The Unlucky Sperm and the Struggle for the Presidency

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

 

The first time I ever heard the phrase “Lucky Sperm” was not in a classroom or a political rally—it was while watching World Wrestling Entertainment. Stone Cold Steve Austin, in his usual rebellious flair, called Shane McMahon—the son of Vince McMahon—“Lucky Sperm.” . But it was Jim Ross the WWE announcer who coined the term “The Lucky Sperm Club,” mocking the sons and daughters of the rich and powerful who inherited not only money but also influence, prestige, and positions they never really earned. At first, it was funny, the kind of sharp entertainment you expect from wrestling. But as I grew older, that phrase began to echo in my head, especially whenever I looked at politics.

Because isn’t politics, in many ways, dominated by the same “Lucky Sperm Club”? Sons and daughters of political dynasties who inherit not only surnames but also votes, not only land but also loyalty, not only wealth but also machinery. Their birthright becomes their campaign platform, and before they can even spell “public service,” they are already introduced to the inner workings of power. They are taught how to smile for the cameras, how to shake hands during fiestas, how to project empathy during disasters—all the while knowing they will have resources behind them when their time comes to run. 

On the other side of the coin lies the “Unlucky Sperm.” These are the Filipinos born without political surnames, without family machinery, without vast sums of money to bankroll a national campaign. They may be brilliant, honest, visionary—even more capable than the “lucky” ones—but they face a wall that is nearly impossible to climb. Their ideas rarely reach the stage, their names rarely get media mileage, and their campaigns often suffocate under the weight of financial realities. 

History itself shows this cruel divide. Around the world, but especially in countries like ours where dynasties dominate, the presidency has almost always been the prize of the privileged. Political families recycle power, generation after generation, while outsiders are treated as token candidates or idealists with no chance. Democracy proclaims that “anyone can become president,” but the truth is that only a select few—those with the right surname, the right fortune, the right bloodline—can realistically aspire to that position. 

And this is where democracy becomes distorted. The presidency, which should be the highest expression of the people’s will, becomes reduced to a family heirloom, passed on like an old piece of jewelry or a well-guarded business empire. Merit and vision no longer define leadership; inheritance does. Hard work, intelligence, and sacrifice are often not enough, because the machinery of politics is fueled by dynastic power and money. The “unlucky sperm” may try, but the playing field is tilted against them from the start.

What does this mean for nations like ours? It means that the vast majority of our people—ordinary Filipinos, the ones who truly understand the struggles of poverty, injustice, and everyday survival—are locked out of the very leadership positions that could change their lives. It means the same families dominate the halls of power, while potential leaders who may have been closer to the people’s real struggles never get the chance to serve. It means wasted potential.

I sometimes wonder: how many capable leaders have we lost simply because they were not born into the “Lucky Sperm Club”? How many visionaries, honest men and women, thinkers and doers, have been sidelined because their fathers were farmers and not senators, their mothers were vendors and not governors? The tragedy is not just personal—it is national. For every dynastic heir recycled into office, there is an “unlucky sperm” leader we never got to hear, never got to vote for, never got to entrust with our country’s future.

And so, the challenge is set before us. If we truly want democracy to flourish, we must rethink our structures. Campaigns should not only be about who has the most money, but about who has the most substance. Elections should not only be about family names, but about ideas. Political parties should not only gravitate toward the wealthy, but toward the deserving. Until that day comes, the “unlucky sperm” will remain on the margins—symbols of a democracy promised but not delivered.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not that the unlucky sperm cannot be president, but that we, as a nation, are deprived of the leadership they could have offered. For every dynasty that monopolizes power, there is a forgotten Filipino who might have been the leader we truly needed. And until we break this cycle, the presidency will remain less of a people’s mandate and more of a family inheritance.

