The Filipino Conscience and desire for Justice versus Relentless Impunity: Thoughts after the pre-Trial at The Hague

The Filipino Conscience and desire for Justice versus Relentless Impunity: 

Thoughts after the pre-Trial at The Hague

The pre-trial proceedings at the International Criminal Court (ICC) against former President Rodrigo Duterte have placed the Philippines under an unforgiving international spotlight. Allegations of crimes against humanity—spanning from 2013 to 2018, covering murders and attempted murders during his tenure as Davao City mayor and as President—are now being scrutinized by the impartial eyes of the world. For Manila, for its citizens, and for global observers, this is more than a legal inquiry; it is a moral reckoning, a judgment on the very soul of governance in the Duterte era. 

ICC Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang laid out the prosecution’s case in stark terms. Duterte, prosecutors allege, was not merely a distant overseer but “at the very heart of the common plan to neutralize alleged criminals in the Philippines, including through murders.” He allegedly identified targets, provided moral and financial support, and facilitated the flow of weapons and logistical aid to those who carried out the killings. Victims, many of them ordinary citizens, were summarily executed in operations marked by brutality and impunity. 

“Unlike Mr. Duterte, who is represented by his counsel here today, they were deprived of any form of due process. The loss of every single one of these victims had the most profound impact on their families, their friends, and ultimately their communities,” Niang said. 

Representing these victims, lawyer Joel Butuyan spoke of profound disappointment and lingering fear. Duterte’s absence from the proceedings, Butuyan argued, is more than a procedural detail: it is a symbol of the persistent climate of terror that characterized his administration. 

“We communicate the very deep disappointment of the victims at the decision allowing Rodrigo Duterte not to be present in this stage of confirmation of charges,” Butuyan said. “In fact, if Mr. Duterte could threaten to slap the judges of this Court [the ICC], imagine the kind of terror-filled threats and violent actions that can easily be used against the victims if the suspect walks free from this Court.” 

On the other hand, the defense team, led by lawyer Nicholas Kaufman, has sought to reframe Duterte’s rhetoric as non-lethal—a calculated tool to instill fear and obedience, not to commit murder. They argue the speeches targeted only those “poisoning society” through drugs, not individuals, and were part of a broader campaign to assert authority. 

Yet this argument illuminates the central moral and political crisis of the Duterte era. When fear is wielded as a substitute for law, when obedience is enforced through terror, justice is hollow. The Duterte administration displayed a clear pattern: ordinary citizens faced the knife of extrajudicial killings, while high-profile perpetrators, political allies, and “big fishes” implicated in the drug trade largely remained untouched. Law was no longer a shield for all; it became a weapon to enforce compliance. Euphemisms—“deterrence to crime,” “collateral damage,” “shit happens”—masked acts of state violence, reducing legality to rhetoric and morality to convenience. 

Even in the ICC courtroom, the echoes of the Duterte-style rhetoric persist. Kaufman’s opening statement, observers note, eulogized Duterte while casting victims and human rights defenders as adversaries, mirroring the president’s familiar posture. The defense offered neither substantive rebuttal to the allegations nor acknowledgment of the human toll. As one would likely to remarked, “Now we know why Duterte tried to derail the confirmation hearing. He has no credible defense. Kaufman eulogized Duterte, demonized the victims and human rights organizations, and did everything except present a credible defense. At this rate, Duterte’s fate before the Court seems inevitable.” 

Yet, if this writer may venture a controversial observation, one might argue that former PNP Chief Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa’s infamous declaration—“Shit happens”—rings with a grim honesty that Kaufman’s legal gymnastics can never achieve. Why so? Because Dela Rosa, in his blunt, unsparing way, acknowledged the undeniable reality of Duterte’s war on drugs. Operations Tokhang and Double Barrel did not exist in rhetoric alone—they left bodies, scars, and lives in their wake. There were killings, arrests, and punishments meted out, however selective, however brutal. 

 The starkness of Dela Rosa’s phrase—coarse, shocking, unvarnished—spoke truth in a way that Kaufman’s defense, with its flowery claims of “fear without intent” and moralized rhetoric, cannot. The operations themselves testified to the reality of Duterte’s campaign: thousands of deaths, many innocent, many guilty in ways only the state determined. The consequences were real, immediate, and devastating. Words could no longer obscure the facts. In contrast, Kaufman’s opening statement before the ICC sounded more like a paean than a defense—eloquent, polished, and yet strangely untethered from the brutal reality on the ground. It praised Duterte, demonized victims, and attacked human rights organizations, but it said nothing about the bodies that lay in the streets, the families shattered, the ordinary citizens terrorized. It was legal theater without moral substance, a defense in theory but not in truth. 

 Dela Rosa’s blunt admission, repulsive though it may seem to many, at least recognized that actions have consequences. The killings, the terror, the fear—these were real, and they demanded acknowledgment, if not justification. Kaufman’s rhetoric, by contrast, sought to paper over that reality, to deny the plain evidence before the eyes of the world. In the end, the honesty of a coarse phrase may reveal more about governance, accountability, and moral responsibility than all the eloquence of a courtroom speech delivered thousands of miles from the victims themselves. It is a bitter lesson: the truth of deeds cannot be erased by the polish of words, however carefully arranged.

Back to the topic, this ICC proceedings serve a dual purpose. Legally, they will determine whether charges of crimes against humanity proceed to trial. Politically and morally, they expose the fragility of a system where legality is subordinated to fear, spectacle, and personal power. They remind the world—and the Philippines—that justice cannot be selective, that the rule of law cannot coexist with a climate of terror, and that the moral authority of governance rests on protecting, not terrorizing, the citizenry. 

For Manila, the case lays bare a central question: can a nation uphold the rule of law when law is treated as optional, when fear becomes the primary instrument of governance? The answer is emerging not in Malacañang, not in political rallies or speeches, but in a courtroom far from the Philippines, where Duterte’s legacy is being measured not by votes, applause, or bluster, but by the cold, unyielding logic of international justice. 

The ICC is more than a legal theater; it is a mirror to the Philippines, reflecting a painful truth: governance that relies on fear and spectacle leaves a nation morally bankrupt, and accountability, no matter how delayed, is the only path to restoring faith in justice.  

