"Coffee laced ramblings"

"Coffee laced ramblings"

Coffeebreak Blues at Escolta

The sun pours gold on ancient lanes,
Escolta wakes from sepia stains.
Through narrow streets, the whispers call,
Of bygone trade, of empire’s thrall.

A coffee cup, a fleeting pause,
Among the relics time withdraws.
The clink of spoons, a gentle hum,
Of office chatter, moments numb.

Outside, the jeepneys, motorbikes rumble on,
Their colors bright, their engines drawn.
Against old walls where moss has crept,
The stories linger, memories kept.

A fleeting breeze, Manila’s sigh,
Carries the scent of caffeine nigh.
And yet, the grind, relentless pace,
Leaves dreams of rest an empty space.

The river bends, a mirror faint,
Reflecting hopes the years did taint.
Escolta breathes its weary blues,
A fleeting break, a life to choose.

So sip the warmth, let time suspend,
A moment brief that seems to mend.
For in the streets where past imbues,
We find ourselves—Escolta’s muse. 

Coffee and Culture Is a Need

In the morning’s hush, the brew begins,

A ritual warm where thought then brings.

The bitter sip, the earthy ground,

A world awakens in its sound.

Coffee speaks in steaming streams,

Of restless nights and waking dreams.

It fuels the soul, ignites the fire,

A liquid muse, a heart’s desire.

But paired with words, with art, with song,

It makes the weary spirit strong.

A canvas painted with each sip,

Culture blooms from every drip.

In cafés tucked by cobbled streets,

Where poets muse and thinkers meet,

The clatter of cups, the hum of thought,

Are treasures brewed, a gift well-wrought.

So let us pour, let ideas feed,

For coffee and culture are a need.

A taste of life, a soulful creed,

Where hearts and minds will intercede.

How I wish you're here in this coffee break

How I wish you're here in this coffee break,
With laughter shared, and smiles that wake.
The steam that rises from this cup,
A quiet comfort, as moments sup.

The warmth of brew, a soft embrace,
But still, it’s you that I’d rather face.
The world outside may rush on by,
But here, with you, time slows its sigh.

I sip alone, but in my mind,
You’re sitting close, your thoughts entwined.
How I wish you’d join me here today,
To fill this pause in every way.

For in the stillness, here we’d find,
A world that’s gentle, undefined.
How I wish you’re here, my heart does say,
To make this coffee break a perfect stay.

Caffeine-laced thoughts

Caffeine-laced thoughts, they race and soar,

A fluttering mind, wanting more and more.

The bitter sip, the warmth, the haze,

Turning my thoughts into a frantic maze.

With every drop, my pulse takes flight,
Ideas burst like stars at night.
They swirl, they spiral, they twist and bend,
A restless river that won’t descend.

I chase the rhythm, the jittered beat,
As every word seems sharp, complete.
But in the blur, the edges fade,
And clarity is both lost and made.

Caffeine-laced thoughts, they lift, they fall,
Whispering secrets, answering the call.
In the surge, in the frenzied climb,
I find my focus, just out of time.

The cup is empty, the rush subsides,
But still, those thoughts continue to ride—
A quiet hum, a lingering spark,
Caffeine’s whisper in the dark.

"Brewing Thoughts, Brewing Moments"

How I wish you're here, drinking coffee, and with cake,
Carrying your beauty and charm, through your smile that made me wake.
The steam that rises, comes a gentle embrace,
Yet it’s your lovely warmth that I’d rather face.

Over a cup of latte thoughts begin to soar,
A fluttering mind out of Cafe Americano, yearning for more.
Each bittersweet sip ignites a caffeine-driven spark,
Turning my endless musings into a lively arc.

In this quiet moment, time slows its sigh,
But outside, the world rushes by.
I sip alone, yet in my mind’s eye,
You’re sitting close, as ideas fly.

The bitter bite, the gentle heat,
Ideas burst, both wild and sweet.
In every drop, my pulse takes flight,
Thoughts twirl like stars in the night.

With every sip, my heart does race,
Yet it’s your smile I long to face.
The world outside moves fast and loud,
But here, in stillness, we’re unbowed.

I chase the rhythm, the jittered beat,
Yearning for you, my heart’s retreat.
Though caffeine stirs my mind to race,
It's you I long for, your warm embrace.

The cup runs dry, the rush subsides,
But still, those thoughts linger, like whispered tides.
How I wish you were here, my heart does say,
To turn this coffee break into a perfect stay.

In the blur, clarity fades,
A restless river, where thought cascades.
But in your presence, it all aligns,
A perfect pause where everything shines.

The world may rush, but here we find
A place of peace, where hearts unwind.
How I wish you'd join me here today,
To fill this moment, in every way.

Caffeine-laced whispers rise and fall,
But your presence would outshine them all.
How I wish you were here, my heart does say,
To make this coffee break a perfect stay.

Thoughts after the Singaporean example: A Society bound by Duty and Responsibility?

Thoughts after the Singaporean example: 

A Society bound by Duty and Responsibility?

By Lualhati Madlangawa Guererro

The contrast between Singapore and the Philippines is striking, especially when considering the two countries’ histories and economic trajectories. Singapore, a small island nation with limited natural resources, has ascended to the ranks of First World economies. In stark contrast, the Philippines, rich in natural resources, has struggled with widespread poverty, despite its abundance. The key question that arises is: how has Singapore, with a population half that of Metro Manila and no significant natural resources, become so prosperous, while a resource-rich nation like the Philippines still grapples with deep economic inequalities? 

Some attribute Singapore’s remarkable success to the leadership of Lee Kuan Yew, who, despite criticisms of his authoritarian rule, is often seen as the architect of the nation’s prosperity. However, a closer examination reveals that the Philippines, too, experienced authoritarian rule under Ferdinand Marcos for two decades, with 14 of those years spent under martial law. Marcos, much like Lee Kuan Yew, wielded considerable dictatorial powers, yet the Philippines saw its economy decline sharply during his rule. The difference, many argue, is not in the form of governance but in the nature of leadership and the personal integrity of the rulers. 

Lee Kuan Yew, with his Cambridge education and profound commitment to his country, had a unique ability to think strategically for the long-term. His vision, honesty, and dedication to the betterment of Singapore stand in stark contrast to the often self-serving leadership in the Philippines, where political leaders have largely prioritized their personal and family interests over national development. This is not to say that democracy itself is the root cause of the Philippines’ struggles. Lee Kuan Yew himself famously remarked, “I do not believe democracy necessarily leads to development. I believe what a country needs to develop is discipline more than democracy.” While discipline is critical, it is not a panacea, as demonstrated by the Philippine experience under martial law. The problem may lie not in the form of governance, but in the absence of visionary leadership dedicated to national service. 

Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, the founder of Falange Española, once stated, “The strength of a nation lies not in its resources but in the unity of its people, their strength of will, and their ability to work together for a common purpose.” This statement resonates deeply when comparing the development trajectories of Singapore and the Philippines. In Singapore, unity and discipline formed the backbone of the nation’s survival and success, with a leadership that continuously fostered national cohesion. In contrast, the Philippines remains fractured by entrenched oligarchies, social inequality, and political division, making it difficult to unite the nation toward common goals.

Ramiro Ledesma, another Spanish thinker, captured this spirit of national unity and collective purpose when he said, “A nation is not built on the exploitation of individuals, but through the sacrifice of its citizens for the common good.” This ideal is one that Singapore has internalized, making national development a collective effort. Ledesma’s view contrasts sharply with the fragmented, self-serving political landscape of the Philippines, where the elite prioritize personal gain over the welfare of the larger society. 

Going back at Lee Kuan Yew, reflecting on the Philippines’ past, pointed out that in the 1950s and 1960s, the country had the potential to become one of the most successful in Southeast Asia. He noted that, “This was a pity because they had so many able people, educated in the Philippines and the United States. Their workers were English-speaking, at least in Manila. There was no reason why the Philippines should not have been one of the more successful of the ASEAN countries… Something was missing, a gel to hold society together.” What was missing, he believed, was a unifying force, something that could bind the nation together despite its social divisions. The elites, be it mestizos or indios alike, who were largely disconnected from the masses, failed to create a sense of solidarity with the poor, thus exacerbating the social divide. 

