THE SANCTITY OF CONFIDENTIAL FUNDS: NAKAKATAWA ANG PANGALAN, PERO HINDI NAKAKATAWA ANG PONDO

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

Imagine a man sitting quietly inside a parked vehicle somewhere in Metro Manila at two o’clock in the morning. Hindi natin alam ang pangalan niya. And perhaps we should never know. Before entering the vehicle, he looks behind him to check whether somebody has been following. His cellphone is switched off. His family does not know exactly where he is. Tomorrow morning, he may return to work as if nothing happened.

Inside the vehicle is an officer waiting. Walang camera, walang press conference, walang Facebook Live. The man begins talking—names, places, schedules. Maybe the location of illegal drugs. Maybe information about an organized criminal group. Maybe the movement of somebody under surveillance. Maybe information that could prevent a crime or save somebody’s life. Somewhere in that confidential process, money may be involved. Sources have transportation expenses, surveillance requires resources, and information sometimes carries operational costs. But whatever happens, public money must still be accounted for.

When the man leaves the vehicle, he disappears again into ordinary life. Nobody applauds him. Nobody gives him a plaque. Nobody posts his photograph. Perhaps the greatest protection government can give him is precisely this: nobody will ever know his real name. That is confidentiality. That is why confidential operations are serious. And that is why confidential funds should be treated almost as sacred.

So when I heard some of the names being discussed in connection with acknowledgment receipts involving confidential funds that became part of the impeachment controversy surrounding Vice President Sara Duterte, I admit it—natawa rin ako. May “Piattos.” May “Andy Lim.” And once somebody teaches your ears how to hear Andy Lim, mahirap nang hindi marinig ang “ang dilim.”

“Nasaan ang confidential fund?” “Andy Lim.” “May supporting documents ba?” “Andy Lim.” “Malinaw ba ang liquidation?” “Hindi pa. Andy Lim.” At kapag ilang oras na ang hearing at hindi pa rin malinaw—talagang ang dilim.

Then comes Piattos. “Who received the confidential fund?” “Piattos.” “Anong flavor?” Nakakatawa. But after laughing, something bothered me. This is not supposed to be funny. The names may be funny. The money is not. And certainly, the work behind a genuine confidential operation is never a joke.

Let me make my position clear. I am not saying Vice President Sara Duterte stole confidential funds. I am not saying DepEd confidential operations were fabricated. I am not saying every questioned acknowledgment receipt is fake. And I am certainly not saying somebody does not exist merely because his or her name sounds unusual. A funny name is not evidence of corruption. A strange acknowledgment receipt is not automatically evidence of malversation. A meme is not evidence, and impeachment should never become trial by comedy.

There may be legitimate explanations. The prosecution must establish its allegations, while the defense has every right to challenge them and explain the circumstances. But fairness works both ways. We cannot declare someone guilty merely because a name makes us laugh. Neither can government answer every legitimate question with, “Confidential kasi.” Confidentiality is not immunity. Confidentiality is responsibility.

Perhaps the more important question is this: Did the people handling these confidential funds actually understand confidential operations?

Maybe some of the people handling, disbursing, documenting, or liquidating these funds were simply inexperienced. Maybe it was their first time. They could have been excellent accountants and competent disbursing officers who understood government accounting but had never handled a confidential source, participated in an intelligence operation, or dealt with an informant whose identity required protection.

If that happened, perhaps we should not immediately demonize them. Hindi lahat ng accountant ay intelligence officer. Hindi lahat ng disbursing officer ay marunong mag-handle ng confidential agent. At hindi lahat ng mahusay gumawa ng liquidation report ay marunong sa operational security.

Specialization exists for a reason. Hindi mo ipapaopera ang puso mo sa accountant kahit napakagaling niyang CPA. Hindi mo rin ipapagawa ang audited financial statements ng corporation sa intelligence operative dahil mahusay siyang mag-surveillance. Different expertise, different discipline, different culture.