Bluster, Bloodshed, and the Bench: Duterte Before The Hague

Bluster, Bloodshed, and the Bench: Duterte Before The Hague

The distance between Manila and The Hague is measured not only in kilometres but in the weight of history now pressing down on former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte. In the austere chambers of the International Criminal Court (ICC), pre-trial proceedings have begun to determine whether the charges of crimes against humanity against him will proceed to full trial — a legal and political spectacle that would have been unthinkable in the rough-and-tumble world of Philippine strongman politics only a decade ago. 

The prosecution alleges that Duterte played a central role in killings linked to anti-drug operations carried out between 2013 and 2018, from his time as mayor of Davao City to his presidency. ICC Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang told the chamber that Duterte’s contribution to the alleged campaign was decisive. 

“His contribution was essential as he was at the very heart of the common plan to neutralize alleged criminals in the Philippines, including through murders,” Niang said in his opening statement. 

Niang further alleged that Duterte personally identified some targets and provided moral, financial, and logistical support for operations that resulted in victims being “brutally murdered.” 

“Unlike Mr. Duterte, who is represented by his counsel here today, they were deprived of any form of due process. The loss of every single one of these victims had the most profound impact on their families, their friends, and ultimately their communities,” he said. “Bring a sense of justice.” 

Representing the victims, Joel Butuyan expressed disappointment at the decision allowing Duterte to be absent during the confirmation of charges hearing. 

“We communicate the very deep disappointment of the victims at the decision allowing Rodrigo Duterte not to be present in this stage of confirmation of charges,” Butuyan said. “In fact, if Mr. Duterte could threaten to slap the judges of this Court [the ICC], imagine the kind of terror-filled threats and the violent actions that can easily be used against the victims if the suspect walks free from this Court.” 

Duterte’s defence team, however, urged the ICC’s Pre-Trial Chamber I to dismiss the charges, which they described as “grievously misplaced” and “politically-motivated.” His counsel, Nicholas Kaufman, acknowledged Duterte as “a unique phenomenon” who was “gung-ho in his ways” and prone to “hyperbole, bluster and rhetoric,” but insisted that his speeches did not amount to criminal intent. 

“… We hope that when you conclude your deliberations, Your Honors, that you’ll dismiss these grievously misplaced and politically motivated charges. We will ask you to send Rodrigo Duterte back to his family, and we will ask you to give back to the Filipino people their Tatay Digong,” Kaufman said. 

He maintained that Duterte’s rhetoric was intended to instil fear in criminals rather than to order killings. “Rodrigo Duterte’s language was aimed not at suspected drug pushers, as the prosecution would have it, but directly at those poisoning society with their substances, and not, I stress, with lethal intent. His rhetoric was calculated to arouse fear and obedience… Nothing more, nothing less. That was his intent, and it was not criminal. He stands by his legacy resolutely, and he maintains his innocence absolutely.” 

Kaufman further argued that prosecutors had failed to produce any cooperating witness who could confirm that Duterte personally issued an order to kill. “Gung-ho in his ways and with a belligerent tone, he spoke the tough tongue of the street. He said what the people wanted to hear, but he said it in a way that offended the sensibilities of world leaders unaccustomed to hearing it. One in particular, and that was what set him on the slippery slope to a prison cell in The Hague.” 

Outside the courtroom, however, some observers contend that the defence’s strategy has so far leaned more heavily on political framing than on legal rebuttal. They argue that Kaufman’s opening remarks appeared to mirror Duterte’s familiar rhetorical posture — criticising victims’ advocates and human rights organisations — while offering limited substantive challenge to the prosecution’s allegations. 

In their assessment, Kaufman’s statement read less like a legal defence than a political tribute, reinforcing the perception that Duterte’s team faces an uphill battle as the proceedings move forward. 

The ICC’s judges must now determine whether the evidence presented meets the threshold required for trial. Their decision will shape not only Duterte’s legal fate but also the broader question of how far domestic political authority extends when weighed against the demands of international justice. 

For Manila — and for a watching world — the proceedings represent a deeply confrontational and polarising moment, laden with consequences that may yet redefine the boundaries of law, justice, power and accountability.

On the Fortieth Year: The Busy Road, the Beleaguered Republic, and the People's Right to Remember

On the Fortieth Year: The Busy Road, the Beleaguered Republic,
and the People's Right to Remember

In the fortieth year since the Filipino people assembled themselves upon a highway and transformed it into an instrument of sovereignty, a curious development has taken place: the road once consecrated by collective courage has been declared off-limits to the very citizens whose presence made it historic.

The Trillion Peso March Part 3 has been scheduled for February 25, and its convenors have spoken in the language of procedural civility. All sectors are welcome, they assure the public, provided that there are no calls for violence, no appeals to the armed forces, and no suggestions that unelected bodies assume power. Such statements, rendered in the tone of responsible guardianship, are offered as proof that the lessons of the past have been learned.

Yet the past itself resists such neat containment- as February 25 does not belong to regulation. It belongs to rupture.

An Anniversary gone Contained?

It marks the day when governance by decree—sustained by censorship, intimidation, and the calculated normalization of fear—was finally challenged by a citizenry that had exhausted every avenue of polite petition available within the narrow confines permitted by authoritarian rule. It marks the culmination of years in which constitutional guarantees were suspended in practice if not always in name; when the press was disciplined into silence, assemblies were treated as conspiracies, and dissent was reframed as subversion.

It marks the moment when the Filipino people ceased to be mere spectators to their own dispossession—no longer passive recipients of policy imposed without consultation, nor quiet witnesses to the steady erosion of their political and economic rights—and instead became active participants in the reconstitution of their republic. Upon that highway, sovereignty was not invoked rhetorically but exercised materially, as citizens assumed responsibility for restoring institutions that had been hollowed out by patronage, militarization, and decree.

It marks, in short, the point at which legitimacy ceased to flow downward from entrenched authority and began once more to rise upward from collective will.

And it is precisely on this date—so freighted with the memory of reclaimed agency—that the present administration has chosen to impose an “EDSA no-rally zone,” effectively restricting access to the very site where democratic legitimacy was last renegotiated in full public view.

Thus is the fortieth anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution commemorated by the son of the very dictator whose rule defined governance through the blanket gagging of the press, the criminalization of independent organization, and the systematic suffocation of both individual and collective expression: by blocking the historic highway to those who refuse to treat accountability and justice as negotiable abstractions, or to subordinate historical memory to the conveniences of present authority.

In so doing, the state risks transforming an anniversary of emancipation into an exercise in managed remembrance—permitting celebration while circumscribing its meaning, and honoring participation only insofar as it does not challenge the structures that People Power was once mobilized to confront.

