NAIS NG POSISYON PARA YUMAMAN: Isang Pagninilay sa Paglilingkod, Ambisyon, at Tiwala ng Bayan

 *Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

May malaking pagkakaiba sa pagitan ng pakikipaglaban para sa kapakanan ng bayan at ng pakikipaglaban para sa isang posisyon sa gobyerno. Ang una ay nagmumula sa tunay na paglilingkod at sakripisyo; ang ikalawa ay madalas na inuudyukan ng ambisyon at pansariling interes. Madalas, pareho silang nagsusuot ng parehong salita—serbisyo, malasakit, pagbabago—ngunit magkaiba ang laman ng puso.

Marami na akong nakilalang tao na nagsilbi sa bayan kahit walang titulo. Mga ordinaryong mamamayan na tahimik na tumutulong, lumalaban para sa tama, at naninindigan kahit walang kapalit. At marami rin akong nasaksihang pumasok sa pulitika na puno ng sigaw ng “para sa bayan,” ngunit kalaunan ay naging tahimik na lamang kapag nakaupo na—maliban na lang kapag may proyekto, pondo, o interes na nakataya.

Dito ko lalong naunawaan na ang posisyon sa gobyerno ay maaaring maging dalawang bagay: isang tungkulin o isang tukso. Kapag ito ay tinanggap bilang tungkulin, ang kapangyarihan ay nagiging pasanin—isang mabigat na responsibilidad na kailangang gampanan nang may konsensya. Ngunit kapag ito ay tiningnan bilang tukso, ang kapangyarihan ay nagiging daan—daan sa impluwensya, koneksyon, at sa hindi maikakailang posibilidad ng pagyaman.

Hindi lahat ng may posisyon ay masama, at hindi rin lahat ng nangangarap ng posisyon ay mali. Ngunit nagkakaproblema tayo kapag ang posisyon ang nagiging pangarap, at ang bayan ay nagiging palamuti lamang sa mga talumpati. Kapag ang serbisyo ay may presyo, at ang malasakit ay may kondisyon, doon unti-unting nawawala ang tunay na diwa ng pamumuno.

Masakit aminin, ngunit ramdam ito ng karaniwang mamamayan. Nararamdaman nila kapag ang proyekto ay hindi para sa kanila, kundi para sa larawan. Kapag ang batas ay hindi pantay, kundi pumipili. Kapag ang pangako ay malakas bago ang eleksyon, ngunit mahina pagkatapos. Sa mga ganitong sandali, hindi lamang pera ang nawawala sa bayan—pag-asa ang unti-unting nauubos.

Ang masakit pa, kapag nasanay tayo sa ganitong kalakaran, nagiging normal ang mali. Parang tinatanggap na lang natin na “ganyan talaga ang pulitika.” Ngunit hindi dapat. Sapagkat sa bawat opisyal na ginagawang negosyo ang posisyon, may mamamayang patuloy na nagbabayad—sa anyo ng buwis, kawalan ng serbisyo, at pagkadismaya.

Ang tunay na naglilingkod sa bayan ay hindi perpekto. Napapagod din siya, nagkakamali, at minsan ay nadidismaya. Ngunit ang kaibahan niya sa naghahangad ng posisyon para yumaman ay malinaw: kapag may kailangang isakripisyo, bayan ang pipiliin niya, hindi ang sarili.

Sa huli, ang posisyon sa gobyerno ay lilipas. Ang titulo ay mawawala. Ngunit ang iniwang bakas—kung nagpagaan ba ng buhay o nagdagdag ng pasanin—iyon ang mananatili. At bilang mamamayan, bilang saksi, at bilang bahagi ng bansang ito, patuloy kong pipiliin ang paniniwalang ang pamahalaan ay hindi dapat maging hagdan ng pagyaman, kundi daluyan ng pag-asa.

Sapagkat ang bayan ay hindi nangangailangan ng mas maraming ambisyoso. Ang bayan ay nangangailangan ng mas maraming handang maglingkod, kahit walang kapalit.

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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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Focus on Your Job Description: How Nations Win and Corruption Loses

 *Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

I once watched the Barangay Ginebra basketball team through the invitation of their player number 23 Raymond "Mr. Never Heard" Aguilar, during one of their practices, and what I witnessed stayed with me far longer than any game-day highlight. Inside that gym, there was no noise of a cheering crowd, no television cameras, no roaring chants. What I saw instead was discipline—quiet, deliberate, and deeply instructive.

