*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
There was a time when the phrase “a picture tells a thousand words” was true. Back then, photographs were rare treasures. Cameras were expensive, films cost money, and developing pictures was a luxury. To have even a single photo was a privilege, a keepsake that carried the weight of memory and authenticity.
When I look back at my life, I remember my childhood in elementary up to college with great fondness. I remember the joy of winning a National Quiz Bee, the pride of representing in an International Oratorical Contest, the thrill of debating in college, the excitement of campaigning in student council elections, and even my first run as Municipal Councilor of San Mateo, Rizal at the age of 18. I remember moments with great people—President Ferdinand Marcos Sr., Senator Raul Manglapus, Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago. I remember, too, moments of youth, with my first love and girlfriend. My basketball, chess and judo highlight moments and play in my younger days. Yet, in all these beautiful memories, I have no pictures to show. No camera to freeze those moments, no selfies to parade. And perhaps that is why I carry them so strongly in my heart—because the memories themselves, not photographs, became my proof of living.
But today, it is different. With cellphones in every pocket and AI or Photoshop able to create or alter images, pictures no longer carry the same meaning. You can take a selfie with a politician at a baptism, wedding, meal, oathtaking, or campaign rally—and suddenly it looks like you are close, connected, or endorsed. But the picture does not tell the whole story. It cannot explain the context, the relationship, or the truth.
This is why I am not impressed when I see Sarah Discaya parading her photos with cabinet secretaries, senators, and political figures. In today’s world, no prominent person can stop others from taking selfies with them. A handshake at a campaign sortie or a snapshot at a social event can easily be hijacked and later used to project false legitimacy. These pictures, especially in the middle of the flood control scam, become part of a dangerous illusion—meant to suggest untouchability, to mislead people into believing that influence can be proven by images.
And this is the regular profile of scammers: they hype themselves endlessly, flaunt their wealth, and display pictures with prominent people. They create stories about themselves by paying news reporters, buying space in tabloids, availing awards in exchange of so-called donations, parading honorary doctorate degrees from fake institutions, or releasing press statements built on hijacked photographs. They love the limelight. They want to look rich and powerful so that it becomes easier to gain the trust, confidence, and eventual approval of the very people they intend to scam. Their game is not just deception—it is theater, staged for an audience they want to manipulate.
But I know this: credibility is not in a photo. I lived through a time when memories mattered more than images. My life was not less meaningful because I had no camera to capture those milestones—it was made meaningful by the truth of those experiences. And that truth is what scammers today cannot manufacture.
So let us not be dazzled by selfies with presidents, senators, or other prominent people. Let us not confuse pictures with power. Because in this age of hijacked selfies, a picture no longer tells a thousand words. Only actions, integrity, and service define credibility—they cannot be hyped, staged, or polished, because in the end, pretensions collapse under the weight of truth.
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