The symbolism is unmistakable. A road made sacred by dissent is rendered inaccessible in the name of order. Slogans once shouted in defense of liberty are now deemed suspect, their utterance shadowed by allegations of sedition. It becomes a tribute to memory that now demands performativism if not silence. 

Still, the noise of dissent against the system doesn't stop

In response, various sectors of civil society have resolved to march toward EDSA-Ortigas on February 25—not merely to commemorate the past but to assert the continuing necessity of People Power as a political principle. They argue that it is impossible to remember EDSA without confronting the fascism, corruption, and subservience that characterized the Marcos dictatorship, or without acknowledging the vast quantities of stolen wealth that remain unreturned to the Filipino people.

Questions persist with institutional stubbornness: where is the ₱203 billion in unpaid estate tax owed by the Marcos family? Where are the billions in ill-gotten assets that continue to generate private benefit from public loss? Is Marcos Jr. really serious in resolving that goddamned corruption issue that harmed both his and Duterte's circle? True that the call is "all those involved be held accountable", but in truth- how about the urge to "bombard that corruption-riddled headquarters"? To commemorate EDSA without posing these questions would be to transform history into ceremony and ceremony into performativism without understanding, if not amnesia.

Equally, they contend that the present cannot be detached from the past. Allegations of corruption amounting to billions in public funds, supported by documentary evidence presented in legislative inquiries, have exposed the continuities between the former dictatorship and the current administration. In the logic of political inheritance, "kung ano ang puno, siya ring bunga"—the nature of the tree determines the nature of its fruit.

The declaration of EDSA as a no-rally zone is therefore not merely administrative; it is ideological. It contradicts the foundational premise of the uprising it purports to honor: that sovereignty resides not in institutions alone but in the organized action of the citizenry.  And in speaking of "peaceful assembly" as insisted by authorities, that assembly cannot be meaningfully celebrated by limiting the freedoms that sustain it especially with "permits", Nor can the lessons of EDSA be invoked to justify the suppression of criticism or the narrowing of political alternatives to those sanctioned by entrenched elites.

The fortieth anniversary also arrives amid renewed political maneuverings, in which alliances are assembled and dissolved with an eye toward forthcoming electoral contests. In such an environment, the struggle against corruption risks being reduced to an instrument of campaign strategy—a means of securing office rather than transforming the system that renders corruption profitable.

History offers a cautionary precedent. The events of 1986, and later those of 2001, demonstrated that the mere replacement of leadership at the summit of power does not in itself resolve structural crises. The question confronting the nation is therefore not only who shall govern, but under what system governance shall proceed.

To substitute one occupant for another without altering the conditions that produced both is to mistake rotation for reform. For this reason, those who will assemble on February 25 insist that the work initiated at EDSA remains unfinished. The promises of genuine freedom, democratic accountability, social justice, and equitable development—invoked in the fervor of those four days—have yet to be fully realized.

They march to assert that the commemoration of EDSA must be measured not by ceremonial observance but by substantive progress toward these ends.

They march in the conviction that the true power of the republic resides not in political dynasties, nor in the transactional accommodations of professional politicians, but in the collective capacity of its citizens to demand and enact change.

And they march in the belief that the memory of People Power cannot be confined to anniversaries or appropriated for spectacle.

It must instead be exercised.

Until the promises made upon that highway are fulfilled, the road remains open in principle—whatever barriers may be erected in practice.  

"Where Were You When People Power Was Real?"

"Where Were You When People Power Was Real?"

The Trillion Peso March Part 3 was announced for February 25. Kiko Aquino Dee spoke with civility, measured tone: all protest groups welcome, as long as they refrained from calls for violence, avoided urging the armed forces, and respected the sanctity of elected power. On paper, it sounded democratic, inclusive, safe. But the streets remember differently. 

A sacred date, etched in the sweat, blood, and barricades of a people who would not bow to tyranny, is now declared a no-rally zone. Slogans that once shook the walls of Malacañang are forbidden. “Sedition,” they whisper. Sedition, as if speaking truth to power is a crime. And suddenly, the careful admonitions of modern organizers are offered as wisdom. 

Where were these voices when the streets ran with fear and fury alike? 

The digital landscape is dominated by state actors, by PR campaigns, by the polished, sanitized spin of those who prefer optics over struggle. Criticism of one man, one family, one dynasty—and everyone recoils. Yet where was the same “care” when protesters faced water cannons, truncheons, and tear gas? When hospital emergency rooms overflowed with the injured from the four days of February 1986? When BAYAN had to fight year after year just for a permit to voice dissent during the State of the Nation Address (SONA)? 

Words without action are cheap. Marching in shoes unscathed by fear, watching a sanitized stage performance of People Power—it becomes theater, veneration without understanding, spectacle without courage. The word change is cherished; the work, risk, and sacrifice that demand it are ignored. Opportunism sits comfortably in polite applause. 

The first People Power toppled thieves, liars, murderers. Ferdinand Marcos was ousted, Corazon Aquino assumed office, and the streets bore witness to a nation’s collective courage. Yet today, some ask why Kiko Aquino Dee avoids holding Marcos accountable in the narrative of EDSA@40. They point to the stolen wealth, the unreturned plunder, the violence, the impunity. And the question lingers: is BBM truly “clean”? Is Sara untouchable? The slap to the people’s face echoes even in 2026. 

History does not lie. Both Marcos and Duterte represent the same corrosion: corruption, abuse, disregard for life, and the oppression of ordinary citizens. Wanting decent wages, regular work, affordable goods, functional healthcare, modern transport, sustainable agriculture, land reform, clean housing, and a livable environment—these are not radical ideals. These are survival, dignity, common sense. Yet in polite discourse, these are labeled “leftist idealism.” It is an insult to those who sweated in the streets so that such demands could even be voiced. 

And the modern organizers, cautious and careful, may not see that People Power was never meant to be polite. It was risk, it was sweat, it was courage threaded with fear. It demanded facing authorities armed with more than PR—they faced truncheons, tear gas, and the threat of death. Anything less is theater. Anything less is performative. Anything less is opportunism dressed as patriotism. 

So as the march approaches, the streets remember. They remember who bled for freedom, who stood when every police formation, every armored vehicle, every cannon of tear gas tried to silence the people. They remember the courage that made the first People Power real. And they watch, quietly, skeptically, the marchers of today: who walks with the fire, and who walks politely in shoes that have never felt the asphalt under a tyrant’s gaze. 