This issue of social inequality is something that economists Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and James Robinson, the 2023 Nobel Prize winners in economics, have explored in detail. Their research focuses on the interplay between political institutions and economic development. They argue that economic prosperity is not merely the result of geographic advantages or natural resources but is heavily influenced by the nature of governance and the strength of societal institutions. In examining Singapore’s success, Terrence Ho, associate professor at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, credits British colonial rule for laying the foundations of a functional civil service, parliamentary democracy, and rule of law. When Singapore gained self-government and later full independence, its leaders prioritized inclusive development, focusing on social investments in education, healthcare, and housing. 

Ho highlights Singapore’s unique position as a country with no significant natural resources, which enabled it to avoid the pitfalls that often accompany resource-rich nations. Many resource-rich countries fall victim to the “resource curse,” where wealth from oil, minerals, or other resources tends to concentrate in the hands of a small elite, with little trickle-down benefit to the broader population. The profits from resource extraction often end up fueling corruption and economic inefficiencies, undermining social development. Singapore, on the other hand, made human capital its most valuable resource. The government invested heavily in education, ensuring a skilled and capable workforce that could drive sustained economic growth. As Ho explains, “Singapore invested heavily in people as its only resource, with education among the largest components of the national budget… This set the foundation for sustained income growth built on human capital development.” 

Singapore’s success also lies in its commitment to inclusive growth. Ho points out that the government has implemented numerous programs to strengthen social security and promote social inclusion, such as universal healthcare, long-term care insurance, and income support for the unemployed. Some critics may argue that these policies prioritize social equity over economic growth, but in reality, Ho asserts, “the reality is that future economic progress hinges on social cohesion and inclusivity.” In a global economy increasingly affected by automation and artificial intelligence, it is the investment in human capital that will determine a nation’s future prosperity. Without inclusivity, economic growth can quickly be undermined by populist movements and social unrest, as has been seen in many parts of the world. 

Some libertarians and centrists alike tend to view the Singaporean model as market-driven, stressing personal responsibility and individual initiative. However, the underlying philosophy of Singapore’s model is not merely rooted in market forces nor mere personal action, but in a deeper communitarian ethos found within many Asian societies. In these societies, the role of the individual is defined by duties and responsibilities within the larger context of societal wellbeing. In contrast to the Western emphasis on individualism, Asian communitarianism stresses the purpose of the individual in relation to the collective good. It insists on obedience to the laws and an individual’s duty to contribute productively, whether in the workplace or society at large. This idea resonates with the Marxist notion of “to each according to his work,” where individual contributions are valued as part of a broader social contract. The performance of one’s duties, and the ability to contribute meaningfully to the welfare of the community, becomes the norm. In Singapore, this sense of duty is cultivated through education and state policies that encourage citizens to see their roles as part of a national effort for collective prosperity. 

Why, then, has Singapore thrived? The answer lies in its authentic, non-pretentious approach to governance. Singapore does not merely pay lip service to the notion of hard times—it internalizes and embraces the struggle for survival as a national ethos. While the country has indeed seen improvements in living standards, thriving business and industry, and urban development, the core of Singapore’s success remains grounded in its survival instinct. For a nation that has historically depended on its port as its main economic engine, survival and sustainability have always been the primary motivations, not mere flourishing. Singapore’s government and leadership recognized that national survival would depend not on complacency, but on constant adaptation, hard work, and relentless pursuit of long-term goals. Every decision, from infrastructure development to social policies, is framed within the context of survival in an increasingly competitive global environment. 

In contrast, the Philippines has struggled with a leadership that often treats “change” as a mere charade. The country’s political setup has become a mishmash of Asiatic, Hispanic, and Anglo-Saxon influences, each perpetuating the status quo under the guise of reform. The oligarchy thrives because it has mastered the art of consolidating power while presenting itself as a democratic force. Historically, this pattern dates back to the Spanish colonial period, where local nobility, the Maharlikas and Maginoos, aligned with Spanish elites in exchange for privileges. These elites, descended from ancient Datus, Lakans, and Rajahs, became the backbone of the Spanish colonial system, exchanging tributes and taxes from the populace for power and privilege. Over time, they adapted to foreign rule, whether under the Spanish or Anglo-Saxon influence, and perpetuated feudal systems disguised as modern democratic institutions. 

This historical context has created a ruling class that perpetuates its hold on power, cloaking it in the language of democracy while maintaining a feudal mindset. This is why the oligarchy continues to thrive, even as the country struggles with inequality and underdevelopment. Filipino elites have mastered the ability to change costumes and adapt to foreign rulers—be they Spanish, American, or even today's democratic setting—while preserving their control over the nation’s wealth and resources. 

Renato Constantino, a Filipino historian, insightfully criticized the Philippines’ failure to achieve genuine independence, noting that the political and economic elites merely exchanged foreign masters. He argued, “The ruling class, then as now, preferred a veneer of democratic institutions while holding onto the feudal relationships that sustained their wealth and power.” Constantino’s words ring true today, as the Philippine elite continues to maintain a system that benefits the few while leaving the majority to struggle in poverty. 

Apolinario Mabini, a key figure in the Philippine Revolution and a proponent of national sovereignty and social justice, echoed the same sentiments about the importance of solidarity and national unity. In his La Revolución Filipina, Mabini wrote, “A people who fail to unite in the pursuit of their collective welfare cannot ever truly claim their freedom.” Mabini’s call for unity and a shared commitment to national progress remains relevant today, as the Philippines remains divided by oligarchic interests and social inequality.

The Singapore model offers crucial lessons in governance, vision, and national development. Unlike the Philippines, where political elites continue to consolidate power under the pretense of democratic change, Singapore has managed to prioritize national survival and development. Its leaders, committed to long-term goals, understood that prosperity cannot be achieved without collective effort, discipline, and responsibility. The Philippine experience, plagued by oligarchy, political apathy, subservience to foreign and local despotism, and feudal tendencies, has yet to internalize these lessons, resulting in an enduring cycle of inequality and stagnation. 

The Singaporean approach, grounded in the survival instinct and driven by a clear vision for national development, offers a pathway for nations like the Philippines to break free from the cycle of stagnation and inequality. By prioritizing human capital, social inclusion, and national unity, Singapore has proven that even resource-poor nations can thrive in an increasingly globalized world. The Philippines, too, must learn to internalize its own struggle for survival and move beyond the still-existing despotic and feudal systems of the past if it is to achieve sustainable progress and prosperity. 

As the late Portuguese dictator António de Oliveira Salazar once said, “A country does not grow out of nothing, it grows by learning from the mistakes of others.” The Philippines must, at the very least, learn from Singapore’s commitment to long-term, inclusive growth and its recognition that survival is not only a matter of thriving, but also of adapting and building resilience for the future. 

Expect the Same Faces: How Surveys, Vote Buying, and Pseudo-Programs of "Action" Undermine the People's Right to Choose

Expect the Same Faces: How Surveys,

Vote Buying, and Pseudo-Programs of "Action"

Undermine the People's Right to Choose

As election season looms once more, the familiar routine begins to unfold. The same old faces—incumbents and political dynasties—dominate every conceivable media platform. Their smiles beam from posters and billboards, their rehearsed statements echo on television screens, and their names remain entrenched in surveys, as though the public’s choice has already been predetermined. This raises a troubling question: Are these leaders genuinely chosen by the people, or are they the products of a political system that relies on surveys to manufacture consent?

Surveys, originally intended to gauge public opinion, have now become powerful tools that influence, if not dictate, electoral outcomes. The electorate is conditioned to equate popularity with leadership ability, as if appearing at the top of survey results inherently translates to competence or public service. This perception creates a bandwagon effect—voters are nudged into supporting candidates who already seem “winnable” rather than those with substantive platforms.

However, what often secures high survey rankings is not public trust earned through effective governance but through a relentless, resource-heavy campaign for visibility. In a system dominated by patronage and political machinery, it is no secret that surveys can reflect not genuine approval but a politician’s capacity to sustain media presence and distribute short-term favors. This setup allows the political elite to entrench their influence, ensuring that the elections become little more than a formality, with outcomes that feel increasingly inevitable.