This becomes particularly relevant to DepEd. The Department of Education is fundamentally an educational institution. Its institutional DNA revolves around teachers, students, classrooms, curriculum, learning, and school administration. It is not primarily an intelligence organization like agencies whose personnel routinely deal with surveillance, intelligence assets, source protection, and operational security.

So when a civilian institution is entrusted with confidential funds, government should not merely ask, “How much?” It should also ask: “Who will handle it, and do they actually know how?” That is not an accusation. That is a governance question.

A confidential fund is not simply an ordinary cash advance with the word “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across the envelope. There is an operational philosophy behind it. Who is being protected? Who knows the true identity? Who is authorized to know? How is the transaction authenticated? How does an auditor verify that an expenditure genuinely occurred without unnecessarily exposing the confidential source? Who maintains the protected records when the transaction is questioned years later?

These are not merely accounting questions. They are operational questions. Too much transparency can compromise an operation, while too much secrecy can make an expenditure impossible to verify. The discipline of confidential operations lies in protecting secrecy without destroying accountability.

That is why I use the word sacred. Not because confidential funds should be beyond investigation, but because they involve an extraordinary surrender of public visibility. Government effectively tells the Filipino taxpayer, “Give us your money.” The citizen asks, “Saan gagamitin?” Government says, “We cannot tell you everything.” “Sino ang tatanggap?” “We cannot publicly identify everyone.” “Ano ang operation?” “Confidential.”

And democracy accepts this because a functioning state sometimes needs secrets. Hindi mo puwedeng mag-Facebook Live habang nag-surveillance: “Good evening! Mamayang alas-diyes darating ang suspect. Please like, follow and share.” Tapos i-tag mo pa iyong suspect. Hindi na intelligence operation iyon. Invitation na iyon.

Transparency has limits when transparency itself can endanger lives or destroy legitimate operations. But there is a bargain: if government cannot tell us everything, somebody legally authorized must be capable of verifying what the public cannot see.

People familiar with confidential operations understand why identities sometimes require protection. There may be aliases, codes, operational identifiers, or compartmentalized records. I am not saying government officials have legal freedom to invent fictitious names and simply place them on acknowledgment receipts. My point is operational logic. If you want to conceal someone’s identity, the protected identity should normally be inconspicuous and forgettable.

Kung confidential agent ka at alias mo ay naging trending topic nationwide, congratulations—ikaw na yata ang pinakasikat na confidential person sa Pilipinas.

Imagine James Bond checking into a hotel. “Occupation?” “Secret agent.” “Purpose of visit?” “Confidential operation.” Sir, hindi na confidential iyon. That is an autobiography.

This is why the humor surrounding names such as Andy Lim and Piattos matters—not as proof of wrongdoing, but because it reveals something uncomfortable. An operational identity should protect an operation. It should not become the operation’s most famous feature.

An acknowledgment receipt may look like a simple piece of paper—a name, an amount, a signature. But with confidential public money, that paper becomes one of the few visible links in an otherwise invisible chain. Somebody supposedly received money. Somebody released it. Somebody certified it. Somebody liquidated it. Somebody audited it. Outside government is a taxpayer who may never know the full story and is simply expected to trust the system.

That brings me to exactly where I stand: an iota of doubt. Not an accusation. Not a verdict. Not guilt. An iota. Maliit. Napakaliit. But enough to ask questions.

If these were protected identities, what mechanism protected and verified them? If they were operational aliases, how could authorized auditors authenticate the underlying transactions? If the handlers lacked experience, who trained them? If nobody trained them, why were they entrusted with confidential funds? Who supervised them? Who could ultimately say, “Yes, I can account for this”?

These questions do not establish guilt. They demand explanation. Asking government to explain the use of public money is not persecution. It is democracy.

Philippine politics has become addicted to extremes. Kapag ayaw natin sa tao, guilty agad. Kapag gusto natin, innocent agad. But institutions cannot function like fan clubs. You can support Sara Duterte and still ask legitimate questions. You can oppose her and still defend her right to explain. You can laugh at Andy Lim and still recognize that the joke proves absolutely nothing.

