Monday, 14 September 2026

THE PHILIPPINES IN THE SILICON ORDER (AND THE LIMITS OF THE ENCLAVE)

THE PHILIPPINES IN THE SILICON ORDER
(AND THE LIMITS OF THE ENCLAVE)

Or: why the Philippines Needs a National Industrial Program
Beyond the whims from Washington and Beijing


The controversy surrounding Pax Silica has become more revealing than the proposed development at New Clark City itself. What initially appeared to be another dispute over foreign investment has gradually exposed a much older argument over the nature of Philippine development. The disagreement is not adequately described as a contest between those who favor factories and those who oppose them, nor between supporters and critics of the United States. Four broadly distinguishable positions have emerged. There are those prepared to support Pax Silica substantially as it stands because incorporation into an American-led technological and economic-security system is considered economically advantageous and strategically desirable. There are those who support it more conditionally, believing that technology transfer, Filipino supplier development, research partnerships, and higher-value employment can eventually transform the foreign-led undertaking into something approximating a Philippine industrial project. There are critics who arrive at opposition from a very different direction, arguing that the Philippines is fundamentally an agricultural and commercial society which need not reproduce the industrial structure of Northeast Asia so long as agriculture, services, professional employment, and international trade provide the income with which industrial goods can be purchased elsewhere. Finally, there is a nationalist-developmentalist position which rejects both enclave industrialization and agrarian resignation and argues instead for a Philippine industrial program whose priorities are determined domestically before either Washington, Beijing, or an international corporation arrives with an investment proposal.

These positions involve more than different assessments of Pax Silica. They imply different answers to the question of what development itself is supposed to accomplish. One conception measures progress substantially through the arrival of capital and the integration of Philippine territory into advanced international production. Another assumes that such integration can eventually generate domestic technological capability if the right conditions and incentives are imposed. A third measures development more heavily through the prosperity and mobility of individuals: productive farmers, successful entrepreneurs, licensed professionals, and internationally employable graduates who can obtain from the world market whatever the domestic economy does not manufacture. The nationalist-developmentalist conception takes a different unit of analysis. It asks whether the productive system of the country itself is becoming more capable of reproducing the machinery, technology, firms, research organizations, skills, and capital upon which modern economic life depends.

This distinction matters because the promises attached to Pax Silica are considerable. The Bases Conversion and Development Authority has projected that the approximately 1,620-hectare development at New Clark City could eventually attract between US$40 billion and US$70 billion in investment and generate more than 130,000 high-quality direct jobs. BCDA President Joshua Bingcang has presented the project as a means of reversing the familiar Philippine “brain drain,” arguing that engineers, researchers, computer scientists, and other technically trained Filipinos should be able to build careers in the country rather than leave for better opportunities abroad (Presidential Communications Office [PCO], 2026a). The government's description of Pax Silica is equally ambitious: semiconductors, artificial intelligence, critical minerals, advanced manufacturing, and logistics would be assembled into a large technological and production ecosystem linked to the Luzon Economic Corridor and to international markets.

There is nothing trivial about these objectives. The inability of the Philippine economy to employ enough of its educated population in highly productive domestic industry has imposed enormous social and economic costs. Labor migration may increase household income, and foreign employment has provided indispensable foreign exchange, but an economy that repeatedly educates engineers, nurses, seafarers, programmers, and other professionals principally for productive systems located elsewhere cannot reasonably regard the export of human capital as the ultimate measure of success. The case for creating technologically demanding employment inside the country is therefore substantial. The problem arises when the location of that employment is equated automatically with the location of industrial power.

The question that should concern Philippine business is consequently not whether Pax Silica might create real jobs, exports, and technical experience. It almost certainly could if major investments materialize. The more difficult question is whether a project conceived within an externally organized technological architecture can generate a productive system increasingly commanded from within the Philippines, or whether it will enlarge a familiar structure in which sophisticated production occurs on Philippine soil while the firms, patents, research, equipment, capital allocation, and strategic markets remain controlled elsewhere.

The Attraction of Pax Silica “As It Is”

The most straightforward case for Pax Silica rests upon the belief that the Philippines should position itself decisively within the American-led restructuring of global technology supply chains. The argument is partly commercial and partly geopolitical. The United States remains a major market, a treaty ally, a source of investment and technology, and an increasingly important counterweight to Chinese economic influence. Supply-chain diversification away from excessive concentration in China creates opportunities for countries possessing skilled labor, favorable geopolitical relationships, strategic location, and existing electronics capacity. The Philippines possesses all four.

From this standpoint, the American origin of Pax Silica does not constitute a defect requiring apology. It is part of the opportunity. The December 2025 Pax Silica Declaration explicitly speaks of building “secure, prosperous and innovative global technology supply chains” and identifies semiconductors, advanced manufacturing, artificial intelligence, information infrastructure, transportation logistics, minerals refining, processing, and energy as elements of a new economic-security order. The declaration further emphasizes investment security and the mobilization of the “complementary industrial and technological strengths” of participating economies (Australian Department of Industry, Science and Resources, 2025).

There is a recognizable historical disposition behind the enthusiasm with which some Philippine commentators receive such proposals. The country's political and business culture retains a Cold War-era tendency to associate American capital, institutions, and strategic sponsorship with entry into the technologically advanced world. Under this interpretation, a project linked to Washington is not simply an investment proposal; it is evidence that the Philippines has been included in the preferred industrial geography of an allied economic system. The geopolitical association itself acquires developmental meaning.

Such reasoning should not be dismissed merely as sentimentality, because alliances and political trust do affect investment. A semiconductor company placing billions of dollars in fixed assets will consider political risk, export controls, security relationships, and access to major markets. A Philippines regarded as a reliable participant in an American-centered supply network may obtain investments that would otherwise locate elsewhere. The weakness begins when strategic affinity substitutes for examination of the actual productive relationship being created.

The difficulty is particularly evident because contemporary American policy bears progressively less resemblance to the market orthodoxy that shaped much Philippine economic thinking after the 1980s. Washington no longer assumes that the geographical location of strategic production can safely be determined solely by comparative cost and international markets. In January 2026, the White House concluded under Section 232 that imports of semiconductors and semiconductor-manufacturing equipment threatened to impair American national security. It imposed a 25 percent tariff upon certain advanced chips and explicitly contemplated broader tariffs and preferential treatment for investments contributing to United States semiconductor production and domestic manufacturing capacity. The policy's stated purpose included reducing dependence upon imports and encouraging domestic technological and manufacturing capabilities (White House, 2026).

The contradiction is more complicated than the familiar accusation that the United States preaches free trade abroad while practicing protectionism at home. Pax Silica itself is not laissez-faire. It is a consciously managed international arrangement involving state policy, economic security, investment screening, incentives, supply-chain coordination, and strategic technology. The more significant asymmetry is that the United States increasingly reserves for itself the right to identify industries whose domestic location matters sufficiently to justify tariffs, subsidies, reshoring, and state intervention, while economies such as the Philippines continue to demonstrate their attractiveness largely through openness to foreign investment, tax incentives, export production, skilled labor, and the willingness to perform complementary functions within international corporate networks.

American industrial policy increasingly asks which productive capabilities must be retained or reconstructed within the United States. Philippine investment policy still too often begins by asking which internationally mobile productive activity can be induced to locate in the Philippines. The distinction is not anti-American; it is an observation about the different positions occupied by the two economies inside the same international system.

The More Idealistic Case: Technology Transfer and Filipino Participation

A second position accepts much of this criticism but reaches a more optimistic conclusion. Its proponents argue that Pax Silica should not be accepted passively but can be transformed through policy. Foreign investors can be required or encouraged to develop Philippine suppliers, undertake local research, train Filipino engineers in increasingly advanced functions, collaborate with universities, and create greater domestic value. Given enough time, this process might move Philippine electronics from assembly, testing, and packaging into design, advanced materials, semiconductor equipment, research, and possibly selected fabrication.