 _______________________________

 *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: 26K

 

What if Andres Bonifacio is a Gen Z: The Necessity of a Democratic Revolution for a Plundered Nation

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

I was in my Gen Z age back in 2003 when I had the privilege of teaching at the Philippine Public Safety College, handling the Directorial Staff Course. At that time, I was deeply idealistic, my mind constantly alive with public safety and law enforcement theories I was developing and testing. My work later earned me numerous study trips and engagements with the Federal Bureau of Investigation in the United States. Among my students then was Lt. Col. Rodrigo Dulay Bonifacio—one of the finest officers I had the privilege to mentor. Even then, he carried himself with a mix of discipline, conviction, and a restless concern for our nation. Years later, I was deeply inspired when I discovered something even more symbolic about him: he is the great-great-grandson of Andres Bonifacio, the Supremo, the first true President of the Philippines. That lineage alone already carries a weight of history. And reading his words today, I can feel that same fire echo across time.

Just recently, I came across his Facebook post entitled “My Beloved Countrymen.” In it, Col. Bonifacio did not simply raise political commentary—he spoke with the grief of someone watching his own country being robbed in broad daylight. He lamented how ₱545.6 billion, meant to protect Filipinos from floods, ended up being siphoned through commissions and kickbacks. Only scraps—30 to 40 percent—were left for actual construction. The rest vanished into pockets that never had to wade through floodwaters or watch their children shiver on rooftops waiting for rescue.

And as if that was not enough, even the bonds meant to guarantee accountability disappeared when bonding companies themselves turned insolvent. It was betrayal on betrayal, treason masked as public service.

Col. Bonifacio’s message cuts deep: the Philippines is not poor—it is plundered. We are not drowning in rainwater alone—we are drowning in corruption. And every peso stolen is not just currency lost, but a future stolen: a classroom never built, a hospital never funded, a livelihood never created.

What struck me most was his call for courage from the highest leader of the land —you know who he is. Also he calls the attention of the chief executive of our nation that there is an urgent need of declaring a State of Emergency—not to silence dissent, but to silence corruption. Some may quickly equate this with dictatorship, but that is a shallow and a poor taste interpretation. This is not dictatorship. This is a constructive revolution—one not of guns and bloodshed but of discipline and accountability. A revolution by the people and for the people. A Democratic Revolution of the Citizenry, aimed toward the realization of a Progressive, Responsible and Organized Democracy (PRODEM).

This resonates deeply with me because Progressive, Responsible and Organized Democracy has been my own lifelong advocacy. As early as 2006, while serving as a Municipal Councilor in San Mateo, Rizal, I co-hosted the radio program Mabuhay ang Demokrasya on Radyo ng Bayan with my tandem anchor, the late Bal Domingo. It was during those fiery broadcasts that the concept of PRODEM—progressive, responsible, and organized democracy—was born, coined in an instant but destined to shape my outlook forever. In 2010, I institutionalized this vision further by founding the 1st Philippine Pro-Democracy Foundation, a platform that sought to inspire reforms and plant the seeds of a citizen-led democratic renewal and in 2022 it futher expanded thru registration of Timpuyog Pilipinas, a non-government organization founded by Retired Police Major General Thompson Lantion, this is a federation representing more than 12 million advocates mainly of ilocano organizations within and outside the country, plus other regional ethnic groups believing in the advocacy of national unity, love, and recociliation.

A decisive State of Emergency, if anchored on this vision, could be the first step in evolving into what a progressive, organized, and responsible democracy advocates:

• From Bicameral Waste to Unicameral Efficiency. Billions saved from redundant legislative structures could directly finance classrooms, hospitals, and infrastructure.
• From Corruption to Federal Accountability. Regional governments, empowered under federalism, would no longer wait on the mercy of Metro Manila but be directly accountable to their constituents.
• From Self-Interest to National Unity. The cleansing of the party-list system would eliminate pretenders and restore the voice of the truly marginalized.
• From Weakness to Patriotism. Funds wasted on plunder would instead strengthen our armed forces, fortify our borders, and defend our sovereignty in the West Philippine Sea.

In other words, Col. Bonifacio’s bold proposal of declaring a State of Emergency is not an end in itself—it is a necessary transition, a democratic revolution of the citizenry, that could finally turn the dream of a Progressive, Responsible and Organized Democracy into reality.

And so, I am left with a question, one that Col. Bonifacio’s name and lineage make all the more piercing: Do we need once more the spirit, perhaps even the reincarnation, of the Supremo Andres Bonifacio to rouse this nation into revolution? Or are we instead following the path of a Pedro Paterno—the consummate traitor—who chose his own survival over the salvation of the Filipino people?

