When Senator-Lawyers Turned the Senate into a Courtroom

 *Dr.Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

I remember watching one Senate session on television not too long ago. A senator, who happened to be a lawyer, stood up and began citing a judicial rule to support his argument. His tone was solemn, almost as if he were delivering an oral argument before the Supreme Court. The camera panned across the faces of other senators, and I could not help but ask myself: is this the Senate, or a courtroom?

The issue being debated was simple enough—what rule should apply in the absence of a specific Senate rule? The lawyer-senator’s instinct was to resort to judicial precedent. Yet I thought to myself: isn’t the very absence of a Senate rule an invitation to craft one? Should not senators, empowered as representatives of the people, decide on the floor what rule to adopt to meet the requirement of the moment? After all, legislation is not bound by the rigid habits of courtroom procedure. It is a living process, one that should grow from collective deliberation rather than borrowed judicial formulas.

That moment struck me deeply, because it revealed how often our Senate drifts away from its true identity. The Philippine Senate has always been one of the most powerful institutions in our democracy. It carries the burden of crafting laws that shape the destiny of our nation. Yet, too often, when lawyers dominate its halls, the Senate slowly transforms into a courtroom rather than a chamber of legislation. This shift, though subtle, is where the problem begins.

Lawyers are trained for a noble purpose: to study, interpret, and defend the law. They are experts in mastering its language, in identifying technicalities, and in navigating the intricate framework of our legal system. But here lies the danger: legislation is not simply about technical perfection. It is not about citations, pleadings, or evidence. It is about wisdom, vision, and common sense. A law must breathe life, touch the everyday struggles of people, and respond to the nation’s aspirations. These things no single profession, not even the legal one, has a monopoly over.

The Constitution, in its wisdom, never restricted the Senate to lawyers alone. That is deliberate. The framers understood that lawmaking requires the combined perspectives of teachers who know the heart of education, farmers who know the language of the soil, doctors who know the cries of the sick, entrepreneurs who know the pulse of business, and workers who know the weight of labor.

Imagine, for a moment, what kind of Senate we would have if the chamber truly reflected the diversity of our society. A doctor in the Senate could speak with authority on public health systems, pandemic preparedness, and the silent struggles of hospitals in far-flung provinces. An accountant could scrutinize budgets with precision, guarding against hidden leakages and corruption. An engineer could guide infrastructure laws, ensuring safety, innovation, and sustainability. A teacher could remind the chamber of classroom realities, of students without books and teachers without proper pay. A scientist could bring a long-term perspective on technology, climate, and research that could lift the nation. An agriculturist could champion food security, irrigation, and the dignity of farmers. An environmentalist could keep the nation grounded on the urgent duty to protect our forests, seas, and air.

When such voices converge, the laws of a nation carry not only technical form but also the substance that uplifts society.

When the Senate becomes dominated by legal minds treating debates like litigation, the chamber loses its balance. Speeches begin to sound like closing arguments, inquiries like cross-examinations, and the nation’s problems like “cases” to be won or lost. But the nation does not need lawyers arguing endlessly; it needs lawmakers creating pathways for justice, opportunity, and progress.

Lawmaking is a multi-disciplinary pursuit. It is not the privilege of one profession but the responsibility of an entire people, represented by leaders who embody their experiences. To reduce it into courtroom theatrics is to betray its essence. The true measure of legislation lies not in its technical brilliance but in its capacity to change lives for the better.

In the end, lawmaking is about wisdom, knowledge, common sense, and logic. These qualities cannot be confined to the legal profession alone. They are scattered across humanity—in the stories of the poor, the insights of the old, the vision of the young, and the sacrifices of ordinary Filipinos. Only when the Senate embraces this broader wisdom will it fulfill its true calling as the temple of democracy, not a courtroom of contention.

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 *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: 9K

When Floods Control the Nation

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

Floods have always been part of our lives as Filipinos. Every typhoon season, we brace ourselves for the rising waters, for the possibility of homes being submerged, and for lives being disrupted. We often say it is nature’s wrath, but in truth, many of these disasters are not caused by the skies above us. They are caused by the greed of people in power. When money intended for flood control is stolen, when projects exist only on paper, and when dikes collapse because they were built with substandard materials, the floods are no longer natural—they are man-made. They are born from plunder.