The Role of Vote-Buying, “Pseudo-Charity”, and pretentious "Programs"

At the heart of this survey-driven system lies a troubling reliance on transactional politics. Instead of focusing on their fundamental role as lawmakers—crafting policies that address the needs of their constituents—many incumbents divert public funds to activities that secure their visibility and perceived goodwill. These range from “pseudo-charity” programs like distributing food packs and organizing medical missions, to outright vote-buying thinly veiled as financial aid. While such efforts may temporarily alleviate suffering, they do nothing to address the systemic poverty and inequality that plague communities.

Worse, this practice reinforces a cycle of dependency. Voters, especially those from marginalized sectors, are conditioned to see their political leaders as patrons rather than public servants. The legislator becomes synonymous with the benefactor, and elections become less about platforms and visions for the future and more about securing immediate, tangible rewards. The feudal undertones of this relationship are clear: power remains concentrated among a select few families and their loyal allies, while the broader populace remains disempowered.

Surveys as Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

Surveys play a significant role in perpetuating this status quo. They provide a veneer of legitimacy to political dynasties and incumbents by reinforcing their popularity, which in turn creates a feedback loop. Candidates who perform well in surveys attract more media coverage, more endorsements, and more resources, further amplifying their advantage. Those at the margins—emerging leaders, independent candidates, and reform-oriented politicians—struggle to break through, their platforms drowned out by the noise of manufactured popularity.

The reliance on surveys also narrows public discourse. Instead of engaging with meaningful debates about policy and governance, the political conversation becomes fixated on horse-race metrics: “Who’s leading?” “Who’s gaining ground?” “Who’s slipping in the polls?” This shallow coverage deprives voters of the opportunity to critically evaluate candidates beyond their ranking. The focus on winnability sidelines the question of whether these politicians are actually fit to serve.

A Feudal System in Democratic Disguise

The Philippine electoral process continues to operate under the illusion of a “liberal-democratic space,” where citizens supposedly have the power to choose their leaders freely. In reality, the system remains deeply feudal. Political families treat their positions as hereditary rights, consolidating their control through vast patronage networks and the strategic use of resources. Elections are reduced to rituals that reinforce the dominance of entrenched elites, while genuine democratic participation is stifled.

The role of surveys in this system cannot be understated. By presenting the same names over and over again as the inevitable winners, they legitimize the status quo. Voters, disillusioned by decades of unfulfilled promises, are left with little choice but to accept the names that dominate the headlines. The result is a political landscape where change feels unattainable and the same faces remain in power, election after election.

Breaking the Cycle

To challenge this entrenched system, a fundamental shift in political culture is needed. First, there must be a renewed focus on the actual responsibilities of legislators. Lawmaking—crafting policies that address poverty, inequality, corruption, and systemic injustice—should take precedence over performative charity and vote-buying schemes. Legislators must be held accountable not for how many survey points they gain but for the concrete impact of their work on their constituents’ lives.

Second, media and voters alike must resist the tendency to prioritize surveys over substance. The narrative of “winnability” must be replaced with meaningful discussions about platforms, track records, and visions for the future. Independent and emerging leaders must be given space to challenge the status quo, and voters must be empowered to make decisions based on informed judgment, not preordained outcomes.

Finally, there must be stronger safeguards to prevent the misuse of public funds for electoral gain. Campaign finance laws must be enforced, and mechanisms to curb patronage politics must be strengthened. A genuine democracy cannot thrive when public resources are weaponized to perpetuate the power of a few.

Conclusion

The upcoming elections are a test—not just of leadership but of the nation’s commitment to democracy. If the same faces continue to dominate ballots because surveys dictate their inevitability, then the democratic process becomes little more than theater. It is time to reject the illusion of choice and demand a political system that empowers the people. The Philippines must break free from the feudal structures that masquerade as democracy and reclaim elections as a tool for genuine representation and progress.

Until then, expect the same faces, the same names, and the same promises—manufactured by surveys and maintained by a system that serves the powerful at the expense of the people. 

The Illusion of Efficiency: On the Self-Centred Corruption of Government under the Guise of Progress and Beneficence

The Illusion of Efficiency:

 On the Self-Centred Corruption of Government 

Under the Guise of Progress and Beneficence

It is a matter of deep disquiet that the modern bureaucrat and so-called public servant, who proclaims to be a “dedicated steward of the people,” has mastered the art of expropriation. Their skill is not in governing for the common good but in extracting public wealth for private gain, all while parading their deeds as selfless service. To observe their actions is to witness an elaborate theater where the people’s interests are invoked as a hollow alibi to justify their plunder. Their rhetoric of dedication, sacrifice, and efficiency dissolves upon scrutiny, revealing an unsettling truth: they are bureaucrats first and civil servants second. 

If such men and women are allowed to expropriate for their own enrichment while pretending their actions are for the people, would it not be just for the very community they claim to serve to reclaim those resources for the common good? Indeed, what moral claim do these officials hold when their every justification rings shallow, every explanation a thin veneer concealing their true intentions? They brandish terms such as “progress,” “national security,” and “development,” yet beneath this surface lies an unrelenting pursuit of self-interest, cunningly disguised as duty. 

It cannot be denied that some of their projects bear some visible fruit—roads are built, schools erected, hospitals opened—but such outcomes, even when real, beg a deeper question: does their work leave a lasting impact commensurate with the resources spent? Are these tangible developments built out of sincere public service, or are they mere tokens, meant to pacify the people and mask the far larger sums that vanish into private coffers? 

Consider, for instance, the audacious request in recent months for “intelligence” and “confidential” funds within the education department. To the uninformed, the justification seems plausible: a tenuous link is drawn between education and national security. But one need not be a cynic to see through the thin reasoning that follows. What business does an education department have with intelligence operations? What “national security threats” lurk within classrooms and libraries to necessitate the allocation of such opaque funds? Upon deeper reflection, the absurdity of the proposition becomes apparent. The true purpose of these funds, though obscured, reveals itself to be far removed from education and closer to the political interests of those in power. 

Is it not reasonable to suspect that these confidential funds—so deliberately hidden from public scrutiny—are less about addressing the systemic issues of education and more about serving controversial and self-serving programs? Worse still, they may very well constitute a covert reserve for “election season,” designed not to advance education but to secure political futures through the ignoble act of vote-buying. 

The proliferation of “assistance programs” provides further evidence of this rot within the system. These programs, scattered across competing factions and clothed in myriad names, claim to be benevolent in nature. They boast of serving the poor, the needy, the forgotten. Yet upon closer inspection, this so-called beneficence unravels. It is not charity or public service that motivates these acts, but rather the cynical pursuit of political capital. Such programs are tools of manipulation, bought with public funds and delivered not out of compassion but as transactions—votes exchanged for the promise of temporary relief. 

One cannot help but ask: do these exorbitant expenditures create a meaningful and enduring impact? Or are they merely another mechanism through which funds are funneled into the private vaults of the bureaucrats, who dress their greed in the language of service? These actions, though cloaked in respectability, reflect the fundamental truth of our time: in the modern government, those who claim to be civil servants often serve themselves first and the people second, if at all. 

The tragedy is not only in the theft itself but in its consequences. When funds meant for education, development, and welfare are redirected toward the enrichment of officials, the most vulnerable are made to suffer. The child deprived of quality education, the family left without access to healthcare, the farmer neglected by agricultural reforms—these are the unseen victims of the so-called “efficient government.” The impact of such corruption extends far beyond the visible; it corrodes the very foundation of society and betrays the trust that is essential to governance. 

This betrayal is made all the more egregious when one considers the audacity with which it is performed. Officials speak of their integrity and selflessness even as they rob the people blind. They appeal to national interest even as they serve their own. They hold themselves up as paragons of efficiency while operating a system that, by design, enriches the few at the expense of the many. 

It is therefore not enough to expose this illusion; the people must reclaim what has been taken from them. If these resources were truly intended for the benefit of the community, then let the community be empowered to ensure their rightful use. Let the concerned folk, who bear the weight of these decisions, expropriate the expropriators—not in the spirit of chaos, but in the spirit of justice. For if government exists to serve the people, then the people must hold it accountable. If funds are to be allocated in the name of progress, then that progress must be real, measurable, and equitable. 

