Our Excessive Reverence for Lawyers

 “Attorney” As A Social Rank

Justice Marvic Leonen has raised a question that deserves more attention: Should the Bar examination be the “be all and end all” of legal education? He also called attention to the tremendous cultural pressure we place on the examination.

I agree. But I would take the discussion further. We should examine our excessive reverence for lawyers themselves.

In the Philippines, “Attorney” is more than a professional title. It is practically a social rank. Attach it to a person’s name, and we tend to assume intelligence, wisdom, integrity, and fitness for public office. Sometimes, we even assume expertise in subjects that have little to do with law.

That is quite a lot to assume from passing an examination.

I say this as the grandson, son, and brother of a judge. I appreciate the importance of the legal profession and the responsibilities it carries. But respect should not prevent us from asking whether we have given lawyers more authority over our public life than their training alone can justify.

We have all witnessed the familiar scene. A discussion is going on about politics, education, the economy, or some problem in the community. Somebody identifies one of those present as a lawyer. Almost immediately, the others become more deferential.

“Si Attorney ang nakakaalam.”

Does he? About which part of the problem? And on what evidence?

These are perfectly reasonable questions. Yet we sometimes hesitate to ask them, as though the title has already settled the matter.

A lawyer is trained in law. That does not automatically make him an expert in farming, engineering, history, or public health. To understand these subjects, he must study them and learn from experience, just like anybody else. The title “Attorney” does not make him an authority on subjects outside his training.

How Our History Elevated the Lawyer

Our admiration for lawyers has historical roots. Under Spanish rule, legal education provided access to a world of official documents, government offices, and colonial authority. UST’s Faculty of Civil Law dates back to 1734. Under the Americans, the connection between law and political leadership became even stronger. The UP College of Law helped prepare Filipinos for leadership within the institutions being established under American rule.

The lawyer could speak the language of government, interpret its rules, and deal with its officials. In a society where most people enjoyed little access to these institutions, that was a considerable advantage.

Legal knowledge also helped Filipinos challenge colonial authority and defend civil liberties. The profession produced men and women whose courage deserved the nation’s gratitude.

It is therefore easy to understand how the lawyer became one of our models of the successful Filipino. He was educated, influential, and potentially headed for Congress, the judiciary, or Malacañang.

But an understandable historical development should not become a permanent rule about who deserves to lead us.

“May Abogado Na Kami!”

Consider how families celebrate a new lawyer.

“May abogado na kami!”

The pride is understandable. Years of study, expenses, anxiety, and sacrifice have finally paid off. For parents who struggled to put a child through school, passing the Bar can be one of the happiest moments of their lives. There is nothing wrong with celebrating it.

But listen to the other explanation we sometimes hear.

“Hindi na tayo basta maloloko.”

A lawyer in the family means protection. Somebody can read the documents, question an official, challenge an unfair demand, or stand up to a wealthy and well-connected adversary.

That is reassuring. It is also revealing.

Why should a Filipino family feel that it needs its own lawyer to avoid being cheated or intimidated? What does this say about the accessibility of our institutions and the condition of ordinary justice?

The citizen without an abogado in the family should be just as capable of asserting his rights. Those rights belong to him by citizenship. They should not depend on a relative’s professional qualification.

The Real Tests Come After the Bar

Then there is our extraordinary fascination with the Bar examination itself.

We celebrate the passers, announce the topnotchers, compare law schools, and circulate photographs of successful candidates. Again, much of this is harmless and deserved. Passing a difficult examination is an achievement.

But failing it should not become a judgment on a person’s intelligence or worth. Nor should topping it become a lifetime certificate of wisdom.

The examination tells us something about a candidate’s performance under particular conditions. It cannot tell us how that person will behave when offered money to bend the rules, when a powerful client demands something dishonest, or when defending an unpopular cause threatens a comfortable career.

Those tests come later.

We are very interested in who placed first in the Bar. Perhaps we should be equally interested in what the topnotcher does twenty years afterward.

Did he defend the helpless? Did he serve the public honestly? Did he use his knowledge to make justice more accessible? Or did he spend his career helping powerful people escape responsibility?

The ranking will not answer those questions. The record will.

“Magaling Iyan. Abogado Kasi.”

Our deference becomes especially troublesome in politics.

“Magaling iyan. Abogado kasi.”

Legal training is certainly useful in government. A legislator should understand the Constitution, the implications of proposed laws, and the limits of state power. But a law degree does not establish honesty, compassion, administrative competence, or respect for democratic institutions.

A lawyer can understand a constitutional safeguard very well and still look for ways to circumvent it. Knowledge of the rules does not guarantee respect for their purpose.

We should therefore examine a candidate’s conduct and accomplishments. The title is part of his background. It cannot do the work of judging him for us.

Nor should we imagine that a legislature composed entirely of lawyers would necessarily govern us better. Farmers, teachers, scientists, workers, businesspeople, and health professionals bring knowledge that public policy needs. Their experience does not become less valuable because they cannot attach “Atty.” to their names.

A farmer may understand why an agricultural programme is failing long before the committee discussing it finishes debating the wording of its provisions.

We Cannot Legislate Every Problem Away

This brings us to another national habit: our tendency to answer every public problem with another law.

There is corruption? Increase the penalties. An agency is failing? Pass a law reorganizing it. A disturbing incident goes viral? Somebody immediately proposes a bill.

Sometimes legislation is necessary. But we should first ask what happened to the laws already in place.

Were they enforced? Did the responsible office have enough personnel and resources? Were its officials competent? Did political interference prevent them from doing their work?

A new law cannot, by itself, answer these questions.

Take flooding. We need legal safeguards covering procurement, land use, accountability, and the rights of affected communities. But we also need people who understand drainage, watersheds, engineering, and urban development.

Water will not change direction because a lawyer has delivered a brilliant argument.

The same applies to education, food production, transportation, and public health. Legal knowledge is necessary in many aspects of government. So are other kinds of knowledge. Good leadership recognizes which ones a particular problem requires.

We should also be less easily impressed by the televised performance. A lawyer-politician may demolish a witness in a hearing and earn enthusiastic applause. That may expose an important lie. But repairing the institution under investigation requires additional work.

After the applause, somebody still has to solve the problem.

“Sayang. Hindi Nag-Abogado.”

Our hierarchy of professions also affects the young.

A student may have the makings of an excellent scientist, teacher, artist, or technician, yet feel obliged to study law because the family considers it a more prestigious destination.

“Sayang. Ang talino pa naman. Hindi nag-abogado.”

Why sayang?

Is intelligence wasted in a laboratory? In a classroom? In designing a reliable water system? In producing something useful?

A society needs many kinds of ability. We do ourselves a disservice when we encourage young people to choose careers primarily for the titles these confer.