History, as always, will remember.  

In Pursuit of Justice: Upholding Philippine Law Amid International Pressure

In Pursuit of Justice: Upholding Philippine Law 

Amid International Pressure

There is a saying that sovereignty is not a mere word—it is a duty. And yet, in these times, the nation finds itself in a delicate balancing act between domestic law and international demands. Senate President Pro Tempore Panfilo Lacson recently clarified his stand on the International Criminal Court’s arrest warrants against Senators Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa and Christopher Lawrence “Bong” Go. 

“What I am protecting is our country’s legal processes as enshrined in the Constitution, and not Senators Ronald ‘Bato’ dela Rosa or Christopher Lawrence ‘Bong’ Go who now face charges before the International Criminal Court (ICC),” Lacson said on Monday. 

He is right to remind us that the Constitution is not a decoration in the halls of government—it is the shield of the Filipino people. Article III, Section 2, clearly states: 

”(t)he right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures of whatever nature and for any purpose shall be inviolable, and no search warrant or warrant of arrest shall issue except upon probable cause to be determined personally by the judge after examination under oath or affirmation of the complainant and the witnesses he may produce, and particularly describing the place to be searched and the persons or things to be seized.” 

“It does not matter if the warrant is issued by a foreign jurisdiction where extradition is in effect. Article III Section 2, which deals with protection from deprivation of liberty of our citizens, must be respected,” Lacson stressed. 

This is not about shielding individuals from accountability—it is about defending the sovereignty of the local courts. As Lacson noted, the Supreme Court is the final arbiter on these matters. And rightly so. No foreign tribunal can bypass the country's system of justice without eroding the very foundations of the Republic. 

Echoing Lacson’s concern for due process, Senator Bam Aquino also stressed the importance of confronting alleged extrajudicial killings within the country. “The trials for these cases should ideally be held here in the Philippines because this is where the victims are,” Aquino said. “Seeking justice where the alleged crimes happened would be more meaningful.” 

Nevertheless, Aquino affirmed respect for the ongoing ICC process. The notion of leaving justice solely to local courts may be intended to inspire faith in our legal system—but such faith is fragile, especially when laws have been bent to serve particular interests. No matter how carefully crafted, statutes can become moot or purely academic when their spirit is disregarded. Consider laws against involuntary disappearances being ignored, or writs like the writ of amparo dismissed by authorities claiming to act against subversion. While it is true that some trust in local courts exists, the pressing question remains: do our courts truly deliver justice, without fear or favor? 

Again, the global stage cannot be ignored. In one post from Atty. Jesus Falcis, he urged people not to be swayed by simplistic views such as those supporting Duterte that "all Filipinos should be tried locally at all times"- enough to justify defending their idol and his camarilla. Worse, they forgot the person who drafted the law. "To Senator Bam Aquino, Miriam Defensor Santiago was the sponsor and author of RA No. 9851 – the legal basis that BBM used to surrender Duterte." Falcis said. 

“Small fish involved in EJK can be tried locally. But Bato and Bong Go should be tried in The Hague,” Falcis added, emphasizing that law enforcement personnel directly implicated in extrajudicial killings can face justice in local courts. However, Duterte, Dela Rosa, and Bong Go—figures who consistently benefit from an uneven playing field in the Philippines, from the prosecutor stage to the regional trial courts—entities not immune to the influence peddling surrounding the Dutertes. 

"For them, the fairest trial can only be held before the ICC." Falcis stressed. 

Atty. Mel Sta. Maria also reminded people that universal crimes, crimes against humanity, demand attention beyond borders. “To insist on a domestic warrant for a universal crime against humanity is to build a wall where there should be a bridge. Let us choose justice over technicalities,” Sta. Maria wrote. 

Sta. Maria is correct: the Philippines must honor its international obligations. RA 9851 allows for surrender to foreign courts when appropriate, as the Constitution also adopts accepted principles of international law. Cooperation with the ICC does not diminish sovereignty—it strengthens it, showing that the Philippines is a responsible member of the world community. 

The lesson is clear: true patriotism does not hide behind technicalities. It upholds the rule of law at home while facing the demands of the world with courage and integrity. As Filipinos, we must never forget that protecting the Constitution and legal processes is the truest way to defend the nation.  

Hidden Light: Poems after Spring Lanterns, Incense, and Fireworks

Hidden Light: Poems after Spring Lanterns,

Incense, and Fireworks

Spring After Lanterns

Deep crimson lanterns stretch before each home,
Overjoyed voices travel near and far;
Ceremonial feasts breathe fragrance new,

Loving hearts grow warmer in shared grace;
Aglow the hearth-fire dries long waiting hopes,
Peaceful midnight of the turning year arrives.

Thin moonlight hangs silent at the edge of sky,
Under drifting incense twined with petals;

Delicate apricot blossoms fall in gentle wind,
Only to gather this spring in deeper longing.

Coming spring touches every narrow street,
Alert red lanterns brighten dreaming skies;
Cakes of green rice and tea release soft scent,
Hushed spring air spreads tender affection.

Mild spring settles upon the tiled roofs,
Aflame the ember kindles quiet wishes,
Nimble footsteps mingle with laughter,
Glimmering among countless kindly eyes.

Narrow streams of incense rise with the breeze,
Hushed blossoms perfume the river wide;
All hearts gathered in joyful reunion,
Tiny drops of spring soak into the soul;
Distant tomorrows may part us briefly,
Always within the heart, affection remains,
Your love shines like the rising sun.

Year of the Fire Horse

Crimson banners rise against the dawn,

Ash-bright lanterns tremble before each lawn;

Ceremonial drums roll through the square,

Hearth-fires kindle hope in winter air.

Mane of flame across the eastern sky,

Alert hooves like sparks that leap and fly;

New year gallops through the waiting land,

Golden light rests warm on every hand.

Night withdraws beneath a brighter hue,

Hushed bells answer with a tone clear-true;

Awakened streets with laughter newly born,

Thresholds open wide to greet the morn.

Dancing embers crown the rooftops high,

All hearts steady as the hour draws nigh;

Young and old in gathered warmth agree.

Deep within the root, the branch grows free,

Over fields the Fire Horse runs untied;

Courage glows where once the dark would hide.

Lantern smoke ascends in silver streams,

Amid the feast are shared unspoken dreams;

Peace and promise fill the brimming bowl.

