A Nation at the Edge of Renewal: When the Philippines Finally Chooses to Reset Itself

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

 

Sometimes, before I talk about politics or nation-building, I start with my own story—because like every Filipino, the nation’s wounds feel personal. As a single father, I have known what it means to choose wrong. I have fallen for the wrong women more than once—scammers who disguised themselves as partners, users who treated kindness as a resource, walkers who walked in and out of my life with no intention to stay, and swindlers who took pieces of my peace as if they had the right to. There were nights when I felt foolish, wondering why my heart kept choosing the wrong people, why hope always seemed to slip from my grasp. But every time, I rose because of my daughter, Juliana Rizalhea. I could not allow my mistakes to define her future. And as I carried these personal heartbreaks, I slowly realized that the Philippines suffers from the same pattern. Like me, our nation keeps choosing the wrong partners—corrupt officials, political dynasties, manipulators with charm polished like glass. We call them “honorables,” give them power, and then cry when they betray us. We elect the same surnames, same bloodlines, and same operators, expecting change but receiving the same heartbreak every six years. We are a people trapped in a painful romance with the wrong leaders.

 

Today, the Philippines carries that heartbreak heavily. The flood control scandal, budget insertions, and the shameless display of greed have become the thorns in the nation’s chest. Civil society is fractured. People march in different directions. The middle class is exhausted. Even the youth, once idealistic, now carry cynicism like a burden they did not deserve. As the scandals deepen and distrust spreads like wildfire, a haunting question rises: What if we start over? What if President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. resigns? What if Vice President Sara Duterte steps down? What if we finally stop patching a sinking ship and choose to rebuild it?

 

Under the 1987 Constitution, if that moment comes, the next in line would be Senate President Vicente “Tito” Sotto III. And perhaps history, in its strange unpredictability, would push him into Malacañang—not as a man seeking power, but as a man performing a constitutional duty in a time of national collapse. In the face of a nation suffocating from scandal, Sotto would be forced into the role of caretaker of a wounded republic. And in a move that surprises many but comforts more, he appoints former Senator Panfilo “Ping” Lacson as Acting Vice President—his most decisive act, symbolizing discipline, anti-corruption, stability, and credibility.

 

Tito Sotto steps into Malacañang not like a conqueror, but like someone who knows the weight of a broken nation. He brings calmness, neutrality, and the ability to communicate across political lines. And beyond this, Sotto brings something no other national figure possesses at his level: an unparalleled mastery of unorthodox human relations. He is friends with governors and barangay captains alike, respected by local mayors from Luzon to Mindanao, and trusted even by political rivals who seldom trust anyone. It is this unique ability—being everyone’s friend without being anyone’s puppet—that allows Sotto to create harmony in governance between the national and local governments. Where others impose, he persuades. Where others threaten, he connects. Where others divide, he unites. Local officials, long exhausted by the tug-of-war between Malacañang and Congress, would finally find in Sotto a leader who listens, who understands, and who does not treat them as subordinates but as partners. In him, the country discovers not just a caretaker president, but a bridge-builder capable of aligning national priorities with local needs.

 

Ping Lacson, on the other hand, arrives with the reputation he has earned throughout his career—strict, principled, feared by criminals, respected by institutions. Together, they form a leadership combination that is rare: the statesman and the enforcer, the steady hand and the iron spine. In a time of political chaos, they become the pair the nation did not expect but may very well need.

 

Under such a caretaker leadership, one truth becomes immediately clear: criminality, illegal drugs, and systemic corruption—three evils that have long plagued the nation—can finally be aggressively addressed without political interference. Lacson’s arrival alone reshapes the landscape of law enforcement. Crime syndicates tighten their movements. Drug networks feel the pressure of an uncompromising hand. Corrupt officials who once walked with arrogance suddenly move with caution. The caretaker period, free from dynastic ambitions and free from transactional politics, becomes a rare window where justice can operate without chains, and governance can function without fear or favor. For once, the machinery of the state can be used to protect the people, not the powerful.

 

Civil society begins to breathe. Investors, stop panicking. The military and police feel the stabilizing presence of Lacson. Even critics fall silent—not in surrender, but in recognition that the cycle of chaos must end. And slowly, without theatrics, without fireworks, the nation finds its footing.

 

But stability is not healing. And healing is not transformation. The deeper question remains: can the Philippines finally escape the system that has betrayed it for decades? Scholars point out that the 1987 Constitution, though born from noble intentions, is structurally weak. It invites dynasties, incentivizes corruption, centralizes power in Manila, weakens political parties, and traps every administration in a bureaucratic maze.