The caregiver helping a disabled person through the day performs work of immense human value. So does the technician who keeps essential equipment functioning. Their work deserves respect even if nobody rises to greet them at a gathering.

Respect Does Not Require Deference

The difficulty is that professional prestige is closely connected with class. Question the deference attached to a title and somebody may feel that you are belittling years of study and sacrifice.

But the achievement is not in dispute. The question is how much authority it should confer beyond the work for which the person qualified.

A lawyer has every reason to be proud of earning the title. Other people still have every right to question his opinions.

They also have the right to understand his advice. Technical language is sometimes necessary, but professional competence should include the ability to explain a difficult matter clearly.

The client should leave a consultation better informed about his situation. He should not leave feeling that justice is a mysterious business which only superior minds can comprehend.

Lawyers Who Earned Our Admiration

Our history provides examples of lawyers who earned respect through service. Jose W. Diokno, Jovito Salonga, Lorenzo Tañada, and the lawyers associated with the Free Legal Assistance Group defended people subjected to repression. Their legal knowledge mattered because they placed it at the service of those whose freedom and security were threatened.

We honour the courage of that work. The professional title alone could never have earned the same admiration.

Fairness also requires us to recognize that defending an unpopular accused person is part of a lawyer’s duty. Everybody is entitled to a defence. We should assess the lawyer’s conduct carefully, rather than condemn him simply because we dislike his client.

The standard is responsibility, competence, and integrity. It should apply consistently.

The Title Is Only the Beginning

None of this means that the Philippines necessarily has too many lawyers. A profession can enjoy enormous prestige while many communities remain unable to obtain affordable legal assistance. The need for legal services is a separate question, and it deserves serious attention.

My argument is simpler. We have allowed a professional qualification to carry too much social and political weight.

Let us congratulate the new lawyer. Let us recognize the family’s sacrifices and the demands of the profession. But let us reserve our deeper admiration for what the lawyer actually does with the knowledge and opportunities he has acquired.

The title tells us that a person is qualified to practice law. Whether he deserves our trust, our vote, or our gratitude has yet to be established.

Call him “Attorney,” by all means. But do not surrender your judgment when you do.

Capitalism and the Survival of the Communist Party of China

One might reasonably wonder what a Communist Party is still doing presiding over an economy with private fortunes, competing businesses and employers hiring workers for profit. Has capitalism made the Communist Party of China (CPC) an anachronism? If so, should we expect the Party to be shown the door sometime soon?

The question is tempting, particularly for those of us accustomed to thinking of capitalism and communism as sworn historical enemies. Here, apparently, they have settled into the same household. The arrangement ought to require an explanation.

My own view is that the CPC is more likely to remain in power over the next five to ten years than to be eased out or overthrown. Its economic arrangements may offend an orthodox Marxist. That does not mean they have deprived it of the means to govern. Political institutions do not submit their resignations upon being informed that they have become theoretically inconsistent.

We therefore have to separate two questions. Has the Party departed substantially from its original economic program? Certainly. Has that departure made its removal inevitable, or even imminent? That is a much harder proposition to establish.

Prosperity Does Not Guarantee Democracy

For a long time, a familiar argument seemed to offer a reassuring answer. Economic development would produce an educated and prosperous middle class. Private enterprise would create interests independent of the state. Eventually, these groups would demand a greater voice in government. Capitalism would prepare the ground; democracy would arrive in due course.

There is something to this argument. But “in due course” conceals a good deal of uncertainty. In their study “Income and Democracy,” Daron Acemoglu and his colleagues challenged the inference that rising income itself causes democratization. Their findings do not close the debate. They do give us reason to be suspicious of a political itinerary in which prosperity automatically includes a stop at democracy. (Acemoglu et al., 2008)

Consider the businessman who wants protection from an arbitrary official. He may prefer a helpful connection to a change of regime. Consider, too, the family that has acquired a comfortable home and opportunities its grandparents could scarcely have imagined. Its members may resent censorship and still fear political upheaval. People can want more freedom without being prepared to risk everything they have gained to obtain it. Whether prosperity encourages resistance or accommodation depends on the circumstances.

Capitalism Under Party Supervision

We should also be precise about the economy we are discussing. China has embraced markets and private enterprise, but it has not simply handed the country over to private capital. Its constitution protects lawful private property while assigning a leading role to the state sector. Urban land is state-owned; rural land is generally collectively owned, subject to specified exceptions. These are substantial qualifications to any description of China as merely capitalist. (People’s Republic of China, 2018, Articles 7, 10, 11 and 13)

Margaret Pearson, Meg Rithmire and Kellee Tsai use the term “party-state capitalism” to describe the evolving arrangement. The Party’s influence reaches beyond the enterprises the state owns. It extends into corporate governance and the political conditions under which business is conducted. Ownership matters, of course. So does the question of who can tell the owner what to do. (Pearson et al., 2023)

A privately owned company is not necessarily a politically independent company. Nor does state ownership tell us everything about how an enterprise conducts its daily business. Counting private firms and announcing the retreat of communism may make for a satisfying argument. It does not adequately explain where authority resides.

Private Wealth and Political Dependence

Rithmire’s 2025 essay makes a particularly interesting point: markets have sometimes strengthened the Party’s position. Entrepreneurs have been drawn into the political system, including through Party membership, while remaining exposed to political reprisal. Cooperation, in this arrangement, need not imply affection. Or even trust. (Rithmire, 2025)

This helps explain why a wealthy business class does not necessarily become an opposition. Its members may find access to officials more rewarding than organizing against them. Wealth brings influence, but dependence on political favor encourages discretion. A business licence, after all, is not a permit to establish an opposition party.

The Private Sector Promotion Law adopted in April 2025 captures the relationship rather neatly. It promises support, fair competition and protection for private enterprise. Article 5 also requires private economic organizations and their operators to support CPC leadership and uphold the socialist system with Chinese characteristics. The encouragement to do business and the reminder of who is in charge appear in the same law. (Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress, 2025)

That does not mean every company is governed in precisely the same way. Kjeld Erik Brødsgaard and Kasper Ingeman Beck’s 2026 study examines policy documents and four company cases in Guangdong. It finds substantial efforts to integrate Party organizations into private firms, but considerable variation in their actual influence. Four cases cannot speak for the whole of China. They do warn us against treating the relationship as uniform. (Brødsgaard & Beck, 2026)

We should therefore avoid imagining either a Party official dictating every commercial decision or an entrepreneur operating beyond the Party’s reach. Between those extremes lies a complicated set of accommodations. The capacity to make such accommodations is part of what has allowed the system to endure.