The present administration increasingly speaks in these terms. At the September 10, 2026 Luzon Economic Corridor Investment Forum, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. said that the government's objective was “not simply to attract investment” but to obtain investment that strengthened Filipino enterprises and expanded Filipino capability. He called upon investors to transfer knowledge and technology, develop Filipino talent, and work with local suppliers. In the same speech, he stated that the government wanted Filipino enterprises to become producers, innovators, exporters, and investors in their own right rather than remain secondary participants in the value created inside the country (PCO, 2026b).

This is a considerably more serious formulation than the simple equation of foreign investment with development. It acknowledges that the location of capital inside Philippine territory does not necessarily mean that the technological and entrepreneurial capabilities generated by that capital become Philippine. It also corresponds with the country's own stated industrial-policy aspirations. The Board of Investments' Comprehensive National Industrial Strategy calls for stronger forward and backward linkages, technological and human-resource upgrading, stronger supply chains, and integration of manufacturing with agriculture and services. PIDS economist Rafaelita Aldaba has likewise argued that the country requires a renewed industrial policy capable of deepening linkages among domestic firms, SMEs, large enterprises, and foreign investors because manufacturing failed for decades to generate the structural transformation and employment expected of it (Board of Investments [BOI], n.d.; Aldaba, 2013).

The difficulty is that the Philippines has already spent more than half a century waiting for essentially this process to occur in electronics. The country has not merely begun to host semiconductor production. Foreign semiconductor companies have operated in the Philippines since the 1970s. Generations of Filipino engineers have acquired experience inside sophisticated multinational facilities. Export earnings have become enormous. Yet the domestic technological structure surrounding those plants remains comparatively shallow.

Myrna Austria's 2006 PIDS study identified the structural weakness with unusual clarity. Philippine participation in global electronics production had become the country's largest source of merchandise-export earnings, yet the country had “hardly progressed beyond the lowest level of the production chain,” with activity concentrated heavily in labor-intensive, import-dependent assembly and testing and with relatively limited domestic value added (Austria, 2006). Twenty years later, the World Bank's April 2026 East Asia and Pacific Economic Update reached a strikingly similar conclusion: the Philippine semiconductor footprint remains concentrated in assembly, testing, and packaging, with comparatively limited participation in front-end fabrication and design-related activities and an ownership structure characteristic of foreign-direct-investment-led production (World Bank, 2026).

The persistence of substantially the same diagnosis across two decades should temper the assumption that another generation of multinational semiconductor investment will automatically produce a qualitatively different result. The Philippines has already demonstrated that Filipinos can operate internationally competitive semiconductor facilities. What remains insufficiently demonstrated is the ability of Philippine institutions to convert that accumulated experience systematically into domestically controlled firms, intellectual property, research organizations, equipment suppliers, materials companies, and sources of long-term industrial finance.

This is the point at which the conventional language of “technology transfer” becomes inadequate. Foreign factories unquestionably transfer some knowledge. Engineers learn processes. Managers acquire organizational experience. Technicians master advanced equipment. Suppliers become familiar with exacting quality standards. These are valuable benefits, and an argument denying them altogether would be factually weak.

But the transfer of operational knowledge is not identical to the transfer of technological command. A Filipino engineer may understand a semiconductor process without owning the patents governing it. A Filipino plant manager may understand every production stage inside a factory without possessing authority over the corporation's research agenda, product strategy, capital budget, or international customer relationships. The plant may operate in the Philippines for decades without becoming a Philippine technological institution.

Intel's experience provides a particularly clear illustration. When Intel announced in 2009 that it would close its Cavite assembly and test facility, the company described the decision as part of a broader international restructuring intended to align manufacturing capacity with “current market conditions.” The Philippine operation was one part of a global production system, and its continuation was determined accordingly. Filipino employees retained experience and skills, but the patents, research organization, corporate technology, and global customer relationships did not pass into Philippine hands when the plant closed (Intel Corporation, 2009).

The issue is therefore not whether technology transfer occurs in an everyday occupational sense. It is whether the Philippine economy acquires institutions capable of reproducing and redirecting the technology after the original foreign corporate relationship changes.

Why a Concession-Based Project Cannot Simply Be “Filipinized”

This historical experience also complicates the idea that Pax Silica can simply be “Filipinized” through improved contractual provisions. Stronger supplier programs, research partnerships, employment commitments, local procurement, and training requirements can undoubtedly improve the benefits received from particular investments. The state should negotiate such provisions where they are technically and commercially realistic.

Yet there is a structural difference between localizing the benefits generated by an externally conceived project and nationalizing the developmental purpose of the project itself.

Pax Silica is being created through long-term investment commitments, leases, tax and regulatory arrangements, corporate rights, intellectual-property rules, and an international production architecture designed before the Philippine factories themselves are established. Investors require precisely this stability because semiconductor plants, data centers, mineral-processing facilities, and other advanced industrial projects involve large fixed costs. Once contractual rights and productive purposes have been established, later governments cannot simply redefine the technological mission of the investment without confronting the legal and commercial arrangements upon which it was based.

A concession can therefore be improved considerably without ceasing to be a concession. A foreign manufacturer may employ overwhelmingly Filipino workers, purchase more locally, establish a research center, and conduct training while the decisive matters of product strategy, capital allocation, ownership of patents, and ultimate market orientation remain with the foreign enterprise. The resulting operation may be deeply embedded in the local economy and still not amount to a nationally directed industry.

A genuine Philippine industrial program would reverse this order of causation. The state would first identify the productive capabilities the domestic economy required and organize public research, financing, procurement, infrastructure, and enterprise policy accordingly. Foreign corporations would then enter as investors, contractors, licensors, technology suppliers, or joint-venture partners inside a program whose objective had already been established domestically.

Under the present model, Philippine policy frequently asks what developmental benefits can be extracted from an industrial architecture already determined by foreign corporate and geopolitical requirements. Under the nationalist-developmentalist model, foreign capital would instead be asked what contribution it could make to a Philippine industrial architecture determined beforehand.

The distinction is not semantic. It is the difference between negotiating a share of somebody else's project and deciding what project the country itself intends to construct.

Semiconductor Production Without a National Semiconductor Policy

The Philippine semiconductor sector should therefore be described with greater precision. The Philippines undoubtedly produces semiconductors, but the physical presence of semiconductor manufacturing does not by itself prove that the country possesses a semiconductor policy comparable to that of the economies which have deliberately constructed semiconductor firms and institutions of their own.

For much of the sector's history, Philippine policy was concerned primarily with attracting the multinational manufacturer that happened to require additional assembly, testing, or packaging capacity. Industrial estates were provided, incentives granted, capital equipment imported, and export-processing arrangements streamlined. This model produced substantial benefits and allowed the Philippines to become highly competent at particular functions in global electronics production. It did not produce a correspondingly deep national semiconductor structure.

The continuing orientation toward external demand can be seen even in recent official language. In 2023, then-Trade Secretary Alfredo Pascual encouraged American firms to invest in Philippine semiconductors and emphasized the country's competitive business environment, skilled labor, strategic market access, and ability to serve international clients profitably. He also sought greater Philippine participation in the American semiconductor value chain and movement toward higher-value functions. The desire to upgrade was sound, but the reference point remained the international production network rather than a semiconductor program originating from domestic technological requirements (DTI, 2023).