 

This is when Tito Sotto makes the boldest move of his life: he calls for a Constitutional Convention. Not Cha-Cha by Congress. Not amendments crafted by politicians protecting their own privileges. But a people-driven rewrite—a national rebirth chosen by farmers, teachers, OFWs, nurses, scholars, barangay leaders, business owners, and everyday citizens. For the first time since 1986, the Philippines turns away from the question of who should lead and instead asks the far more important question: What kind of country do we want to build?

 

And the nation responds. Civil society, once divided, enters the conversation. Youth activists shift from rage to participation. Retired generals sit at tables drafting institutional reforms. Religious groups calm down and refocus on moral guidance. The business sector finds hope in structural stability. The political temperature drops, and the nation—shaking and bruised—begins to rise.

 

Debates ignite the country: federalism, parliamentary options, stronger political parties, anti-dynasty enforcement, reformed budgeting, judicial restructuring. These conversations long overdue finally take center stage. For the first time in decades, Filipinos feel they are not merely watching history unfold; they are shaping it.

 

Will the Philippines be well under a Sotto–Lacson caretaker leadership? Emotionally, absolutely—because people need a moment of national calm. Structurally, very possible—because systemic reform attacks the root of decay. Economically, likely—because stability and credible leadership restore confidence. Politically, hopeful—because neither Sotto nor Lacson carries dynastic hunger. Morally, undoubtedly yes—because humility prevails over pride, and constitutional order rises over chaos.

 

In the end, this moment is not really about Tito Sotto or Ping Lacson. It is about us—about a nation finally learning the same lesson I learned as a single father. Sometimes, life breaks you again and again until you finally learn to stop choosing what destroys you. My heart had to break many times before I learned to choose differently, choose better, choose for my daughter. And perhaps the Philippines is like that—heartbroken by its own choices, wounded by its own patterns, but finally ready to say, “Tama na. I deserve better.”

 

If this moment of national reset ever comes, history may remember it as the time when the Philippines finally walked away from its toxic relationships with corrupt leaders and chose itself. The time when the country, like a father learning from his past, finally stopped repeating the same painful cycle and found the courage to rebuild a future worthy of the next generation. A moment when the storm cleared and the nation, battered but not broken, chose to heal—just as I once had to heal for my daughter.

 

_______________________________________________________

TRANSLATED TO FILIPINO

---

Isang Bansang Nasa Gilid ng Pagbabagong-Buhay: Kapag Pinili Ng Pilipinas ang Tunay na Pag-reset

 

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

Minsan, bago pa ako magsalita tungkol sa pulitika o pambansang pamamahala, nagsisimula muna ako sa sarili kong kuwento—dahil tulad ng bawat Pilipino, personal ang sugat ng bayan. Bilang isang single father, alam ko kung ano ang pakiramdam ng paulit-ulit na pumili nang mali. Ilang beses na akong naloko ng maling babae—may mga scammer na nagpapanggap na kasama ko sa buhay, may mga user na ang kabaitan ay nagiging ATM, may mga walker na dumarating at umaalis nang parang paupahang kwarto lamang ang puso, at may mga swindler na ninanakaw ang kapayapaan na parang karapatan nila. May mga gabing pakiramdam ko’y tanga ako, na bakit parang mali lagi ang pinipili ko, bakit ang pag-asa ay laging dumudulas sa palad ko. Pero sa bawat pagbagsak ko, bumabangon ako para sa aking anak na si Juliana. Hindi ko kayang hayaang ang aking mga pagkakamali ang magtatakda ng kanyang kinabukasan. At sa pagdadala ko ng mga personal na sakit na ito, napagtanto ko na ang Pilipinas, tulad ko, ay paulit-ulit ding pumipili ng mali. Parang ako rin, paulit-ulit tayong nagmamahal sa maling tao—mga tiwaling opisyal, mga dinastiyang pulitikal, mga mahusay mambola at mapanlinlang. Tinatawag pa nating “honorable.” Pinapaupo sa poder, tapos iiyak tayo kapag tayo ang ninanakawan. Bawat eleksiyon ay parang toxic na relasyon—umaasa tayong magbabago sila, pero ang nakukuha natin ay parehong sakit, paulit-ulit.