Leninism and the Organization of Power

But is a party that accommodates so much private capital still Marxist-Leninist? Or has the description become a historical courtesy, retained because changing the stationery would be embarrassing?

I would still place the CPC within that tradition, although the two halves of the label need to be examined separately. Its Leninist organization is much easier to recognize than its fidelity to orthodox Marxist economic expectations.

Marxism offers an explanation of historical development, class relations and capitalist exploitation, together with the prospect of overcoming capitalism. Leninism gives a central role to the disciplined vanguard party that leads the revolutionary process. The two are connected, but economic policy and political organization need not change at the same speed. Nor should Leninism be reduced to a collection of tricks for remaining in office; it carries its own conception of political leadership and historical purpose.

The CPC’s constitution retains that conception quite explicitly. It describes a vanguard party organized through democratic centralism. Article 10 requires lower organizations to defer to higher ones and the entire Party to defer to the central leadership. The constitution also asserts absolute Party leadership over the armed forces. Whatever else has changed in China, this is recognizably Leninist ground. (Communist Party of China, 2022)

Marxism and the Justification for Markets

The economic side is more awkward. A movement committed to overcoming capitalist exploitation now presides over private accumulation and an employing class. The difficulty does not disappear because an official document calls the arrangement socialist. Still, we should be careful here: markets and capitalism are related, but they are not identical. The mere presence of markets cannot settle the whole argument.

The Party’s explanation is that China remains in the primary stage of socialism. It must develop its productive forces before further socialist advances become possible. Private enterprise is permitted within that long process, while communism remains the declared ultimate destination. The journey, we are asked to understand, requires considerable patience. (Communist Party of China, 2022)

There is a historical precedent, and it comes from Lenin himself. In The Tax in Kind, written in 1921 as the New Economic Policy was taking shape, Lenin defended concessions to trade and forms of state capitalism in a predominantly peasant economy. He acknowledged that capitalist activity would revive. His argument was that the Soviet government could use it to advance its own objectives. (Lenin, 1921)

This is inconvenient for anyone who believes that permitting private business automatically expels a party from the Marxist-Leninist tradition. But it is hardly a certificate of socialist authenticity for contemporary China. The scale and duration of China’s market economy, and its place in global production, cannot be explained away by pointing to a policy Lenin defended in 1921.

The real question is where all this is leading. Is private capital still a means toward a socialist transformation that will eventually supersede it? Or has the Party become the permanent political manager of an economy that continues to reproduce capitalist relations?

An orthodox Marxist has every reason to press the second question. “Developing the productive forces” cannot indefinitely substitute for examining who controls production, who benefits from it and how much authority workers possess. Party control does not, by itself, establish workers’ control. That distinction is rather important in a system claiming to govern in their name.

Why Marxism Still Matters for the CPC

I would nevertheless hesitate to dismiss the Party’s Marxism as so much ceremonial decoration. In his speech on common prosperity, published in English by Qiushi in 2022, Xi Jinping presents the narrowing of disparities as a socialist obligation. Yet he also supports the development of public and non-public sectors and rejects rigid egalitarianism. Private wealth is accommodated, while the Party claims authority to determine its wider social consequences. (Xi, 2022)

We need not accept the claim at face value to take it seriously. A statement of purpose is not proof of achievement. But an ideology can shape decisions and justify power at the same time. Assuming that every official believes every word is credulous; assuming that none believes anything is hardly more analytical.

My working description, then, is a Leninist ruling party with an extensively adapted Marxist ideology, governing an economy with substantial capitalist relations. It is a less tidy formulation than simply declaring China communist or capitalist. Unfortunately for tidy formulations, the subject is complicated. The socialist character of its economic direction remains open to serious dispute.

Where the Party Remains Vulnerable

None of this means the CPC has discovered the secret of political immortality. Adaptation solves some problems and creates others. A system can survive for a long time without resolving the contradictions on which it rests.

The IMF’s 2026 assessment identifies persistent problems associated with the property downturn, indebted local governments and weak domestic demand. It also points to longer-term pressures from a declining labour force and weaker productivity growth, and recommends stronger social protection and reforms to competition and resource allocation. These are serious economic findings. They are not an obituary for the Party. (International Monetary Fund, 2026)

Their possible political consequences require a further argument. If opportunities for advancement diminish, or people conclude that they are bearing an unfair share of the burdens, the Party’s record of development may become less convincing. Prolonged disappointment could make divisions within the leadership more dangerous. Much would depend on the government’s response and on whether grievances remain scattered or become organized.

There is also a familiar problem with concentrated authority: the person at the top needs accurate information, while the people below may find it safer to supply agreeable information. Officials who fear punishment for bad news learn to improve the report rather than the situation. Entrepreneurs who cannot anticipate the rules hesitate to commit their resources. A government that can move quickly can also move quickly in the wrong direction.

Democratic governments, as we Filipinos hardly need reminding, have no monopoly on wisdom or competence. But the ability to secure obedience is not the same as the ability to recognize and correct a mistake. An institution may become an obstacle to economic progress while remaining perfectly capable of protecting its own position.

Neither should we assume that fear alone explains continued CPC rule. People may value order, credit the government with material improvements or worry that a transition would leave them worse off. These attitudes can coexist with considerable dissatisfaction. Public conformity does not establish unanimous support, just as grievances do not establish that a revolution is around the corner.

I would take the prospect of a fundamental rupture more seriously if prolonged economic failure were accompanied by a severe split among ruling elites, sustained public mobilization and weakening loyalty within the security apparatus. Even then, we would be examining warning signs, not applying a formula. Outsiders looking into an opaque political system should be especially cautious about mistaking confidence for knowledge.

Leadership Change and Regime Change

Finally, a change at the top is not necessarily a change of regime. A future leadership might revise Xi’s policies, reassure private business or restore more collective decision-making while keeping CPC supremacy intact. Even a substantial economic reversal would not automatically bring competitive elections. The Party can change its policies without agreeing to make itself removable.

For that reason, I regard further adjustment within the Party as more plausible over the next five to ten years than the disappearance of the Party itself. This is a judgment, subject to revision as the evidence changes. It is certainly not a prediction of eternal one-party rule.

The original question remains worth asking. Capitalism has complicated the CPC’s claim to be communist. It has not, by that fact alone, dismantled the organization through which the Party exercises power. To understand its survival, we have to look beyond the contradiction in its name and examine the arrangements that allow wealth and political obedience to coexist.

The Party has made room for private capital. It has not made room for an electorate that can dismiss it.

Conclusion

My conclusion, therefore, is that the CPC’s accommodation of capitalism has neither erased its Leninist character nor established that China is moving steadily toward its declared communist destination. It remains a ruling party that invokes Marxism, permits substantial private accumulation and reserves ultimate political authority for itself. Make no mistake: it is still a dictatorship. 