The ₱1-trillion flood control anomaly is not just another case of corruption. It is a crime so massive, so shameless, that it strips away the dignity of an entire nation. Billions were supposedly allocated to keep families safe from rising waters, yet entire communities still drown. Mothers carry their children on rooftops to escape death, farmers lose their crops in muddy currents, and workers see their small homes washed away in a single night. These tragedies are not accidents. They are the direct consequence of theft, of money pocketed by those who valued their own wealth over the safety of their people.

I have seen this story repeat itself through the years. Pork barrel, PDAF, DAP, fertilizer funds—the names of the scandals change, but the betrayal remains the same. Congress passes budgets filled with hidden insertions, contractors and officials conspire to make projects appear on paper, and money changes hands while ordinary Filipinos are left to face the floods. The Supreme Court may declare pork barrel unconstitutional, but those in power simply invent new names and new schemes. It is as if the law is just a suggestion, easily bent by those who know how to play the game.

This latest scandal cuts deeper because it shows that corruption is no longer just about stolen money. Plunder kills. It kills when children drown because a flood control project was never built. It kills when families die in their sleep because drainage canals were left clogged and unfinished. It kills when diseases spread in evacuation centers because funds for proper facilities were pocketed. These deaths are not caused by typhoons alone. They are caused by plunderers in suits who signed documents and approved ghost projects.

I cannot help but ask: how did we get here? The presidential–bicameral system we inherited has become a breeding ground for corruption. Presidents are forced to bargain with lawmakers to pass budgets, lawmakers hold projects hostage, and political clans use their seats not to serve but to enrich themselves. Elections are not about programs or visions for the nation—they are about family names, celebrity status, and money. Every three or six years, the faces change, but the system stays the same.

Perhaps the answer is to change the very system that sustains this corruption. The old 1973 Constitution, crafted under President Ferdinand E. Marcos Sr., tried a different approach with a parliamentary model. It was far from perfect, but it showed us a structure where leaders could be held accountable by the legislature through a vote of no confidence. In such a system, failure has consequences, and governments can be removed if they lose the trust of the people’s representatives. In our present system, leaders simply wait out their fixed terms, no matter how badly they perform.

Federalism, too, is worth considering. If regions had more power and control over their resources, they would no longer depend solely on Manila for development funds. Instead of being swallowed by the politics of “insertions,” money could go directly to the communities that need it. Imagine if local leaders in the provinces had the real authority to manage flood control projects, without begging national politicians for approval. Maybe then lives would be spared.

President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. now faces this choice. With barely three years left in his term, he must decide whether to remain a caretaker of a broken system or to seize this moment to reshape the country. History will not be kind to a leader who allows another wave of plunder to pass unchecked. But history will remember the one who dared to break the cycle.

For me, the lesson is clear: the floods that control our nation are not just waters rising from the rivers. They are floods of plunder, floods of betrayal, floods of greed. They drown not only our communities but also our hopes as a people.

I believe plunder is terrorism. It is violence by theft, violence by neglect, violence that robs people of their right to live safely and with dignity. It should not be treated as ordinary corruption. It should be recognized here and around the world as a crime against humanity.

But there is still hope. Timpuyog, an Ilocano word that means unity with love, the gathering of men and women for a great cause, reminds us that we are not helpless. If we unite with love for country and the courage to demand accountability, we can overcome the floods—both literal and political—that have long controlled us.

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 *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: 51K

The West Philippine Sea: A Call for Provincial Leadership and National Responsibility

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD EdD

While watching a YouTube documentary about the West Philippine Sea, while having a sip buko juice and eating grillled tilapia freshly delivered from the Timpuyog Pilipinas aqua-farming livelihood program in Nueva Viscaya, I found myself asking why the burden seems to fall primarily on the Secretary of National Defense. Shouldn’t this be a national concern that all Filipinos share and actively take responsibility for?

As an academician, a public safety advocate, and a political analyst, I have spent years observing the intricate interplay between governance, security, and citizen welfare. Among the pressing issues that demand urgent attention is the West Philippine Sea (WPS). It is not merely a maritime boundary dispute; it is a matter that affects the livelihoods, security, and sovereignty of the entire Philippines. While the immediate impacts are most visible in coastal provinces such as Palawan, Zambales, and Cagayan, the reality is that no province is insulated from the consequences of tension or conflict in these waters. Every governor, irrespective of geographic location, has a role in engaging in the protection of this strategic maritime domain (Council on Foreign Relations, 2024).