The result is an economy that can contain advanced semiconductor plants while remaining a reserve production base for multinational markets. Production is expanded because foreign corporate demand requires capacity. Investment occurs because a multinational enterprise finds Philippine labor, incentives, logistics, and political relationships attractive. The Philippine economy's own requirements for power electronics, industrial controls, railway systems, telecommunications, agricultural electronics, medical devices, shipbuilding, and defense play a comparatively smaller role in determining the evolution of the sector.

That is successful participation in international production. It is not necessarily the same thing as possession of an industry whose direction is increasingly determined by Philippine demand and Philippine institutions.

The Agrarian and Professional Critique

A third view arrives at opposition to Pax Silica from almost the opposite direction. It does not complain that Pax Silica industrializes the Philippines insufficiently; it questions whether extensive industrialization is an appropriate Philippine objective in the first place.

One expression of this view argues that the Philippines was “naturally built” to prosper as an agricultural nation and that government has repeatedly neglected one of the country's greatest strengths in its pursuit of industrial modernity. Its more sophisticated version does not advocate subsistence agriculture or economic backwardness. It imagines a modern agro-commercial society based upon productive agriculture, fisheries, agribusiness, food processing, tourism, trade, finance, digital services, and a large professional sector. Sophisticated manufactured goods can be imported from economies possessing greater scale and technological advantages.

There is considerable historical logic behind the argument. Philippine agriculture has been neglected repeatedly. Irrigation, logistics, storage, agricultural research, rural finance, mechanization, and food-processing capabilities remain inadequate. Productive farmland and watersheds constitute genuine economic assets and should not be converted casually merely because urban or industrial land commands a higher market price. Opposition to environmentally destructive or socially unjust industrial projects is therefore not equivalent to opposition to development.

The problem emerges when agricultural strength becomes a doctrine of permanent economic specialization. Modern agriculture itself requires machinery, chemicals, electricity, electronics, transport equipment, refrigeration, irrigation systems, processing plants, and sophisticated logistics. PIDS economists Roehlano Briones and Ivory Myka Galang have argued that agricultural transformation requires deeper relationships among farming, agricultural services, industrial inputs, and agro-processing—in effect, an entire “agro-industrial complex” rather than an agricultural sector insulated from manufacturing (Briones & Galang, 2013).

An agriculture-first Philippines that purchases practically all of the machinery required to modernize agriculture has not escaped industrial dependence. It has merely located the industries upon which agriculture depends outside the country.

The professional-service component of this worldview raises a related problem. A society need not, according to this approach, reproduce the complete industrial structure of Japan, Korea, China, or Germany if it can educate doctors, engineers, accountants, architects, lawyers, nurses, programmers, managers, and other professionals capable of earning enough income to purchase the products those industrial economies manufacture.

This is a coherent economic philosophy. At the level of the household, it is frequently sensible. A family need not manufacture a motorcar to acquire one; it needs sufficient income to buy it. A hospital need not own a medical-device factory if it can purchase superior equipment internationally. An engineering company can import high-quality machinery more cheaply than attempting to manufacture the equipment itself.

The difficulty is that an individual's rational purchasing decision cannot simply be scaled upward into a national development strategy.

The Individualization of Self-Reliance

The agro-commercial and professional model tends to define self-reliance primarily at the level of the individual or family. Education, professional credentials, employment, savings, property, and purchasing power provide economic security. If domestic opportunities are inadequate, the professional can migrate. If a machine is unavailable locally, income earned through agriculture, services, commerce, or overseas work can purchase the imported equivalent.

This conception has deep roots in Filipino middle-class experience. The family seeks security by educating children for medicine, engineering, accountancy, law, nursing, architecture, management, or another recognized profession. The professional credential becomes a form of portable capital. It belongs to the individual and can travel to whichever market values it most highly.

Carlos P. Garcia made a strikingly different distinction in 1958. In his address to the Second Labor-Management Conference, Garcia argued that development meant the increasing ability to produce needed commodities through effective use of national resources and identified science, technology, and industrialization as the means through which productivity could be raised. He then called for “a high degree of self-reliance—not only individual but also national self-reliance” and described the government's objective as “the shaping of our economy according to our own best interests” (Garcia, 1958).

The distinction between individual and national self-reliance deserves renewed attention because contemporary Philippine development has become highly individualized. A Filipino engineer may be professionally successful while the country remains dependent upon imported machinery. A doctor may practice sophisticated medicine while the hospital relies upon foreign diagnostic equipment and pharmaceutical technology. A farmer may become commercially prosperous while tractors, pumps, fertilizer, refrigeration, and agricultural electronics are sourced abroad.

At the household level, purchasing power compensates for the absence of domestic productive capacity. At the national level, the absence remains.

This does not make professional success meaningless. It simply means that a successful individual and a productive national economy are not interchangeable concepts.

A Credential Economy and a Knowledge Economy

The same distinction applies to the increasingly fashionable phrase “knowledge economy.” Knowledge can reside primarily in individuals who sell professional services, or it can become embodied in institutions capable of producing technology repeatedly.

The Philippines is already proficient at producing the first kind. Filipino doctors, engineers, accountants, architects, programmers, nurses, managers, and seafarers compete internationally. Their education constitutes genuine human capital.

But a semiconductor design house, pharmaceutical company, machine-tool manufacturer, industrial laboratory, advanced-materials company, or engineering enterprise represents something different. Knowledge in such institutions becomes attached to patents, machinery, brands, laboratories, supplier relationships, and organizational routines that remain in the country even when an individual employee departs.

The Philippine weakness has historically been the conversion of world-class individual talent into world-class domestic productive institutions.

This is why migration can appear simultaneously as personal success and national failure. The engineer solves his employment problem by moving to an economy that has already built an engineering industry. The nurse joins a health system with greater capital. The programmer works for an international client. The individual adapts successfully to the global economy while the structure that made migration economically attractive remains unchanged at home.

Pax Silica appears to offer an alternative by moving advanced foreign production to the worker rather than moving the worker abroad. This is an improvement, particularly for family life and domestic employment. Yet the deeper question persists if the worker remains principally an employee of productive institutions owned and directed abroad.

The geography of employment has changed; the ownership of industrial capability may not have changed with it.

The Common Premise behind Three Apparently Opposed Positions

The unconditional Pax Silica supporter, the idealized technology-transfer supporter, and the agro-commercial professionalist appear to occupy very different political positions. Yet they can share a surprisingly similar assumption: that the larger productive structure surrounding Filipino labor should be determined substantially by the world market.

The unconditional supporter accepts the external industrial architecture because association with it is economically and strategically desirable. The idealized supporter accepts the same basic architecture but hopes that sufficient learning, localization, and technology transfer will gradually create domestic capability within it. The agro-commercial professionalist considers much of that industrial structure unnecessary to reproduce domestically at all, provided Filipinos can earn sufficient income through agriculture, commerce, services, or professional work to purchase its products.

The common result is that the world market remains the principal arbiter of the structure of production.

The nationalist-developmentalist alternative begins by challenging precisely that assumption. International trade is indispensable, but the market is not an economic constitution determining the maximum productive ambitions available to a country. The set of industries in which a country possesses comparative advantage at any particular moment reflects its inherited technology, infrastructure, accumulated capital, historical policy, and institutional capabilities. Comparative advantage can therefore be altered by deliberate investment and technological learning.

The economic histories of the major industrial states make this difficult to deny.

The International Return of Protection, Champions, and Technological Sovereignty

The most striking feature of the present international economy is that nearly every major economic power now pursues some form of policy intended to preserve or create domestic technological capabilities. The terminology differs according to political tradition. Washington uses the language of national security, reshoring, supply-chain resilience, and domestic manufacturing. Beijing speaks of technological self-reliance, modernization of the industrial system, and breakthroughs in core technologies. Brussels uses the language of technological sovereignty and strategic autonomy. New Delhi speaks increasingly of self-reliance, domestic ecosystems, production-linked incentives, and Indian intellectual property.