Time itself seems bridled by the soul,

Under heaven’s blaze no fear remains;

Dawn rides in on bright unbroken reins,

On this spring — one heart, one flame, one goal.

Spring on the Streets

The streets glow bright with crimson lanterns,
Hushed laughter mingles with the air of spring,
Ash-like sparks of fireworks flare in night skies.

Happy voices crowd each bustling alley,
Yearning hearts meet in the warmth of cheer.

Soft golden marigolds color tiled rooftops,
Illuminated fires chase away the chill,
Night winds carry incense over the crowd,
Hearts are warmed by tea cups in hand.

The clatter of footsteps echoes down the lanes,
Always a smile greets every passerby,
Tunes of celebration play on every corner,
Crowds gather, joy blooming like flowers,
All lanterns shine brightly against the dusk.

Chatter and blessings fill the festival air,
Huê-style flowers, marigolds, peach blossoms bloom,
Uplifted wishes drift skyward with incense.

Kids run laughing through the colorful crowd,
Happiness glows despite the winter chill,
Over rooftops, lanterns sway in the breeze,
Night drums echo, stirring hearts along the streets.

Couples dance to the rhythm of the lion,
Hearth smells of sweet rice cakes fill the alleys,
Inviting joy and spring across the lanes,
Uplifting voices wish good fortune for all.

Memories of past New Years sparkle in eyes,
Always together, neighbors share the warmth,
The streets alive with laughter, music, and light,

Night wanes but lanterns still cast a glow,
Uplifted hearts carry wishes into the new year,
Celebrating the start of spring with one accord.

As Spring Keeps its Word

As Spring Keeps its Word

This spring is fuller than springs before,
Lanterns lean close to every door.
Our hearts made firm, our breaths in time,
Like temple bells that softly chime.

At midnight’s hush when old years part,
Listen close with steady heart.
When three small echoes kiss the sky,
Know that no true vows ever die.

Spring blossoms bloom as one,
Gold like sparks when night’s begun.
What seems like petals in the air
May be the weight of answered prayer.

Square cakes rest in folded green,
Humble hands keep what’s unseen.
Bound with care and patient thread,
Promise kept in what’s not said.

Step forth, my love, through streets of delight,
Crowds laugh and kitchens hum with light.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every threshold holds what we’ve pined.

As apricot petals like whispers fall,
Noodles, dumplings, and tea await us all.
Even firecrackers sing in the night,
Sending our wishes on wings of light.

Red papers flutter on every door,
Each brushstroke carries blessings and more.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every word a secret, quietly signed.

The river shimmers with lanterns afloat,
Reflections dancing like a hopeful note.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Love drifts gently on currents combined.

Step lightly through alleys where incense burns,
Past market stalls and every turn.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every glance a promise, lovingly mined.

The city hums with a thousand small joys,
Drums and laughter, and children’s toys.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Each sound a call for hearts resigned.

Gathered together in the warmth of the night,
Candles and laughter, our spirits bright.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every moment a memory finely designed.

So take my hand, and walk near,
Through lantern glow and festival cheer.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Love finds its morning, bright and kind.

And when the last firework fades from view,
I’ll still be here, waiting for you.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Spring always returns, and so does mine.  

Fairer this spring than any gone before,

Red lanterns tremble at each door;

Feasts are laid with careful art,

Incense rising from the heart.

Love stands patient, calm, and warm,

Like earth made ready for reform.

Radiant the river under flame,

Each floating light a whispered name;

Rice and wine in cups of jade,

Promises kept, though softly made.

Where many gather, none stand lone—

A thousand breaths, a single tone.

Evening bells at measured hour

Move the air with tempered power;

Every blossom, gold and slight,

Falls as one into the night.

Should petals yield before their time,

Roots remember how to climb.

Eager streets with laughter bright,

Embers bloom in velvet sky;

Every threshold opened wide,

Welcomes friends from either side.

Hearts made steadfast, hands made near,

Hold the turning of the year.

Deep the drum beneath the cheer,

Distant yet distinctly clear;

Dishes passed from hand to hand,

Draw a quiet, circling band.

Though the firecrackers flare and roam,

Daybreak always carries home.

Over cups of sugared tea,

Old grief loosens silently;

One by one the candles gleam,

Outlining a common dream.

Only this we understand:

Open hearts outlast command.

Midnight parts the darkened seam,

Morning answers what we dream.

Many voices, calm and strong,

Merge within a single song.

Love made certain, calm and wise,

Out of patient sacrifice.

And when the lantern smoke grows thin,

And quieter joys are folded in,

May you know, though crowds depart,

I have kept you in my heart.

Spring may wander, fade, or roam—

Still it finds its faithful home.

They would cry words 'Homeland' and 'Justice', but neither 'Homeland' nor 'Justice' can shield them from the Law

They would cry words 'Homeland' and 'Justice',

but neither 'Homeland' nor 'Justice' can shield them from the Law

When the guns fell silent and the body counts faded from the headlines, what remained was a deeper question: What did the Philippines sacrifice in the name of order?

For years, the “war on drugs” was sold as a moral crusade — a necessary purge to save the nation from decay. Supporters rallied behind Rodrigo Duterte, insisting that harsh measures were proof of strong leadership. Critics were dismissed as elitists, liberals, or worse — traitors from those who self-described “not Filipino for nothing.”

But beneath the rhetoric of patriotism and public safety lies an uncomfortable truth: when the state abandons due process, it abandons justice itself. 

When the ICC report meant Justice 

Former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte has been slapped with international charges over alleged killings carried out during his notorious “war on drugs,” the International Criminal Court (ICC) revealed Friday. The 16-page report by the ICC’s Office of the Prosecutor accuses Duterte of orchestrating a “widespread and systematic attack against the civilian population” aimed at “neutralizing” suspected criminals, particularly those linked to the country’s illegal drug trade.

The charges span the period from 2013 to 2018, encompassing Duterte’s tenure as mayor of Davao City and his subsequent presidency. The ICC filing details the operations of the Davao Death Squad, a vigilante group alleged to have carried out extrajudicial killings in Duterte’s hometown, and a nationwide police network that reportedly expanded this model when Duterte assumed national office in 2016.