The WPS is deeply intertwined with the economic life of the nation. Coastal communities depend on the sea’s rich marine resources for survival. I recall visiting a small fishing village in Palawan, where fishermen shared stories of foreign vessels encroaching on traditional fishing grounds. Nets were torn, livelihoods disrupted, and families faced uncertainty about their next meal. What struck me was the interconnectedness of this struggle: the disruption of one community’s income has ripple effects across provinces. Fishing is not an isolated activity; it supports local markets, sustains supply chains, and impacts food security nationwide. The WPS also serves as a critical maritime route for trade, linking islands and facilitating the flow of goods. Any blockade or disruption, whether from conflict or political tension, reverberates throughout the nation, affecting markets, prices, and households far from the coast (Philippine Information Agency, 2025).

Environmental stewardship is another dimension that cannot be overlooked. The sea supports diverse ecosystems, from coral reefs to endangered marine species, which are critical for maintaining ecological balance. Environmental degradation, whether caused by overfishing, pollution, or foreign incursions, threatens not only local economies but also provinces far removed from the WPS. Altered weather patterns, loss of biodiversity, and reduced availability of natural resources eventually reach every corner of the archipelago. Through my years of public safety advocacy, I have learned that protecting these waters is tantamount to safeguarding the nation’s ecological and economic future (Science, 2024).

The issue becomes even more urgent when considering the possibility of war. What if tensions escalate into an armed conflict between the Philippines and China over the WPS? The ramifications would extend far beyond coastal communities. Trade would be disrupted, supply chains blocked, and basic goods might become scarce, causing economic hardship across all provinces. More alarmingly, any province could become a potential target of attack, especially those in coastal areas. Ports, naval facilities, and even civilian settlements near the shoreline could face direct threat. Governors would suddenly find themselves at the forefront of emergency response, civil defense, and public safety coordination. Hospitals, transportation networks, and essential services would be tested, and no province would be truly insulated from the effects of conflict. As a political analyst, I recognize that such a scenario is not merely hypothetical; it is a realistic risk that requires preemptive planning, coordination with the Armed Forces of the Philippines, and constant communication with communities to minimize casualties and disruption (United States Institute of Peace, 2024).

Governors also have a critical advocacy role. Public statements, local policies, and collaboration with national agencies strengthen the Philippines’ sovereignty and international standing. Supporting international legal decisions, such as the 2016 Permanent Court of Arbitration ruling, is essential not only for symbolic reasons but also for reinforcing legitimacy in diplomatic and strategic arenas. Advocacy should be integrated with education programs, community engagement, and preparedness drills to cultivate a sense of national ownership and collective responsibility over the WPS (Maritime Review, 2024; War on the Rocks, 2024).

On a human level, the WPS issue is deeply personal. Every dispute, every encroachment, affects real people—the families struggling to survive, the traders whose livelihoods depend on uninterrupted commerce, and communities living in a state of uncertainty. Leadership in this context is not simply administrative; it is moral. Every policy, every act of coordination, every message sent by a governor can save lives, protect livelihoods, and reinforce the nation’s sovereignty. As an academician and public safety advocate, I reflect constantly on how governance decisions resonate at the community level. As a political analyst, I understand that unified action and coherent policy signal that the Philippines remains sovereign and resilient.

Provincial leadership like that  in my book of  Supergovernor Reynaldo Tamayo Jr of South Cotabato, the president of the League of Provinces of the Philippines can take tangible forms. Governors can initiate local monitoring of maritime activities, coordinate with national defense agencies, and develop early warning systems for environmental and security risks. They can engage universities, research institutions, and civic organizations to promote awareness of the WPS and its broader implications. By fostering collaboration among provinces, governors can enhance resource sharing, strategic coordination, and community resilience. These actions are more than administrative tasks—they reflect a deep commitment to citizens’ welfare and national dignity (Council on Foreign Relations, 2024; Philippine Information Agency, 2025).

In conclusion, the West Philippine Sea is far more than a regional concern; it is a national imperative. Every governor, regardless of proximity, has a responsibility to protect sovereignty, ensure economic stability, safeguard environmental resources, and prepare communities for potential disruptions, including the unthinkable scenario of war. Any province, especially those along the coast, could be directly affected by conflict, making proactive governance essential. Leadership requires strategic foresight, empathy, and a commitment to collective national welfare. For me, as an academician, public safety advocate, and political analyst, the WPS is a vivid reminder that governance is measured not merely by policies but by the tangible security, dignity, and prosperity it guarantees to citizens. Protecting the WPS is not simply a local duty—it is a shared national responsibility that reflects the Philippines’ resilience, unity, and commitment to its people.