The choice is ours. History offers us both roads: courage or betrayal. Which one we take will define not only our generation but the generations to come.

And in the end, I cannot help but wonder: what if Andres Bonifacio were born as a Gen Z? He would know the value of building rather than destroying, of choosing love rather than hate, of lifting rather than tearing down. For today, the enemy is no longer foreign invaders—the enemy is the Filipino who betrays his fellow Filipino. And when Filipinos kill each other, the invaders rejoice. If Bonifacio were Gen Z today, he would lead not a bloody revolt, but a Constructive Revolution— the call that Col. Rodrigo Dulay Bonifacio is urging the leader of our nation to do—an organized revolution of integrity, unity, love, progress, responsibility, patriotism, and evolving sustainable development.

Rise for the Filipino people. Rise for clean and honest governance. Rise for a Progressive, Responsible and Organized Democracy

 ___________________________

 *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: 100K

 

The Curious Case of Kiko Barzaga: Sanity, Vulgarity, and Double Standards

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

I once heard a parable that stayed with me for years. If you ask a man known to be insane what two times two is, and he answers “two,” will you believe him? The instinct is to doubt because of who gave the answer. But if you pause, you realize that the number he uttered is not entirely wrong. Two is part of the truth—half of four. I can acknowledge the correctness of the answer, but I will not admire or glorify the one who gave it. That is the danger when we confuse the message with the messenger.

This is how I reflect on the controversy surrounding Congressman Kiko Barzaga. At only 27 years old, he is one of the youngest members of Congress, a true representative of Generation Z. His is the first generation raised entirely in the digital age, where ideas are shared in seconds, emotions are amplified online, and mistakes can go viral before they are corrected. Like many of his peers, Barzaga is hyper on social media—quick to post, unfiltered, and passionate. He is still at the stage of life where young people crave validation, where living a life online is as real as living it offline. In that sense, he is not much different from the millions of Filipino Gen Zs scrolling, posting, and reacting every day. The difference is that his words carry the weight of an elected official.

And here is where the generational clash begins. Barzaga’s style of expression—the hashtags, the footnotes, the directness—reflects the voice of his generation. But the political establishment he challenges is rooted in traditions of caution, hierarchy, and measured decorum. His firebrand posts may be impulsive, but they also resonate with the impatience of the youth toward corruption, hypocrisy, and double standards. Instead of engaging with his points, however, his critics are quick to dismiss him, branding him as unstable or unfit. It is easier to label him mad than to grapple with the uncomfortable truths embedded in his grievances.

But let us not forget: Rodrigo Duterte openly cursed God, mocked the Church, cracked sexist jokes, and hurled insults at institutions both foreign and domestic. Rarely was his mental health questioned; instead, his vulgarity was excused as authenticity. Vice President Sara Duterte, too, has spoken in ways that no leader should. She has cursed in public and even declared that she had already spoken to an assassin who would target President Bongbong Marcos, the First Lady, and Speaker Martin Romualdez in the event of her death. Such words are not mere slips of the tongue—they are chilling, reckless statements from the second highest official in the land. Yet, where were the loud calls questioning her sanity? Why was she not judged by the same harsh standard now applied to Barzaga?

And what of the congressmen who, during the QUADCOM meeting, ganged up on Marcoleta—mocking him, badgering him, stripping the chamber of the respect it deserves? Was there outrage about their fitness to serve, or calls for psychiatric evaluation? None. Instead, such actions were shrugged off as political drama, part of the spectacle of Congress.

Worse still, the list of questionable behaviors by public officials is endless. Some live in mansions and drive luxury cars far beyond their salaries, while corruption cases are swept under the rug. Others are chronic absentees in sessions, yet never fail to collect their paychecks, padded by “ghost employees.” Nepotism flourishes in dynasties that treat public office as a family business. Vote-buying and cheating poison every election, yet those guilty lecture about democracy. Some officials are accused of sexual harassment, others gamble away millions in casinos or get drunk at official functions. Still others plagiarize speeches and theses, or abuse their staff in moments of arrogance. We’ve seen lawmakers red-tag activists without evidence, abuse pork barrel funds for kickbacks, or junket abroad at taxpayer expense. Many grandstand in hearings, bullying witnesses for TV mileage, or shamelessly switch parties whenever power shifts, betraying the voters who once trusted them. And yet through all this, no one dares call them insane.