These are not identical economic systems, and they should not be treated as though they were. Their policies differ significantly in the relationship between state and market, the scale of subsidies, the role of public enterprises, tariff policy, financial institutions, and political organization. Yet they share a proposition that is highly relevant to the Philippines: productive capability, intellectual property, domestic firms, and control over selected technologies have value beyond the immediate price at which the corresponding product can be purchased internationally.

The American semiconductor case is particularly explicit. Washington has concluded that excessive dependence upon imported semiconductors represents a national-security vulnerability and has adopted tariff and domestic-production measures accordingly. The issue is no longer whether an imported chip can be purchased more cheaply than one manufactured domestically. The American state has assigned strategic value to the possession of production capacity itself.

China reaches a similar conclusion through different institutions. Its 2026 policy documents call for greater scientific and technological self-reliance and “decisive breakthroughs” across integrated circuits, machine tools, high-end instruments, basic software, advanced materials, and other core technologies. The objective is not simply that Chinese engineers work inside the international technological system; it is that Chinese organizations increasingly command crucial portions of that system (State Council of the People's Republic of China, 2026).

The European Union has moved in the same direction. In June 2026, the European Commission defined technological sovereignty as Europe's ability to act independently by developing and controlling key technologies, data, and infrastructure while reducing reliance on non-European providers. Its Chips Act 2.0 seeks to strengthen the European semiconductor ecosystem, reduce strategic dependencies, encourage semiconductor design and production, and increase domestic demand. The earlier Chips Act had already helped mobilize more than €52 billion in public and private semiconductor investment. European policymakers therefore no longer regard access to global suppliers as an adequate substitute for the possession of strategic technological capacity (European Commission, 2026a, 2026b).

India supplies an especially revealing comparison because its development constraints are closer to those of emerging economies than those of the United States or Europe. The Indian government announced Semiconductor Mission 2.0 in 2026 with the explicit objective of producing semiconductor equipment and materials domestically, designing “full stack Indian” intellectual property, strengthening domestic supply chains, and creating industry-led research and training centers. The wider 2026 manufacturing agenda includes domestic electronics components, rare-earth processing and manufacturing, chemical parks, construction equipment, and other sectors in which New Delhi seeks to reduce dependence and develop nationally rooted industrial capability. In July 2026, the Indian Cabinet approved a much larger Semicon 2.0 program intended to deepen the semiconductor design and manufacturing ecosystem over the long term (Press Information Bureau [PIB], 2026a, 2026b).

There is an important lesson in the Indian example. India already possesses a formidable body of semiconductor design talent. Government sources estimate that Indian engineers account for a substantial share of the global semiconductor design workforce and work on advanced processes within global capability centers. Yet New Delhi has not concluded that this success makes domestic semiconductor manufacturing, equipment, materials, or intellectual property unnecessary. It has reached almost the opposite conclusion: if the country possesses such extensive engineering talent, that talent should increasingly become embedded in Indian firms, Indian IP, Indian production capabilities, and Indian technological institutions rather than remain principally a service supplied to foreign companies.

The implications for the Philippines should be uncomfortable. Philippine governments and business leaders frequently speak with pride about world-class Filipino talent. Multinational companies routinely praise the quality of Filipino engineers and technical workers. Yet that confidence in Filipino individuals is often accompanied by much greater skepticism toward the possibility of Filipino industrial institutions. The engineer is considered capable of operating the world's most sophisticated equipment, but domestic machinery manufacture is dismissed as unrealistic. Filipino programmers and designers are internationally competitive, yet nationally rooted technological firms remain treated as exceptional rather than as an object of deliberate policy.

If the country's human capital is genuinely as capable as official rhetoric maintains, the appropriate policy question should not end with how efficiently that talent can be supplied to the world market. It should also ask how a greater portion of that talent can be converted into firms, patents, laboratories, machinery, brands, engineering organizations, and accumulated domestic capital.

Patents, Champions, and the Ownership of Knowledge

This is why the language of national champions, though sometimes abused, cannot simply be dismissed. The United States, China, Europe, India, Japan, Korea, and Taiwan all attempt in different ways to preserve or create firms and institutions capable of owning strategic knowledge. Their objective is not merely to employ talented nationals but to ensure that some of the value created by that talent remains embodied in institutions located within the national economy.

The distinction between skill and ownership is fundamental. A worker's expertise creates income for the worker. A domestic corporation possessing intellectual property, research capability, equipment, suppliers, brands, and markets creates an institutional asset capable of generating income repeatedly and employing successive generations of workers.

This does not mean that national champions should be protected indefinitely from competition. Philippine history supplies ample warning against a nationalism reduced to protecting domestic oligarchs. A Filipino-owned company that merely imports components or finished products behind tariff walls contributes little to technological sovereignty merely because its shareholders possess Philippine citizenship.

A developmental industrial policy must therefore impose performance discipline upon domestic capital just as firmly as it bargains with foreign capital. Firms receiving development finance, procurement preference, research assistance, or temporary protection should be required to improve productivity, invest in engineering, develop suppliers, increase technological content, and eventually compete internationally.

The object is not national ownership in the abstract but national productive ownership.

The Fourth Position: A Nationalist-Developmentalist Alternative

The nationalist-developmentalist position therefore begins neither with Washington nor with Beijing, neither with a foreign investor nor with inherited comparative advantage. It begins by asking what productive structure Philippine development itself requires.

This does not mean attempting to manufacture everything domestically. Such a policy would waste scarce capital and reproduce the worst failures of indiscriminate import substitution. A middle-income archipelagic economy cannot and need not reproduce every industrial technology available internationally.

A serious program would instead identify a limited set of mutually reinforcing capabilities whose development would raise productivity across the economy. Electrical equipment, power electronics, industrial controls, cables, transformers, and grid technologies deserve consideration because the Philippines must invest enormously in electricity generation and transmission regardless of Pax Silica. Railway expansion should create markets for signaling, electrical systems, fabrication, maintenance, communications equipment, and eventually more sophisticated transport manufacturing. Shipbuilding and marine engineering possess obvious relevance in an archipelagic country requiring commercial vessels, ferries, fishing fleets, coast-guard craft, and naval capability.

Agricultural modernization should create sustained demand for pumps, irrigation systems, refrigeration, processing machinery, fertilizer, sensors, and agricultural electronics. Industrial chemicals and materials require greater attention because practically every advanced industrial activity depends upon them. Semiconductor production itself requires gases, chemicals, precision equipment, reliable power, water treatment, and industrial services. A semiconductor enclave surrounded by dependence upon imported machinery and materials may be technologically sophisticated while creating fewer national linkages than its physical appearance suggests.

The aim should consequently be industrial density rather than industrial spectacle.

Agriculture inside the Industrial Program

The fourth position also offers a more satisfactory answer to the agricultural critique than simply converting farmland into industrial estates. Philippine agriculture requires modernization, and food security remains a legitimate national objective. Productive irrigated land, watersheds, and rural communities should not be treated as expendable merely because industrial or real-estate use generates higher immediate land values.

But agriculture should be understood as part of an agro-industrial system. Briones and Galang's formulation is useful precisely because it refuses the false distinction between farm and factory. Agricultural transformation requires industrial inputs, services, processing, storage, transportation, and technology (Briones & Galang, 2013).

The industrial question is therefore not whether agriculture should disappear but whether the modernization of agriculture will create additional industries inside the Philippines or merely create additional import demand. Pumps can be imported forever, or an expanding irrigation program can help sustain domestic electrical and machinery enterprises. Agricultural processing machinery can be purchased entirely abroad, or national demand can be used gradually to build engineering and fabrication capability at home.