This arrangement helps explain its resilience, but it leaves unresolved the question of whose interests its power ultimately serves. Neither the growth of a capitalist class nor the persistence of economic difficulties guarantees a democratic transition; both can produce further adjustments within one-party rule.

The more revealing test is whether the Party can correct its failures, distribute the gains of development more fairly and give workers meaningful influence over the economy their labour sustains. Its ability to supervise capitalism is evident. Whether that supervision advances socialism, rather than indefinitely postponing it, remains the question it must answer.

References

Acemoglu, D., Johnson, S., Robinson, J. A., & Yared, P. (2008). Income and democracy. American Economic Review, 98(3), 808-842. DOI: 10.1257/aer.98.3.808.

Brødsgaard, K. E., & Beck, K. I. (2026). The Party in Chinese private business. Journal of Current Chinese Affairs. First published online May 4, 2026. DOI: 10.1177/18681026261445459.

Communist Party of China. (2022). Constitution of the Communist Party of China. Revised and adopted October 22, 2022. See the General Program and Article 10.

International Monetary Fund. (2026). People's Republic of China: 2025 Article IV consultation. IMF Country Report No. 26/044, published February 18, 2026.

Lenin, V. I. (1921). The tax in kind. In Collected Works, Vol. 32, pp. 329-365. English edition, Progress Publishers, 1965. Marxists Internet Archive.

Pearson, M. M., Rithmire, M., & Tsai, K. (2023). The state and capitalism in China. Cambridge University Press. DOI: 10.1017/9781009356732.

People's Republic of China. (2018). Constitution of the People's Republic of China. Text incorporating the amendments adopted March 11, 2018. See Articles 7, 10, 11 and 13.

Rithmire, M. (2025, June 9). The CCP and capitalism: Accommodation, reprisal, and rule by market. In The life of the Party: Past and present constraints on the future of the Chinese Communist Party. Carnegie Endowment for International Peace.

Standing Committee of the National People's Congress. (2025, April 30). Private Sector Promotion Law of the People's Republic of China. Official Chinese text. See Articles 2-5.

Xi, J. (2022, January 18). Making solid progress toward common prosperity. Qiushi, English edition. Excerpt from the speech delivered August 17, 2021.

From BNPP to Pax Silica: Getting the Policy Right

Before we proclaim Pax Silica our ticket to industrial greatness, we should revisit the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant. The BNPP reminds us what happens when enormous commitments outrun public accountability and when a project becomes so entangled with its political sponsors that the country loses the ability to judge it calmly.

Built under Ferdinand Marcos Sr., the BNPP consumed roughly $2 billion and became embroiled in controversy over procurement, commissions, escalating costs, and safety. In 1986, the Aquino government decided against operating it on safety and economic grounds. The public inherited the financial burden of a facility that never produced commercial electricity.

This does not establish that the plant was safe or that operating it would necessarily have delivered cheap electricity. Those propositions require technical and economic evidence. The deeper policy failure, in my view, was allowing a controversial project to dominate our thinking about an entire technology while failing to establish a trusted, durable process for deciding our energy future.

Having opposed the Marcos dictatorship, I know that distrust of its grand projects had substantial grounds. But historical accountability and sound development policy must reinforce each other. We can demand an accounting for corruption while evaluating technology on its merits. The same discipline should guide our judgment of Pax Silica.

Today, the proposed Pax Silica hub in New Clark City is being presented as a route into advanced manufacturing and semiconductor supply chains. As of October 13, its framework agreement was still under negotiation, with signing targeted before year-end. That gives us a window to insist on proper scrutiny before promises become binding obligations.

First, publish the proposed agreement and the studies behind it, with narrowly justified protections for proprietary information. Show the public the land terms, tax incentives, infrastructure costs, government guarantees, projected revenues, and exit provisions. Independent reviewers should test those projections against less favorable scenarios. Public land and forgone taxes have opportunity costs, even when no government loan is involved.

Second, settle the energy question before celebrating the industrial one. BCDA's preliminary estimate put demand at roughly three gigawatts at full development. That is a formidable requirement. A credible plan must identify dependable generation, transmission, financing, construction schedules, and who bears the costs. Expansion should proceed in stages as reliable supply becomes available. Filipino households and existing enterprises deserve protection from any additional pressure on electricity prices.

Water requires the same discipline. Officials have proposed dedicated power facilities and water harvesting, treatment, and recycling. These proposals need independently checked designs, drought scenarios, enforceable commitments, and public monitoring. Communities should have access to the evidence and a meaningful voice in decisions affecting their livelihoods. Their security should be a condition of development, with protection for Indigenous rights and cultural sites written into implementation.

Third, require a clear plan for Filipino industrial advancement. We have too often treated the presence of foreign factories as sufficient evidence that we are building Filipino industry. Pax Silica should be judged by its contribution to building Filipino expertise, strengthening local suppliers, expanding the country’s research capacity, and enabling Filipino enterprises to grow and compete. Contracts and incentives should set measurable commitments for engineering training, research partnerships, technology transfer, local supplier development, and opportunities in chip design and advanced packaging. Announced investment figures cannot substitute for these gains.

Fourth, make sovereignty practical. The final terms should preserve Philippine regulatory authority, labor protection, environmental enforcement, and avenues for redress. Foreign participation does not relieve investors of responsibility to the country hosting them. Officials' assurances should be tested against the agreement's actual provisions. Friendship with Washington is no substitute for bargaining competence.

Finally, establish rules that can survive a change of administration. Successive governments should inherit clear obligations, published performance measures, and a lawful process for correction or exit. A sound agreement deserves continuity; a failing one requires timely correction. We should avoid another cycle of presidential enthusiasm, political backlash, and decades of unresolved commitments.

I remain cautious of Pax Silica's grand promises. The BNPP experience gives us every reason to examine them closely, and every reason to conduct that examination seriously. We owe the public decisions that can withstand technical scrutiny, democratic debate, and the passage of time.

And yet, Pax Silica may offer an opportunity to turn foreign investment into lasting Filipino capability. With agreements open to public scrutiny, safeguards that can be enforced, and a clear government strategy to strengthen Filipino industries, Pax Silica could deliver lasting benefits beyond the term of this administration. That possibility warrants hope, provided we negotiate wisely and firmly. The Philippines needs an industrial policy that survives presidents. It has had enough monuments to their promises.

We should resist the temptation to politicize Pax Silica the way we politicized the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant, allowing political loyalties and resentments to harden into positions that evidence could scarcely penetrate. This does not mean silencing criticism or overlooking legitimate concerns. It means demanding that both advocates and critics submit their claims to the same exacting scrutiny. Neither enthusiasm for its sponsors nor hostility toward them should relieve us of the obligation to examine the undertaking on its merits.