I do not defend every word Barzaga has uttered—youth is no excuse for irresponsibility. But I also cannot accept the hypocrisy of judging him more harshly than those who occupy higher offices or carry longer tenures. If we tolerated Duterte’s daily vulgarities, if we remain silent when Sara Duterte makes chilling statements about assassins, if we excuse lawmakers who bully colleagues in QUADCOM, and if we turn a blind eye to the corruption, arrogance, and abuse of countless officials, then why do we leap so quickly to label a 27-year-old Gen Z congressman as insane simply because he is loud on social media?

This is where the lesson of the parable returns. I may believe in a correct answer, but I will not worship the one who gave it. Likewise, I may recognize that Barzaga, in his youthful fervor, sometimes stumbles upon truths in his grievances. But I will not mistake those truths as proof of greatness. At the same time, I will not condemn him as unfit simply because he expresses himself like a Gen Z navigating the intersection of youth and public office. Accountability must be grounded in conduct, not in weaponized assumptions about mental health.

The deeper issue is not Barzaga’s age or even his mental state—it is our nation’s consistency. Our politics is sick not because one congressman posts recklessly, but because we apply different rules depending on who is speaking. We forgive vulgarity in the old because it entertains us, we excuse recklessness in the powerful because it serves our politics, but we condemn dissent in the young because it unsettles us. We celebrate a president who cursed God, a vice president who spoke casually about assassination, congressmen who bully colleagues in QUADCOM, and officials who enrich themselves while preaching reform—yet we mock a young lawmaker who cites footnotes. The real question is not whether Kiko Barzaga is sane, but whether we, as a people, are fair.

In the end, mental health must never be reduced to a political insult. Leaders—old or young—must be judged by their words, their deeds, and their impact on the people. Duterte’s vulgarity, Sara Duterte’s chilling remarks, the bullies of QUADCOM, the corrupt and arrogant, and Barzaga’s fiery grievances are all subject to scrutiny, but the rules of judgment must be the same. For if we excuse one and condemn the other based on nothing but politics, then the illness we must confront is not in them, but in ourselves.

___________________________

 *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: 89K

 

The Philippine Senate: A Theater of Power and Paradox

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

 

When I was in high school, not long after the ratification of the 1987 Constitution, one of my classmates told me, “You can be a senator someday.” At that young age, it felt like a spark — the idea that someone like me could rise to that chamber of power and lawmaking. For a time, I dreamed of it. I imagined myself standing at the Senate floor, debating policies, shaping the future of the nation. But dreams sometimes remain dreams. Life led me to other callings, other responsibilities. And so today, what I can do is not to legislate, but to watch, observe, and comment on the institution that once lived in my youthful imagination.

And what do I see when I watch the Senate today? I see not just a chamber of laws but a theater of contradictions. It is supposed to be the sanctuary of wisdom, where laws are refined and national destiny is debated. Yet too often, it has turned into a stage for grandstanding, selective outrage, and political rehearsal for 2028.

Take the Sara Duterte impeachment ruling. The Senate almost unanimously stood behind the Supreme Court, praising its wisdom. But the silence was telling. Where was the debate on the real implications of unanimity in constitutional rulings? Where was the scrutiny on whether quality of reasoning should matter more than appearance of unity? Senators hid behind safe words, careful not to offend, careful not to lose alliances. It was unity for convenience, not for courage.

In the flood control scam hearings, the Senate acted again as if it were a cleansing institution. Senators pounded the table, grilled DPWH officials, and thundered on national television. But it was hard not to notice the selectivity. Some names were dragged mercilessly, others conveniently spared. If this were truly “in aid of legislation,” why does it feel more like a ritual of political survival? Haven’t we seen this before—PDAF, fertilizer scam, Pharmally? Outrage today, forgetting tomorrow.