No serious program would insist upon domestic production regardless of cost or quality. The purpose would be to identify those products for which repeated domestic demand, technological spillovers, and linkages to other industries justify a deliberate learning process.

That is economic development in the dynamic rather than static sense.

A Filipino Semiconductor Policy Would Begin with Filipino Requirements

The same principle should govern semiconductors. A Filipino semiconductor strategy need not begin by asking how many foreign fabs or packaging plants can be attracted. It would begin by examining the electronic requirements generated by Filipino infrastructure and industry.

The expansion of the electricity system requires sensors, controls, smart meters, power electronics, and communications equipment. Railways require signaling, traction controls, and embedded systems. Agriculture increasingly requires sensors, automated irrigation, drones, and processing controls. Hospitals require medical electronics. Shipbuilding requires navigation, communications, and industrial-control systems. Telecommunications and defense require increasingly sophisticated electronic systems.

No rational policy would attempt to fabricate every semiconductor used in these applications domestically. The semiconductor industry is too internationalized and capital-intensive for such an objective. But these domestic requirements could support selected capabilities in semiconductor design, power electronics, sensors, advanced packaging, embedded systems, testing technologies, and related engineering.

The crucial difference is that a portion of the industry would exist because the Philippine economy itself required its output, not merely because a multinational company happened to require a production site serving customers elsewhere.

Exports would remain essential. Domestic demand would provide an additional anchor.

Taiwan and the Institutional Meaning of Technology Transfer

Taiwan remains instructive because it demonstrates the difference between importing foreign technology and hosting foreign technology. Taiwan's government and Industrial Technology Research Institute deliberately selected integrated circuits as a field in which technological capability should be acquired. ITRI signed a technology-transfer and licensing agreement with RCA in 1976, sent teams of Taiwanese engineers to learn design, manufacturing, verification, and equipment, established a domestic demonstration factory, and subsequently transferred acquired capability into Taiwanese enterprises. UMC was established in 1980 with technology and an R&D team transferred from ITRI; TSMC followed in 1987 with the transfer of facilities, equipment, technology, and personnel. Taiwan's semiconductor ecosystem therefore emerged from an institutional process designed to convert foreign knowledge into nationally rooted production (ITRI, 2023a, 2023b).

The important lesson is not that Taiwan associated itself with American technology. It did. The important lesson is that Taiwanese institutions already possessed a national purpose for the technology they acquired. The foreign relationship was an instrument of that program.

The Filipino sequence has more often been reversed. The foreign company arrives with the production system, and Philippine policy then seeks training, supplier opportunities, and spillovers from its presence.

That difference explains why the phrase “technology transfer” can describe very different economic realities.

Development Finance, Procurement, and the Domestic Market

A national industrial program also requires institutions capable of financing activities that ordinary commercial banking will not automatically undertake. Semiconductor design, machinery manufacturing, advanced materials, chemicals, and industrial research frequently require long investment horizons, expensive equipment, and uncertain returns. Real estate and trade may offer faster and more predictable profits.

Development banking therefore remains relevant. The Development Bank of the Philippines and other appropriate institutions could support technically credible firms entering industries with strong developmental linkages, provided that finance is tied to transparent performance criteria and insulated as far as possible from political favoritism.

The failures of politically directed credit are well known, but they do not demonstrate that industrial finance is unnecessary. They demonstrate that institutional quality determines whether industrial finance creates productive enterprises or cronies.

The domestic market should likewise become a more deliberate industrial asset. Government, state corporations, utilities, and private enterprises already purchase enormous quantities of railway equipment, electrical systems, ships, buses, communications equipment, medical devices, construction machinery, and agricultural technology. Procurement need not be turned into crude protectionism, but public expenditure can be structured to develop local engineering, maintenance, supplier participation, and manufacturing where commercially feasible.

The domestic market should neither become a sanctuary for permanently inefficient firms nor remain merely a showroom for foreign industrial products. Properly administered, it can provide the initial scale through which firms learn before facing international competition.

Where Pax Silica Would Fit?

Under such a national program, Pax Silica would cease to carry the burden of representing Philippine industrialization. Particular investments associated with it could still be assessed and, where useful, contracted. A semiconductor investment might contribute to design, packaging, power electronics, materials, or research capabilities the country had already decided to build. A critical-minerals project might be useful if it contributed to downstream metals, battery, electrical, or advanced-material industries. Infrastructure developed around the Luzon Economic Corridor could reduce costs for Philippine firms as well as foreign exporters.

The difference would be the hierarchy of policy. The Philippines would no longer ask what industrial role Pax Silica offered the country and then attempt to maximize local participation within that role. It would possess its own industrial objectives and determine which portions of Pax Silica, Chinese investment, Japanese finance, Taiwanese semiconductor expertise, Korean manufacturing, European technology, or any other external relationship happened to serve them.

This is not economic isolation. It is the opposite. It requires extensive international engagement but refuses to allow any one international relationship to determine the country's productive structure.

Beyond Washington and Beijing

The case for going beyond Washington and Beijing should consequently not be understood as equidistance for its own sake. The Philippines possesses different security, political, and commercial relationships with the two powers, and some forms of investment may properly be limited by legitimate security concerns.

The economic principle is narrower. Neither American nor Chinese industrial policy exists principally to industrialize the Philippines. Washington seeks secure American-centered supply chains and renewed domestic manufacturing capability. Beijing seeks Chinese technological self-reliance, Chinese firms, and Chinese industrial strength.

European governments likewise pursue European technological sovereignty; India pursues Indian semiconductor IP, equipment, materials, and manufacturing. None of these governments would reasonably be criticized for doing so. They are performing one of the ordinary functions of a serious economic state.

What would be peculiar is for the Philippines to conclude that precisely because others are pursuing national industrial strategies, the appropriate Philippine response is to specialize more completely according to the requirements those strategies create.

Such a conclusion would convert Filipino comparative advantage into foreign industrial policy by another name.

The Opportunity Hidden in “World-Class Filipino Talent”

The recurring official celebration of Filipino talent should therefore be taken more seriously than it usually is. If Philippine engineers are sufficiently capable to operate multinational semiconductor plants, work in advanced design centers, manage global shipping, build software, practice medicine internationally, and staff sophisticated research organizations abroad, then the principal constraint upon Philippine technological development cannot be an inherent lack of human ability.

The question becomes institutional. Does the country possess research organizations through which knowledge can accumulate? Does it possess development finance willing to support technologically risky domestic firms? Does public procurement provide a market through which new industrial companies can learn? Are universities connected to industrial commercialization? Are firms rewarded for creating intellectual property and supplier networks rather than merely importing and distributing?

A country that repeatedly describes its citizens as world-class should eventually ask why so much of their world-class ability becomes productive capital for institutions headquartered elsewhere.

The proper objective is not to prevent Filipinos from working abroad or for foreign firms. Such restrictions would be economically absurd. The objective is to create enough Philippine productive institutions that remaining in the country and building something locally becomes a credible alternative.

Conclusion: From Talent to Productive Power

The argument over Pax Silica therefore reveals four different approaches to Philippine development, but it also exposes the limitations of the first three. Unconditional support for Pax Silica recognizes the opportunities created by American technology and geopolitical realignment but risks allowing alliance sentiment and investment enthusiasm to substitute for industrial analysis. The idealized Pax Silica position correctly demands technology transfer, supplier development, and Filipino participation but tends to underestimate the difficulty of transforming a contract- and concession-based foreign production architecture into a national industrial system after the fundamental investment structure has already been determined. The agro-commercial and professional alternative properly emphasizes agriculture, education, and individual enterprise but ultimately relies upon the proposition that the products of industrial civilization can be purchased indefinitely from societies that chose to develop the industries producing them.