 

Ngayon, pasan ng Pilipinas ang bigat na ito. Ang iskandalo sa flood control, ang mga napakalaking budget insertions, at ang garapal na pagnanakaw ay parang mga tinik na nakabaon sa dibdib ng bayan. Basag ang civil society. Ang mga tao, kanya-kanyang lakad. Pagod ang middle class. Ang kabataang dati’y puno ng pag-asa, ngayo’y parang dalang-dala ang bigat ng pagkadismaya. Habang lumalalim ang eskandalo at lumalawak ang kawalan ng tiwala, unti-unting bumubulong ang bansa: Paano kung magsimula tayo muli? Paano kung magbitiw si Pangulong Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr.? Paano kung sumabay na ring mag-resign si Pangalawang Pangulong Sara Duterte? Paano kung sa wakas, tigilan na natin ang pagtagpi sa lumulubog na barko at piliing gumawa ng bago?

 

Ayon sa Saligang Batas ng 1987, kung mangyari ito, ang susunod na magiging pinuno ay si Senate President Vicente “Tito” Sotto III. At marahil, sa kakaibang takbo ng kasaysayan, itutulak siya sa Malacañang—hindi bilang naghahangad ng kapangyarihan, kundi bilang isang lingkod na tumutupad sa tungkulin sa oras ng pagkadurog ng bansa. Sa harap ng lumulubog na pamahalaan, mapipilitan siyang maging tagapag-alaga ng sugatang Republika. At sa isang hakbang na ikagugulat ng marami pero magpapakalma sa mas nakararami, pipiliin niyang maging Acting Vice President si dating Senador Panfilo “Ping” Lacson—isang desisyong magpapakita ng disiplina, katapatan, katatagan, at kredibilidad.

 

Si Tito Sotto, papasok sa Malacañang hindi tulad ng mananakop, kundi tulad ng isang taong ramdam ang bigat ng bansang iniwan ng eskandalo. May dala siyang katahimikan, neutralidad, at kakayahang makipag-usap sa lahat ng panig. At bukod pa roon, may isang bagay na taglay si Sotto na wala sa ibang nasyonal na lider: ang kakaibang galing sa human relations. Kaibigan siya ng mga gobernador, mayor, at barangay captain. Nirerespeto siya kahit ng mga pulitikong kalaban. At dahil dito, nagagawa niyang pag-isahin ang pambansang pamahalaan at lokal na pamahalaan—isang bagay na matagal nang hindi nagagawa ng sinuman. Kung ang iba’y puro utos at banta, si Sotto ay marunong makipagkapwa. Kung ang iba’y puro paghahati, siya ay tagapagbuklod. Sa ilalim niya, mararamdaman ng mga LGU ang respeto at pagkilala—hindi bilang tauhan, kundi bilang katuwang.

 

Si Ping Lacson naman, kilala na bago pa man ang kaniyang pangalan—mahigpit, may prinsipyo, kinaaayawan ng kriminal, ginagalang ng institusyon. Sila ay nagiging bihirang tambalan: ang estadista at ang tagapagpatupad, ang kamay na banayad at ang kamay na bakal. Sa gitna ng kaguluhan, sila ang hindi inaasahang duet na maaaring kailangan ng bansa.

 

Sa ilalim ng ganitong caretaker leadership, isang katotohanan ang agad na lilitaw: ang kriminalidad, illegal drugs, at malawakang korapsyon—ang tatlong matagal nang salot ng bansa—sa wakas ay maaaring tugunan nang walang pulitikal na pakialam. Ang pagdating ni Lacson ay parang paghigpit ng hawla sa mga sindikato. Nagsisikip ang galaw ng mga cartel. Niyayanig ang mga drug network. Ang mga corrupt na opisyal na dati’y naglalakad nang mayabang, biglang nagiging maingat. Ang caretaker period—walang dinastikong ambisyon, walang transaksyong pulitikal, walang pagkiling—ay nagiging bihirang sandali kung saan maaaring gumana ang hustisya nang walang tali, at ang gobyerno ay maaaring tumakbo para sa taumbayan at hindi para sa iilan.

 

Humihinga nang maluwag ang civil society. Humihinto sa takot ang mga mamumuhunan. Pumapirmi ang militar at pulisya sa presensiya ni Lacson. Maging ang mga kritiko, tumatahimik—hindi dahil sumusuko sila, kundi dahil nauunawaan nilang dapat nang putulin ang siklo ng kaguluhan. At dahan-dahan, walang drama, walang paputok, tumitibay ang bansa.