Let no public servant be allowed to wield power as if it were their birthright. Let no bureaucrat fill their pockets while speaking of sacrifice. A government cannot pretend to be both efficient and corrupt without forfeiting its legitimacy. The people must demand more than hollow speeches and token gestures. They must demand a government that serves the public good in truth and not merely in name. 

For it is not enough that a government acts swiftly or decisively; it must act justly. Efficiency divorced from justice becomes nothing more than tyranny in motion—swifter, yes, but also crueler, more relentless, and more dangerous. The people must see through the façade, reject the illusions of progress, and insist that public resources be used not for the vanity of the powerful, but for the prosperity of the nation. Only then will the true meaning of civil service be restored, and only then can the corruption of governance be replaced by the justice of stewardship. 

Between Their Narrative of "Progress" and Realities riddled by "Controversy": Revisiting the "Duterte Legacy"

Between Their Narrative of "Progress" 

and Realities riddled by "Controversy": 

Revisiting the "Duterte Legacy" 

Rodrigo Roa Duterte, the former President of the Philippines, remains one of the most polarizing figures in recent political history. Celebrated for transformative infrastructure projects and sweeping reforms, yet criticized for alleged human rights abuses, his legacy is deeply contested—praised by many, but also scrutinized for its darker dimensions. 

Duterte’s tenure brought tangible improvements that cannot be ignored. Initiatives such as extending the validity of passports, driver’s licenses, and seamen’s books to ten years eased bureaucratic burdens for ordinary Filipinos. The “Build, Build, Build” program ushered in a new era of infrastructure development: rehabilitated MRT lines, airports, bridges, and coastal roads that improved mobility and commerce. Manila Bay, Boracay Island, and the Pasig River were given long-overdue rehabilitation, signifying efforts to balance development with environmental care. 

Social reforms were also visible. Salary increases for public school teachers, nurses, and military personnel offered a sense of dignity to essential workers. The establishment of Malasakit Centers provided accessible healthcare across the nation. During the Marawi Siege and the global pandemic, Duterte’s administration responded with social amelioration programs and contingency measures aimed at alleviating the plight of ordinary Filipinos. 

Yet, beyond these achievements lies a shadow that cannot be ignored. The so-called “War on Drugs”—Duterte’s flagship campaign—has been marred by allegations of extrajudicial killings. Thousands of lives were lost in operations that often blurred the line between law enforcement and state-sanctioned violence. While supporters argue that this iron-fisted approach restored “order” and “stability,” critics contend that it undermined the rule of law, normalized impunity, and betrayed public trust. 

Moreover, the Duterte administration’s track record raises questions about political patronage. Highlighting achievements such as infrastructure development and social programs is undoubtedly valid; these initiatives reflect a functioning government that prioritized national progress. However, framing these successes as uniquely attributable to one leader risks perpetuating a culture of dependency and hero-worship. Infrastructure and welfare programs are matters of state policy, not personal gifts. Praising them as favors, rather than expected duties, reduces governance to political theatrics. 

To see the “legacy” as presented by Duterte’s supporters, a concerned critic might argue that it is not his personal work, but rather the result of national policies that involve an effort between the state and the people. After all, the Filipino people contribute taxes, making the state accountable for the services and benefits citizens receive. Such progress should be seen as the work of a functioning government—not the creation of a single leader. Yet, supporters often frame these developments as the exclusive achievement of Duterte himself, leading to a dangerous idolization that borders on a cult of personality. 

This is further complicated by the irony that Duterte, who once promised to put an end to the politics of patronage, ended up tolerating the very same tactics in his administration. The public celebration of infrastructure and welfare programs in his name risks undermining the principle of collective governance, as it centers power in the individual rather than in the institutions that serve the people. Duterte’s leadership, as shown in these instances, creates an irony that cannot be overlooked. 

Nevertheless, this does not diminish a blatant truth: Duterte, despite his populist rhetoric, swore an oath to uphold the status quo—the political and institutional structures that govern the Philippines. And in doing so, he not only perpetuated the politics of patronage but also reinforced the very framework that allows such politics to thrive. 

A critical aspect of Duterte’s legacy also lies in his foreign policy decisions, particularly his stance towards China. How can one praise a leader who kowtows to a country that claims a part of this nation as theirs? This gesture, often hailed by his supporters as an example of an independent foreign policy, is in reality a troubling example of seeking allies to justify apathy towards a concerned world in exchange for mere “aid.” Worse, the country Duterte so eagerly sought alignment with launders dirty money in its financial systems, a fact that casts serious doubts on the integrity of these international dealings. The Philippines, under Duterte’s leadership, seemed to be compromising sovereignty and principles in exchange for temporary economic favors, undermining its standing in the global arena. 

Regardless of the rhetoric, Duterte was no different from any other ruler. In the end, he upheld the status quo, throwing crumbs to the people while maintaining the political structures that allowed inequality and corruption to persist. The promise of change? It turned out to be nothing more than superficial, aesthetic, performance art—a show designed to distract, rather than to reform. 

In retrospect, Duterte’s presidency reflects a paradox: remarkable strides in infrastructure and public services, yet a troubling legacy of extrajudicial acts, foreign policy missteps, and deep societal divisions. While history will ultimately judge Rodrigo Duterte’s place in the Filipino consciousness, one fact remains: governance must always be held accountable. No amount of progress can excuse abuses of power, and no leader—no matter how celebrated—should be above the rule of law. 

The nation’s future depends not just on remembering achievements, but on learning from the flaws that came with them. Progress and justice are not mutually exclusive; the Filipino people deserve both. 

On the other hand, it may not be surprising that as support for Duterte continues, people can expect a degree of denialism regarding his controversial acts—whether by blaming political rivals or downplaying the situation to uphold their own narrative. Just as Holocaust denialists spread falsehoods to fit their agendas, Duterte’s staunchest supporters may likewise attempt to rewrite history, ignoring or minimizing the human rights violations and abuses committed under his watch. The denial of such truths only serves to protect the mythos of a leader rather than confronting the realities of his policies. 

Regardless of the statements, Duterte was no different from any other ruler. He upheld the status quo while throwing crumbs to the people, masking the harsh truth behind superficial promises of change. It was all but an aesthetic, a performance art designed to project a false narrative of progress. 

A Nation depending on Crumbs: The False Promise of Politcally-motivated "Assistance Programs"

A Nation depending on Crumbs:
The False Promise of Politcally-motivated "Assistance Programs"

In a nation perpetually grappling with poverty and systemic inequality, the proliferation of so-called “assistance programs” such as AKAP (Ayuda Para sa Kapos ang Kita Program), DAFAC (Disaster Assistance Family Access Card), and the 4Ps (Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program) serves as both a symptom and a distraction. While government officials extol these initiatives as lifelines for the poor, they mask deeper issues plaguing Philippine society: the chronic neglect of structural reform, the weaponization of public funds for political gain, and the cynical reduction of social justice to mere handouts. These programs are, in truth, palliatives—meant to quiet the growing discontent of the masses while keeping them firmly dependent on the benevolence of the state. 

The Politics of Patronage and Palliative Governance 

The heart of the matter lies in the interplay of power, money, and moral posturing. Programs like 4Ps are paraded as success stories of poverty alleviation, promising short-term relief to millions of families. Conditional cash transfers (CCTs) have been defended as necessary interventions to improve education and health outcomes among the poor, and to their credit, they do deliver immediate relief. But here lies the question: Are these crumbs truly the answer to systemic poverty, or are they simply tools to placate the masses while deflecting demands for transformative change? 

Let us not forget that these programs are heavily politicized. Beneath the thin veneer of altruism lies the ugly machinery of patronage politics. Bureaucrats and politicians frequently wield these funds to strengthen their hold on constituents. Whether by distributing aid only to loyal supporters or using the programs as performative gestures in election seasons, the motive is clear: assistance is not about empowerment; it is about control. This reliance on the distribution of public funds as a means of political currency renders the people perpetual dependents rather than active participants in their own liberation. 

