struggle), refracting the classical Marxist dictum that “the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles.”
The translation of Constantino’s claim to Filipino, the national language of the Philippines, is noteworthy because of its serendipitous emphasis on “pakikibaka.” Pakikibaka could not be simply equated to “struggle” in English; rather, pakikibaka deepens our understanding of struggle. Pakikibaka is a word that speaks to relations among people, specifically to the act of joining others in the pursuit of justice. By anchoring the nation to pakikibaka, the collective “people”—that is, the masses that comprise the majority of the population—takes center stage in the cocreation of history (Guillermo 2009).
From a linguistic perspective, the word “pakikibaka” is built from the prefix “pakiki-” and the root “baka.” Generally, this root refers to the fighting or clashing of opposing forces. Early (colonial) dictionaries in the Philippines associate the word with physical, life-or-death conflict. In Pedro Serrano Laktaw’s 1889 Dicctionario Hispano-tagalog [Spanish-Tagalog Dictionary], the words “batalla,” [“battle”] “guerra,” [“war”] and “lucha” [“fight”] are defined synonymously as “pagbabaka,” which roughly translates to “the state” or “the happening of struggle.” To Laktaw, “bomba” [“bomb”] and “artilería” [“artillery”] are components of pagbabaka, hinting its violent character. This definition, and the constant use of “pagbabaka,” seemed to have remained in currency decades latter. In Sofronio G. Calderón’s 1915 Diccionario Ingles-Español-Tagalog [English-Spanish-Tagalog Dictionary], “pagbabaka” continued to be associated with “battle,” comparable to the Tagalog words “labanan” [“fight”] and “digma” [“war”]. Perhaps, under the Spanish (1565 - 1898) and American (1898 - 1946) imperial regimes in the Philippines, “pagbabaka” was viewed simply as dispute.
But our pakikibaka resists these flattened, disaffected renderings of conflict. The now more popular inflection of “baka” involves the prefix “pakiki-,“ which stresses the act of joining, participating, or repeatedly doing something with others, as in “pakikikain” [“joined in eating”] or “pakikisakay” [“joined in riding”]. Thus, the term pakikibaka does not simply describe an individual act of resistance; it conveys participation in a broader fight, a struggle made meaningful through solidarity. As Francis Gealogo (1990) explains, words such as “pakikibaka,” along with “pakikipagtunggali,” [joined in conflict], “pakikidigma,” and “paghihimagsik” [both roughly “joined in war”] do not only suggest “madugo at harapang tunggalian” [“bloody and direct confrontation”] (p. 4). They include multiple and relational forms of struggle such as avoidance, cooperation/non-cooperation, migration, and all acts that subvert an unjust order, ranging from the most passive refusal to the most active armed resistance. This is the inflection of possibilities. Philosophy and Praxis
The philosophy behind pakikibaka takes root in the idea that liberation is not an individual endeavor but a collective one. To struggle is to recognize that one’s fate is bound up with the lives of others. This can be seen in the long history of Filipino resistance: peasants taking up arms against colonial landlords, workers uniting in strikes against unfair wages, students marching to demand justice for victims of state violence. In each of these cases, the struggle is not for personal gain but for the well-being of a community, a nation, or even humanity as a whole. To fully understand this breadth, however, one must recognize the relational worldview at the heart of Filipino struggle. Pakikibaka is not only about resisting an enemy but about affirming one’s ties to others. Here the concept of “kapwa” becomes essential. Filipino Psychologist Virgilio Enriquez (2007) notes that while the closest English translation of kapwa is “others,” the term actually signifies “the unity of the ‘self’ and ‘others’” (pp. 27–28). Unlike the English word, which implies separation between self and other, kapwa stresses a shared identity and a deeply relational way of being. At its heart, pakikibaka is collective action shaped by a shared vision and goal. It is not about standing up for others, but standing with them. From this perspective, pakikibaka is inseparable from “pakikipagkapwa”: to resist is not merely to fight for oneself, but to struggle with and for others as part of a larger whole, a collective subjectivity that neither knows all its members nor disregards any of them.
Filipinos are often stereotyped as passive or non-confrontational, a view historically shaped by both Spanish and American colonial misreadings of our behavior. But this overlooks the deeper value placed on harmony and social balance. Patience and restraint do not mean submission. There is always a line that, once crossed, especially when it violates “katarungan” (“justice,” or more precisely “the state of justness” or “uprightness”), calls forth the spirit of resistance. Cooperation and collective action are not opposed to resistance but are integral to it. Pakikibaka becomes a valid and even necessary expression of pakikipagkapwa in the face of injustice and adversity. Struggle, in this sense, is not a break from harmony but a defense of it, a way of protecting dignity and restoring balance when these are threatened.