References

Council on Foreign Relations. (2024, September 17). Territorial disputes in the South China Sea. https://www.cfr.org/global-conflict-tracker/conflict/territorial-disputes-south-china-sea

Maritime Review. (2024). The problematic West Philippine Sea. https://maritimereview.ph/the-problematic-west-philippine-sea/

Philippine Information Agency. (2025, March 12). Youths embrace Philippine sovereignty in West Philippine Sea. https://pia.gov.ph/youths-embrace-philippine-sovereignty-in-west-philippine-sea/

Science. (2024, August 15). West Philippine Sea dispute threatens sea life. https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.adx9555

United States Institute of Peace. (2024, June 13). Boiling the frog: China’s incrementalist maritime expansion. https://www.usip.org/publications/2024/06/boiling-frog-chinas-incrementalist-maritime-expansion

War on the Rocks. (2024, December 11). Archipelago of resistance: The Philippines is rising to meet the China threat, but it has a crucial year ahead. https://warontherocks.com/2024/12/archipelago-of-resistance-the-philippines-is-rising-to-meet-the-china-threat-but-it-has-a-crucial-year-ahead/

 _________________________________

 *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: 530K

The Power of the President to Recall the Appointment of the Chief PNP: Why Torre’s Early Exit Could Unite the Police

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD. EdD

The Chief of the Philippine National Police is not just another uniformed officer. He is the one man who carries the weight of the institution’s unity, discipline, and integrity on his shoulders. The four stars on his collar are more than rank; they are the embodiment of public trust. And yet, those same stars do not belong to him forever. They are tied to the office, to the mandate given by the President, and to the confidence of the people.

General Nicolas Torre III has reached that highest post, but the question before him now is whether he should remain until his compulsory retirement—or whether the President should recall his appointment and pass the four stars on to someone else, perhaps General Jose Melencio Nartatez Jr., who is ready to lead.

The law is very clear on this matter. Under Republic Act (RA) 6975, as amended by RA 8551, the Chief PNP is appointed by the President from among the senior generals (RA 6975, 1990; RA 8551, 1998). But there is no fixed term, no guarantee of tenure. The Chief serves at the pleasure of the President, and that means the appointment can be recalled anytime. Once the President withdraws his trust, the Chief loses not only the post but also the four-star rank that comes with it. Those stars are tied to the position, not the man.

History gives us the examples Oscar Albayalde stepped down early when the “ninja cops” controversy shook the PNP. Leonardo Espina served as Officer-in-Charge, but because the official Chief was still on paper, his authority was weakened. In all these cases, one thing was consistent: the President made the call. The stars were not permanent. They belonged to the office, and when the trust was gone, they passed to the next Chief (Purisima v. Lazatin, G.R. No. 157838, 2004).

This is why attrition by demotion, as provided by RA 8551, cannot apply to Torre. Demotion is for ordinary officers. For the Chief PNP, the real mechanism is presidential prerogative. The President can recall the appointment, strip the stars, and give them to the next man in line. It is legal, it is constitutional, and it is necessary when leadership unity is at stake.

The question, then, is not whether it can be done. It is whether it should be done now. And here, the argument is about the future of the PNP and the stability of the nation.

If Torre stays on non-duty status until his retirement, the four-star slot will remain locked. Nartatez may act as leader, but always with the shadow of “OIC” over his head. The rank and file will see the hesitation, and the public will feel the uncertainty. The PNP will drift into the same limbo it experienced during the Purisima–Espina episode, when authority was split between the man on paper and the man in practice. That is not a position the PNP can afford as we approach the 2028 elections.

But if the President recalls Torre’s appointment and hands the stars to Nartatez, the effect will be immediate. The PNP will have one leader with full legitimacy, the chain of command will be clear, and the police can march forward with unity. The people will see a decisive government and a stable police force ready to guard the ballot box and protect communities.