Pax Silica must therefore undergo an unrelenting analysis of its advantages and disadvantages, its costs and benefits, its promises and risks. What will the Philippines gain, what must we commit, who will benefit, and what burdens might we leave to succeeding generations? 

These questions require evidence, public accountability, and the willingness to revise our judgments when the facts demand it. The bedrock of that examination must be nothing but the national interest. Our country’s future is too consequential to be decided by the political company a project keeps.

We Demolished Our Future, Then Called It Sovereignty

There is a particular kind of poverty that no foreign power imposes on us. We impose it on ourselves. It does not come from lack of resources, lack of talent, or lack of opportunity. It comes from a learned reflex to say no.

We saw it first with the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant. At the time, the arguments sounded righteous and progressive: it was unsafe, it was a monument to dictatorship, it was American technology, it was for profit not people. The Left NGOs marched, Greenpeace blessed the march, and the plant was mothballed. It has sat there for forty years, a 620-megawatt museum of what might have been.

Today we live with the consequences of that victory. We have the most expensive electricity in Southeast Asia. We have brownouts while Vietnam, South Korea, and Taiwan industrialized on the very nuclear power we demonized. Only now, facing climate change and energy insecurity, do we whisper what we knew all along: BNPP could have been refurbished, made safe, and powered a nation. The protesters were wrong, but they never paid the price. The Filipino who lights a candle in a barrio in Bataan did.

Now history repeats, not as tragedy, but as farce. The project is called Pax Silica.

Under Pax Silica, the Philippines and the United States will build a 4,000-acre AI-native industrial acceleration hub in New Clark City—the country's first real shot at entering the semiconductor and AI supply chain, not as cheap labor assembling someone else's chips, but as a trusted hub for fabrication, advanced manufacturing, and critical minerals. For a country that has been exporting nurses and call center agents, this is generational. It is industrialization.

And on cue, the same chorus returns. BAYAN. EILER. KMP. AGHAM. The press releases write themselves: dependency trap, foreign control, resource plunder, US war machine, neo-colonial enclave. The placards have only changed one word: "NO TO BNPP" is now "NO TO PAX SILICA."

This is what we might call the Permanent Opposition Complex. Its theology is simple:

First, development must never be imperfect. If a project uses foreign capital, it is a sellout. If it uses land, it is plunder. If it uses electricity, it is environmental destruction. The perfect Filipino-owned, zero-impact, 100% renewable, community-managed utopia is demanded, knowing full well it will never arrive. So nothing arrives.

Second, sovereignty is defined negatively. Sovereignty is not the ability to build fabs, train AI engineers, and become indispensable to the world. Sovereignty is the ability to say no to America. It is a sovereignty of beggars - proud that we own 100% of nothing.

Third, there is no learning. The same groups that told us nuclear power would destroy Bataan will never publish an apology for the decades of coal smoke and diesel generators that actually destroyed Bataan's lungs. There will be no accounting. Because activism without accountability is just performance.

Pax Silica is not perfect. No industrial project is. It will require land, water, power, and difficult trade-offs. It will require tough negotiation with the Americans to ensure technology transfer is real. But to oppose it outright, to call it "Pax Cynical" and demand its cancellation before a single fab is built, is to condemn the Philippines to its favorite, miserable comfort zone: morally pure and permanently poor.

From Bataan to New Clark: How We Keep Politicizing Our Future Away

There is a tragic pattern in Philippine economic history. When a transformative project comes along, we do not first ask: Does it work? Can it lower costs? What are the costs and benefits? What does the feasibility study say?

Instead, we ask: Who proposed it? Is it American? Can we call it a sellout?

The Bataan Nuclear Power Plant is the original sin of this pattern. And the emerging debate around the Pax Silica Initiative suggests we have learned nothing.

The BNPP: What We Lost

In response to the 1970s oil crisis, construction began on the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant in 1976 (Wikipedia, n.d.-a). When finished, its construction cost was over US$2.3 billion (Wikipedia, n.d.-a) and it was equipped with a Westinghouse lightwater reactor designed to produce 621 megawatts of electricity (Anderson, 2015), with a nameplate capacity of 621 MW (Wikipedia, n.d.-a).

It never produced a single watt.

The plant was mothballed after the 1986 People Power Revolution and the Chernobyl disaster. The official reason was safety. The real reason was politics.

For the Philippine Left, for the anti-nuclear coalitions, for a new government eager to establish legitimacy against everything Marcos-built, the plant became the perfect symbol: expensive, foreign, American-built, dangerous, and dictatorial. Critics, led largely by the Left and allied cause-oriented groups, successfully over-politicized it. The technical question is, can this plant be made safe and economically viable? — was replaced by a political question: Are you pro-Marcos and pro-American if you support it?

We all paid for that political victory.

By 1992 and 1993, Luzon experienced daily rotating blackouts lasting 8 to 12 hours (Sinaunang Panahon, 2024). Earlier, due to lack of maintenance and lack of replacement for the 600-MW BNPP, the grid had already seen 8 to 10 hours of daily blackouts during summer (ICC Bangladesh, n.d.). 

Factories shut down. Debt repayment on the plant that never ran became the country's single biggest debt obligation, while we built expensive, fast-tracked oil and diesel barges and IPP contracts that locked us into the highest power rates in Southeast Asia for the next three decades.

Decades later, what did objective analysis show? Successive international assessments, including by the IAEA and later by Korean experts, found that the BNPP could have been rehabilitated. The real defect was in our decision-making process. We allowed a political narrative to kill a technical asset without ever completing an honest, up-to-date cost-benefit analysis.

Pax Silica: Déjà Vu in Tarlac

Now look at 2026.

On April 16, the Philippines joined the Pax Silica initiative, launched by the United States and thirteen other nations (U.S. Department of State, 2026a; U.S. Embassy in the Philippines, 2026). 

Under the framework, the United States and the Philippines also announced their plans to establish a 4,000-acre industrial hub in the Luzon Economic Corridor of the Republic of the Philippines (U.S. Department of State, 2026a). The site is described as the first AI-native industrial acceleration hub under Pax Silica (U.S. Department of State, 2026a; Rocamora, 2026).

In plain language: The Philippines, which has a young, technically skilled workforce and is one of the world's largest nickel producers, is being invited to move up the value chain. Instead of just exporting raw nickel and copper, we process it. Instead of just assembling imported chips, we become part of the secure supply chain for semiconductors and AI.

This is exactly the kind of industrialization strategy the Left has demanded for 50 years. And yet, who is opposing it?

The same persuasion. The same script.