 

Pero ang katatagan ay hindi pa kagalingan. At ang kagalingan ay hindi pa pagbabago. Nanatili ang mas malalim na tanong: kaya pa bang kumawala ng Pilipinas sa sistemang paulit-ulit na nagpapahina sa kanya? Maraming iskolar ang nagsasabing ang Saligang Batas ng 1987, bagama’t may mabuting layunin, ay puno ng butas. Pabor sa dinastiya. Bukas sa korapsyon. Sentralisado. Mahina ang political parties. At lahat ng pangulo, kahit gaano kabuti, ay nabibitag sa sablay na disenyo.

 

Dito gagawa si Tito Sotto ng pinakamalaking hakbang ng kanyang buhay: ang magpatawag ng Constitutional Convention. Hindi Cha-cha ng Kongreso. Hindi pag-amyenda ng mga pulitiko na may sariling interes. Kundi isang people-powered rewrite—isang pambansang muling pagbangon na pipiliin ng mga magsasaka, guro, OFW, nurse, iskolar, barangay leader, negosyante, at ordinaryong mamamayan. Sa unang pagkakataon mula 1986, tatalikuran natin ang tanong na sino ang susunod, at haharapin ang mas mahalagang tanong: Anong klaseng bansa ang gusto nating ipamana sa susunod na henerasyon?

 

At nagtutugon ang sambayanan. Ang kabataang dati’y galit, ngayon ay nakikilahok. Ang mga retiradong heneral, gumagawa ng reporma. Ang simbahan, tumatalima sa tungkuling moral. Ang negosyo, muling nagkakaroon ng tiwala. Humuhupa ang init ng pulitika. At ang bansang sugatan, unti-unting tumatayo.

 

Sa huli, ang tanong: magiging maayos ba ang Pilipinas sa ilalim ng Sotto–Lacson caretaker leadership? Emosyonal, oo—dahil kailangan ng bayan ng kapayapaan. Estruktura, oo—dahil inaayos mismo ang ugat ng problema. Ekonomiya, oo—dahil bumabalik ang tiwala. Pulitika, oo—dahil wala silang dinastikong ambisyon. Moral, higit lalo—dahil nananaig ang kababaang-loob kaysa kayabangan, at ang Saligang Batas kaysa pansariling interes.

 

At sa dulo, hindi ito talaga tungkol kina Tito Sotto at Ping Lacson. Tungkol ito sa atin—sa bansang natuto sa parehong aral na natutunan ko bilang isang single father. Minsan, paulit-ulit kang sinasaktan ng buhay hanggang matutunan mong tumigil sa pagpili ng mga bagay na sumisira sa’yo. Napagod ang puso ko bago ko natutunang pumili para sa sarili ko at para kay Juliana. At marahil ganito rin ang Pilipinas—niloko, sinaktan, inulit-ulit ang maling pagpili—pero sa wakas handang sabihin: “Tama na. Karapat-dapat ako sa mas mabuti.”

 

Kung darating ang sandaling ito ng pambansang pag-reset, maaaring maalala ito ng kasaysayan bilang panahon kung kailan tuluyan nang iniwan ng Pilipinas ang toxic na relasyon nito sa mga tiwaling pinuno at pinili ang sarili. Panahon kung kailan, tulad ng isang amang natuto sa mga sugat ng kahapon, tumigil ang bansa sa pag-uulit ng mali at nagkaroon ng tapang na magtayo ng kinabukasang karapat-dapat sa ating mga anak. Panahon kung kailan luminaw ang langit matapos ang bagyo, at ang bayang bugbog at pagod ay pumili na ring maghilom—tulad ng paghilom na minsan kong pinili para sa aking anak.

____

 *About the author:

Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission.

VIEWS: 1.52M

 

Qualifications Over Connections: Why Mike Aguinaldo Deserves the DOJ Helm

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

I do not know Mike Aguinaldo personally. I have never met him, never spoken to him, and never shared a room with him. I don't know him personally or professionally. Yet as someone who has spent years studying governance, public safety, and the painful gaps of our justice system, I have learned to judge leaders not by proximity or political color, but by the integrity of their work and the consistency of their careers. And based on everything I have read, reviewed, and researched, Mike Aguinaldo stands out as the most qualified person to lead the Department of Justice at this critical moment.

When I look at the arc of his professional life, it reflects a man forged not by noise but by responsibility. A law degree—even a prestigious one—is only the starting point. What matters is what happens when theory is tested by real-world pressures. Aguinaldo has navigated environments where errors echo loudly and accountability is unavoidable. His years at the Commission on Audit showed his discipline, steadiness, and firm grasp of administrative integrity. His leadership at the Philippine Competition Commission demonstrated his ability to manage regulatory environments where technical expertise and independence matter more than political choreography.

