*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
I
was inspired to write this reflection after rewatching the old TV series
Sliders. That show fascinated me when I was younger, because it played with the
possibility of alternate worlds. One decision, one accident, one twist of fate,
and the world would be completely different. Watching it again as an adult, I
could not stop myself from imagining my own version of a slide. What if the
Philippines had taken another path? What if it was not Bongbong Marcos who
became President in 2022, but his sister Imee?
In
that parallel universe, the Philippines would feel both familiar and foreign.
Imee would not settle for the glossy branding of “Bagong Pilipinas.” She would
instead revive the old fire of her father’s ideology, reshaping it for the
present. But this time, she would wrap it in a vision she called Timpuyog
Pilipinas. It was not just a slogan. It was a way of imagining governance as a
shared responsibility, a culture of unity and love. Unity not as empty calls
for silence, but as genuine harmony where government and citizens walk
together. Love not as sentimentality, but as dignity restored to every Filipino
— food on the table, schools open to every child, and work that honored human
worth.
The
word timpuyog itself is Ilocano. It carries with it a richness that the English
word “unity” alone cannot capture. Timpuyog means unity with love, a gathering
of men and women for a great cause. It evokes images of communities coming
together not merely because they must, but because they believe in something
larger than themselves. When Imee spoke of Timpuyog Pilipinas, it meant a
Philippines united not by fear or by force, but by compassion and shared
purpose. It meant a country where citizens worked hand in hand for a common
good, bound together by love of neighbor and love of nation. In her alternate
universe, the ideology was clear: a united and loving Philippines, built by
citizens willing to labor not only for themselves, but for one another.
One
of her first bold decisions would be to give Sara Duterte more than just the
role of Vice President. She would hand her the Department of the Interior and
Local Government. From there, Sara would command the barangays, the mayors, the
governors, and the police. She would become the iron hand at the grassroots,
ensuring that the President’s agenda reached the smallest corners of the
country. Imagine Sara walking into DILG, carrying the weight of her father’s
name, but reshaping it with her own force of character. Under her, the war on
drugs would continue, but not in the same bloody and chaotic form.
Imee
would pick up a program that I myself authored and launched during the time of
President Rodrigo Duterte, on March 14, 2022. It was called ADORE, the
Anti-Illegal Drugs Operations thru Reinforcement and Education. In Imee’s
world, ADORE would not just survive, it would thrive. Through Sara’s DILG, it
would be transformed into a movement that was as much about compassion as it
was about discipline. Reinforcement would mean stronger community policing,
empowering barangays to guard their people from syndicates. Education would
mean teaching families, children, and entire communities how to resist the
cycle of addiction. It would be a war, yes, but one fought not only with guns,
but with classrooms, counseling centers, and livelihoods. Under ADORE, every
addict was not just an enemy, but a life waiting to be reclaimed.
At
the Department of National Defense, Imee would appoint Gilbert “Gibo” Teodoro.
His presence alone would bring calm. Gibo’s reputation for intelligence and
professionalism would balance the intensity of Sara’s grassroots authority.
While Sara took command of the police and local governance, Gibo would assure
the Armed Forces that their mission remained professional, strategic, and
steady. His presence would also send a message to the international community
that behind the ideological fire of Imee and the political charisma of Sara,
there was competence holding the line.
General
Vicente Danao would remain as Chief of the Philippine National Police. Danao’s
reputation for being a hardliner, his no-nonsense posture, and his refusal to
be intimidated would resonate with Imee’s vision of a disciplined nation. He
would become the face of enforcement on the ground, ensuring that ADORE and
other national policies were carried out with uncompromising force. For
ordinary Filipinos, his name would spell both fear and order. For criminals, it
would mean no refuge.
Beside
Danao, Retired General Thompson Lantion a trusted aide of her late father would
serve as National Security Adviser. Lantion’s task would be less visible but no
less important. He would be the bridge between ideology and strategy, the man
in the background ensuring that security threats were not only answered with
weapons but with foresight. His counsel would steady Imee’s fiery impulses,
reminding her that Timpuyog Pilipinas meant more than force — it meant
protecting the people through both compassion and vigilance.
In
this alternate world, Imee would never allow Rodrigo Duterte to be taken by the
International Criminal Court. To her, this was not simply loyalty to the
Dutertes; it was personal. She knew the pain of seeing a father condemned on
the world stage. She would make sure no such humiliation would befall the
former President. The Department of Justice would close its doors to
investigators, the police and Armed Forces would refuse to cooperate, and the
Department of Foreign Affairs would dress the defiance in the language of
sovereignty. Duterte, aging but untouchable, would live out his years in Davao
as both patriarch and ghost, his legacy protected by Imee’s uncompromising
defense.
