*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DMgt
Before I speak of politics, I must speak of something more tender — our home, and the small lives that taught us lessons far greater than power. My daughter, Juliana Rizalhea, has always had the gentlest heart. Over the years, she has rescued stray cats from the streets — fragile, hungry, and unwanted. We named them with humor and irony after politicians we often discussed at our dining table: Cheeze, Martin, Zaldy, and Grace.
They were loved, cared for, and given shelter — yet, one after another, they passed away. Each death brought quiet grief to our home, but also reflection. It reminded us that even those you care for and protect deeply can still fade away, sometimes without reason, sometimes because the world is simply cruel.
Our oldest cat, Bongbong, is different. Juliana rescued him from the mountains of Montalban Maharlika Paradise founded by Spiritual Leader Dada Deo Palma in 2021, weak and trembling, barely clinging to life. Today, he remains with us — calm, loyal, and watchful — a survivor who has endured hunger, loneliness, and time. Alongside him is our oldest dog, Kiko, a female with a strong spirit and gentle eyes. Together, they form a silent contrast — the cat who endured the mountains and the dog who guards the home.
In their small world, I saw a reflection of our nation: loyalty tested by pain, survival in the face of abandonment, and quiet strength in the company of betrayal.
There are moments in a leader’s life when silence is louder than applause. When the crowd that once cheered suddenly grows cold, and the voices that once promised loyalty now whisper doubt behind closed doors. I have long studied power, politics, and people — and I have never seen a lonelier man at the center of it all than President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.
He stands amid tremors not entirely of his own making, but ones carefully designed by those who once smiled beside him. The “Dead Cat Strategy” — the throwing of scandals, intrigues, and emotional chaos to cover up the sins of others — has now become a deadly weapon used not only by the opposition but even by those within the circle that once called him “ally.”
There is a cruelty in politics that the public never sees. The President, who once dreamed of uniting a divided nation, now finds himself surrounded by people who smile in front of him but sharpen their knives in secret. Every headline, every whisper, every carefully crafted rumor is not just an attack on his leadership — it is a tremor shaking the very ground beneath his feet.
He wanted to heal this country. He wanted to cleanse it of the ghosts left by those who ruled before him. But what he did not expect was that some of those ghosts would be wearing the faces of the living — familiar faces, trusted faces. The corruption that he vowed to fight is not only in the system, but in the souls of those who pretend to serve it.
When the investigations on flood control projects began exposing layers of deceit, it was as if the tectonic plates of power began to shift. Suddenly, the nation quivered with accusations, false reports, and digital attacks. The opposition screamed betrayal, and their online armies threw one “dead cat” after another — fake scandals, fabricated rifts, moral lectures, and emotional distractions. But what broke the President’s spirit was not the noise from outside, but the quiet betrayal from within.
Even his own cousin, a man he once trusted with the nation’s finances and political strength, now finds himself at the center of controversies that shake the foundation of the administration. Every revelation against the Speaker, every whisper of insertion and influence, echoes like an aftershock in the halls of Malacañang. And there stands Bongbong — a man torn between blood and duty, between love for his family and loyalty to the people.
Then there is his sister, who once shared his dream of restoring the family’s dignity. But as political tremors continue, she has become more distant — speaking less in warmth and more in warning. Sometimes, even kin can forget that loyalty is not measured by how loud one defends, but by how quietly one stands beside. The President bears this pain in silence, for he knows that public confrontation would only deepen the cracks that already threaten to divide what little unity remains.
And in the middle of all this stands Liza, the First Lady — quiet, firm, unshaken. She has become not only his partner but his only fortress. When everyone else seems to have a secret, a motive, or an agenda, she remains the one person whose loyalty is not borrowed, not transactional, not political — but born of love. She sees the sleepless nights, the heavy sighs, the moments when the President stares blankly at the walls of power wondering whom to trust. And in those moments, she reminds him: “You are not alone.”
It is heartbreaking, truly, to see a leader who carries both the burden of a father and the sorrow of a betrayed friend. The people may never know how heavy it is to wear a smile while your heart is breaking from within. He speaks of unity even when he feels divided inside. He calls for calm even as the ground shakes beneath him. And still, he endures — not because of ambition, but because of duty.
Those who throw “dead cats” into the national conversation — the false scandals, the moral theater, the accusations — do not realize that their cruelty does not only hurt the man; it wounds the nation. They wish to destabilize him, but in doing so, they weaken the Republic he is trying to hold together. Every lie they plant is another tremor that threatens to split the nation apart, and every act of betrayal from within deepens the fault lines already weakening the foundation of governance.
He does not seek to be adored. He only seeks to be understood. But the world of politics has no room for understanding — only power and perception. And so, he carries on, misunderstood by many, maligned by some, and manipulated by a few. Yet, amid the loneliness of command, he still chooses to lead, to rebuild, to hope.
Sometimes, late at night, when the world quiets down, I imagine the President alone in his office, looking out over the city lights. Does he wonder if those lights represent the people who still believe in him? Or do they remind him of the countless shadows cast by those who no longer do? The thought is painful — that the man who stands at the helm of a nation can feel so utterly alone.
But in that solitude, perhaps, lies his strength. For it is in the quiet after each quake that truth reveals itself. When all the noise fades, when all the fake allies vanish, and when all the “dead cats” decay into silence, only the truth will remain — and so will he.
Because deep down, despite the betrayals, despite the manipulation, despite the trembling ground of politics, President Marcos Jr. still stands as a man who only wanted to heal a broken country. And even if he must stand alone — with only his wife by his side and the nation as his burden — he will carry on.
And just like our cat Bongbong, who once shivered in the mountains yet survived when all the others were gone, this President, too, endures. While the “Cheezes,” “Martins,” “Zaldys,” and “Graces” of politics may have faded one by one, the one who stays — wounded but steadfast — is the one who still believes in home, in hope, and in the quiet strength to survive.
Because some leaders, like some creatures of faith and endurance, are not remembered for the comfort they enjoyed, but for the earthquakes they survived — and how they stood tall even as the ground beneath them trembled with betrayal and deceit.