Practices of pakikibaka take many forms, and they are not any different from the forms of protest we already commit to and engage in. It can be as revolutionary as a people’s uprising against the ruling class, or as everyday as unions refusing exploitation in the workplace. It is embodied in social movements that fight for land reform, in Indigenous communities defending their ancestral domains, and in urban poor groups resisting demolition of their homes. It is also found in quieter acts of solidarity: sharing food during a picket, sheltering activists in times of danger, or teaching the next generation about justice and freedom in makeshift classrooms during situations of forced displacement (as in the Indigenous schools built by and for the Lumad people). What unites these actions is the refusal to remain passive in the face of injustice and the willingness to share in the risks and sacrifices of others. Seen this way, pakikibaka offers a radical alternative to individualistic understandings of freedom and the relationships these engender. It insists that freedom is not the right to act alone, but the power to act together. It challenges the colonial and capitalist view of people as isolated, self-interested individuals, and instead reaffirms a deeply relational sense of being. Committing to pakikibaka means to declare that our lives are interwoven, and that liberation, to be real, must be shared. By centering this concept, Philippine history makes sense as the totality of the struggle of the “Pilipinong anakpawis” [“Filipino toiling masses”] comprising of workers and peasants, the majority of the population (Guillermo 2009, p. 12).
One final inflection: “makibaka.” The slogan “makibaka, huwag matakot” [“join the struggle, don’t be afraid”] is one of the most well-known rallying cries in the Philippines. It appears on placards, painted in bold strokes, calling out to those who pass by. The phrase is an epitomical chant that surged during the Martial Law years under the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. As the semicolonial and semifuedal conditions of the Philippines remain unchanged to this day, we continue to hear it rising from the voices of protestors, echoing through streets and plazas. More than a slogan, it is an invitation: to step forward, to link arms, to share in a struggle that is never meant to be borne alone.
An example of Pakikibaka in practice.
References Constantino, R. (1997). Ang Bagong Lumipas. University of the Philippines Press. Enriquez, V. G. (2007). Kapwa: A core concept in Filipino social psychology. In A. M. Navarro & F. Lagbao-Bolante (Eds.), Mga babasahin sa agham panlipunang Pilipino: Sikolohiyang Pilipino, Pilipinohiya, at pantayong pananaw (pp. 23–33). C & E Publishing, Inc. Gealogo, F. A. (1994). “Hermeneutika ng pakikipagtunggali: Ang pagpapakahulugan sa diskurso ng pakikibakang panlipunan.” The Philippine Social Science Review, (special issue on Ang Kilusang Masa sa Kasaysayang Pilipino (1900-1992)), 1-38. Guillermo, R. (2009). Pook at paninindigan: Kritika ng pantayong pananaw. University of the Philippines Press.
Further exploration Lacaba, J. F. (1982). Days of disquiet, nights of rage: The First Quarter Storm and other related events. Anvil Publishing. Llanes, F. C. (Ed.). (2012). Tibak rising: Activism in the days of martial law. Anvil Publishing. Manzano, J. V. (2021). Potensiyal ng kadagaan sa pakikibaka para sa lupa: Danas ng Hacienda Sta. Isabel at San Antonio. Daluyan: Journal ng Wikang Filipino, 27(2), 11. ISSN 2244-6001. Marcelino, E. P. (1990). Towards understanding the psychology of the Filipino. Women & Therapy, 9(1–2), 105–128. https://doi.org/10.1300/J015v09n01_07. Peracullo, J. (2025). Pakikibaka at pagsamba: Country report on the state of practical theology in the Philippines. International Journal of Practical Theology, 29(1), 4–30. https://doi.org/10.1515/ijpt-2024-0057. Taguiwalo, J. (2011). Babae, obrera, unyonista: Ang kababaihan sa kilusang paggawa sa Maynila, 1901–1941. University of the Philippines Press.
A teacher and unionist, Jose Monfred C. Sy is a member of the Congress of Teachers/Educators for Nationalism and Democracy (CONTEND), an anti-imperialist group of academics that advocates for a nationalist, scientific, and mass-oriented education, as well as the Alliance of Concerned Teachers (ACT), the largest non-traditional teachers’ organization in the Philippines. He is currently an assistant professor of Philippine studies at the University of the Philippines Diliman.