What strengthens his case even further is something many people overlook: those who come from within the government system—those who have actually operated, led, and sustained institutions—carry an irreplaceable familiarity with the internal workings of agencies like the DOJ. They understand the unwritten rules, the chains of responsibility, the flow of cases, the rhythms of bureaucracy, the administrative bottlenecks, and the delicate balance between supervision and independence. Aguinaldo, having spent years inside the machinery of government, holds that institutional fluency. He knows how offices talk to each other, how processes move, how investigations evolve, and how to handle the daily in-and-out dynamics that make the DOJ both powerful and fragile. This is an expertise that can never be taught quickly; it can only be earned through years of immersion.

What reassures me further is how seasoned observers describe him. Edwin Lacierda, a former Presidential Spokesperson, called him objective and steady—words you reserve only for people who have actually proven themselves in serious government work. In a time when justice is constantly pulled by political tension and public scrutiny, it matters to have a leader who is grounded, deliberate, and quietly firm. Aguinaldo strikes me as that kind of professional—no theatrics, no noise, just the work.

I want to emphasize again: I have no personal connection to the man. But I do have a deep concern for the state of our justice system. Every backlog, every unresolved complaint, and every denied or delayed prosecution weakens the faith of Filipinos in their own institutions. We cannot afford another politically comfortable appointment. We need someone who understands how government truly works behind the curtains—someone who sees not just the legal arguments, but the administrative DNA of the DOJ.

Based on my research, Aguinaldo meets that criteria. His experience is lived, not imagined. His leadership is steady, not performative. His reputation is clean, not compromised. Most importantly, his deep understanding of the government enables him to supervise, reform, and strengthen the DOJ with both insight and authority.

The Department of Justice does not simply need brilliance; it needs familiarity. It needs someone who understands its internal machinery deeply enough to repair what needs fixing and preserve what must be preserved. It needs someone who knows how cases move, how prosecutors struggle, how administrative processes fail, and how political pressures can be navigated without surrendering integrity. Aguinaldo brings that rare blend of expertise, temperament, and institutional memory.

I may not know him personally, but the record speaks for him. And if governance is to be our guide—not popularity, not politics, not pressure—then Mike Aguinaldo stands as the most credible and qualified choice to lead the DOJ at a time when justice and national trust are hanging in the balance.

____

 *About the author:

Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission.

VIEWS: 404K

 

Hindi Lahat ng Bitak ay Gumuguho ang Palasyo: Ang Sigalot ng Pamilyang Marcos sa Salamin ng Kuwento ng mga Fujimori ng Peru

   *Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

Bawat umaga, nagigising ang Pilipinas na may pasan-pasang sugat na hindi naman niya hiniling. Isang bansang naghihilom tayo—bugbog ng kontrobersiya, laslas ng korapsyon, lason ng pulitikang puno ng drama, at tahimik na dumurugo dahil sa mga alitang pampamilya na sana’y sa loob lamang ng tahanan, ngunit ngayo’y isinisigaw sa buong bayan na parang entablado ang Republika.

 

At sa kabila ng lahat ng ito, tumatayo pa rin tayo.

Dahil iyan ang likas sa Pilipino—bumangon kahit pagod, ngumiti kahit masakit, umasa kahit sugatan.

 

Kaya nang humarap si Senador Imee Marcos sa dagat ng mga kapatid sa Iglesia Ni Cristo at buong bangis na sinabi sa sambayanan na ang kanyang sariling kapatid—ang Pangulo ng Republika—ay gumagamit umano ng cocaine, parang nayanig ang hangin. Hindi malumanay ang pahayag niya. Hindi rin binalutan ng paggalang. Para itong punyal na ibinaon sa gitna ng isang pagtitipon na naghanap ng katarungan, hindi ng eskandalo.

 

Ngunit ang mas malaking pagkagulat ay hindi nanggaling sa kanya.

Nanggaling ito sa katahimikan ng taong kanyang tinuligsa.

 

Hindi sumagot si Pangulong Bongbong Marcos.

Hindi nagalit.

Hindi nagpasaring.

Hindi nag-hostile takeover ng media.

Wala.

 

Tahimik siyang bumalik sa trabaho.

 

Isang kapatid ang pinili ang entablado;

ang isa, ang trabaho.

Isang kapatid ang sumigaw;

ang isa, ay tumahimik.

 

At dito nagkaanyo ang buong kuwento—mariin, dramatiko, at tahimik na mas malakas pa sa sigaw.