The report specifies 76 murders and two attempted murders as part of the formal charges. However, prosecutors note that the actual scale of killings during this period was “significantly greater,” reflecting a campaign that many human rights advocates have long described as brutal and far-reaching. Victims reportedly ranged from alleged drug dealers and users to ordinary civilians, including minors, many of whom were publicly labeled as criminals by law enforcement before their deaths.

The ICC filing was signed by Deputy Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang and is dated from The Hague, Netherlands. The document highlights not only Duterte’s alleged role in directing the killings but also the involvement of senior officials and law enforcement agencies, indicating that the alleged campaign was systemic, coordinated, and backed by the structures of state power, rather than isolated incidents of violence.

Observers say the ICC’s formal charges mark a significant development in the long-running debate over the “war on drugs,” which has polarized Philippine society and drawn intense international scrutiny. While Duterte and his supporters have defended the campaign as a necessary measure to combat crime and maintain public order, critics argue that it represents a blatant disregard for due process, human rights, and the rule of law, leaving thousands of families grieving and communities living under fear.

The ICC’s case signals that domestic support or political office does not provide immunity from international legal accountability. The Pre-Trial Chamber will now examine the evidence to determine whether the charges can proceed to trial, while additional documentation submitted by the Prosecution — much of it confidential — is expected to further detail the alleged scope and mechanics of the campaign.

State-backed violence guised as crime deterrence

Several top officials are listed as “co-perpetrators,” including Senators Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa and Christopher “Bong” Go; former police chiefs Camilo Cascolan, Oscar Albayalde, and Vicente Danao; former justice secretary Vitaliano Aguirre II; and NBI chiefs Dante Gierran and Isidro Lapeña.

Lawyer Kristina Conti, representing families of victims, argued that the inclusion of these officials shows the killings were systematic and state-backed, not random acts of violence.

The ICC categorizes the alleged crimes into three groups:

1. Murder in Davao (2013–2016): 19 victims killed under Duterte’s mayoral watch.

2. High-Value Targets (2016–2017): 14 alleged drug kingpins reportedly killed for secret cash rewards.

3. Barangay Operations (2016–2018): 43 deaths and two attempted murders in local police operations, including three children.

Duterte is accused of designing the policy, ordering killings, and publicly encouraging officers and hired guns, even promising immunity to those who carried them out. The ICC’s Pre-Trial Chamber will now decide whether there is enough evidence to proceed to trial. Meanwhile, prosecutors have quietly added new evidence to the case, though details remain confidential.

Collateral damage is still death- and no justification from authorities

can't overturn the wheels of justice

For years, supporters of Duterte have defended these operations as necessary, framing them as a war the nation had to fight. They have said critics are “not Filipino for nothing,” and dismissed the deaths of innocents as “collateral damage.” Liberals and the left were painted as soft, naïve, or obstructionist for opposing the campaign.

But patriotism is not obedience to fear. Love of country does not require the suspension of law. The issue has never been the danger of drugs; it has been the abandonment of due process, the disregard for courts, and the instrumentalization of fear to enforce so-called order.

Operations that target civilians under the guise of policy are not justice; they are terror institutionalized. Labeling the dead as “suspects” does not sanctify the act, and incentives for killing do not transform murder into law enforcement. The rule of law is the very foundation of a functioning state — when it is bypassed, no one is safe.

Supporters may claim that order was restored and crime fell. But fear is not stability. Silence is not peace. And for every moment of apparent safety, the institutions that protect rights, investigate crime, and uphold justice are eroded, leaving future generations more vulnerable.

The truth is unflinching: no homeland, no political office, no chorus of supporters can shield anyone from law. International mechanisms exist precisely to hold leaders accountable when domestic systems fail. Rights exist not for convenience, but for protection. And the law exists not to serve fear, but to restrain it.

The debate is no longer simply about drugs. It is about whether a nation chooses fear as its foundation or law as its anchor. Once fear replaces justice, it is not only criminals who live in danger — it is everyone.  

Rodante Marcoleta and the Kalayaan Folly: A Senator, a Slip, and a Typhoon of Words

Rodante Marcoleta and the Kalayaan Folly:

A Senator, a Slip, and a Typhoon of Words

Some men make waves. Others? They create tsunamis with their tongues. Take Senator Rodante Marcoleta, for instance. In a rare lapse of judgment—or perhaps a flair for theatrics—he suggested, ever so delicately, that maybe, just maybe, the Philippines should “give up” the Kalayaan Island Group. One could almost hear the collective gasp from Palawan all the way to Malacañang. 

Marcoleta, of course, rushed to clarify. He did not really mean it, he insisted. His remarks were supposedly “taken out of context.” The phrase “abbreviating the context” has rarely sounded so feeble. According to him, his concern was merely procedural: maps, United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), UN deposits. Somehow, the hypothetical surrender of islands became a bureaucratic thought exercise. And yet, one cannot help but wonder: in a room full of lawmakers, why would the first thought involve surrendering Philippine territory? 

Meanwhile, the residents of Kalayaan were incensed. Vice Mayor MP Albayda put it plainly: “What is the worth of our town? What is the worth of our brave citizens? They have already given up better opportunities elsewhere just to stay here for decades.” Indeed, what good is a senator if he questions the very value of the people he is supposed to represent? These are citizens who have endured storms, hardship, and decades of sacrifice—all to uphold the sovereignty of the Philippines. 

Experts quickly weighed in, shaking their heads. The Philippines’ claim to the Kalayaan Island Group is not based on an arbitrary economic line on a map. It is anchored in decades of law and history: Presidential Decree 1596, the Archipelagic Baseline Law, the Philippine Maritime Zones Act, and the 2016 arbitral ruling—all of which reinforce, in no uncertain terms, that Kalayaan is Philippine territory. To suggest otherwise, even hypothetically, is to flirt with folly. 

Sometimes one wonders why there are those who downplay the Philippines’ sovereign claim over the Kalayaan Island Group. Is it because it is “just water”? Because these are barren rocks and sand, unfit for profit or industry, and therefore deemed not worth defending? Meanwhile, China expands, building artificial islands, militarizing shoals, asserting claims with engineering and sheer audacity. Vietnam does the same, staking its own claim with concrete and determination. And what do the naysayers in Manila do while all this unfolds? They clutch at “trade and investment,” arguing that China is the country’s biggest trading partner, as if commerce somehow outweighs sovereignty, as if territorial integrity could be measured on a balance sheet. They would also raise the flag of anti-Americanism—but when has it ever been practiced with consistency? When have they truly urged the nation to stand on its own, roll up its sleeves, and invest in nation-building brick by brick, port by port, school by school? Rarely, if ever. Their economic policy bears no trace of patriotism except rhetoric. Instead, they leave the fate of the Philippines to the mercy of the Market, that goddamned neoliberal deity that keeps the country dependent on the whims of first-world powers—whether American or Chinese. 