The nationalist-developmentalist alternative begins from a different premise. It treats development not merely as the prosperity of Filipino individuals or the productivity of foreign factories located in the Philippines but as the accumulation of productive capability within the national economy. It does not reject the world market, foreign investment, professional services, or agriculture. It seeks to organize them around a domestic process of technological and industrial accumulation.

The contemporary international environment makes this argument considerably less eccentric than it might have appeared during the high period of neoliberal globalization. The United States protects semiconductor manufacturing and treats productive dependence as a national-security issue. China seeks self-reliance in integrated circuits, machine tools, software, instruments, and advanced materials. Europe explicitly seeks technological sovereignty and reduced strategic dependence. India, despite possessing a vast pool of internationally competitive engineers, finances semiconductor fabrication, domestic equipment and materials, and “full stack Indian” intellectual property.

These countries differ profoundly in political system and economic philosophy, yet each has concluded that nationally rooted productive capability matters.

The Philippines should ask why it should be the exception. A country which takes legitimate pride in local talent should not regard the highest possible use of that talent as supplying engineers to whichever foreign corporation or labor market happens to offer the strongest demand. Nor should it regard the ability to purchase sophisticated products internationally as an adequate substitute for learning how to create selected technologies domestically.

There is nothing irrational about buying from the world market. The irrationality lies in assuming that every existing dependence should remain permanent merely because importing is currently cheaper.

Garcia's distinction between individual and national self-reliance remains pertinent because Philippine development has too frequently solved structural problems at the level of the household. The engineer migrates, the family receives remittances, the farmer buys imported machinery, the hospital purchases foreign equipment, and the state attracts foreign corporations to employ domestic talent. Individuals adapt successfully to the economic structure that exists.

National development requires asking whether the structure itself should change. The Philippines now confronts a particularly opportune moment for doing so. Global supply chains are being reorganized; major powers have returned openly to industrial policy; large infrastructure projects are under construction; the country possesses a substantial domestic market, an established electronics base, mineral resources, and a technically capable labor force. Those circumstances can again be offered principally as locational advantages to external industrial systems, or they can become the raw materials of a coherent Philippine program.

The issue is not whether every Philippine company must become a national champion or whether every imported product must be replaced. It is whether enough firms, laboratories, technologies, and production capabilities are deliberately cultivated that the Philippines becomes increasingly capable of bargaining with the international economy rather than simply adapting itself to whatever role that economy presently offers.

Only then would the familiar phrase “world-class Filipino talent” acquire an economic meaning larger than employability.

It would describe not merely talented Filipinos, but a Philippine productive system capable of retaining, organizing, and multiplying their talent into national industrial power.

***

References

Aldaba, R. M. (2013). Why a new industrial policy for the Philippines is critical. Philippine Institute for Development Studies.

Araneta, S. (1965). Economic nationalism and capitalism for all in a directed economy. Araneta University Press.

Austria, M. S. (2006). Enhancement and deepening of the competitiveness of the Philippine electronics industry under a bilateral setting. Philippine Institute for Development Studies.

Australian Department of Industry, Science and Resources. (2025, December 12). The Pax Silica Declaration by countries attending the Pax Silica Summit. Australian Government.

Board of Investments. (n.d.). Comprehensive National Industrial Strategy. Department of Trade and Industry.

Briones, R. M., & Galang, I. M. R. (2013). Urgent: A road map for agro-industrial development in the Philippines. Philippine Institute for Development Studies.

Department of Trade and Industry. (2023, November 16). DTI chief Pascual encourages US companies to invest in the semiconductor industry. Government of the Philippines.

European Commission. (2026a, June 3). Strengthening Europe's tech sovereignty. European Union.

European Commission. (2026b, June 3). Chips Act 2.0. European Union.

Garcia, C. P. (1958, October 16). Speech of President Garcia before the opening of the Second Labor Management Conference. Official Gazette of the Republic of the Philippines.

Industrial Technology Research Institute. (2023a). Adopting technical knowledge from RCA to develop Taiwan's IC capabilities. ITRI.

Industrial Technology Research Institute. (2023b). Developing semiconductors from scratch: Taiwan's semiconductor industry hall of fame. ITRI.

Intel Corporation. (2009, January 21). Intel to consolidate manufacturing operations; company to halt production at five older factories.

Press Information Bureau. (2026a, February 7). India Semiconductor Mission 2.0: A major push towards semiconductor self-reliance. Government of India.

Press Information Bureau. (2026b, July 15). Cabinet approves Semicon 2.0—Government delivers on its commitment for long-term policy support to semiconductors in India. Government of India.

Presidential Communications Office. (2026a, July 23). BCDA says Pax Silica project could generate over 130,000 high-quality jobs. Government of the Philippines.

Presidential Communications Office. (2026b, September 10). PBBM: Government seeks to empower Filipino enterprises, capture greater value from investments. Government of the Philippines.

State Council of the People's Republic of China. (2026, March 5). China to make breakthroughs in core technologies, achieve sci-tech self-reliance. Government of the People's Republic of China.

White House. (2026, January 14). Adjusting imports of semiconductors, semiconductor manufacturing equipment, and their derivative products into the United States. Executive Office of the President.

World Bank. (2026, April). East Asia and Pacific economic update. World Bank Group.

Wednesday, 9 September 2026

Power, Impunity and the Republic: The Long Crisis of Accountability

Power, Impunity and the Republic: The Long Crisis of  Accountability 

 Or: "All After Imelda Marcos’s Acquittal, Martin Romualdez's Arrest, and the still Ongoing Trial of Sara Duterte: The Old Uses of Power and the Persistence of Abuse" 


There is a peculiar quality to Philippine political scandals in their old age. They cease to resemble scandals and begin to resemble institutions. They acquire archives, jurisprudence, generations of lawyers, changes of government and, eventually, the faint sepia tone of history. The original outrage becomes something younger citizens encounter through inherited arguments, yellowing newspaper clippings and the occasional anniversary program, while the litigation itself continues at the more stately pace of geology. By the time judgment finally arrives, the country is no longer quite the country in which the case began, although the families, curiously enough, are often still there. 

So it is with Imelda Marcos and the Swiss foundations. 

The Supreme Court’s acquittal of the former first lady on seven counts of graft is therefore difficult to regard as merely the disposition of seven criminal informations. The First Division, speaking through Associate Justice Rodil Zalameda and joined by Associate Justices Ramon Paul Hernando, Henri Jean Paul Inting, Ricardo Rosario and Jose Midas Marquez, concluded that the prosecution had failed to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt. The case turned in considerable measure upon the authentication of Swiss documents and upon the meaning to be assigned to the foundations in which Mrs. Marcos allegedly maintained financial interests while occupying public office. 

There is nothing inherently sinister in these legal propositions. Criminal guilt must be proved beyond reasonable doubt. Documents must be authenticated according to law. Penal statutes cannot simply be stretched because the accused is famous, disliked, historically notorious or politically inconvenient. A constitutional republic that discards procedure whenever public indignation becomes sufficiently intense will eventually discover that procedure was protecting more than the unpopular defendant. 

But the Philippine difficulty begins where the textbook proposition ends. A technical requirement experienced after a year of litigation is procedure. The same requirement discovered after three or four decades begins to resemble an indictment of the institutions responsible for the prosecution itself. The cases against Mrs. Marcos were already part of the national landscape before many of today’s voters were born. Governments changed, constitutions settled into middle age, prosecutors retired, judges died, witnesses disappeared, and the family that had once fled Malacañang returned to it. Only then did the legal process arrive at the conclusion that the State had not proved its case in the manner criminal law requires. 