 

Nakita ito ng sambayanan.

Narinig nila ang gulo—pero mas malinaw nilang nakita ang totoo.

 

Sa kabila ng akusasyon, walang malawakang panawagan na magbitiw ang Pangulo.

Walang sigaw ang Simbahang Katolika para sa pagbabagsak.

Walang deklarasyon ang INC para sa pagpapabagsak ng administrasyon.

Tahimik ang mga negosyante.

At maging ang mga maralitang sinalanta ng baha—ang tunay na nasaktan sa flood control scandal—hindi humingi ng pagpapatalsik. Ang hiningi nila ay hustisya.

 

Dahil marunong na ang Pilipino.

Mas matalino na.

Mas sugatan na, pero mas nagising.

Alam na natin: Palitan mo ang pangulo kung bulok pa rin ang sistema, babalik at babalik ka sa simula.

 

At dito pumapasok ang matinding aral ng kasaysayan.

Dahil hindi ito ang unang beses na ang mga pinuno ay may madidilim na nakaraan.

 

Puno ng ganitong mga pinuno ang kasaysayan.

 

Si John F. Kennedy, mukha ng pag-asa ng Amerika, nakipaglaban sa matinding kirot sa likod, sa mga relasyong labas sa kasal, at sa pagdepende sa mga gamot. Pero minahal pa rin siya ng bayan.

 

Si Franklin Roosevelt, tagapag-ahon ng Amerika sa depresyon, itinago ang kanyang pagkaparalisa habang pasan ang bigat ng sirang relasyon at matinding emosyonal na pasanin.

 

Si Bill Clinton, na halos lamunin ng iskandalo kasama si Lewinsky, ay naghari sa pinakamalakas na ekonomiya ng Amerika.

 

At maging si Winston Churchill, ang pinakatanyag na simbolo ng lakas sa panahon ng digmaan, ay nilamon ng depresyon na tinawag niyang “black dog” na araw-araw siyang sinusundan.

 

At sa Pilipinas, hindi rin bago ang mga aninong ito.

 

Si Ferdinand Marcos Sr. ay halo ng isang henyo at isang diktador—isang utak na makabansa at isang kamay na bakal sa iisang katawan.

Si Joseph Estrada ay pumasok sa Malacañang sa piling ng pagsamba ng masa, ngunit lumabas habang pasan ang kaso ng plunder.

Si Gloria Macapagal Arroyo ay nalubog sa mga paratang ng pandaraya at lagayan.

Si Benigno Aquino III ay sinundan ng multo ng Mamasapano at SAF 44.

 

Ngunit ang pinakamabigat na halimbawa: Rodrigo Roa Duterte.

 

Isang hayag na nagpakilalang pumatay.

 

Hindi niya ikinahiya.

Paulit-ulit niyang inulit.

Para bang ito’y medalya, hindi kasalanan.

 

At minahal siya ng DDS.

Minahal pa lalo.

Naging idolo nila siya dahil sa dilim na iyon, hindi sa kabila nito.

Ginawa nila itong simbolo ng tapang.

 

Ganito tayo ka-komplikado bilang bansa.

Nasaksihan na natin ang mga pinunong may mas mabibigat at mas madidilim na pasanin kaysa sa anumang paratang na inihagis ni Imee laban sa kanyang kapatid.

 

Kaya hindi gumuguho ang Pilipinas.

Kasi alam ng Pilipino ang kaibahan ng iskandalong personal sa pagkasira ng sistema.

 

At dito na ako nagsasalita, hindi bilang analyst, kundi bilang Pilipinong nakasaksi mismo ng kasaysayan.

 

May mga magagalit sa akin dahil hindi ko sinasabing dapat patalsikin ang Pangulo.

May mga magsasabing takot ako, o bulag, o maka-admin.

Pero hindi ito takot—alaala ito.

 

Nandoon ako sa EDSA 1.

Saksi ako sa EDSA 2.

 

Narinig ko ang sigaw ng milyun-milyon.

Narinig ko ang dasal ng bayan.

Narinig ko ang pangakong “ito na ang simula.”

 

At sa dalawang pagkakataon, nakita ko ring bumagsak ang pangako.

 

Yes, natanggal ang mga pangulo—pero ang bulok na sistema, naiwan.

Pareho pa rin ang korapsyon.

Pareho pa rin ang mga mukha sa likod ng kurtina.

Pareho pa rin ang maanomalyang sirkulo ng kapangyarihan.

 

Dalawang rebolusyon.