Let the prosecution present evidence. Let the defense challenge it. Let auditors, accountable officers, forensic experts, and witnesses explain. Then judge the evidence. Hindi guilty dahil trending. Hindi innocent dahil popular. No conviction by meme. No acquittal by TikTok. No judgment by political color.

From this emerges what I call the inverse accountability principle: The less the public can legitimately see, the stronger government’s internal accountability must become.

If government constructs a bridge, we can see it. Kung kalsada, madaanan natin. Kung classroom, mapapasok natin. But you cannot line up confidential informants at Luneta and say, “COA inspection. Informants one to fifty, pila po tayo.” The moment legitimate sources are publicly exposed, confidentiality is destroyed.

So the State needs protected verification, not necessarily public exposure. The public does not need to know every confidential identity, but somebody authorized must be capable of establishing that behind the protected identity was a legitimate transaction. Confidentiality changes who can see. It should never determine whether accountability exists.

And perhaps nobody taught them. Maybe government entrusted confidential funds to people who understood accounting but not confidential operations. If so, government should learn from it. Before personnel handle confidential funds, specialized training should be mandatory: source protection, operational security, compartmentalization, secure documentation, lawful identity protection, and confidential audit. Above all, teach them one thing: respect the fund, because it is not your money.

Behind every peso is somebody—a teacher, security guard, nurse, farmer, jeepney driver, small entrepreneur, or parent wondering what else can be removed from the grocery cart. They pay taxes, and eventually a tiny portion of their sacrifices enters the national treasury. Some of that money becomes confidential funds. The taxpayer may never know the informant, see the intelligence report, or learn what danger was prevented. He is simply asked to trust.

That is why confidential funds are sacred.

Eventually, the Sara Duterte impeachment controversy will end. Administrations end. Political alliances change. Today’s powerful personalities eventually become photographs in history books. But confidential operations will remain. Another administration will use these funds, another agency may receive them, and another accountable officer may someday handle millions without previous intelligence experience.

So the lesson cannot simply be, “Who was guilty?” We should also ask, “What did we learn?” If personnel were inexperienced, professionalize the system. If procedures were weak, strengthen them. Protect confidentiality from corruption, but protect it also from incompetence, carelessness, poor training, sloppy documentation—and from becoming a joke.

So yes, I laughed at Andy Lim. I smiled at Piattos. Maybe you did too. But eventually, the laughter must end.

Then I return to that unnamed man sitting inside a parked vehicle at two o’clock in the morning. Maybe somewhere tonight somebody like him actually exists—frightened, giving information about dangerous people, trusting an officer to protect his identity. Tomorrow he walks again among ordinary people, carrying a secret that could place his life in danger.

That person deserves a professional confidential system. The officer handling him deserves one. The auditor protecting secrecy and accountability deserves one. And the Filipino taxpayer paying for that operation deserves one.

If the questioned transactions were legitimate, establish their legitimacy. If personnel made mistakes because they lacked experience, acknowledge them and train them. If procedures were weak, reform them. If allegations cannot be proven, say so. And if competent evidence establishes wrongdoing, let accountability follow.

No predetermined guilt. No predetermined innocence. No political fanaticism. Just truth.

Confidentiality can hide a name. Secrecy can protect an operation. An alias can protect a life. But only integrity can protect public trust.

The things government cannot show us are precisely the things government must be most capable of proving to the institutions authorized to see them.

We may laugh at the names today.

But when the laughter is over, somebody still has to account for the money.

And that is no longer funny.

That is public trust.

And public trust, especially when wrapped in secrecy, should always be treated as sacred.

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Reader,

I invite you to explore my complete collection of published books now available on Amazon. Whether you are seeking in-depth analysis, strategic insights, or engaging narratives, my catalog covers a range of essential topics designed to inform, inspire, and provoke thoughtful discussion.