Within days of the announcement, the initiative drew criticism over issues related to land use, sovereignty, environmental impact, and foreign involvement in strategic industries. Agricultural organizations such as Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas (KMP) and allied groups opposed the conversion, describing the zone as a "massive sellout."

Massive sellout. Sovereignty. Land conversion. Resource extraction. Displacement.

If you covered the BNPP debates in the 1980s, you have heard every one of these phrases before.

The Missing Question

I am not arguing that Pax Silica is perfect. No 4,000-acre industrial project should be accepted uncritically.

What I am arguing is that we are doing it again: subjecting a strategic project to ideological litmus tests instead of objective analysis.

Where is the comprehensive feasibility study? Where is the cost-benefit analysis?

We need the Department of Finance, NEDA, DOST, and independent economists to publish the value-added math, the net employment impact, and the environmental accounting. We need BCDA to publish the draft framework agreement, land-use plans, and environmental impact assessments.

"Sovereignty" is not an economic analysis. "Sellout" is not a feasibility study.

The BNPP debate failed because we allowed political purity to substitute for engineering and economics. We decided Westinghouse was evil, therefore nuclear physics must be evil. Now we are deciding America is imperialist, therefore semiconductors must be imperialist.

We lost a nuclear plant because we over-politicized it. Let's not lose the silica age for the same reason.

Demand the numbers. Then debate.

References

Anderson, M. (2015, February 24). Bataan Philippine Reactor - 30 Years Unfueled. Stanford University. http://large.stanford.edu/courses/2015/ph241/anderson1/

ICC Bangladesh. (n.d.). Lessons from the Philippine electricity crisis. https://iccbangladesh.org.bd/

Rocamora, J. A. L. (2026, April 17). PH joins US-led Pax Silica; plan for industrial hub in Luzon unveiled. Philippine News Agency. https://www.pna.gov.ph/articles/1247658

Sinaunang Panahon. (2024, November 11). Keeping the lights on: Managing the Philippines' electricity crisis. https://sinaunangpanahon.com/keeping-the-lights-on-managing-the-philippines-electricity-crisis/

U.S. Department of State. (2026a, April 16). The United States and The Philippines launch plans for 4,000-acre economic security zone to shore up supply chains: First AI-native industrial acceleration hub under Pax Silica. https://www.state.gov/the-united-states-and-the-philippines-launch-plans-for-4000-acre-economic-security-zone-to-shore-up-supply-chains-first-ai-native-industrial-acceleration-hub-under-pax-silica/

U.S. Department of State. (2026b, April 16). Remarks by Under Secretary Helberg in Washington: Philippines joins Pax Silica initiative and launch of economic security zone. https://www.state.gov/remarks-by-under-secretary-helberg-in-washington-philippines-joins-pax-silica-initiative-and-launch-of-economic-security-zone/

U.S. Embassy in the Philippines. (2026, April 16). The United States and The Philippines launch plans for 4,000-acre economic security zone to shore up supply chains. https://ph.usembassy.gov/the-united-states-and-the-philippines-launch-plans-for-4000-acre-economic-security-zone-to-shore-up-supply-chains/

Wikipedia. (n.d.-a). Bataan Nuclear Power Plant. Retrieved July 23, 2026, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bataan_Nuclear_Power_Plant

The 23-Month Lame Duck: Why an Early Slide Matters

For most Philippine presidents, the lame duck period arrives on schedule. Around the fifth year, everyone knows the clock. Congress looks elsewhere, allies shop for new patrons, and the Palace manages the slow leak of power until June 30.

What happens when that leak starts in year four?

The Social Weather Stations survey in March 2026 put President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.'s net satisfaction at -15, down from -3 in November 2025. The June 2026 SWS showed a modest recovery to -7. Both numbers are still in negative territory and far from the strong majority he held in 2022. The Palace is correct that a survey does not remove a president. But in the Philippine system, surveys do something more corrosive: they change the behavior of everyone else.

The Philippines is unique. A president cannot run for re-election. Power therefore rests not on law alone, which is fixed at six years, but on the perception that the president can still reward and punish. When that perception goes, the formal powers remain but the informal powers vanish. That is the definition of a lame duck, and it is dangerous when it arrives 23 months early.

There are seven mechanisms, and they are already visible.

First, legislation stalls. The President's Legislative Agenda depends on presidential capital. A senator who wants to run for higher office in 2028 has little incentive to spend that capital on a difficult tax or economic reform. It is easier to investigate the executive than to legislate with it.

Second, the local coalition frays. The Philippine presidency governs through governors and mayors. Those local executives are survivalists. They supported the incumbent because he could deliver. If they believe the next patron is elsewhere, they will not defect loudly. They will simply stop mobilizing.

Third, the bureaucracy enters self-preservation mode. A secretary can order, but an undersecretary must sign. When officials believe their principals will be gone soon and unable to protect them, they avoid controversial signatures. Projects slow down not because of a direct order, but because no one wants to be the last person to approve them.

Fourth, the succession campaign cannibalizes the government. Normally, the contest for 2028 would intensify in late 2027. When it starts in mid-2026, every policy debate becomes a proxy for 2028. Cabinet members are read as candidates or kingmakers, and every decision is analyzed for how it positions them.

Fifth, foreign policy loses leverage. Foreign governments operate on continuity. A trade deal, a defense arrangement, or a long-term infrastructure loan requires confidence that the Philippine side can deliver beyond the next budget cycle. When partners believe they are dealing with a transitional figure, the rational move is to wait.

Sixth, economic confidence softens. Investors can live with unpopular reforms if they believe the reforms will last. They struggle with a long period of uncertainty where policy cannot be credibly guaranteed for even two years.

Seventh, command becomes formal rather than political. The Armed Forces and the police remain professional, but the presidency relies on more than the chain of command. It relies on political authority to enforce difficult or unpopular orders.

None of this means the presidency is powerless. A Philippine president still controls the budget execution, appointments, foreign travel, and the bully pulpit. An early lame duck is not the same as a caretaker. The office is still fully empowered.

History suggests two narrow ways out. The first is to shrink the agenda. Lame duck presidents who try to do everything accomplish nothing. Those who pick two or three tangible, administrative tasks that do not need Congress, rice prices, health clinics, airport queues, often stabilize.

The second is a credible display of control over personnel. A president who cannot discipline his own coalition confirms the narrative. A president who can, even once, forces everyone to recalculate.

The 23-month problem is therefore not just about popularity. It is about governability. With almost two years left on the calendar, the country cannot afford a long goodbye. It needs a decision from the center about whether the remaining period will be spent campaigning for a legacy, or simply waiting for June 2028.