Dalawang pagkabigo.

Dalawang pagputok ng pag-asa na nauwi sa abo.

 

Ayoko nang umasa ng ganoong uri ng pag-asa.

Hindi na ako magpapaloko sa panibagong sigaw ng kalsada na hindi naman nag-aalok ng bagong sistema.

Hindi na ako magpapahila sa pangarap na palitan lang ang lider pero iiwan ang maysakit na ugat ng Estado.

 

Iba na ang hinahanap ko ngayon.

Mas mahirap.

Mas mabagal.

Mas masakit.

Pero mas tunay.

 

Gusto ko ng system change, hindi personality change.

Gusto ko ng bagong konstitusyon, hindi band-aid reform.

Gusto ko ng mga institusyong mas malakas kaysa sa apelyido.

Gusto ko ng hustisyang hindi nakadepende kung sino ang nasa Malacañang.

Gusto ko ng bansang hindi paulit-ulit ang trahedya.

 

At kung si PBBM ay may kasalanan man—anumang kasalanan—darating at darating ang hustisya.

Kung hindi ngayon, sa susunod na administrasyon.

Kung hindi sa korte, sa kasaysayan.

 

Kilala ng kasaysayan ang mga lumalabag.

Hindi ito nakakalimot.

Hindi ito nagpapatawad nang walang kabayaran.

At hindi ito nawawalan ng oras.

 

Kaya hindi matutulad sa Peru ang Pilipinas.

Hindi guguho ang Palasyo dahil sa sigaw ng isang kapatid.

Dahil ang Pilipino ngayon ay hindi na nadadala sa tsismis.

Hindi na nadadala sa drama.

Hindi na nadadala sa mabilisang himagsikan.

 

Ang gusto natin ay katarungan, hindi kaguluhan.

Reporma, hindi pag-aalsa.

Konstitusyonal na pagbabago, hindi paulit-ulit na EDSA.

 

Peru ay bumagsak dahil inilibing ang katotohanan.

Pilipinas ay nananatiling nakatayo dahil hinihingi natin ang katotohanan—hindi sa ingay, kundi sa hustisya.

 

Hindi lahat ng bitak ay gumuguho ang palasyo.

Ang ilan, nagpapakita lang kung saan papasok ang liwanag.

Ang ilan, nagtuturo kung anong sugat ang dapat hilumin.

At ang ilan, nagpapaalala sa atin na ang tunay na pagbabago ay hindi nanggagaling sa pagbagsak ng isang tao—kundi sa muling pagbuo ng mismong kaluluwa ng bansa.

 

At ngayon, habang ang isang kapatid ay sumisigaw at ang isa ay nananahimik, pinipili ng Pilipino ang mas makapangyarihang landas:

 

Ang pag-asa na, sa wakas, hindi na mauulit ang kasaysayan.

 _________________

Translated to English

___________

Not All Cracks Break the Palace: The Marcos Rift Through a Fujimori Lens of Peru

 

By Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

 

The Philippines wakes up each morning carrying wounds it never asked for. We are a nation still healing—bruised by corruption, stung by controversies, shaken by political theatrics, and quietly bleeding from family feuds that spill into the public square like confessions meant for the world to dissect. Yet for all these wounds, we rise. We always rise. Because rising is the only thing we Filipinos know how to do, even when our hearts are tired, even when our dreams are faded, even when our faith in leadership feels thin.

 

So when Senator Imee Marcos stepped before a sea of Iglesia Ni Cristo members and told the entire nation that her own brother—the President of the Republic—was a cocaine user, the country trembled for a heartbeat. Her words were not careful. They were not softened by love or loyalty. They were sharp, deliberate, almost surgical in their cruelty.

 

But the greater shock came not from her.

It came from the silence of the man she accused.

 

President Bongbong Marcos did not answer.

He did not deny in anger.

He did not retaliate.

He did not turn the podium into a battlefield.

 

He simply went back to work.

 

One sibling chose spectacle; the other chose silence.

One chose accusation; the other chose duty.

One shouted; one carried on.

 

And this contrast—quiet yet thunderous—became the soul of the moment.

 

Filipinos saw the drama. But they also saw through it. Because despite Imee’s explosive allegations, there was no national call for PBBM to resign, not from the Church, not from the INC, not from the elites, and not from the poor who suffered the floods.

Filipinos asked not for a fall, but for accountability.

Not for chaos, but for justice.

 

Because we, as a nation, have learned the hardest lesson history could teach: leaders have always carried shadows. And the world has always been led by men—and women—whose private lives were often darker than their public victories.