You can browse all my current titles, read excerpts, and order your copies directly through my official Amazon Author Page: 

Click this Image to View:

Thank you for your continued support and interest in my work. If you enjoy any of the titles, leaving a review on Amazon would be greatly appreciated as it helps bring these ideas to a broader audience.

Warm regards,

Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

*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: 898K

FROM PESO TO LAKAN: A New Philippine Currency Against Corruption

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

Imagine receiving information that somewhere in the Philippines, inside an ordinary room, there is a steel cabinet filled with bundles of ₱1,000 bills. Walang pangalan. Walang bank statement na nakadikit. Walang nakasulat kung saan nanggaling. You open another cabinet and find more. Ten million pesos. Twenty million. Fifty million. Perhaps one hundred million. Perhaps even more.

Now ask the simplest question: kanino ang perang ito?

The money will never answer.

A ₱1,000 bill cannot tell us whether it came from the legitimate earnings of a businessman, the lifetime savings of a family, or the remittance of an OFW who sacrificed years away from home. Neither can the same ₱1,000 bill confess that it came from an overpriced government contract, a kickback, smuggling, illegal drugs, gambling, scams, extortion, or some other criminal activity.

Money has no conscience. Physical cash does not carry a written autobiography of every hand that previously held it. And once enormous amounts of cash disappear from ordinary financial channels, finding the people behind that money can become extraordinarily difficult.

Sa dami ng pinag-uusapang corruption sa ating bansa, especially when enormous amounts of public money are alleged to have disappeared through questionable projects and transactions, we repeatedly ask the same questions. Sino ang kumuha? Sino ang contractor? Sino ang opisyal? Sino ang pumirma? Sino ang nakinabang?

Those questions are necessary.

But perhaps we have concentrated so much on finding the thief that we sometimes forget another equally important question.

Nasaan na ang pera?

Because identifying a corrupt person is one thing. Recovering the people’s money is another.

And this is where an unconventional idea entered my mind.

Perhaps the Philippines should seriously consider retiring the Philippine peso and replacing it with a new national currency.

I would call it the Lakan.

Sarap pakinggan, di ba?

One Lakan. One hundred Lakan. Five hundred Lakan. One thousand Lakan. One million Lakan.

“How much money do you have?”

“One million Lakan.”

At first, it sounds like a simple exercise in national rebranding. Parang nagpapalit lamang tayo ng pangalan ng pera. But that is not the heart of the proposal.

If we simply remove the word “Peso,” replace it with “Lakan,” print new banknotes, and allow everybody to exchange unlimited amounts without appropriate safeguards, then wala rin tayong ginawa. We merely changed the name printed on Philippine money.

The real power of Lakan would be in the transition itself.

Imagine that after serious economic study, legislation, institutional preparation, public consultation, and nationwide education, the Philippines begins retiring existing physical peso banknotes and introducing the Philippine Lakan.

There must naturally be a reasonable conversion period. Hindi puwedeng biglaan. Government cannot simply announce tonight that tomorrow the peso is worthless. That would punish innocent Filipinos more than corrupt people.

Ordinary Filipinos must be protected.

A grandmother keeping ₱20,000 inside her cabinet should not suddenly become a suspect. A farmer keeping his savings at home should not fear government. A sari-sari store owner handling cash every day should not be treated like a money launderer. Neither should legitimate businessmen or wealthy families automatically become suspicious simply because they possess substantial wealth.

Having money is not a crime.

Being rich is not a crime.

The target should never be wealth itself.

The issue is illicit or unexplained wealth when facts and applicable law provide legitimate grounds for scrutiny.

Now imagine somebody holding ₱100 million in physical cash.

Or ₱500 million.

Or ₱1 billion.

If that money is hidden today, its holder may simply leave it wherever it is.

Tahimik lang. No transaction. No movement. No bank. No new record.

But once the Philippine peso is scheduled for retirement, something fundamentally changes.

The money has to move.