Moreover, the management of these programs is rife with inefficiency, corruption, and misallocation. Scandals involving so-called “pork barrel” funds or ghost beneficiaries have repeatedly surfaced, eroding public trust in government initiatives. Funds that should uplift the poorest communities often disappear into the pockets of unscrupulous intermediaries—local officials, contractors, or so-called “civil society organizations” acting as fronts for personal gain. These failures tarnish any semblance of sincerity behind the programs, reducing them to exercises in optics. 

The Moralizing State and the Betrayal of Social Justice 

Governments that espouse these assistance programs often frame them as moral obligations. They portray themselves as compassionate entities extending aid to those in need. Yet, their brand of morality is hypocritical. On one hand, they moralize poverty as a condition requiring charity, not justice. On the other hand, they turn a blind eye to the very policies and systems that perpetuate inequality. 

This moral posturing allows the state to reduce people’s legitimate calls for systemic change into demands for temporary relief. It creates a narrative where the poor are expected to be grateful for any assistance they receive, however insufficient it may be. Demands for just wages, agricultural reform, affordable healthcare, or improved public services are dismissed as impractical or radical. In their place, the government offers “poverty alleviation” programs that merely manage poverty rather than eradicating it. 

For instance, consider the agricultural sector, where Filipino farmers remain some of the most impoverished in the country. Instead of addressing landlessness, the lack of agricultural subsidies, or exploitative trade policies, the state doles out token assistance in the form of relief packages and short-term loans. Similarly, healthcare remains largely inaccessible, with poor families relying on free medical missions or medicine drives instead of benefiting from a comprehensive, publicly funded healthcare system. These “solutions” are presented as victories, but they are little more than band-aids over gaping wounds- what more as breadcrumbs passed off as loaves, designed to silence discontent, not address its roots. 

Neoliberalism and the Hollowing Out of Reform 

The roots of these failures can be traced back to the neoliberal policies that have dominated Philippine governance since the post-EDSA period. Following the ouster of Ferdinand Marcos, “democracy” was restored with great fanfare, but it came tied to the global economic orthodoxy of privatization, deregulation, and market liberalization. These policies gutted the state’s ability to deliver meaningful social services while placing the burden of survival squarely on the shoulders of individuals and families. 

Take the years following the People Power uprisings—EDSA I and II—when “Filipino democracy” was resurrected and paraded before the world. Christian democrats, Social democrats, and liberal factions emerged as harbingers of reform. Their slogans promised equity, justice, and progress, yet they kowtowed to neoliberal orthodoxy, privatizing industries and diluting social safety nets. 

Under neoliberalism, poverty is treated not as a product of systemic injustice but as a personal condition requiring charity and discipline. Programs like 4Ps, therefore, emerge as a compromise: a minimalist response to poverty that alleviates its worst symptoms while leaving its root causes untouched. In essence, neoliberalism has hollowed out the state’s commitment to social justice, reducing it to a caretaker for the market rather than a guarantor of human dignity. The proliferation of assistance programs is a direct consequence of this ideological failure—a superficial fix to a problem that demands radical structural change. 

Crumbs Are Not Enough: The Case for Genuine Social Justice 

What, then, is the alternative? The answer lies in a fundamental reimagining of the role of the state and the meaning of social justice. True social justice is not about handing out crumbs to the hungry; it is about building a society where hunger does not exist. It is not about providing token aid to farmers; it is about creating a system where they own their land, receive fair compensation, and benefit from agricultural modernization. It is not about short-term employment programs; it is about ensuring that all workers receive living wages and benefits that allow them to live with dignity. 

To achieve this vision, the state must move beyond palliative governance and embrace policies that empower. This means investing in universal healthcare, education, and public housing. It means supporting local industries, protecting farmers and workers, and challenging the entrenched power structures that exploit them. It means rejecting the neoliberal logic that prioritizes profit over people and embracing a model of governance that places human dignity at its core. 

The Way Forward 

The time has come for the Filipino people to demand more than crumbs. Assistance programs may provide temporary relief, but they will never be a substitute for systemic change. The false promise of these initiatives must be exposed for what it is: a distraction from the real work of building a just and equitable society. A society where poverty is not alleviated but eliminated. Where aid is not necessary because rights are upheld. Where people do not beg for dignity because it is already theirs. 

Until the government stops treating poverty as an opportunity for political patronage and starts addressing its root causes, the cycle will continue. And as long as the people are content with crumbs, they will remain locked in a system that feeds them just enough to keep them hungry. A nation cannot thrive on handouts alone. It is time to demand bread—not crumbs—and the justice that comes with it. 

The Call Beneath the Iron Gate

The Call Beneath the Iron Gate 

Beneath the weight of gilded towers, 

Where gold blinds the eyes of current "lords", 

The sick and poor lie still, unheard, 

While parasites feast on their final breath. 

 “These parasites simply had it coming,” 

I wrote, my hand steady, unshaking. 

The world, I knew, would turn its face, 

Blind as ever to its decaying soul. 

What worth is life to the men of coin? 

Measured in ledgers, sold for grain. 

The healer’s halls, once sacred ground, 

Glimmer false with paper gold. 

“The U.S. has the #1 most expensive healthcare system in the world, 

Yet we rank roughly #42 in life expectancy.” 

A bitter truth, engraved on silence, 

A failing empire of glass and greed. 

Behind the walls where shadows scheme, 

Their power grows like rot on the vine. 

The feast of greed consumes the land, 

While a thousand cries slip into silence. 

 The sword of justice, long laid to rest, 

A rusted blade in a crumbling sheath. 

I rose alone, against the tide, 

To strike where gilded power sleeps. 

 No banners waved, no comrades cheered, 

Just cold resolve, a hollow calm. 

My patience carved this path unseen— 

“Elementary social engineering, basic CAD, 

A lot of patience—it had to be done.” 

 A humble hour, the final meal, 

Cold iron forged from patient hours. 

A 3D hammer, a silenced strike, 

Borne not of madness, but of truth. 

 From shadows deep I carved a path, 

Silent footsteps on tainted earth.

 Again neither banners wave, nor comrades cheer—

 Just righteous anger, cold and clear. 

 The gate is closed, they drag me forth, 

Chains around a man of dust and fire. 

Call me madman, fool, or scourge— 

What I have done, the sickness earned. 

 Upon this hour, I cried aloud:

 “This insult to life is known, endured, 

Yet left untouched by all who see. 

The world decays, and none will fight!” 

 Call me madman, call me scourge— 

The world, asleep, sees naught but sin. 

Yet I, awake, had dared to cry:

 “It’s completely out of touch! 

An insult To the intelligence of the American people!” 

 Beneath the moon, beneath the law, 

I spoke of truths none dared to voice. 

And though they cage this mortal flesh, 

My act remains—a fading spark.

 “Decades ago, many illuminated corruption and greed—

 The problems remain; 

it is not an issue of awareness, 

But power games at play.”

 Let justice rise beyond my fall, 

For shadows cannot shroud the sun. 

The leaves will drop, the tide will turn, 

And silence, too, shall echo loud. 

 The spiral notebook, scribbled hands, 

Forgotten words that stain the earth— 

“Frankly, these parasites simply had it coming.” 

Beneath the gold, the rot endures. 

 Oh winds of time, bear forth my plea, 

For what is flesh but fleeting dust? 

I vanish like the morning mist, 

But truth endures—unchained, untouched. 

 My words, they call an insult’s edge, 

My act, they name a coward’s hand. 

But who will stand, in coming dawns, 

To sweep this sickness from the earth? 

 Oh moon, reflect my sorrowed cry, 

Let spiral winds my voice convey— 

“This world decays, and none will rise, 

Thus I alone have struck the sky.” 

 And when the morning mist rolls in, 

They’ll cage my flesh, condemn my name. 

But truth endures beyond the grave— 

A faintest echo, whispered still. 

 And in the halls where power slumbers, 

May cracks yet form within the stone. 

The parasites taste silence now, 

While I have pierced the heart of night.

Poems for Luigi

Poems for Luigi

The Ballad of Luigi Mangione 

By the pen of fate and the shadows of deeds 

Beneath the sunlit halls of Ivy, 

Where laurels crowned his name, 

A scion walked with promise bright, 

Yet burned with quiet flame. 