And for Torre, this need not be a stain on his record. A Chief PNP relieved by presidential decision is not disgraced; he is simply part of the democratic process. In fact, if Torre were to take the higher road and retire voluntarily before being recalled, he would elevate himself. He would show that he values the unity of the police more than the prestige of his stars. He would leave not as one pushed out, but as one remembered for giving way at the right time.

That, to me, is the true definition of heroism in leadership. Heroes are not only those who face bullets on the battlefield. They are also those who choose sacrifice over pride, who step aside so that the institution they love may move forward whole and strong. If General Torre does this, he will be remembered not just as a Chief, but as a patriot who chose unity over position, and country over self.

The President has the power to recall. The law allows it. History supports it. But in the end, the choice of how this chapter will be written lies with General Torre himself. If he chooses to retire early, he will not simply exit the service—he will leave behind a legacy worthy of emulation. He will be remembered as an officer who carried his stars with honor, a gentleman who knew when to let go, and a patriot whose last act made him a hero.

 

References

• Republic Act No. 6975. (1990). An Act establishing the Philippine National Police under a reorganized Department of the Interior and Local Government. Official Gazette of the Republic of the Philippines.

• Republic Act No. 8551. (1998). The Philippine National Police Reform and Reorganization Act of 1998. Official Gazette of the Republic of the Philippines.

• Purisima v. Lazatin, G.R. No. 157838, June 21, 2004. Supreme Court of the Philippines.

 _________________________________

 *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: 953K

 

What Alex Eala’s US Open Journey Teaches the Philippines

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

When Alex Eala walked into the US Open, she carried not just her racket but the hopes of a nation. In her opening match against Clara Tauson, she was down 1–5 in the deciding set. Most athletes would have folded. But Alex fought back, point by point, until she pulled off a stunning comeback. That victory was historic—she became the first Filipino to win a Grand Slam main draw match in the Open Era.

I remember the surge of pride. I heard the cheers reverberating across oceans, and I felt my own eyes sting when she cried on court. For a moment, the frustrations of our country seemed to vanish. She reminded us that yes, the Filipino can.

But the next chapter was sobering. In the second round, Spain’s Cristina Bucsa shut the door. Alex fought with heart, but Bucsa was calm, steady, and disciplined. The crowd’s cheers were still loud, Alex’s determination still burning, but passion alone was not enough. In straight sets, the run was over.

That defeat taught me something. Not all defeats are true losses, and not all victories are real gains. On paper, Alex bowed out early. But in reality, she learned—and so did we—that grit and nationalism, though powerful, must be matched with preparation and consistency. In the same way, many political “victories” in the Philippines—flashy projects, high-profile arrests, campaign promises—turn out hollow when they do not lead to lasting reform. And many defeats, though painful, plant seeds for growth.

Our fight against corruption is much like Alex’s journey. When scandals erupt, our voices rise. We rally, we demand justice, we shout “tama na.” We are a nation rich in outrage and nationalism, just as Alex was rich in fire. But corruption, like her opponent, survives because it is patient, systematic, and disciplined. Outrage alone cannot defeat it.

What we need is endurance. Just as an athlete builds stamina through relentless training, we must build institutions that are strong, transparent, and immune to manipulation. We need leaders who are steady, not just fiery in speeches. We need reforms that bite, not just reforms that make headlines.

Alex’s victory over Tauson showed us the beauty of heart; her loss to Bucsa showed us the limits of heart alone. I do not see her exit as a failure but as a reminder that the journey matters as much as the outcome. And that lesson holds true for us as a nation.

We must not be fooled by victories that are only skin-deep. A politician may win office, but if he wins through corruption, the nation loses. A reform bill may be rejected, but if it sparks consciousness and counter-consciousness and paves the way for a revolutionary change, that “defeat” becomes a victory in disguise.

Alex Eala will surely rise stronger, and so can we. Her story tells us that true triumph is not measured only by the scoreboard but by what we build after the match is done. And if we, as a people, learn to tell the difference between hollow victories and meaningful defeats, then perhaps one day, the Philippines will know what genuine victory feels like.

 

_________________________________

 *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: 66K

Carrying the Badge of Honor: The Leadership Test of General José Melencio Corpuz Nartatez Jr.

* Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

 

As a professor of public safety doctrine development, I have taught doctrines not as mere words on paper, but as principles meant to be lived by the men and women who wear the uniform. These lessons were never intended to stay confined within books or classrooms—they were meant to shape character, guide decisions, and define the moral compass of those entrusted with power. Over the years, I have watched some of my students rise to become generals, and a few ascend to the highest post of all—Chief of the Philippine National Police.

