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.
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.