To surf and seek a healing tide, 

He fled to shores of gold,

But pain etched deep into his spine, 

A bitterness took hold. 

 “The land of plenty, a hollow dream, 

Its people robbed and bare, 

The costliest care that coin can buy, 

Yet death still lingers there.” 

He scrawled his rage with trembling hand, 

In ink, his heart laid bare: 

“The mafiosa steal our breath, 

And sell despair as care.” 

No longer could he bide his pain, 

Nor let his wrath subside, 

The gun he took, a final word, 

To strike at greed and pride.

 “Brutal honesty,” he wrote, 

“The first to make them see,

 The shadows loom too large to fight, 

Save through acts like these.” 

But blood was spilled, a fatal shot,

 A man lay cold and still, 

And with that act, the scion fell, 

A slave to his own will.

The echoes of his dark lament, 

A warning, sharp and clear: 

The fire of justice, unchecked, 

Can burn all that we hold dear. 

And now they speak his name with scorn, 

A coward, not a knight, 

Yet whispers linger in the dark, 

Of wrongs he sought to right.

Oh, Luigi, what path you tread, 

What soul you left undone, 

A tale of fury, loss, and pain,

 Beneath a fading sun.

Ripples in stagnant waters

 A fleeting breath, the tides withdraw, 

My rage returns to stillness. 

The world, corrupt, yet endless. 

I vanish, 

But its sickness lingers on. 

 The coins that weigh the healer’s hand, 

Cannot measure a life. 

The strong grow fat, the frail are crushed—

 A bitter price for progress. 

 Oh fleeting stars, I sought your truth, 

But found a ceaseless void. 

The waves once sang of solace— 

Now silent beneath my grief.

 

This act, a stone in stagnant waters,

 Its ripples soon to fade. 

Judge me kindly, or judge me harshly, 

Both will pass like autumn leaves. 

 No justice blooms from hatred’s seed, 

No peace from wrathful hands. 

Yet still, I burned to make you see— 

What fire consumes, it brands. 

 The wind will scatter what I leave, 

This note, this fleeting life. 

But when the final toll is paid, 

Will healing rise from strife?

The Lament of the Fractured Age

Angry winds howl through steel and stone, 

The towers of man rise cold and hollow.

 Shrouded in shadow, a lone voice lingers— 

My blood boils against this unyielding fate. 

 The gilded titans feast on the spoils, 

Their hands unwashed by the tears of the weak. 

They whisper of “progress” to the deafened crowds, 

While the sick lie silent, forgotten in dust. 

 O bitter truth of a crumbling land, 

Where healing is weighed by the weight of coin. 

The parasitic giants claim they save—

 Yet the fields of life lie barren and scorched. 

 Beneath the heavens, where greed reigns supreme, 

I stood in the abyss, my purpose unclear. 

What strength remains in this fractured age, 

Where justice is but an echo unheard?

 The price of my step, one loaded trigger, 

A sound that cleaves the tranquil air.

 The titan falls, and the hour stills, 

Yet silence offers no vindication. 

 Will they mourn a man or curse his name? 

A martyr, a villain—what does it matter? 

In their glass towers, they watch and mock,

 And the masses sway as reeds in the wind. 

 This era, a storm where nothing is sacred, 

The people’s despair now tangled with rage. 

The wealth of nations, a hollow shell, 

Where life itself becomes a game of debts. 

 I cast this stone, knowing its weight, 

But ripples alone cannot shatter the sea. 

Who will arise to cleanse these waters,

 To lift the veil of gilded lies?

 Fame and fury are but fleeting flames, 

Consumed by time’s indifferent hand. 

What remains is the specter of truth,

 Its voice a wail in the tempest’s heart.

 Now the hour fades, my body is still, 

Yet anger endures in the blood of the earth.

 In the quiet, I ask of this broken land— 

Who shall mend what greed has torn asunder? 

 The tide rolls back, my soul departs, 

A shadow among the endless gray. 

But to those who hear, these words remain: 

The sickness lingers; the reckoning awaits.

The Politics of Plunder: Secret Funds, Vote-Buying, and the Mockery of Democracy

The Politics of Plunder: Secret Funds, 
Vote-Buying, and the Mockery of Democracy

In a nation mired in poverty and inequality, it is not surprising that factions within the ruling class—the Marcoses and Dutertes—are now squabbling over money. These disputes are not born of genuine disagreements over governance but of a shared hunger to consolidate power. Whether it is the Duterte faction justifying billions in secret funds for “national security” or Speaker Ferdinand Martin Romualdez parroting empty rhetoric about “assistance for the poor” through programs like the Ayuda sa Kapos ang Kita Program (AKAP), the intention is clear: to weaponize public funds as instruments for political survival and vote-buying.

The justification for such misuse always follows a familiar script. “It is for the poor,” they say. “It is for the nation’s security,” they insist. Bureaucrats spin these narratives with expert precision, hiding behind layers of secrecy or benevolence. Yet no amount of rhetoric or political spectacle can conceal the ugly truth: these funds are being siphoned away from where they are needed most and redirected toward questionable programs that serve no purpose but to entrench the status quo. The Marcos and Duterte camps may hurl accusations at each other, but in the end, both factions are guilty of the same crime—using public money not as a means to uplift the people but as fuel to maintain their dynastic grip over the country.

This is the kind of governance that mocks democracy and the rule of law. Assistance programs, at their core, are supposed to embody the principle of “helping people help themselves”. They are meant to empower the poor by providing opportunities for sustainable livelihoods, access to quality education, and proper healthcare. But what happens when these programs are reduced to political tools? When funds meant for hospitals and schools are doled out in exchange for votes or appropriated for secret purposes that evade public scrutiny? What happens is this: the people are robbed not only of their resources but of their dignity. They are kept in poverty, dependent on politicians who masquerade as saviors while perpetuating their suffering.

The recent controversies surrounding the misuse of funds highlight the dysfunction at the heart of the country’s political system. When Duterte loyalists defend secret funds, they justify the institutionalization of impunity, a relic of an administration marred by extrajudicial killings and human rights abuses. Meanwhile, Romualdez’s AKAP and similar programs reek of patronage politics—funds are funneled through politicians instead of institutions, forcing the poor to line up for alms and reinforcing a system of utang na loob that keeps them subservient.

This is the tragedy of it all: these funds could have built hospitals, schools, and industries. They could have provided free healthcare, supported farmers, and empowered workers. Instead, they are weaponized to buy loyalty and silence dissent. The Marcoses and Dutertes may frame their actions as “for the people,” but the people know better. Behind their words lies the same intent: to consolidate power, preserve the status quo, and secure their rule for generations.

The role of apologists in this sordid tale cannot be ignored. On social media, a cabal of loyalists defends these programs with the ferocity of hired mercenaries. They vilify critics, dismiss opposition as noise, and distract the public from the true nature of these “money matters.” Yet their efforts cannot erase the growing awareness among Filipinos that the system is rigged against them. Public scrutiny is not a threat to governance—it is its lifeblood. And those who fear scrutiny have much to hide.

At its heart, this is a moral crisis. A government that trades in secrecy and patronage, that siphons funds meant for the people to secure political power, is a government that has betrayed its mandate. This betrayal does more than rob the nation of its wealth; it denies people the opportunity to uplift themselves and gain self-worth. Assistance, when done right, gives people the tools to stand on their own feet. But when it becomes a tool for vote-buying, it chains people to a cycle of dependency and despair.

The question now is: how long will the people tolerate this charade? How long will Filipinos line up for crumbs while the ruling elite feast on their stolen wealth? It is time to reject these mockeries of assistance and demand a government that truly serves the public good. It is time to dismantle the patronage system that keeps the poor beholden to political dynasties.

Democracy is not charity. It is not about politicians handing out alms or defending secrecy with empty justifications. It is about justice, building a society where resources are used to empower the people, not to buy their silence or their votes. Filipinos must reclaim their voice and their future. No more secret funds. No more patronage politics. No more dynastic rule masquerading as governance.

The people’s money belongs to the people. It must be used to serve them—not to keep them in chains. 