That is why every new appointment to this position is never just a headline or an official announcement to me—it is deeply personal. It is a moment of reckoning, a question that grips my heart: Will the doctrines of service, honor, and justice that I have labored to teach take root in this leader? Will the principles of service, honor, and justice that I have dedicated my life to instill in the man who now wears the nation's most prominent badge? In his hands, he holds not only authority but also the embodiment of values that must endure beyond any single term of office.

When General José Melencio Corpuz Nartatez Jr. was appointed Chief of the Philippine National Police, I felt the weight of that moment. He brings with him an impressive breadth of experience—spanning operations, finance, intelligence, and regional command—credentials that speak of competence and capability. Yet the real question is not what he has already accomplished, but what he must now accomplish when faced with daunting realities. He inherits a police force fractured by internal divisions after the removal of General Nicolas Torre III, still bruised by the long-standing rivalry between PMA and PNPA graduates, and struggling to regain the trust of a skeptical public. The battlefield he steps into is not one fought with bullets or firepower, but with unity, integrity, and trust. It is a war of perceptions as much as principles, and its outcome will define not only his leadership but also the future image of the PNP itself.

He does not step into this role empty-handed; he carries with him the legacy of those who paved the way, standing firmly on the shoulders of his PMA upperclassmen and the many chiefs who came before him. Each one left behind lessons—some shining with inspiration, others carved from painful experience—that together form a reservoir of wisdom. These lessons are not merely memories but guiding principles, offering Nartatez a compass as he negotiates the difficulties associated with leadership, reminding him that greatness is never built in isolation but upon the foundations laid by those who walked the path before.

I think of General Leonardo Espina, one of my former students, whose public tears during the Mamasapano tragedy revealed that even generals can grieve—and that compassion, far from being weakness, is a true form of strength in leadership. General Debold Sinas, who embodied firmness and decisiveness, constantly reminded us that authority must always coexist with fairness, as power without justice breeds fear rather than respect. General Guillermo Eleazar, another of my students, dedicated himself to cleansing the ranks, proving that credibility in the eyes of the public begins with credibility within the institution. General Benjamin Acorda Jr. demonstrated a calm and steady demeanor, teaching that leadership is not always about making noise but about exuding quiet resolve and consistency. General Dionardo Carlos modeled professionalism in its purest sense—silent, focused, and genuinely effective—showing that true results often come without fanfare. Finally, General Vicente Danao Jr. stood as an example of bold decisiveness, reminding us that while courage is essential, it must always be tempered with justice. Together, these leaders exemplify a range of leadership styles, all grounded in values that continue to embody the true spirit of service.

Not everyone who rose to the top left behind lessons worth remembering, but some did—and their examples remain motivating. General Oscar Albayalde may have secured the top post of PNP Chief over General Gregorio Pimentel of PMA Class ’85, the former Director for Intelligence, yet Pimentel’s unparalleled foresight and ability to translate intelligence into actionable policies remain a benchmark in strategic leadership. Then there is General Bong Dickson, my favorite Deputy Chief for Administration and now Deputy Director General for Administration of PDEA, whose excellence in working with people reminded us that the PNP is not a faceless machine but a community of individuals. General Moro Virgilio Lazo, a man of unwavering character, stood firm in his conviction that “white is white,” embodying integrity in its purest form. Equally inspiring is General Isagani Nerez, now head of PDEA, a humble man of faith whose pro-God, pro-life stance reflects a moral clarity that shapes his leadership. Together, these men demonstrate that true leadership is not merely about position but about principles that endure beyond the titles they once held.

I also remember General Rolando Asuncion, whose meekness and sincerity earned a respect far deeper than fear ever could, showing that true leadership is built not on intimidation but on character. Alongside him stands General Roel Obusan, a leader who embodied competence and authority, consistently valuing truth over theatrics and substance over showmanship. These men proved that integrity and humility are as vital to leadership as command presence and authority, and that the quiet strength of character often leaves a louder imprint than the noise of empty power. Their examples, together with those of General Rene Gumban, General John Arnaldo, General Cesar Hawthorne Binag, General Mao Aplasca, General Ric Zapata, Gen John Sosito, and General Val De Leon, form a legacy too rich to capture in a single telling. Each contributed to shaping the ideals of discipline, honor, and service—principles that continue to define what it means to lead with purpose. Collectively, they remind Nartatez that he does not enter history alone; he carries within him the strength, wisdom, and enduring values of those who have come before, a legacy that illuminates his path and challenges him to uphold the same standard of greatness.