Another episode worth recalling is when Senate President Tito Sotto ordered the transfer—not the release—of a DPWH official cited in contempt. He kept Senate custody, only in another facility. His decision was attacked as if it were a betrayal of rules, as if he had undermined Senate power itself. But let’s be clear: Sotto was not giving up Senate authority; he was exercising discretion as the presiding officer. And truth be told, Sotto has been doing well as Senate President—steady, even-handed, and firm. Yet critics howled, not because of principle, but because of politics. The hypocrisy is glaring. When Senator Bato dela Rosa bent procedures in his PDEA leaks hearing, where were these critics? Silent. Selective. Suddenly the defenders of Senate integrity became blind when it was their ally who broke traditions.

But leadership alone cannot tame all contradictions. The minority bloc, which should be the conscience of the Senate, has also transformed. Once expected to serve as constructive opposition, its face has changed with the filibustering of Alan Peter Cayetano and Rodante Marcoleta. Cayetano, ever the master of long-winded privilege speeches, often stretches debates to exhaustion—not to enlighten, but to dominate the microphone. Marcoleta, meanwhile, buries issues under layers of technicalities and side-arguments until the central point is lost. Their style has shifted the minority’s role from oppositionist to obstructionist. Instead of sharpening legislation, they dull its progress. Instead of raising the quality of debate, they drain its purpose. And in doing so, they risk eroding the credibility of the minority itself.

And then there is federalism and charter change. Senator Robin Padilla, dismissed by critics as “unqualified,” pushes the discussion with passion. His lack of a law degree is thrown at him as if it alone disqualifies his advocacy. But where were these purists when Ping Lacson, also not a lawyer, chaired a powerful Blue Ribbon Committee years ago? Why was it acceptable then, and scandalous now? The inconsistency reveals the truth: in the Senate, rules are not rules—they are weapons, wielded against enemies but sheathed for friends.

What pains me most is not the hypocrisy of senators, but the resignation of the people. Committee hearings have become spectacles, privilege speeches reduced to soundbites for TikTok and X. The urgency of real issues—climate resilience, food security, education reform—takes a backseat to political theater. Meanwhile, outside the Senate halls, children beg in the streets, farmers cry over unsold harvests, and soldiers die in defense of our seas.

Yet even amid the noise, I see flickers of what the Senate should be. There are senators who prepare, who cite jurisprudence and data, who ask questions not to humiliate but to illuminate. When they speak of defending the West Philippine Sea, or reforming education, or demanding accountability from the powerful, I am reminded that the Senate can still be the conscience of the nation.

But those moments are rare. The louder voices, the selective outrage, the political rehearsals drown them out. The Senate mirrors the nation—brilliant in flashes, blurred by self-interest, noisy but often empty.

And sometimes, I think back to that high school classmate who told me I could be a senator someday. Perhaps I was never meant to sit inside that chamber. Perhaps my role is not to cast votes or sponsor bills, but to keep watching, questioning, and reminding. Because in a democracy, even those of us outside the halls of power must play our part: to hold the Senate accountable, to call out its paradoxes, and to hope that someday, it will live up to the promise it once held in my youthful dream.

 _____________________________

 *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: 89K

 

The Filipino Way: Unity, Love and a Constructive Revolution

* Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

In our current political climate, labels have become weapons. They are used not to describe but to discredit, not to clarify but to confine. A person’s beliefs are often reduced to caricatures: If you defend free speech for yourself but deny it to your opponents, you are branded a Dilawan. If you cling to your positions so tightly that no evidence can sway you, you are dismissed as a DDS. If you argue that the state should punish those who dare hold contrary views, then you are stamped as a Marcos loyalist. And if you believe that government officials involved in corruption deserve violence or death rather than due process, society casts you as a terrorist.

These are not just words. These labels reveal how far we have drifted from the real essence of democracy. Instead of meaningful debates, we drown in name-calling. Instead of solving problems, we are busy identifying enemies. This culture of branding reduces our people into factions, and every Filipino becomes either an ally or an adversary.

But we must be cautious of where this road leads. I fear the situation when our people may be tempted to follow the Nepal model of change—where frustration turned into rage, and rage into violence. In that revolt, government officials were killed without due process, treated not as human beings but as enemies to be eliminated. State properties were burned, not as a symbol of freedom but as an act of destruction. Such paths may feel like justice in the moment, but they are not constructive; they are imitations of terrorism dressed as revolution.