They speak of pragmatism, of realism, yet all their “realism” boils down to cowardice dressed in economic jargon. Sovereignty is not a commodity. It cannot be traded, bartered, or abandoned for a temporary balance in trade statistics. To suggest otherwise is to insult the sacrifices of those who live on Kalayaan, and to belittle the very idea of the Filipino nation. The truth is simple: defending what is theirs does not require the blessing of commerce or the nod of foreign powers. It requires will, law, and courage. Until the country learns to value its own sovereignty above the comforts of trade numbers or the allure of foreign investment, it will remain adrift—watching others claim what is theirs, while pretending that rocks and water are somehow dispensable. 

The optics grow worse when one considers Marcoleta’s historical alignment. Retired Supreme Court Justice Antonio Carpio remarked that if Marcoleta continues echoing China’s positions, he might as well register as a foreign agent. Whether deliberate or accidental, the impression is clear: his statements are strikingly reminiscent of the China-friendly policies of past administrations. 

Palace officials reminded the public that no part of Philippine territory will be surrendered. Communications Undersecretary Claire Castro offered a metaphorical warning: “You reap a storm if you sow winds.” But the wind has already blown, and Marcoleta is left trying to patch a hole in a hull that will take more than words to fix. 

The gaffe is not merely embarrassing. It is a warning: patriotism does not tolerate careless phrasing, especially when it comes to islands, shoals, and seabeds settled, defended, and codified by law. Marcoleta may have thought he was raising a technical point about maps and maritime boundaries, but in the court of public opinion, he has raised a red flag in a typhoon. Remember: both Left and right are seriously fighting each other ideologically, but when a matter involves sovereignty being infringed expect that feud be set aside to take traitors- especially that Marcoleta's slip taken seriously and evenly. 

The lesson is simple: the Kalayaan Island Group is Filipino, its distance and residents are Filipino, and even history is also Filipino. Words, however, can still stir tempests—and Marcoleta has just learned that the Philippine sea- whether it is west or east, does not forgive lightly.

As If Nothing

"As If Nothing"

Sometimes,
life divides itself
into shadow and shadow—
a deep pit,
a darkened path.

Eyes reach,
gentle and unsteady,
grasping at people,
ideas,
thoughts pressed close,
only to be set aside,
feared, dismissed,
like petals carried
by a passing wind.

Pardon if words linger,
pouring softly, wandering,
like streams tracing the hills,
ramblings that confuse
yet hold the weight of meaning
for those who listen quietly.

Behind them—
the faint glow of beauty,
the steady pull of reality—
the heart turns,
seeks its own order,
and learns to rest,
softly awake,
if left unbothered.

Even in shadows,
even in fear,
a choice is made:
to fall, to walk,
to pause in the space between,
where the night stretches long
but stars remain.

Seeing you—
the heart corrects itself,
as a robe finds its proper drape
before the hush of morning.

No teaching spoken.
Still, the path straightens;
the feet remember
what the soul once knew.

Words fall from the mouth—
quietly radiant—
not chosen,
but breathed,
as blossoms open
when the moon loosens its hold.

Quietly radiant—
fruit ripens in silence,
sweetness arriving
not to be tasted,
but to prove the season true.

Some beauty does not seek a name.
It is a sign,
not the destination—
a lamp lit briefly
to show the road.

It restores order in the chest,
turns the dust of the heart to gold,
then leaves,
like the Beloved passing
close enough to wake you,
not close enough to stay. 

Sometimes I think—

let them keep their borrowed light,

for joy survives best

when untouched by my sight.

I know this truth, however kind,

to step too near is to unbind

the fragile peace that hearts defend,

and turn beginnings into ends. 

So I choose silence, soft and thin,

a careful art of not stepping in.

I draw my lines where shadows stay,

believing distance clears the way—

that limiting each word, each glance,

might quiet rumor, chance, or chance,

and cleanse intent of names unmeant,

until desire learns consent. 

Sometimes I think, if we should speak,

my thoughts would spill, no longer meek.

So pardon me if I appear

inspired beyond what’s proper here.

Is it your beauty, calm, or grace,

or love that lingers in that face?

No wonder such a glow, so rare,

is called strange by those unaware. 

For in these days, when careful minds

mistake the pure for poorly timed,

even the loveliest of words

are judged as shame, or thought absurd.

Yet what is strange in petals blown,

or twilight claiming sea alone?

Must all that passes softly through

be labeled fault for being true? 

I cannot deny—nor will I feign—

your presence stirred my quiet grain.

As though my thoughts, too long at rest,

rose briefly, then dissolved to mist.

Call it embarrassment, if you must—

yet what disgrace lies in the dust

of blossoms carried by the air,

or sunsets fading, unaware? 

If this be my last offered line,

let it be clean, without design:

I came, I felt, I let it go,

as all fine moments choose to flow.

No vow was sworn, no bond undone—

only the grace of having known

that once, before the light withdrew,

the heart was moved—and that was true.

She passed like dusk on river stone,

a breath of light, then I was alone.

Her scent—hyssop, wild and deep,

still lingers where the willows weep.

If I must go, then let me fade

beneath the bloom her hands once made.

No words remain, just silent rain

and rose that blossoms once, then wanes.

A blossom brushed across my chest,

a cherry flower—no time to rest.

I held her smile like morning sun,

but even spring must come undone.

If I must go, then let me fade

beneath the bloom her hands once made.

No words remain, just silent rain

and rose that blossoms once, then wanes.

Now folded hands and lowered gaze,

a prayer wrapped in the evening haze.

She never knew how much she stayed

in all the things I never said.

If I must go, then leave me near

the scent she left, still faint, still clear.

Let hyssop grow where I lie still—

its breath the echo of her will.

“The Price of Teaching and Civil Servantship in a Corrupt System”

“The Price of Teaching and Civil Servantship in a Corrupt System”

In the shadow of grand promises and polished speeches, a quiet crisis deepens across public schools and government offices. As shown by recent protest actions, teachers and civil servants voices out concern if not opposition as serious issues ranging from low salaries, less benefits, to that of rampant corruption in the bureaucracy and social injustices that really affects them as government employees. However, it is not surprising that being civil servants, it is predictable to those who are "against voicing their concerns" end sounding "they shouldn't bite the hands that feed them". And the accusations come swiftly and predictably:

“You’re always against the government.”
“This isn’t even about teachers, is it?” 

