*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
While watching The Clones segment of Eat Bulaga, I found myself smiling — not just because of the laughter, the music, or the entertainment, but because I was deeply moved by the sincerity of those who stood on that stage. There was something magical in how these ordinary people, with trembling voices and hopeful eyes, became the mirror of greatness. Jean Jordan Abina and the other contestants sang so beautifully, so truthfully, that you could almost close your eyes and believe that the real stars were back — alive again through the voices of their admirers.
But as I watched them perform, my heart began to wander elsewhere. I thought, if there are clones in singing — voices that can capture the soul of the original — why can’t we also have clones in leadership? Why can’t we have clones of our heroes, of our great statesmen, of those whose voices once spoke truth and justice instead of melodies? What if, hidden among the millions of silent Filipinos, there live the clones of Ramon Magsaysay’s humility, Miriam Defensor Santiago’s brilliance, Jovito Salonga’s wisdom, and Jose Diokno’s courage?
I believe they exist. I believe they are out there — quiet, unseen, often unnoticed. They are the teachers who serve without recognition, the policemen who turn down bribes, the doctors who heal without greed, and the farmers who rise before dawn not for fame, but for love of country and family. These are the real clones of greatness — reflections of the same light that once illuminated our nation’s proudest days. But the saddest part is, they are invisible. They are never given the stage, never given the microphone, never given the chance to serve.
Our system does not reward the humble or the honest. It rewards the loud, the powerful, the wealthy, and the well-connected. You can have all the heart in the world, all the brilliance in your mind, but if you are not part of a dynasty, you remain a spectator — clapping for those who have already inherited the applause. I have met many ordinary Filipinos who could have been better leaders than the ones we elect — men and women whose integrity could have restored our faith in government — but they are trapped behind walls built by poverty, politics, and tradition.
If Eat Bulaga can find singers who sound exactly like our musical icons, why can’t our country find leaders who live like our moral icons? Why can’t we, as a people, hold a search not for the next celebrity, but for the next servant of the people — someone who can make us believe again in honesty, humility, and love of country?
Maybe the fault is not in our people but in the system itself — a system that shuts its ears to the true voices of service. It is a system that measures leadership by money, fame, and lineage instead of compassion, competence, and conscience. Maybe it’s time we start looking not at the family names printed on campaign posters, but at the hearts beating quietly behind ordinary names — names we may not know, but souls that truly care.
Someday, I hope the day will come when a schoolteacher, a farmer, a fisherman, or a simple mother will be recognized not as an ordinary Filipino, but as a leader — a clone of our forgotten greatness. Because leadership is not something inherited; it is something awakened in the soul of one who truly loves.
And until that day arrives, I will keep watching — not just Eat Bulaga, but this great show called life — believing that somewhere, among the millions of nameless faces in our nation, there are still those who carry the voice of Magsaysay’s humility, Salonga’s decency, Santiago’s courage, and Diokno’s fire.
They are the real stars waiting for their turn to sing — not
with microphones, but with the purity of their hearts. They are the clones of
our forgotten greatness, waiting to remind us that true leadership, like true
music, comes not from fame — but from love.