The Great Philippine Power Struggle: Succession, Survival, and the Battle for 2028

Introduction

Philippine politics has never been a realm of permanent friendships. Alliances are forged for convenience, sustained by mutual interest, and dissolved when their usefulness expires. The spectacular rupture between the Marcos and Duterte camps, therefore, should not surprise students of politics. What deserves closer examination is the speed, ferocity, and apparent determination with which former allies have turned against one another.

What the public is witnessing today is not merely a disagreement over personalities, policies, or political style. It is, at its core, a struggle over power, succession, and survival. The former Uniteam coalition, which delivered a commanding victory in 2022, has evolved into two rival political camps competing to shape the country's future after 2028.

Viewed from this perspective, congressional investigations, public accusations, legal maneuvers, impeachment efforts, and political attacks cease to appear as isolated events. Instead, they become pieces of a larger strategic contest whose ultimate prize is Malacañang.

The battle is not really about the past. It is about the future.

The Shadow of 2028

Most Filipinos are understandably focused on today's concerns—prices, wages, jobs, transportation, education, public services, and public safety. Politicians, however, often think several moves ahead.

For every administration, the second half of a presidential term eventually becomes dominated by succession politics. The question gradually shifts from "How do we govern?" to "Who governs next?" Throughout history, ruling coalitions have sought to ensure that political power remains in friendly hands after an incumbent leaves office.

The reasons are obvious. A successor can preserve policies, protect allies, maintain political networks, and reduce the likelihood of politically damaging investigations into past decisions. Losing power, on the other hand, introduces uncertainty.

From this standpoint, the Duterte camp represents the most formidable obstacle to any administration-backed succession strategy. Former President Rodrigo Duterte continues to command significant loyalty among millions of Filipinos. More importantly, the Duterte political network remains extensive, stretching from local governments to grassroots organizations and political operators across the country.

No serious political strategist would ignore such a force. If the objective is to shape the outcome of 2028, weakening the strongest rival long before the campaign officially begins becomes a logical, if ruthless, political calculation.

 The Sara Duterte Factor

At the center of this political equation stands Vice President Sara Duterte.

Whether one admires her or opposes her, it is difficult to deny her electoral strength. She possesses the attributes every presidential contender desires: national recognition, a loyal support base, substantial political machinery, and the enduring influence of the Duterte brand.

This reality gives much of today's political conflict its urgency.

Supporters of the administration maintain that investigations involving the vice president are legitimate exercises of constitutional oversight and accountability. In any democracy, public officials must answer questions concerning public funds and official conduct.

Critics, however, view these developments through a different lens. They argue that the campaign against Sara Duterte cannot be separated from the political consequences it may produce. To them, what is unfolding resembles a deliberate effort to weaken the strongest prospective challenger to an administration-backed candidate in 2028.

Politics rarely ignores opportunity. Nor does it willingly leave powerful rivals unchallenged.

Weaponizing Impeachment?

The impeachment initiatives directed against the Vice President have become one of the defining controversies of the current political landscape.

Supporters insist that impeachment is a constitutional safeguard designed to hold senior officials accountable for serious misconduct. They argue that public office carries public responsibility and that no official should be shielded from scrutiny by popularity or political influence.

Critics, however, see something more troubling. They contend that what is taking place amounts to the weaponizing of impeachment—the transformation of a constitutional accountability mechanism into a political instrument for weakening or eliminating a rival.

Under this interpretation, impeachment ceases to be primarily about establishing wrongdoing and becomes part of a broader strategy to reshape the electoral landscape before voters ever reach the ballot box.

The timing fuels such suspicions. Sara Duterte is not simply another public official; she is widely regarded as the strongest presidential contender in 2028. Any process capable of politically damaging, distracting, or even disqualifying such a figure inevitably raises questions about motive. Is the objective accountability, political neutralization, or some combination of both?

This is the dilemma inherent in every highly politicized impeachment. Even where legitimate issues exist, public confidence can be undermined if citizens conclude that constitutional processes are being driven primarily by partisan calculation. Once the perception of weaponized impeachment takes hold, every hearing, testimony, and procedural maneuver becomes suspect in the eyes of supporters and opponents alike.

The Thin Line Between Accountability and Political Elimination

History offers many examples of political figures who emerged stronger after being portrayed as victims of political persecution. Attempts to destroy rivals sometimes elevate them instead. Political overreach has a habit of producing unintended consequences.

Political history is replete with examples of leaders and institutions employing legal and constitutional processes against powerful rivals. The impeachment of Dilma Rousseff in Brazil (2016), the prosecution and imprisonment of Anwar Ibrahim in Malaysia (1998–2004 and again 2015–2018), the legal cases confronting Imran Khan in Pakistan (2022–present), and the impeachment of Philippine Chief Justice Renato Corona (2011–2012) all ignited fierce debates over the same question: where does legitimate accountability end and political elimination begin? In every case, supporters invoked the rule of law while critics alleged political motivation.

In every case, supporters invoked the rule of law while opponents alleged political motivation. The crucial issue was not merely legality but legitimacy. Citizens may accept painful outcomes when they trust the impartiality of institutions. They become skeptical when legal processes appear to coincide too conveniently with political interests. It is in that gray area—between justice and power—that today's controversies are being interpreted by many Filipinos.

The administration therefore faces a delicate challenge: convincing the public that impeachment is an exercise in accountability rather than an exercise in political warfare. Failure to do so risks transforming the target into a symbol of resistance and strengthening the very movement it seeks to weaken.

The ICC Factor and the Future of Senator Bato dela Rosa

Another development frequently viewed through the lens of succession politics is the renewed attention being given to the legal and political implications of proceedings involving the International Criminal Court and their potential effect on Senator Ronald dela Rosa.

For advocates of international accountability mechanisms, the issue is straightforward. If credible allegations exist regarding actions undertaken during the anti-drug campaign of the Duterte administration, then those who designed, implemented, or supervised those policies should be subject to legal scrutiny regardless of rank or political status. From this perspective, accountability is not politics; it is justice.

Critics, however, argue that politics cannot be divorced from the timing and consequences of such proceedings. Senator dela Rosa is not merely a former police chief. He remains one of the Duterte camp's most visible, loyal, and politically effective figures. He serves as defender, surrogate, and public champion of the Duterte political brand. Any legal development that sidelines, discredits, or politically weakens him inevitably affects the broader Duterte coalition.

Another Front in the 2028 Political War

Consequently, many Duterte supporters view the ICC issue not merely as a legal matter but as another front in a larger political war. In their view, the impeachment effort against Sara Duterte, the investigations targeting Duterte allies, and the legal pressure stemming from ICC proceedings are part of a broader strategy to dismantle the Duterte political infrastructure piece by piece before 2028.