Violence cannot be the answer. To kill a corrupt official without trial is to imitate the very lawlessness we despise. To burn property is to reduce the fruits of our people’s labor to ashes. In the end, these acts do not heal the nation—they only leave scars that divide us further.

But I also know that prayers alone cannot heal our nation. Faith gives us strength, but it must be matched with action. We must move forward, not through violence, but through constructive protest and disciplined militancy. History has shown us many ways to make corrupt leaders step down without bloodshed. We can hold prayer vigils that remind us of our conscience. We can take part in civil disobedience that resists injustice without resorting to brutality. We can push people’s initiatives to change the very constitution that has been abused by the powerful. If such acts are carried forward and yet ignored, then comes the time when unity is no longer divided, when love for change is pushed to its fullest, when hate for corruption fuels courage, and when building what was destroyed by the corrupt becomes the sacred duty of a gathered people. This is the moment when Timpuyog Pilipinas—as a true gathering of men and women for a good cause—will lead the unifying revolutionary action that our nation deserves.

This is why I return again and again to the spirit of timpuyog. It is not only about unity but also about the gathering of men and women for a good cause. It is the collective spirit that transforms frustration into constructive action, and anger into organized reform. It is the belief that true change is not about destroying what exists but about building something better together. We must remind ourselves that it is possible to disagree without destroying, to oppose without dehumanizing. We can stand firm in our convictions without denying others the right to speak.

Unity does not mean uniformity. It does not demand that we erase our political colors, nor that we silence our criticisms. What unity requires is the discipline of love over hate, and the humility to place nation above self. Division thrives on suspicion, but unity grows from respect. Hatred builds walls, but love builds bridges. Destruction leaves nothing behind, but building creates a legacy that outlives us.

If we truly want democracy to flourish, then we must go beyond labels. A Dilawan, a DDS, a Marcos loyalist, a so-called terrorist—these are not the essence of who we are. We are Filipinos. And our nation needs us not as divided camps at war, but as a people united in purpose.

So let us ask ourselves: Can we not simply believe in unity over division, love over hate, and building rather than destroying? That is the challenge of our time. That is the higher calling.

And in the end, we must remember who we are. We are Filipinos—a peace-loving people. We are not defined by our rage but by our resilience. We are not defined by our divisions but by our faith. Our ancestors survived by turning to prayer in the darkest nights, and we too are a nation that bows before our Divine Creator. True strength has never come from violence; it comes from righteousness, compassion, and love.

This is why I say: let us not walk the path of destruction. Let us walk the path of timpuyog—men and women gathered for a good cause, guided by unity, strengthened by peace, and always with reverence for the Divine Creator in our hearts.

For in the quiet prayers of our mothers, in the steadfast courage of our fathers, in the laughter of our children, and in the sacrifices of our heroes, the Filipino spirit is alive. It is gentle but unbreakable, humble but proud, wounded yet always ready to heal. We are one people, bound by history, lifted by faith, and called to rise together.

This is our way—the Filipino way. A way of unity, a way of love, and a way of constructive revolution that will lead us not to ruin, but to the nation we have always dreamed to be.

 ______________________________

 *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: 88K

 

Guiding My Daughter Juliana Rizalhea Through the Hidden Dangers of Growing Up

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

I grew up in a family molded by military discipline. My father, my Papang, was a retired officer of the Philippine Constabulary, and one of my older brothers followed in his footsteps, also retired as a Brigadier General. Discipline was not just taught in our home—it was lived, breathed, and expected every day. I am the youngest of six children—two boys and four sisters—with a seven-year gap between me and my closest sibling. All of us became professionals: lawyers, CPAs, and degree holders. And as the youngest, I carried that discipline forward, finishing more degrees than all of them combined, earning multiple master’s and doctorate titles. The discipline of my father’s command and my brother’s uniform, and later my own years teaching police generals, military officers, and men and women of the uniformed service, shaped how I view responsibility, authority, and life itself.