That, for me, is the most powerful argument for Lakan.

The corrupt holder suddenly has a problem. Hindi na puwedeng itago lamang forever ang napakaraming bundles ng lumang peso and assume that those pieces of paper will retain their ordinary monetary usefulness indefinitely.

At some point, a decision has to be made.

Deposit it. Exchange it. Spend it. Transfer it. Give it to somebody. Convert it into something else. Or continue hiding it until the lawful conversion period eventually ends.

Every choice requires action.

And action can create a trail.

Imagine somebody arriving at a bank carrying ₱100 million in physical pesos.

Again, possessing ₱100 million does not automatically make that person corrupt. But now there is something that may not have existed while the money remained inside a private vault.

There is a documented transaction.

Someone presented the money. Someone counted it. Someone identified himself. A regulated financial institution handled it. Applicable financial-reporting and anti-money-laundering mechanisms can operate. And if the facts provide lawful grounds for further scrutiny, authorities now have something concrete to examine.

Parang sa unang pagkakataon, ang perang matagal na nagtago ay kailangang magpakilala.

Kanino ka? Saan ka nanggaling? Paano ka nakuha?

Perhaps we should stop thinking only about catching corrupt people.

Sometimes we should design systems that make corrupt money reveal itself.

Critics will naturally say, “Hindi pupunta sa bangko ang kriminal. Bibili na lang iyan ng lupa. Bibili ng condominium, gold, jewelry, cars, paintings, or other valuable assets.”

At first glance, that sounds like an obvious loophole.

But think about the transaction carefully.

Suppose I possess ₱100 million in questionable physical cash. I know that the peso is being retired. So I approach somebody selling a property worth ₱100 million.

I tell him, “Bibilhin ko ang property mo. Cash. One hundred million pesos.”

Why should the seller automatically accept my money?

The moment he accepts my ₱100 million in old physical peso banknotes, my conversion problem becomes his conversion problem.

The seller now possesses ₱100 million in a currency approaching retirement. He must eventually deposit it, exchange it, or otherwise deal with the conversion rules.

A legitimate seller might simply tell me:

“Ayoko ng lumang peso. Convert mo muna. Bayaran mo ako ng Lakan.”

And now I am back where I started.

I have to face the conversion system.

The same applies to gold.

Suppose somebody carries ₱50 million in physical pesos to a legitimate gold dealer and purchases ₱50 million worth of gold.

The buyer now possesses gold.

But what does the dealer possess?

The same ₱50 million.

The money did not disappear.

The conversion burden simply changed hands.

Why would a legitimate gold dealer automatically want mountains of old peso banknotes knowing that eventually he will be the one who has to convert them?

The same logic can apply to luxury vehicles, jewelry, art, and other high-value assets.

As the conversion deadline approaches, legitimate people and businesses may increasingly say:

“Lakan ang ibayad mo sa akin.”

And that changes everything.

The criminal’s problem is no longer simply, “Ano ang mabibili ko sa pera ko?”

The question becomes:

“Sino ang papayag tumanggap ng napakaraming lumang peso at akuin ang problema ng pagpapalit nito?”

Yes, there will be people willing to cooperate. There will be accomplices. There will be underground transactions. There may be discounts offered to people willing to assume the risk.

But notice what has happened.

The criminal who once needed only a cabinet now needs other people.

He needs sellers. Intermediaries. Nominees. Businesses. Documents. Transactions. He needs people willing to accept his old pesos.

And every additional person creates another possible witness, another relationship, another transaction, another document, another mistake, and potentially another trail.

Secrets become more fragile as more people are required to keep them.

That alone changes the economics of hiding illicit cash.

Of course criminals will find loopholes.

Hindi naman tanga ang kriminal.

Some may divide the money among dozens or hundreds of people. Some may use relatives, employees, corporations, or nominees. Some may attempt foreign-currency conversion. Others may use offshore structures or digital assets. And certainly there will be schemes that policymakers have not yet anticipated.