Weaponizing Aid: How Political Patronage in the form of "assistance" Robs Filipinos of Dignity and Progress

Weaponizing Aid: How Political Patronage in the form of "assistance"
 Robs Filipinos of Dignity and Progress

“The capitalists will sell us the rope with which we will hang them,” Lenin once declared. However, in the Philippines, the ruling class does not sell the rope—they buy it with the people’s own money and use it to bind the poor in humiliating dependence. Under the guise of programs like the "Ayuda sa Kapos ang Kita Program" (AKAP), introduced by the House of Representatives under Speaker Ferdinand Martin Romualdez, the political elite exploit the suffering of the masses to secure their own power. With midterm elections fast approaching, this “assistance” reveals itself for what it truly is: a calculated scheme to trade crumbs for votes.

claiming to provide assistance to the “poor” and “near-poor,” these assistance "programs" have short-term benefit to its beneficiaries, yet it is difficult to ignore the program’s timing such as in a time these solons acting desperate for votes. Couched as a lifeline for marginalized Filipinos, such initiatives appear designed to secure votes under the pretext of public service.

The people watch as their taxes—funds meant to build hospitals, improve education, and uplift communities—are diverted into the hands of politicians. In return, these funds are handed back to the people not as a right, but as charity. Recently, the partnership between PhilHealth, the Development Bank of the Philippines, and the Tingog Party-list—led by the House Speaker’s wife, Rep. Yedda Romualdez—further exposed this dynamic. Health initiatives that belong under the Department of Health (DOH) or institutions like the still-problematic Philippine Health Insurance Corporation (PhilHealth) are instead wielded as political leverage, ensuring the ruling class parades as benefactors while institutions rot from neglect.

And so, the people queue in submission: at the offices of congressmen, at the gates of governors, at the doors of mayors. A sick mother begs for hospital funds. A grieving father clutches burial receipts. A young worker pleads for financial relief. All are made to kneel, reduced to beggars asking for what was always theirs.

This is not aid—it is theft disguised as generosity. The rope is paid for by the people, yet the ruling class holds it taut. They bind the masses with "debts of gratitude" that "moralises" patronage politics as well as silence dissent and chain the poor to their oppressors. These dynasties ensure that poverty persists, for their power thrives on its existence. They pretend to alleviate suffering but never confront its roots: corruption, inequality, and the hoarding of wealth.

And yet, the people know the truth. Public funds are not the personal wealth of politicians. Health funds belong to hospitals and patients. Aid for the poor belongs to institutions like the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD). Sports programs belong under proper agencies—not as tokens distributed for political favor. The billions lost to patronage politics could build schools, fund clinics, and create industries, but instead they are funneled into vote-buying campaigns.

As the elections approach, the people must decide: will they continue to bow before the hands that stole from them? Or will they reclaim the rope, the wealth, and their dignity? Lenin’s words echo again: “The oppressed are allowed once every few years to decide which particular representatives of the oppressing class shall represent and repress them in parliament.” But no longer must they choose between thieves. The time has come to rise, unshackle the chains of patronage, and take back what is rightfully theirs.

The people must seize the rope from the crooks—not to be bound by it, but to hang the thieves who have plundered their futures. The wealth of the nation belongs to those who labor to build it: the farmers, the workers, the teachers, and the poor. It is they who must reclaim it.

The time for submission is over. No longer must the people endure the crumbs handed to them by a political elite that fattens itself on their suffering. Let the hospitals heal, the schools educate, and the institutions empower—all without the interference of dynasts playing gods. Let the rope of patronage become the noose of justice.

Take back the wealth. Take back the dignity. 

Seize the rope and rise. For only then can the people truly break their chains. 

"The Struggle for Human Rights: A Call to Hold Accountability and Defend Justice"

"The Struggle for Human Rights:
A Call to Hold Accountability and Defend Justice"

In recent months, protests across the country have painted a clear picture of a nation deeply divided over its future and the state of its human rights. Demonstrators, voicing their anger over widespread social and political injustices, have been met with increasing violence and repression. The protests, driven by a call for justice, equality, and lasting peace, are now overshadowed by the very forces that should protect the rights of the people. Arrests, harassment, and even extrajudicial killings have become the price of dissent in a country that, ironically, prides itself on its commitment to human rights. And yet, despite these attempts to silence the cry for justice, the struggle persists, reverberating across communities, echoing the enduring demand for respect and dignity for all.

Human rights, in their most fundamental sense, are universal. They are not defined by nationality, ethnicity, or political belief—they are inherent to every individual by virtue of being human. The universal nature of these rights creates a collective responsibility to ensure they are protected. Human rights are not simply an abstract set of ideals, but a fundamental framework that upholds the dignity of every person, regardless of their station in life. It is a duty, not just of the government but of all citizens, to safeguard these rights, to stand against any attempt to trample upon them. When this responsibility is neglected, or worse, when it is actively undermined, it is the duty of the people to resist, to demand justice, and to hold those in power accountable for their actions.

However, this struggle is met with fierce opposition from those who seek to distort the very concept of human rights. For some, the idea of human rights is merely a rhetorical tool, to be wielded selectively when it suits their political agenda. For others, it is an inconvenience, an obstacle to be dismissed in favor of their distorted interpretation of “rule of law.” These individuals often justify human rights violations by claiming they are “necessary to restore order,” an argument that serves to conceal the darker truth: that these actions are not about maintaining peace but about preserving power. The narrative of "restoring order" has been used time and time again to rationalize violent repression, as if sacrificing the rights of a few is a small price to pay for the “greater good.” But this argument falls apart when one realizes that the so-called “order” they are seeking is one built on fear, oppression, and the suppression of dissent. True order and peace can never come at the cost of human dignity.

Human rights are not limited to civil and political rights. They also encompass economic, social, and cultural rights—areas that are often overlooked or downplayed in mainstream discussions about human rights. The right to education, the right to health, the right to an adequate standard of living, the right to social security, and the right to participate fully in cultural life are all integral parts of the human rights framework. These rights are vital for the well-being and freedom of all people, yet they remain under constant threat. The erosion of these rights, particularly in marginalized communities, demonstrates how deeply ingrained inequality and injustice can lead to the continued violation of human dignity.

The news of human rights violations, whether in the form of arbitrary arrests, torture, or political killings, serves as a stark reminder that the promises of human rights are not being fulfilled. A country that claims to value justice and democracy must first address the glaring violations taking place within its borders. The hypocrisy of a government that champions human rights while overseeing widespread abuses cannot be ignored. The issue at hand is not just about the violent suppression of protests or dissent; it is about a systematic campaign to silence the voices of the people.

Perhaps the most damning example of this hypocrisy is the government's failure to address the widespread extrajudicial killings that have marred its recent history. These killings were not simply collateral damage in a war on drugs—they were, and continue to be, a direct assault on those who dare to challenge the existing power structures. These killings are directed not only at alleged criminals but at the very people’s movement, at those who are fighting for national and social liberation. It is a campaign aimed at silencing those who demand justice, equity, and accountability.

There is substantial and compelling evidence that these extrajudicial killings, forced disappearances, civilian massacres, and indiscriminate bombings are not isolated incidents. These are the result of deliberate state-sanctioned actions that violate international humanitarian law. Reports from human rights organizations, both local and international, have documented these abuses in excruciating detail. And yet, despite the overwhelming evidence, those in power have turned a blind eye, dismissing these violations as collateral damage in their fight against terrorism or internal insurgency.

But the question must be asked: Can any government that claims to value human rights ignore such widespread abuses? Can the international community stand idly by while these violations continue unabated? The answer, of course, is no. The time has come for those in power to be held accountable for their actions. The time has come for the people to demand justice—not just for the victims of the drug war but for all those whose rights have been violated in the name of security or political expediency.

It is time for the government to stop downplaying these atrocities, to stop justifying the violence against its own citizens under the guise of “national security.” The country must ask itself: Can true peace be achieved through violence? Can justice be served by ignoring the suffering of those who have been brutalized in the name of order? The answer is clear: peace cannot be achieved through oppression, and justice cannot be served by denying the basic rights of the people.

The struggle for human rights is not just about defending the rights of a few—it is about upholding the dignity of every person, regardless of their social or political status. It is about ensuring that no one is above the law, and that every individual is entitled to the protections guaranteed by the law. It is about creating a society where the rights of the most vulnerable are not trampled upon in the name of security, and where those who wield power are held accountable for their actions.