Whether this interpretation is accurate or not, the political implications are undeniable. If Senator dela Rosa were politically neutralized through legal proceedings, the Duterte camp would lose one of its most recognizable national voices and one of its most aggressive defenders in the Senate. The result would be a weakening not merely of an individual politician but of an entire political network.

The Risk of Creating a Martyr

Yet there is also a strategic risk for those perceived as encouraging such an outcome. If large segments of the public conclude that legal institutions—whether domestic or international—are being selectively utilized to remove political opponents, the narrative may shift from accountability to persecution, from justice to political targeting. In Philippine politics, perceived victimization has often proven to be a powerful mobilizing force.

Ironically, attempts to weaken a political movement sometimes strengthen it. Supporters who might otherwise be complacent become energized. Political figures facing legal pressure acquire the aura of resistance. Neutral observers begin questioning motives. What was intended as a decisive blow can become a rallying cry.

Beyond the Courtroom

This is why the ICC issue carries significance beyond the courtroom. It affects perceptions of legitimacy, fairness, and political intent. It influences how millions of Filipinos interpret the broader conflict unfolding between the Marcos-Romualdez coalition and the Duterte camp.

In that sense, the fate of Senator Bato dela Rosa is not merely a question of law. It is also a question of political symbolism. To supporters, he represents loyalty, continuity, and defense of the Duterte legacy. To opponents, he represents accountability for a controversial chapter in Philippine governance. To political strategists on both sides, he is one of several key pieces on the chessboard of 2028.

Ultimately, the debate extends beyond Senator dela Rosa himself. The larger issue is whether legal institutions are perceived as acting impartially or as participants in political conflict. Public trust is difficult to build and easy to lose. If citizens believe justice is being pursued consistently, institutional legitimacy is strengthened. If they perceive selective enforcement, political polarization deepens. The ICC controversy, therefore represents not only a legal challenge but also a test of institutional credibility in an increasingly polarized political environment.

The Flood Control Question

Yet succession politics may not be the only factor driving the intensity of the present conflict. Another issue lurks in the background: the growing controversy surrounding flood control spending.

Over many years, the Philippine government has allocated hundreds of billions of pesos to flood mitigation and flood control projects. Yet after every major typhoon or monsoon season, many communities continue to experience severe flooding. Roads disappear beneath water. Homes are inundated. Businesses suffer losses. Entire neighborhoods become temporary lakes.

The Obvious Question is Difficult to Avoid: Where Did the Money Go?

This question is politically dangerous precisely because it is simple. Citizens may not understand procurement procedures, engineering specifications, or budget execution reports. But they understand flooded streets. They understand damaged property. They understand repeated promises that appear disconnected from visible results.

Consequently, demands for investigations have intensified. Citizens increasingly seek answers regarding project implementation, contractor performance, oversight mechanisms, and the actual effectiveness of expensive infrastructure projects.

Whether the problem involves corruption, incompetence, poor planning, weak enforcement, environmental degradation, or some combination of these factors requires evidence and careful investigation. Politically, however, the issue carries explosive potential.

The Politics of Diversion

Governments have long understood a simple reality: public attention is limited. A dramatic political conflict generates headlines, social media buzz, partisan mobilization, and endless speculation. Political personalities become the story.

Meanwhile, less glamorous issues—such as infrastructure audits, procurement records, contractor accountability, and project effectiveness—struggle to compete for attention. This does not necessarily mean political battles are manufactured as distractions. Genuine rivalries can coexist with convenient diversions.

Whatever the intent, the effect is undeniable. As the Marcos–Duterte conflict dominates headlines and online discourse, public scrutiny shifts from government performance and public spending toward personalities and political intrigue. For an administration facing uncomfortable questions, such a shift is not necessarily unwelcome.

The Risks of Overreach

Political warfare, however, carries risks for everyone involved.

An administration that appears obsessed with eliminating rivals risks creating the impression that governance has become secondary to political survival. Citizens eventually grow weary of endless political combat and begin asking practical questions.

• Why are prices rising?
• Why do infrastructure problems persist?
• Why does flooding remain a recurring national disaster despite enormous expenditures?
• Why do public services often fall short of expectations?

No political narrative can permanently suppress such concerns.

At the same time, opposition forces cannot rely indefinitely on grievance and victimhood. Public sympathy may generate temporary momentum, but voters eventually demand solutions, competence, and credible alternatives.

The danger for both camps is that while they wage war against one another, public frustration may ultimately be directed against the entire political establishment.

 

Conclusion: The Deeper Crisis

The larger issue extends beyond Marcos versus Duterte, Romualdez versus Duterte, or even the 2028 presidential election.

The deeper question is whether Philippine politics remains trapped in a self-perpetuating cycle in which both political elites and the electorate reinforce one another's worst habits. Politicians cultivate patronage, personality politics, and dependence because these are effective paths to power. Voters, in turn, often reward charisma over competence, loyalty over performance, and short-term favors over long-term reforms.

Flood control projects should be evaluated according to measurable results, transparency, and engineering effectiveness—not according to their usefulness in factional combat. Constitutional mechanisms such as impeachment should function as instruments of accountability—not as perceived weapons of political succession. Legal institutions should pursue justice impartially—they should not be seen as tools for the selective elimination of political adversaries. Elections should revolve around competing visions for national development—not merely contests between rival political dynasties.

Yet responsibility for the country's political condition cannot be assigned solely to those who govern. Democratic systems ultimately reflect the choices, priorities, incentives, and tolerances of the governed as well. Corruption survives because corrupt officials exist, but also because enough citizens tolerate it, excuse it, benefit from it, or participate in it. Vote-buying persists not only because politicians offer money but also because millions continue to accept it. Political dynasties endure because they seek power but also because voters repeatedly return them to office.

That is why today's controversies should not be viewed merely as a clash between competing political camps. They also reveal deeper weaknesses in the country's political culture: the personalization of politics, the weakness of institutions, the persistence of patronage, and the tendency to treat elections as contests of personality rather than tests of governance.

Many Filipinos understandably suspect that beneath the public arguments over accountability, investigations, budgets, and constitutional processes lies a struggle over who will inherit power after 2028 and who will be weakened before that contest begins. They may well be correct. But even if every political actor involved were replaced tomorrow, the underlying problems would remain unless the broader political culture changes as well.

In the end, the Philippines' challenges are not simply the product of ambitious politicians. They are also the consequence of a democratic system in which citizens, parties, institutions, and leaders have collectively learned to operate within a set of incentives that often reward spectacle over substance and patronage over performance.

Power, after all, does not exist only in Malacañang, Congress, or political headquarters. In a democracy, power also resides in millions of ballots cast every election. Until voters consistently demand competence over charisma, performance over personality, and governance over political drama, the cycle is likely to continue—regardless of which faction ultimately prevails in 2028.