But the existence of loopholes should not automatically kill the idea.

Every law has people trying to circumvent it. Every tax system has tax evaders. Every border has smugglers. Every anti-money-laundering regime has money launderers. Every police force operates in a society where crimes still occur.

Yet we do not abolish criminal law because criminals continue committing crimes.

We improve the system. We close loopholes. We strengthen institutions.

The objective is not perfection.

No government policy can guarantee that every corrupt person will be caught.

The objective is something more realistic and perhaps more powerful:

Make corruption increasingly difficult to enjoy.

We constantly talk about preventing corruption. We talk about investigating corruption. We talk about prosecuting corruption.

But what about making the proceeds of corruption increasingly difficult to preserve and enjoy?

Imagine being a corrupt official with ₱500 million hidden in physical cash.

Yesterday, your biggest problem was finding a safe place to hide it.

Under a Peso-to-Lakan transition, another question begins haunting you:

Paano ko gagawing Lakan ang ₱500 million ko?

Go to the bank? There is a transaction.

Give it to other people? Now more people know.

Buy property? Someone must accept your old pesos.

Buy gold? The dealer inherits the conversion problem.

Move it overseas? Movement creates another transaction and another risk.

Keep it hidden? The conversion period continues moving toward its end.

Suddenly, the stolen money that once made you feel powerful begins to become a liability.

And perhaps that is exactly what we should want.

Make stolen money uncomfortable in the hands of the person who stole it.

Make corruption difficult to enjoy.

But while I favor replacing the peso with Lakan, I would never support turning the transition into an excuse for arbitrary government power.

Government cannot simply say, “Marami kang pera. Magnanakaw ka.”

No.

That is not justice.

There must be due process. There must be clear laws, clear standards, constitutional safeguards, privacy protection, independent oversight, audit trails, and judicial remedies where required.

There must also be strict penalties for government personnel who abuse confidential financial information, extort people during conversion, selectively target political enemies, or protect favored individuals.

Because imagine the irony if we introduce Lakan to fight corruption only for corrupt officials to make money from the transition itself.

Hindi puwede.

We cannot fight corrupt money through a corrupt conversion system.

The people watching the money must themselves be watched.

Changing or replacing a national currency is also not something unheard of in world history. Different countries have done it for very different reasons—independence, political transformation, monetary crisis, economic reform, redenomination, or entry into a monetary union. Germany moved from the Deutsche Mark to the euro. France retired the franc for the euro. Italy replaced the lira with the euro. Several former Soviet republics established their own currencies following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Brazil went through a series of currencies before introducing the real in 1994. Turkey redenominated its currency in 2005 through the introduction of the new Turkish lira, eventually returning to the name Turkish lira.

These experiences are not identical to what I am proposing for the Philippines, and we should never pretend that they are.

But they establish an important point.

A national currency is not an untouchable institution that can never be replaced.

Nations have changed currencies when their political, economic, historical, or monetary circumstances demanded it. So the question is not whether changing the Philippine peso would be unprecedented. It would not be.

The more meaningful question is whether the Philippines can design its own transition intelligently enough to serve distinctly Philippine objectives: financial modernization, stronger accountability, and a new national monetary identity.

And then comes another question.

Why Lakan?

Why not simply call it a new peso?

I did not choose Lakan merely because it sounds good when we say “one thousand Lakan” or “one million Lakan.”

The word reaches deeper into our history.

Lakan was associated with leadership, rank, dignity, and authority in early Tagalog society. Long before Filipinos were counting their money in pesos, the term already belonged to the political and cultural vocabulary of people living in these islands. One of the historical names Filipinos readily associate with it is Lakandula, connected with Tondo during the period of early Spanish contact.

That historical connection gives the name meaning.

The Philippine peso is unquestionably Filipino today because generations of Filipinos made it Filipino. We earned it. We saved it. We sent it home. We built businesses with it. We paid tuition with it. We raised families with it.

We should never disrespect that history.