The
politics of intrigue in Congress would still be alive. Whispers of impeaching
Sara would echo through the halls of the House of Representatives, much like in
our own world. But under Imee, those whispers would never grow into a roar.
Sara would not just be Vice President. She would be DILG Secretary, a force in
the barangays, a commander of mayors and governors, the one holding the leash
of the police. To impeach her would be to rip out the heart of local
governance. The military would not permit it, and Imee herself would not
tolerate such chaos in her coalition.
Even
Martin Romualdez’s rise would not be guaranteed. In Bongbong’s universe, he
became Speaker of the House, consolidating immense power. But with Imee as
President, bloodlines would not be enough. She has always walked her own path,
and family ties have never silenced her sharp independence. Perhaps she would
keep Romualdez close. Or perhaps she would give the speakership to someone who
owed her everything, someone she could control without question. I imagine the
tension at family gatherings, the bitterness of ambitions blocked, the quiet
calculation behind every smile.
Beyond
domestic politics, there would be her stance on the West Philippine Sea. Imee
would not bend. She would carry the same nationalistic fire as her father and
temper it with modern pragmatism. She would strengthen alliances with
like-minded nations, bolster the navy and coast guard under Gibo Teodoro’s
direction, and make sure fishermen could sail without fear. Yet she would not
recklessly provoke. Her line would be firm but measured: the West Philippine
Sea is ours, and while we are open to diplomacy, we will never surrender
sovereignty. For her, this too was Timpuyog — unity with love, a gathering for
a great cause, the defense of what is rightfully ours, not through hatred of
others but through love of country.
There
would also be no propaganda wars, no battles of trolls flooding the digital
space with fake news. Imee would know that disinformation is poison. Instead,
her Presidential Communications Office would work to build a culture of candor.
Policies would be explained in plain language. Statistics would be published
honestly. Programs would be judged not by hashtags but by the results that
families could feel in their homes. Rather than drowning the people in noise,
she would insist on education, teaching citizens to think critically, to
question, and to take part. In her world, truth itself would be an instrument
of governance.
Holding
it all together would be her ideology. She would call it a Democratic
Revolution from the Citizenry, but its soul would be Timpuyog Pilipinas. In
every speech, in every program, she would return to those two words: unity and
love. The strength of her government would not be measured only by the
harshness of enforcement, but by the warmth of community. The insurgency might
fade not because rebels were killed but because their hunger was answered.
Criminality might shrink not because of fear alone but because opportunities
opened. Families might finally feel that they were seen, heard, and cared for.
She would guide all of this through what she called the eight Es: engineering, education, extraction of information, enforcement, enactment of laws, environment, economics, and evaluation. These were not empty words to her but a compass. Engineering meant building not just roads but entire pathways for opportunity. Education meant breaking cycles of ignorance. Extraction of information meant transparency and data-driven governance. Enforcement and enactment meant that laws were not just passed but lived. Environment meant protecting the country’s soul. Economics meant not just growth but food on every table. Evaluation meant humility — the willingness to measure, to admit mistakes, to correct them.
And
yet, as I imagine this world, I feel conflicted. On one hand, it is bold,
structured, full of clarity. It is a government with ideology, with heart, with
vision. On the other hand, it is a government with power tightly held, with
discipline that could easily turn to suppression. It is a dream that could
inspire, or a dream that could choke.
But
writing about this parallel universe is not about longing for Imee Marcos to be
president. It is about remembering that ideas matter. Our world today floats on
vague slogans and promises of unity, but unity without love, unity without
truth, unity without structure is hollow. In the universe of Imee Marcos,
Timpuyog Pilipinas is not just an idea but a practice, the daily weaving of
love and unity into governance. And even if that universe does not exist, its
challenge to us is real.
Sliders reminded me that parallel universes are mirrors of ourselves. In one world, Bongbong Marcos is president, and history unfolds as we know it. In another, Imee Marcos leads, Sara Duterte commands local government, Gibo Teodoro holds defense, Danao ensures order in the police, Lantion guards the nation’s security, and the Philippines becomes a laboratory of unity and love.
Would it be better? Would it be worse? I do not know. But I know this: imagining it makes me more awake to the reality we live in now. It reminds me that leadership must be more than survival, more than ambition, more than slogans. It must be vision. It must be love.
And perhaps, even in our own reality, the lesson of timpuyog still stands. It is not just a word but a heartbeat, an Ilocano whisper carried across generations. It is the sound of neighbors helping neighbors after a storm, of families sharing what little they have, of citizens gathering for a cause greater than themselves. Timpuyog is unity with love. It is the gathering of men and women for a great cause. And Timpuyog Pilipinas, in any universe, means one thing: a Philippines bound together by compassion, by courage, and by a love so fierce it refuses to abandon hope.