Reasonable doubt remains indispensable. Forty years to discover reasonable doubt is another matter entirely. 

This is the distinction that partisan argument habitually refuses to make. The Court may have reached a conclusion defensible within the law while the justice system that required decades to reach it remains indefensible as a system. Both things may be true at once. Indeed, the more intellectually serious criticism of the acquittal does not require imagining five magistrates secretly assembling to rescue the mother of a president. Institutional failure is usually less theatrical. It consists of delay, poor prosecution, evidentiary decay, bureaucratic incompetence, political interruptions, procedural exhaustion and the extraordinary capacity of powerful defendants to remain standing until the State has forgotten how it intended to prosecute them. 

The political circumstances nevertheless cannot be wished away by judicial syntax. Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has occupied Malacañang for four years, and it is during his presidency that his mother has obtained this reversal. No evidence has been produced showing that the President personally dictated the judgment, and criticism becomes unserious when suspicion is casually promoted into proof. But public confidence does not depend solely upon the absence of a discoverable conspiracy. Courts live within political history even when they properly refuse to decide cases according to it. 

There is another irony, and Philippine politics has lately become unusually rich in them. Every justice participating in the acquittal was appointed to the Supreme Court by Rodrigo Duterte. That circumstance proves no corruption and should prove none; the independence of a judge would mean little if every decision were assumed to belong permanently to the president who signed the appointment. Yet the fact acquires an almost literary quality now that the Marcos and Duterte houses have become enemies. The mother of the Marcos president has been acquitted by Duterte appointees while supporters of Duterte prepare to use the acquittal as evidence against the Marcos order. 

One Duterte supporter supplied the argument with unusual economy, imagining “the anti-Marcos crowd, Kakampinks, Dilawans, and company, going apoplectic” over the judgment and wondering whether they might instead respect the Supreme Court because, after all, “Principles don’t depend on who wins, right?” 

It is a clever taunt because its premise is correct. Constitutional principle cannot mean respecting courts only when courts injure one’s enemies. Due process does not become dispensable because the defendant’s surname is Marcos. Those who defended institutional independence when courts frustrated Rodrigo Duterte, or when legal processes protected his adversaries, cannot logically demand that those same institutions become instruments of historical vengeance when Imelda Marcos appears before them. 

Yet a principle becomes interesting only after it is permitted to cross the aisle. 

For the Duterte camp has lately developed its own elaborate vocabulary of necessity. The controversy over Vice President Sara Duterte’s confidential funds has repeatedly been met by arguments invoking national security, intelligence gathering, insurgent recruitment, communist subversion and the need to protect schools and state institutions from threats invisible to ordinary accounting. During her tenure at the Department of Education, the department itself justified confidential expenditures partly through threats involving terrorism, violent extremism and insurgent recruitment. The explanation supplied a familiar Philippine political doctrine: exceptional dangers require exceptional instruments. 

That proposition is not absurd. Intelligence cannot be administered as though it were the purchase of blackboards. A government cannot publish the names of informants, operational targets and covert sources and still pretend to possess an intelligence service. Yet the secrecy of an expenditure cannot become an alibi for the expenditure. National security may explain why details cannot be made public; it cannot answer whether the money was lawfully spent, properly liquidated and actually used for the purpose claimed. 

The anticipated gloating over the Marcos acquittal therefore aggravates a tension already running through the entire system. At one end stands a scandal as old as the Marcos restoration itself, sustained through decades of litigation until its legal foundations finally gave way. At the other stands the much fresher controversy over Duterte’s confidential funds, where another political camp asks that necessity and security be given their due weight. Between them has opened the flood-control scandal, with its ghost projects, inflated contracts, contractors, politicians, allegations of kickbacks and that almost grotesquely Philippine image of suitcases said to have been filled with cash and carried from one important address to another. 

Former Ako Bicol representative Zaldy Co has become one of the central names in the flood-control investigations. The Ombudsman has pursued cases involving projects alleged to have been nonexistent or anomalous, while testimony and counter-testimony concerning cash deliveries have produced their own bewildering subplot of bodyguards, affidavits, recantations and accusations of fabricated testimony. The Sandiganbayan has also issued attachment orders over properties in a case involving Co, while an Anti-Money Laundering Council witness testified that hundreds of millions of pesos moved from a contractor to him. These remain matters for adjudication rather than editorial conviction, but their political meaning is already obvious: public works, appropriations, private contractors and political power have again become almost indistinguishable characters in the same national drama. 

Martin Romualdez, too, now confronts serious flood-control allegations and a plunder case, which he denies. The details may ultimately establish guilt, innocence, partial responsibility or another long Philippine excursion through procedural uncertainty. But even before the courts finish their work, the spectacle has revealed the inadequacy of partisan morality. To say that Marcos corruption absolves Duterte corruption would be nonsense. To say that Duterte abuses somehow cleanse Marcos history would be equally absurd. To call Romualdez a crook, whether rhetorically or eventually by judicial finding, does not automatically make Zaldy Co innocent; and evidence against Co would not automatically make Romualdez guilty. Criminal responsibility remains individual even when political systems are collective. 

This is precisely why the vulgarity beneath all the competing defenses begins to look remarkably similar. One faction says that the Marcos cases were politicized and poorly prosecuted. Another says confidential funds were necessary to protect the nation against subversion. Another says the flood-control accusations are inventions of rival political camps. Witnesses appear, disappear or recant. Documents become decisive and then questionable. Money is alleged to have traveled through foundations, confidential accounts, contractors or suitcases. Every camp develops an intricate jurisprudence of why its own scandal is complicated and the opponent’s scandal perfectly simple. 

If one may ponder the matter, this is where the bullshitry becomes substantially the same, because the protagonists belong to the same system even when they occupy opposing wings of it. 

The system does not require Marcos and Duterte to be friends. It does not require Romualdez and Co to remain allies. Indeed, political rivalry may be one of its normal operating mechanisms. Yesterday’s coalition becomes today’s prosecution witness; yesterday’s prosecutor becomes tomorrow’s defendant; yesterday’s defender of executive discretion discovers legislative oversight when another family reaches Malacañang. The factions may fight ferociously because they are competing for possession of the same state, not because they represent fundamentally different understandings of what that state should be. 

This is why the familiar questions ought to be asked without partisan qualification. Just because Marcos is corrupt, whether as historical judgment or as an accusation in a particular case, does that make Duterte clean? Obviously not. Just because Romualdez may be implicated in wrongdoing does that establish the innocence of Zaldy Co? Of course not. Nor does a case against Co establish Romualdez’s guilt merely by association. The point is almost embarrassingly elementary, yet Philippine political argument repeatedly proceeds as though corruption were a championship in which proving that the opposing team cheated automatically awards moral innocence to one’s own. 

The Marcos-Duterte quarrel has made this habit unusually visible. Each camp now rummages through the record of the other with the diligence it rarely displayed while they governed together. Duterte supporters rediscover the Swiss accounts, martial-law wealth and dynastic privilege. Marcos supporters rediscover confidential funds, drug-war accountability and the discretionary habits of the previous administration. Their researchers have become excellent. Their memories have improved. Their principles have acquired an admirable sharpness, provided the telescope remains pointed across the street. 

The flood-control scandal widens the view because it refuses to fit neatly into either family mythology. Contractors, legislators, officials and intermediaries occupy a world older than the present Marcos-Duterte feud. The alleged cash-filled suitcases are almost too picturesque, a form of corruption imagery apparently designed by a novelist lacking confidence in subtlety. Yet even here caution is required: some witnesses who alleged such deliveries later recanted, others maintained allegations, and investigators themselves have at various moments questioned whether testimonial claims were sufficiently corroborated. The uncertainty does not diminish the need for investigation; it demonstrates why investigations must be competent enough to survive politics.