But the word peso itself came to us through Spanish monetary history.

Perhaps a mature nation can respect what it inherited while still deciding that its next monetary chapter deserves a name more distinctly its own.

Japan has the yen. Thailand has the baht. Malaysia has the ringgit. Indonesia has the rupiah. South Korea has the won. India has the rupee.

And perhaps someday:

The Philippines has the Lakan.

There is something dignified about it.

Something historical.

Something unmistakably Filipino.

But there is another symbolism in the name that I find even more meaningful.

Historically, lakan was associated with leadership and rank.

Now imagine transforming that word into the currency of an entire democratic nation.

Then Lakan no longer belongs only to someone powerful.

The farmer earns Lakan.

The teacher receives Lakan.

The worker saves Lakan.

The entrepreneur invests Lakan.

The OFW sends Lakan home.

The child receives Lakan as allowance.

The government collects Lakan in taxes.

And government becomes accountable for every Lakan belonging to the Filipino people.

There is something almost poetic about that transformation.

A word once associated with leadership becomes something possessed by everybody.

The Lakan would no longer belong to the lakan.

The Lakan would belong to the people.

Perhaps that symbolism is appropriate for a country trying to redefine leadership itself.

Leadership should not be measured by how much public money someone can control.

Leadership should be measured by how faithfully that money is protected.

Imagine someday saying:

“Bilyon-bilyong Lakan ang pera ng bayan. Every Lakan must be accounted for.”

That is the monetary identity I imagine.

Not merely replacing a Spanish word with a Filipino word for the sake of nationalism. Not pretending that changing terminology erases history. And certainly not claiming that a Filipino name automatically creates a stronger economy.

Because changing peso to Lakan will not magically strengthen our currency against the US dollar.

We cannot solve economic weakness through vocabulary.

You cannot rename a weak economy into a strong economy.

Currency strength comes from productivity, investment, exports, fiscal credibility, stable inflation, sound monetary policy, competitive industries, political stability, rule of law, strong institutions, and confidence.

If we introduce Lakan but continue stealing government money, tolerating smuggling, wasting public funds, weakening institutions, and discouraging investment, then eventually Lakan will inherit exactly the same economic weaknesses we complain about today.

A strong-sounding currency cannot rescue a weak system.

But a stronger system can give meaning to a new currency.

That is why if we ever move from Peso to Lakan, let us not waste the opportunity by treating it merely as demonetization.

Let it become part of a broader national financial reset.

Strengthen anti-money-laundering enforcement. Improve beneficial-ownership transparency. Digitize major government payments. Make public procurement more transparent. Improve audit trails for infrastructure projects. Strengthen tax and customs administration. Modernize financial intelligence. Improve cybersecurity. Expand financial inclusion. Protect whistleblowers. Improve asset recovery.

And most importantly, prosecute corruption rather than merely talking about it.

Then Lakan becomes more than a banknote.

Lakan becomes reform made visible.

Yes, the transition will cost money.

New banknotes and coins must be designed and produced. ATMs and banking systems must adjust. Businesses must modify accounting systems. Government databases must be updated. Contracts, loans, salaries, pensions, mortgages, taxes, insurance policies, bonds, and countless other obligations must transition with full legal continuity.

Those costs must be calculated honestly.

But if critics ask, “How much will Lakan cost us?” then perhaps government should also ask:

How much is corruption already costing us?

Not merely in pesos.

How many classrooms were never built? How many hospitals lacked equipment? How many roads deteriorated? How many flood-control structures failed to protect communities? How many farmers received inadequate assistance? How many families remained poor? How many opportunities disappeared because money intended for public development ended somewhere else?

A billion pesos stolen from government is not merely a billion missing from an accounting ledger.

It represents human opportunities that disappeared.

Behind every stolen billion are Filipinos who received less because somebody took more.

And that brings me back to the cabinet where this reflection began.

Imagine again that ₱100 million is hidden inside.

Yesterday, the owner could simply close the cabinet.