These lines are weaponized whenever educators, or any public servants, dare to speak out—delivered with a casual dismissiveness that paints legitimate concern as mere personal animosity or political bias. As if demanding accountability were a vendetta, or as if teachers had somehow violated an unspoken rule by refusing to stay silent in the face of systemic neglect.

But the truth is far simpler and more urgent: this has never been about blind opposition. It has always been about survival, dignity, and the relentless erosion of a profession—and a public sector—that shoulders immense societal responsibility while being stripped of basic protections, fair compensation, and job security.

In 2026, the challenges for educators and government workers have intensified rather than eased. Policies enacted in prior years are now taking full effect, exposing their real human costs under the guise of reform and fiscal prudence.

Central to this is Republic Act No. 12231, the Government Optimization Act (often referred to as the Government Optimization Law), signed into law by President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. on August 4, 2025. Marketed as a tool for “efficiency,” “streamlining,” and “optimizing” the national government for better public service delivery, the law grants the President authority over a five-year period to reorganize the executive branch. This includes merging, consolidating, transferring, splitting, scaling down, abolishing, or creating agencies to eliminate redundancies and overlapping functions.

While proponents highlight potential improvements in transparency, agility, and service delivery through digitalization and e-governance, critics—including labor groups and affected workers—warn that it opens the door to widespread displacement. Thousands of public servants who have long sustained under-resourced institutions now confront uncertainty, potential layoffs, or forced retirement, even as the law excludes teaching positions, military, and uniformed personnel from its coverage. What is presented as modernization risks becoming a mechanism for downsizing without adequately addressing chronic understaffing or providing genuine pathways to stability.

Compounding this insecurity is CSC-COA-DBM Joint Circular No. 1, series of 2025, issued on December 15, 2025. This revised set of rules governs the engagement of Contract of Service (COS) and Job Order (JO) workers across government agencies. Far from advancing regularization—as long demanded by unions and advocates—the circular effectively caps the number of COS and JO workers at end-2025 levels while allowing continued hiring within that limit. In practice, it perpetuates subcontractual arrangements through third-party agencies or manpower providers, sidestepping meaningful absorption into regular plantilla positions.

Over one million contractual government workers nationwide feel the impact most acutely. Instead of pathways to secure employment with benefits, tenure, and retirement protections, they face deepened precarity: no job security, limited or no access to social benefits, and vulnerability to abrupt termination. What officials frame as “sustainable workforce planning” and “fiscal discipline” amounts, in reality, to institutionalized instability—flexibilization of labor that shifts risks onto workers while shielding agencies from long-term commitments.

The proposed (and ratified) 2026 national budget further entrenches this retreat from public sector responsibility. Key concerns include reductions or realignments in the Miscellaneous Personnel Benefits Fund (MPBF), which funds salary adjustments, benefits, and new positions. Reports of slashes—such as over P34 billion in some allocations—threaten even the modest third-tranche increases under Salary Standardization Law VI (implemented via related executive orders and budget circulars). These cuts limit new regular hires, exacerbate reliance on contractual labor, and jeopardize timely release of allowances and other entitlements.

A stark betrayal preceded this: roughly ₱43 billion originally earmarked for personnel services—including salary upgrades (around P10.77 billion) and retirement/terminal leave benefits (around P32.47 billion)—was transferred from guaranteed programmed funds to unprogrammed appropriations in the final budget process. President Marcos later vetoed a related line item under unprogrammed funds labeled “Payment of Personnel Services Requirements.” Official explanations cited fiscal constraints and realignments (e.g., to agency-specific budgets or subsistence allowances for uniformed personnel), with assurances that existing salaries and benefits remain secure.

Yet the contradiction remains glaring. There is never “no money” for priorities that benefit the powerful or connected—vast infrastructure projects often riddled with allegations of padded costs, ghost projects, substandard materials, and patronage. These ventures, frequently criticized as fertile ground for corruption, receive billions while educators and civil servants are told to tighten belts. That ₱43 billion could have delivered tangible relief: an additional ₱3,000–₱4,000 monthly for teachers, or a doubling of the Personnel Economic Relief Allowance (PERA) from ₱2,000 to ₱4,000 for government workers. These were modest, survival-level demands—enough to offset inflation, cover out-of-pocket classroom supplies, reduce debt burdens, and ease the daily grind of unpaid overtime and personal subsidies to education.

Instead, teachers continue absorbing the system’s shortfalls: funding supplies from their own pockets, managing overcrowded classrooms, and accepting wages eroded by rising costs—all while being lauded as “heroes” or “nation-builders.” Symbolic praise costs nothing; structural support does.

This pattern reflects broader neoliberal approaches under the Marcos Jr. administration: hollowing out public services, flexibilizing labor through contractualization and outsourcing, and weakening social protections in the name of efficiency and growth. Promises of economic progress remain disconnected from the lived realities of ordinary Filipinos, who face deepening hardship amid persistent inequality. Corruption, meanwhile, escapes genuine accountability. Scandals—from infrastructure anomalies to misused funds—drain resources that could fund wages, benefits, and services. Instead of prosecution and reform, the system often shields those who benefit from poverty and patronage, while bolstering repressive measures against dissent.

Educators are uniquely positioned as custodians of truth and critical thinking. Public servants, in turn, hold the public trust. When systemic corruption and precarity become normalized, neutrality is complicity. Speaking out is not partisanship—it is civic duty. Calling for accountability rejects the notion that exploitation equals efficiency, layoffs equal reform, and corruption is an inevitable byproduct of governance.

The fight against corruption is inseparable from the fight for decent wages, job security, humane conditions, and a public sector that serves rather than sacrifices its workers.

A government claiming fiscal poverty while enabling theft cannot demand trust. A state undermining its educators cannot credibly champion education or national development.

This is not opposition for opposition’s sake. It is a demand for responsibility, justice, and a future where public service means dignity not endless sacrifice and enforced silence. When corruption goes unchallenged, it steals far more than funds. It robs stability, dignity, and the promise of a better tomorrow especially for those shaping the next generation and those who promised efficient service.

Educators—and all government workers—cannot, and will not, look away.