Now, as a single father raising a fifteen-year-old daughter, I sometimes see that same discipline reflected in the way I guide her. At times, I catch myself acting like a professor again—laying down rules, explaining lessons, molding her with both firmness and care. But unlike the rigid drills of a military academy, my discipline as a father must be gentler, more patient, more attuned to the fragile but resilient heart of a young girl finding her place in the world.

Every day she leaves for school, and I feel a quiet mix of pride and concern. She is becoming her own person—independent, curious, full of promise—but the world she steps into is not always kind. I know too well the unseen dangers: peer pressure, innocent mistakes, unawareness of breaking school rules, the harshness of online voices, and the silent battles against self-doubt. I cannot fight these for her, but I can prepare her.

I always remind her that school is not just a place for academics—it is the first training ground for life. It is where she learns to deal with people, handle frustrations, and confront realities that will never be fair. School is not heaven; she will not always be praised. Sometimes she must accept the decisions of superiors, even when she knows they are wrong. But I remind her: never imitate what is wrong. Once she told me her math solution was correct, yet her teacher marked it wrong. When she asked for the right solution, she was ignored. I told her, “Never mind that—for now. At least you know what is right.” Life won’t always reward us for being correct, but integrity is its own reward.

When it comes to her grades, I am clear with her: I don’t care where she scores lower. I care that she enjoys learning, that she learns honestly, and that she keeps stretching her own capacity. Honors and medals are often just bragging rights for parents. If she earns them, I will celebrate it with her. But if she chooses joy, balance, and the adventures of being young, I will celebrate that even more. I do not want her to live the life I lived—driven by medals and achievements. I want her to create her own path, balancing academics with laughter, friendships, and exploration.

Because she often joins me in meetings with high-profile figures, I remind her constantly to stay humble. I tell her not to imitate me because the pressures I carry are not the ones I want her to inherit. Instead, I encourage her to think independently, to explore beyond the classroom, to learn from reading, from experiences, from people. True learning, I tell her, cannot be confined to a curriculum.

But none of this means I leave her completely on her own. Children need to be managed, and yes, sometimes controlled—not out of selfishness, but out of love. Letting her go without guidance might break her. I control her through communication, and I always explain why I set rules. To me, control is not manipulation. Manipulation pushes children with fear and strips them of respect. But what I practice is what I call Reverential Control—guidance wrapped in respect. It is about showing her why boundaries exist, and helping her understand the meaning behind them. It is not about dictating her life but about keeping her safe while she learns to choose for herself.

As a father, I also need to know who her friends are, especially online. Trouble often begins not with strangers but with the influence of misguided friends. That is when children may lose respect for their parents—when they give more faith to others than to their own family. But this only happens if we, as parents, fail to give them time, fail to listen, or if we act as poor role models. Children who grow up in homes where parents constantly quarrel or dismiss their needs often search for validation elsewhere. I do not want that for my daughter. I want her to know she is heard, valued, and guided—not by fear, but by love and example.

Sometimes I wonder if I am doing enough. I do not have all the answers, but I have love, patience, and presence. I remind her that she is more than grades, likes, or applause. What matters most is her heart, her dignity, and her values when the world tests her.

There are nights I watch her sleep and feel time rushing forward. Soon she will be old enough to step into a world filled with both opportunity and trials. That thought frightens me, but it also keeps me steady in my role: to prepare her, to teach her that her voice matters, that saying “no” is not weakness, and that asking for help is a sign of strength.

Being a single father is not easy, but it has forged between us an unbreakable bond. She knows I am her provider, her listener, her guardrail, and her loudest cheer. Every challenge she faces, I carry with her. Every victory she wins, I celebrate as if it were mine.

And as I reflect, I see the circle completed. I was molded by military discipline—by my Papang, by my brother who also wore the rank of General, and by the environment that taught me order, respect, and perseverance. That discipline gave me the strength to become who I am. But in raising my daughter, I have learned that discipline must be softened by love, anchored in patience, and wrapped in humility. If she carries any lesson from me, I hope it is this: that strength and gentleness can live together, that success is not medals or honors but integrity and courage, and that her father’s discipline was never meant to cage her but to prepare her for freedom. That, for me, is the true victory.

_______________________________

 *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: 8K