 

History is full of such leaders.

 

John F. Kennedy, the golden boy of American hope, lived with chronic back pain so agonizing he could barely stand. He drowned himself in painkillers and entangled himself in extramarital affairs. Yet America loved him—deeply, blindly, almost religiously.

 

Franklin Roosevelt—hero of the Great Depression and architect of the New Deal—hid his paralysis from the public eye. Behind closed doors, he bore the pain of a broken marriage and the psychological toll of illness. Still, he became one of America’s greatest presidents.

 

Bill Clinton survived the humiliation of the Lewinsky scandal, a moral earthquake that would have shattered lesser men. Yet he presided over one of the strongest economic booms in U.S. history.

 

Even Winston Churchill, the man who stood against Hitler with unmatched courage, battled a depression so deep he named it “the black dog.” He drank too much. He cried often. But he saved a continent.

 

And here at home, our leaders carried their own shadows.

 

Ferdinand Marcos Sr. embodied both statesmanlike brilliance and authoritarian brutality in one complicated heartbeat.

Joseph Estrada entered Malacañang with the love of the masses and left its gates under charges of plunder.

Gloria Macapagal Arroyo navigated the storms of electoral fraud, corruption scandals, and political isolation.

Benigno Aquino III spent his term haunted by Mamasapano, SAF 44, and the weight of expectations he could never fully meet.

 

But perhaps the most jarring example of all is Rodrigo Roa Duterte.

 

A self-confessed killer.

 

He admitted it loudly.

He admitted it repeatedly.

He admitted it with a sense of pride—as though killing were a credential, not a confession.

 

And yet the DDS adored him even more.

They worshipped his darkness.

They embraced his ruthlessness.

They made a hero out of a man who celebrated violence.

 

This is who we are as a nation:

A people who have seen presidents with sins far greater, darker, and more violent than anything Imee hurled at her brother.

A people who know the difference between personal scandal and systemic collapse.

A people who no longer rise for gossip—but rise only when the system betrays us.

 

And here is where I speak not just as an observer, but as a Filipino who lived through history’s flame.

 

There are those who may hate me for saying that I do not wish for the president’s swift downfall. They may call me blind, cowardly, or complicit. But I say this not from fear—I say it from memory.

 

Because I was there at EDSA 1.

And I was there at EDSA 2.

 

I felt the electricity of hope surging through millions.

I believed in the righteousness of our cause.

I believed we were tearing down darkness so the country could finally breathe.

 

But in the quiet years that followed, hope slowly collapsed.

The same corrupt networks resurfaced.

The same dynasties returned.

The same wounds reopened.

 

And then EDSA 2 came—another explosion of hope, another promise that we were finally free.

Yet after the confetti fell and the cheers faded, we realized the truth:

 

We removed presidents, not systems.

We toppled leaders, not corruption.

We changed the faces, not the foundations.

 

Hope betrayed twice is a wound that never fully heals.

 

And that is why I refuse to hope that kind of hope again.

 

I do not want another EDSA.

I do not want another revolution wrapped in euphoria but destined for disappointment.

I do not want another cycle of anger mistaken for reform.

 

I want something deeper.

Harder.

Slower.

But permanent.

 

I want systems change, not personality change.

I want a new constitution, not a recycled political circus.

I want institutions stronger than surnames.

I want justice that does not depend on who sits in Malacañang.

I want a country that stops repeating its tragedies every decade.

I want a nation my daughter can rely on—not a nation held hostage by political theatrics.

 

And if PBBM is guilty of anything—anything at all—then justice will still reach him.

If not today, then tomorrow.

If not under his own term, then under the next.

Because history is patient.

History takes its time.

But history never forgets.

 

This is why the Marcos sibling rift—no matter how dramatic, no matter how loud, no matter how explosive—Imee’s accusations may be, does not shake the foundations of the state.

Because the Filipino people now understand:

Removing a president is easy.

Rebuilding a country is hard.

 

Peru shook because its truth was suffocated.

The Philippines stands because its people demand truth—slowly, painfully, but through justice, not chaos.

 

Not all cracks break the palace.

Some cracks simply reveal where the light must enter.

Some cracks teach us that revolutions are loud but fleeting…

while reforms are quiet but lasting.

 

And today, as one sibling screams and the other chooses silence, the Filipino chooses something infinitely more powerful:

 

The hope that this time, history will not repeat itself.

 

____

 *About the author:

Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission.

VIEWS: 1.25M