A republic therefore requires two propositions to remain true simultaneously. The accused must receive due process, whether named Marcos, Duterte, Romualdez or Co. And due process must not become the civilized vocabulary by which powerful people consume enough time to make accountability impossible. Confidentiality may protect legitimate intelligence operations, but it must not become invisibility. Evidentiary rules protect defendants from arbitrary conviction, but the State cannot invoke its own decades of incompetence as though they were acts of God. 

Here Philippine history supplies an old and rather indecent epigraph. 

In 1949, Senate President José Avelino was reported in the Manila Chronicle as protesting investigations ordered during the Quirino administration. The passage subsequently found its way into the Supreme Court reports in Avelino v. Cuenco, which preserved the extraordinary complaint: “Why did you have to order an investigation Honorable Mr. President? If you cannot permit abuses, you must at least tolerate them. What are we in power for?” Avelino continued by rejecting the pretense that politicians were saints or angels. Whatever the circumstances and disputes surrounding the episode, the phrase survived because it possessed the brutal efficiency of an accidental national motto. 

“What are we in power for?” has outlived Avelino because it identifies something deeper than ordinary greed. It expresses the belief that political victory purchases not merely the temporary authority to govern but a zone of tolerance around those who possess power: appointments to distribute, contracts to influence, funds to classify, relatives to protect, investigations to encourage or discourage, and institutions whose independence is loudly proclaimed so long as their independence produces convenient results. 

The modern politician is unlikely to speak as candidly as Avelino was reported to have spoken. Philippine political language has improved considerably since 1949. Abuse is now reform, patronage is assistance, discretion is flexibility, secrecy is national security, political protection is due process, and factional prosecution is accountability. The vocabulary is cleaner. The appetite is recognizably the same. 

This is what connects a Swiss foundation from another political age to a confidential fund spent under a vice president, and both of them to a flood-control project that exists beautifully in government paperwork and less convincingly on the ground. The instruments differ because government itself has changed. The logic remains remarkably persistent: public authority creates opportunities; political affiliation arranges the defenses; and once scrutiny begins, every interested faction explains why its own circumstances are exceptional. 

That is also why the Duterte supporter’s question deserves to be preserved rather than dismissed. “Principles don’t depend on who wins, right?” Quite so. The proposition should be accepted in full and then applied without mercy. 

If the Supreme Court’s acquittal of Imelda Marcos must be respected because proof beyond reasonable doubt and evidentiary rules do not change according to political preference, then Sara Duterte’s confidential expenditures must likewise be subjected to the governing rules without assuming guilt merely because her enemies demand it. But if confidential funds require accountability notwithstanding claims of national-security necessity, Marcos partisans cannot suddenly treat documentary scrutiny as persecution when their own family history is examined. If Romualdez is entitled to challenge witnesses, affidavits and allegations against him, then Zaldy Co is entitled to the same protections. If evidence ultimately condemns one, it does not cleanse the other. 

Principle, if it deserves the name, has no surname. 

The real division is therefore not between a clean faction and a corrupt faction, because Philippine politics has rarely offered the electorate so charitable a choice. It is between an institutional order capable of investigating everyone according to durable rules and a political order in which accountability functions as a weapon periodically captured by whichever coalition possesses sufficient power to wield it. 

Marcos and Duterte may today appear to be opposite wings. Romualdez and Co may become bitter antagonists. Their followers may spend the coming years cataloguing one another’s scandals and describing every unfavorable investigation as persecution. Yet from the distance at which history eventually views such quarrels, the resemblance may prove more significant than the differences. The wings beat against one another, but the bird remains airborne. 

Avelino’s old question thus returns, stripped of its period costume and made respectable by modern bureaucratic vocabulary. What are they in power for? The answer supplied publicly will involve service, security, development, democracy and the national interest. The answer implied whenever accountability becomes selective is considerably older. 

The tragedy of the Republic is not that it lacks laws against corruption. It possesses them abundantly. Nor does it lack investigators, auditors, courts, committees, commissions or righteous speeches. What it has lacked with depressing regularity is the ability to apply these instruments quickly, competently and without regard to political genealogy. 

Until that changes, the acquittal of a Marcos, the confidential funds of a Duterte, the flood-control allegations surrounding a Romualdez or a Co, and whatever scandal succeeds them will continue to be debated as though each were an unprecedented moral emergency. They are not. They are recurring symptoms of an old constitutional illness whose most candid diagnosis may still have been uttered, or at least attributed, in 1949. 

The country has spent three quarters of a century pretending to be shocked by the question. 

It has spent rather less time answering it. 

Sunday, 6 September 2026

Of Bailout and Baloney: When VP Sara Duterte Plays the Victim Card to Evade the Law

Of Bailout and Baloney: When VP Sara Duterte Plays the Victim Card to Evade the Law


If there is one thing the Duterte political dynasty excels at, it is turning basic legal accountability into a prime-time soap opera. Vice President Sara Duterte proved that once again when she swept into the Quezon City Hall of Justice, transforming a standard court appearance into a high-stakes, tear-jerking thriller. Facing three counts of grave threats involving President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., First Lady Liza Marcos, and House Speaker Martin Romualdez, the embattled Vice President did not merely arrive to post bail—she came to put on a show. 

Claims that she feared for her life, open expressions of distrust toward both the courts and the police, and dramatic pleas for news reporters to escort her to the fifth floor were all part of the act. She even left the press gallery with a chilling cliffhanger: "Who will be held accountable if I die tonight?"

It is an old trick straight out of her father’s playbook. When pressed to explain questionable actions—whether it is the politically charged millions in "confidential funds" under congressional scrutiny or her controversial stint as Education Secretary—the response remains identical: posture as the victim, attack the institution, and rally the loyal base. House Prosecutor Representative Terry Ridon delivered the exact reality check the Vice President so desperately needed: Cut the theatrics and face the music.

"Who will be held accountable?" Ridon asked, firing Duterte’s own melodramatic question back at her. "You, Madam Vice President, are the one who must be held accountable and answer the allegations facing you. Enough with the drama. There would be no grave threats case today if not for the statements that formed the basis of the charges filed against you. Face the legal process and present your defense in court."

The sharp exchange lays bare the central hypocrisy of the Duterte political brand. While ordinary citizens caught in the cogs of the justice system face strict, unyielding procedures, the political elite enjoy a tailored version of the law.

Duterte walked out after posting her ₱360,000 bail without ever taking a standard mugshot. As Ridon pointed out, even high-profile politicians like Senator Rodante Marcoleta underwent the standard booking procedure, mugshot included, upon surrendering to the authorities. Yet, for the Vice President, the Philippine National Police quietly waived the rules.

"Let us not hold back on the descriptions: When an ordinary accused individual undergoes the booking process, there is a mugshot. But when the Vice President is the accused, suddenly there is no mugshot," Ridon snapped. "If there is a legal basis for an exemption, let them explain it. If there is none, that is special treatment. The law should treat all accused equally: an ordinary person, a Senator, or the Vice President. No special treatment."

"I do not feel safe," Duterte protested to the press crowd. "They harassed the place where my mother and my child are staying. Where am I supposed to go? If I post bail, the harassment will not stop. If I do not post bail and go to the police, I have no trust in the police. In fact, I have no trust in the court."

It is time to pull the curtain down on the theatrics. The core issue is not a shadowy conspiracy to derail her; it is her own on-the-record statements and her refusal to transparently justify the use of public funds. A true leader respects the rule of law rather than weaponizing paranoia to evade it.

Duterte wants the public to believe she is a victim of a rigged system. In reality, she is simply an official being called to answer for her actions—and no amount of courtroom drama should grant her a free pass.