As the fight for human rights continues, the voices of the oppressed will not be silenced. The struggle for justice is not over—it is ongoing. The question remains: will those in power choose to listen, to acknowledge the pain and suffering of the people, and to take meaningful action to uphold the rights of all? Or will they continue to turn a blind eye, allowing the cycle of abuse and repression to continue unchecked? Only time will tell. But one thing is certain: the people will not give up their fight for justice, and they will not allow their voices to be silenced. 

Is Pan-Arabism Dead Now? A Reflection on the Evolution of Arab Identity

Is Pan-Arabism Dead Now? A Reflection on the Evolution of Arab Identity

Pan-Arabism, once a powerful ideological force that sought to unify Arab nations under a shared cultural and political identity, seems to have lost much of its influence in the contemporary Middle East. The vision of a united Arab world, driven by common language, history, and aspirations, has faded, overshadowed by a range of other ideologies, regional conflicts, and shifting geopolitical realities. But is Pan-Arabism truly dead, or has it merely evolved into new forms? 

The Rise and Fall of Pan-Arabism 

Pan-Arabism emerged as a dominant force in the mid-20th century, particularly during the decolonization period following World War II. Leaders like Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser championed the cause, advocating for the political and economic integration of Arab states. Rooted in the idea that Arab nations, bound by language, culture, and history, could achieve greater strength and autonomy through unity, Pan-Arabism found its most prominent expression in initiatives like the formation of the United Arab Republic (UAR) between Egypt and Syria in 1958. However, such attempts to unify the Arab world often faltered, leading to the eventual decline of the movement. 

Several factors contributed to the waning of Pan-Arabism: 

 1. National Interests Over Collective Unity: 

As Arab states gained independence, the reality of national interests often clashed with the ideal of Arab unity. Leaders prioritized their own country’s sovereignty and development, leading to a fragmentation of the Pan-Arab vision. 

 2. Regional Rivalries and Conflicts:

 The Middle East has been plagued by rivalries and conflicts, such as the Iran-Iraq War, the Gulf Wars, and the ongoing Syrian civil war. These conflicts have deepened divisions rather than fostering unity, often exacerbating sectarian and ethnic differences. 

 3. The Rise of Political Islam: 

The rise of political Islam offered an alternative to the secular nationalism of Pan-Arabism. Movements like the Muslim Brotherhood and more radical Islamist groups emphasized religious identity over ethnic or national identity, shifting the focus from Arab unity to the establishment of Islamic governance. 

Moreover, political Islam has used the momentum of events like the “Arab Spring” to challenge Pan-Arabism, framing secular nationalism as a relic of the past and promoting a vision of governance rooted in religion. 

 4. Globalization and Economic Pressures: 

The forces of globalization, coupled with the influence of global powers, have driven Arab states to align more closely with international economic systems rather than seeking regional integration. Economic pressures and foreign intervention further eroded the ideals of Pan-Arab solidarity.

Aflaq’s Vision and Nasser’s Leadership 

The roots of Pan-Arabism were deeply influenced by the intellectual work of Michel Aflaq, who envisioned a cultural and political renaissance for the Arab world. 

Aflaq’s Ba’athist ideology emphasized the interconnectedness of Arab history, language, and culture, seeing them as the foundation for a secular, unified Arab society. He famously declared: “The Arabs have not been created to be a tail to others but to be at the head of the procession of human civilization.” This statement encapsulates his belief in the potential of Arab unity to reclaim a leading role on the global stage. 

Gamal Abdel Nasser, on the other hand, brought these ideals into practical politics. Through fiery rhetoric and strategic alliances, Nasser championed Pan-Arabism as a movement of liberation from colonialism and imperialism. His leadership during the Suez Crisis of 1956 made him a symbol of Arab defiance against foreign domination. Yet even Nasser’s attempts to institutionalize unity, such as the UAR, faltered due to the lack of mutual trust between Arab states and the difficulty of merging diverse political and economic systems. 

The Arab Spring and Competing Ideologies 

The Arab Spring, which began in 2010, was heralded as a transformative moment for the Middle East and North Africa. It presented itself as a call for reform, democracy, and greater accountability in governance. On the surface, it echoed some of the goals of Pan-Arabism, particularly the desire for self-determination and the overthrow of oppressive regimes. However, the Arab Spring also revealed deep fractures within the Arab world. 

Not all reforms stemming from the Arab Spring reflected the will of the people they were meant to represent. In many cases, external actors and internal divisions hijacked these movements, leading to outcomes that did not align with the aspirations of ordinary citizens. For instance, the rise of political Islam during this period posed a significant challenge to Pan-Arabism. Islamist movements leveraged the Arab Spring to assert their vision of governance, often framing secular nationalism and Pan-Arab ideals as outdated or incompatible with Islamic principles. 

On the other hand, those who opposed both political Islam and the entrenched sociopolitical establishments often invoked Pan-Arabism in a new form—a national-social liberationist perspective. This viewpoint defended Pan-Arab ideals while adapting them to emphasize social justice, secularism, and liberation from both foreign domination and internal tyranny. In this sense, Pan-Arabism became a tool for those seeking a more just and equitable society, even as it struggled to regain its former prominence. 

Evolution or Degradation? 

The current cultural and intellectual expressions of Pan-Arabism may appear to be its evolution into something more focused on identity and heritage than political unity. However, this shift may also be seen not as progress but as a degradation of the movement’s original vision. Arab unity, as well as Arab liberation, cannot simply be reduced to a cultural “totem pole” while its true political and social value is negated. 

As Michel Aflaq argued, freedom—beyond overcoming poverty and political repression—required the social, political, and economic unification of the Arab people. For Aflaq, the national interest, the survival of the Arab nation, and its progress alongside developed nations all depended on the realization of socialism. This meant enabling every Arab, without distinction or discrimination, to become a productive entity and not a mere illusion. By prioritizing justice, equality, and shared prosperity, Aflaq’s vision elevated Pan-Arabism as a means to achieve genuine liberation and empowerment of the Arab people. 

This raises a critical question: can the remnants of Pan-Arabism today still serve this broader purpose, or has the movement been reduced to a symbolic gesture divorced from its revolutionary aspirations? 

A Cultural Renaissance with Caveats 

Despite its political decline, Pan-Arabism’s cultural emphasis holds potential for future generations. Its focus on Arab enlightenment, as envisioned by Aflaq, resonates with a growing desire to rediscover and preserve Arab values, heritage, and societal progress. Aflaq’s belief that culture is a weapon for liberation continues to inspire movements that seek to overthrow entrenched systems of oppression and envision a just, secular Arab society. 

However, cultural revival alone cannot fulfill the demands of Pan-Arabism if it lacks the structural commitment to unify Arab political and economic systems. To reduce Pan-Arabism to culture alone risks undermining its revolutionary essence. Aflaq and his contemporaries did not envision Pan-Arabism as mere symbolism; they saw it as a means to achieve tangible liberation and progress for all Arabs. 

Conclusion 

But despite the situations that may “spell” the end of Pan-Arabism, does it really extinguish the flames? The attributes that emphasize cultural rather than political aspects may appeal to the current and future generations, but these are also driven by a desire—the “enlightenment of the Arabs” as well as the renaissance of their culture, values, and society. In turn, these aspirations have become “weapons” that challenge old ruling classes and support the creation of a just, secular society, as envisioned by Michel Aflaq. 

Yet this cultural emphasis cannot replace the political and socioeconomic unification that Aflaq believed was fundamental to Arab liberation. For Aflaq, true freedom required overcoming not just political repression but economic disparity, ensuring that every Arab could contribute meaningfully to a unified, progressive society. The survival and progress of the Arab world depend on reclaiming this broader vision of Pan-Arabism—one that balances cultural pride with tangible political and economic solidarity. 

Thus, while the grand political unification envisioned by leaders like Nasser may seem distant, the flames of Pan-Arabism persist in both its cultural and revolutionary dimensions. Whether these flames will rekindle a new movement of Arab unity or remain flickering embers of a bygone era depends on the ability of future generations to restore the movement’s core principles: unity, equality, and progress.