The deeper question now is simple but profound: Will he be coachable? Leadership at the top is a lonely place—surrounded by flattery but starved of truth. The most effective leaders are not those who present themselves as experts, but rather those who continue to learn even at the pinnacle of authority. Humility, foresight, integrity, moral conviction, and professionalism are not abstract virtues; they are living truths earned in sacrifice and failure, waiting to be heard and embraced. The challenge for him is whether he will listen, for a leader who cannot be taught can never truly lead.

And then comes his crucible: the Citizens’ Security Program, a mandate from President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. This is a chance to redefine the essence of policing in the Philippines, not just another policy. For decades, the PNP has wrestled with a troubling perception: a force feared rather than trusted, associated with authority rather than service. Citizens have long yearned for police officers who inspire reassurance instead of intimidation, who wield their authority with dignity rather than abuse it with power. The Citizens’ Security Program holds the promise of answering that call, of restoring confidence in law enforcement by bringing it closer to the people it serves. If Nartatez embraces this task with sincerity, clarity of vision, and unwavering resolve, it could become the hallmark of his leadership—his greatest legacy—a transformation that recasts the PNP from an institution of fear into a genuine partner for peace, order, and public trust.

I write these words not from a distance but with a deep sense of attachment. I know these names; I've taught some, studied all, and integrated their lessons into doctrine and leadership. Their stories are not just entries in a history book; they are living reminders of what leadership can be at its best—and what it must never become. For this reason, I view General Nartatez not merely as another individual appointed to a high office, but rather as a man at a pivotal juncture, where the decisions made today will have far-reaching consequences in the future.

If he listens, if he learns, if he leads with humility, courage, and integrity, then perhaps history will remember him as the chief who restored not just authority but honor to the badge. In the end, leadership is not measured by the stars on one's shoulder or the titles in their record. It is defined by the trust one earns, the service one gives, and the legacy of honor one leaves behind for others to follow.

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 *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.

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Beating the Giant Team USA in the FIBA AMERICUP: From Uruguay’s Victory in Basketball to the Battle of the Filipino People Against Corruption

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

I was watching on YouTube the FIBA AmeriCup 2025 when I saw something that shook me to the core. Uruguay, a country not known for basketball greatness, went toe-to-toe with the mighty USA and emerged victorious. It was one of those rare sports moments when the impossible became real, when the underdog showed the world that giants can fall. As the final buzzer sounded, I could almost feel the energy of an entire nation that refused to bow down to history or reputation.

In that moment, I felt a surge of hope—not just as a basketball enthusiast, but as a Filipino who has seen how corruption has crippled our beloved country. Watching Uruguay topple the United States made me think: if they can do that on the court, then why can’t we, as a people, defeat the giant of corruption that has for so long haunted our every institution? Corruption feels like the USA team of our political life—big, powerful, seemingly invincible. But Uruguay’s victory tells us that with dedication, courage, and collective spirit, even the strongest adversary can be beaten.

For decades, we Filipinos have lived under the shadow of corruption. It eats away at our dreams, diverts billions meant for schools, hospitals, and jobs, and turns progress into illusion. Sometimes it feels too deeply entrenched, too overwhelming to fight. But then I think of Uruguay, a small nation that had no business beating a powerhouse, yet believed enough in themselves to defy the odds. They played with heart, with unity, and with soul. That is exactly what we need.

When I recall our own experiences as a nation, I remember the day Hidilyn Diaz lifted her way into history at the Tokyo Olympics. For nearly a century, the Philippines had never won an Olympic gold medal. We sent athletes, we trained, we dreamed, but the top of the podium seemed beyond our reach. Hidilyn carried not only the weights of competition but also the weight of poverty, of lack of support, and of countless doubters. Yet with courage, persistence, and faith, she lifted those bars above her head and proved that what was once thought impossible could be done.

Carlos Yulo tells us the same story in a different arena. A boy from a simple family in Manila, he pursued gymnastics, a sport that hardly had any spotlight in our country. He trained quietly, often unnoticed, but his discipline and relentless focus eventually put him on the podium of world championships. Against nations with huge programs and deeper traditions, Carlos proved that Filipinos can excel when they commit themselves fully, even in fields that no one expects us to dominate.