Tahimik ang pera.

Nobody sees it. Nobody hears it. Nobody asks anything.

But now the Philippines begins its historic transition from Peso to Lakan.

Suddenly that cabinet is no longer merely a hiding place.

It becomes a countdown.

The holder must make a decision.

Go to the bank? There is a transaction.

Give it to someone? There is another person.

Buy property? Someone must accept the pesos.

Buy gold? Someone inherits the conversion burden.

Move the money? Movement creates risk.

Keep it? Time continues running.

Whatever he chooses, the money can no longer comfortably sleep forever.

It has to wake up.

It has to move.

And when money moves, it has a greater chance of leaving footprints.

Will we catch everyone?

No.

Will every stolen peso be recovered?

No.

No serious policy proposal should promise that.

But if Lakan can make hiding enormous amounts of illicit physical cash more difficult, more expensive, more inconvenient, and more dangerous, then we have already changed the battlefield.

And perhaps there is one final meaning that Lakan should carry.

If Lakan once represented leadership and authority, then the Lakan of a modern democratic Philippines should represent something greater than authority.

It should represent service.

Money, especially public money, should never become the master of government. Government officials should never become servants of money. Money should instead become an instrument through which government serves its people.

Every Lakan collected from a Filipino taxpayer should return to the Filipino people through education, healthcare, infrastructure, public safety, agriculture, social services, economic opportunity, and national development.

Every Lakan entrusted to government should have a purpose.

A destination.

An accounting.

Perhaps that should become the deepest identity of our proposed currency.

The Lakan will be the ultimate Tagapaglingkod ng Bansang Pilipinas.

Not because a banknote can literally serve a nation, but because every Lakan should represent the labor, sacrifice, productivity, and trust of the Filipino people—and therefore must ultimately serve them.

Hindi dapat ang Pilipino ang alipin ng pera. Hindi rin dapat ang pera ng bayan ang magsilbi sa interes ng iilan.

Ang pera ng bayan ay dapat bumalik at magsilbi sa bayan.

That is the Lakan I imagine.

A currency rooted in Filipino history but dedicated to the Filipino future.

A currency that does not merely measure wealth but reminds us of responsibility.

A currency that does not merely circulate through our economy but symbolizes the principle that public wealth exists for public service.

Someday, perhaps somebody will casually ask:

“How much money do you have?”

And the answer will be:

“One million Lakan.”

Sarap pakinggan.

But what would make those words truly beautiful is not merely how Lakan sounds.

It would be knowing that behind every Lakan stands a nation that finally decided that stealing from the Filipino people should never again be so easy to hide.

The Peso has carried the story of generations of Filipinos. We should respect that history.

But respecting history does not require us to remain permanently bound to it.

Sometimes a nation honors its past by having the courage to write its next chapter.

The Peso served our history.

Perhaps now we can begin imagining the currency that could represent our future.

A currency of Filipino identity.

A currency accompanied by greater accountability.

A currency that forces hidden money to move.

A currency that reminds every government official that public money never belongs to the person temporarily entrusted with it.

From Peso to Lakan.

A new Philippine currency against corruption.

A new identity. A new accountability. A new beginning.

The Lakan will be the ultimate Tagapaglingkod ng Bansang Pilipinas.

And perhaps the most important meaning of all:

The Lakan would no longer belong to the lakan. The Lakan would belong to the Filipino people.

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Reader,

I invite you to explore my complete collection of published books now available on Amazon. Whether you are seeking in-depth analysis, strategic insights, or engaging narratives, my catalog covers a range of essential topics designed to inform, inspire, and provoke thoughtful discussion.

You can browse all my current titles, read excerpts, and order your copies directly through my official Amazon Author Page: 

Click this Image to View:

Thank you for your continued support and interest in my work. If you enjoy any of the titles, leaving a review on Amazon would be greatly appreciated as it helps bring these ideas to a broader audience.

Warm regards,

Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

*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: 898K