And then there is Gilas Pilipinas—the team that carries both our frustrations and our dreams. We have seen them falter in international tournaments, sometimes crushed by stronger, taller, more organized opponents. We have also seen them rise unexpectedly, pulling off victories that made the entire country cheer in unison. Gilas is not perfect, but they embody the struggle of the Filipino people: underfunded, doubted, underestimated, yet capable of greatness when they play with heart and unity. Every time Gilas defies expectations, I see proof that belief and persistence can overcome disadvantage.

Adding to these triumphs is Alex Eala, a young Filipina who chose a path few dared to take—tennis. While our country remains obsessed with basketball, Alex quietly worked on her craft on the international circuit. She battled athletes from nations with richer tennis traditions, stronger support systems, and deeper resources, yet she managed to shine. Her victories in the juniors and her breakthrough performances in the professional ranks have brought honor to the Philippines in a sport that once seemed too distant for us to conquer. Alex reminds us that the Filipino spirit can thrive anywhere, even on courts far removed from our national comfort zone.

And we cannot forget EJ Obiena, the pole vaulter who soared to heights no Filipino had ever reached before. In a nation where most tall athletes would have chosen basketball, EJ dared to pursue an unfamiliar and unforgiving sport. His journey was filled with challenges—injuries, lack of resources, controversies, and doubts—but he kept rising above them, literally and figuratively. Today, he competes among the world’s best, carrying the flag on his chest and proving that Filipinos can excel even in arenas we never thought possible. EJ’s vaults are not just leaps over a bar; they are leaps over doubt, over limitations, over the idea that Filipinos must always stay on the margins of global achievement.

These victories—Hidilyn’s weightlifting, Carlos’s gymnastics, Gilas’s battles, Alex’s tennis triumphs, and EJ’s pole vault heights—remind us that giants fall not because they are weak, but because underdogs believe enough to challenge them. Corruption continues to thrive because too many of us have accepted it as part of our national identity. We shrug and say, “Ganito na talaga sa Pilipinas,” as if surrender is our only option. It is the same mindset as a small team walking into a game against the United States and saying, “We don’t stand a chance.” But Uruguay did not surrender to that mindset. Hidilyn Diaz did not surrender to that mindset. Carlos Yulo did not surrender to that mindset. Gilas Pilipinas, even with all their flaws, do not surrender to that mindset. Alex Eala did not surrender to that mindset. EJ Obiena, vaulting higher each season, did not surrender to that mindset. And neither should we.

Even small victories against corruption matter. A barangay captain who decides to be transparent with funds, a teacher who refuses to inflate receipts, a police officer who turns down a bribe—these are like the baskets Uruguay made one after another, slowly building momentum until the impossible became reality. Each honest act chips away at the giant. And when enough of these moments accumulate, they form the tipping point of change.

Other nations have proven this can be done. Singapore, once plagued with corruption, transformed itself into one of the cleanest governments in the world through leadership and cultural change. Georgia reformed its police force, showing that systemic corruption can be broken with will and courage. They are no different from us in potential, only perhaps in belief.

What I love most about Uruguay’s victory is how it speaks to the next generation. It tells young people that history is not destiny. Just because a nation was once weak in basketball does not mean it will always be so. Just because the Philippines has long been shackled by corruption does not mean our children must inherit it. The giant can fall, but only if we dare to believe and fight together.

As I watched that game, I realized that what we are truly lacking is not talent or laws or institutions. We are lacking belief. Uruguay’s win reminded me that when people commit themselves fully—when they play with heart, soul, and discipline—history bends. And so I ask myself, and all of us: do we really want to beat corruption, or have we grown too comfortable with its presence?

Uruguay’s victory was not just about sports; it was about rewriting what was thought impossible. We, too, must rewrite the story of the Philippines. One day, I hope to see our own version of an AmeriCup upset, not in basketball but in governance. A day when the world looks at us and says, “The Philippines did it. They beat corruption.”

It will take time, sacrifice, and painful change, but giants do fall. If Uruguay can beat the USA on the basketball court, then we, too, can topple corruption in our land. And when that day comes, when the final buzzer sounds, I hope history will say of the Filipino people: they dared, they believed, and they did the impossible.

_________________________________

 *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.