I witnessed the importance of role players and practice players—the ones who rarely make the headlines, whose names are seldom chanted by the crowd, yet whose presence is indispensable to the team’s success. What struck me most was how the coach treated them. There was no hierarchy in effort, no favoritism in discipline. Role players like number 23 were treated with the same seriousness and respect as the stars in the regular rotation. Every drill mattered. Every screen mattered. Every pass mattered. Each player had a role, and every role was honored.

Role players, in particular, carried a silent burden. They were not there to score or dominate the ball. Their task was to assist, defend, set screens, absorb contact, and make their teammates stronger—especially during practice. But beyond that, they were expected to be ready at any moment. When called from the bench, their responsibility was to deliver quality minutes, stabilize the game, and substitute for star players without disrupting the team’s rhythm. No excuses. No spotlight. Just readiness.

There were moments when they could have taken the shot, moments when they could have chased recognition. But they chose restraint—not because they lacked ability, but because they understood their job description. Their value was measured not by points, but by trust. When the coach called their name, they had to be ready.

That practice taught me a painful truth about our nation: we do not fail because roles are unclear; we fail because too many people refuse to stay within them—or refuse to prepare for them.

Perhaps, if everyone—whether in government or in the private sector—faithfully adhered to the duties clearly defined by their positions, and if they constantly remembered the simple yet powerful reminder to “focus on your job description,” corruption and anomalies that plague our nation might cease to exist.

When we focus on our responsibilities, we do only what is proper: what has been entrusted to us, what we are mandated to do, and what is right. We perform our work with honor and integrity. That is the true essence of every profession—on the basketball court, in the classroom, in the office, or in government.

This truth becomes even more urgent when we speak of public service.

Elected presidents and vice presidents, the ombudsman, and members of the judiciary all have specific roles clearly stated in the Constitution. None of these roles include enriching themselves, engaging in corruption, or bending the law for personal gain. They are mandated to perform their duties strictly within what the Constitution allows—and nothing beyond that.

The same principle applies to legislators. Those in the executive branch execute the law. Those in the legislative branch legislate or make the law. And those in the judiciary interpret the law. That is the constitutional design. There is no space in that design for violating the law, bending it, manipulating it, or circumventing it to make money.

And this responsibility does not stop at the national level.

Those who serve in local government—governors, vice-governors, board members, mayors, vice mayors, and councillors—are all placed in office to serve the people, not to enrich themselves from the people’s money. Their duty is to uplift communities, improve daily life, and make their constituents feel that government is working for them.

Even at the most basic level of governance, the same rule applies. Barangay captains and barangay kagawads, down to the smallest units of local administration, are not there to make money or build personal empires. They are there to serve—to listen, to help, to resolve conflicts, and to protect their people. Power, no matter how small the jurisdiction, is never a license to exploit.

It is not the job of a senator to steal. It is not the duty of a congressman to engage in corruption. It is not the mandate of a judge to sell justice, of a governor to divert funds, of a mayor to turn public office into a family enterprise, or of a barangay official to pocket public resources. Their job—at every level—is singular and sacred: to serve the people.

That is why it is called public service, not personal service. Public office is not a business opportunity, not a reward for loyalty, and not a shortcut to wealth. It is a trust—a stewardship over laws, resources, and lives that belong to the people.

When everyone focuses on their job description, corruption does not merely decrease—it becomes difficult to commit.

Corruption thrives in blurred lines. It survives where authority is abused and where officials believe they are entitled to do more than what is mandated. The moment a public servant steps outside his or her job description, corruption finds its entry point. But when roles are clear—and faithfully observed—corruption is starved of oxygen.

Just like in basketball, when a role player suddenly decides to play hero ball, the system breaks down. He forces shots not drawn in the playbook and weakens team chemistry. In governance, when an official tasked to execute the law begins to manipulate it, or when one tasked to interpret the law starts bending it, the system collapses. Corruption begins not with theft, but with role confusion.

Focusing on job descriptions creates boundaries, and boundaries protect institutions. It also creates accountability. When everyone does only what they are supposed to do, any deviation becomes obvious. Corruption hides best in chaos and ambiguity. Discipline exposes it.

It builds a culture of professionalism, where pride comes not from wealth accumulation, but from competence, reliability, and trust. It prevents collusion, because corrupt networks depend on officials stepping beyond their mandates to protect one another. When each office stays in its constitutional lane, corruption networks fail to form.

At the local level, integrity at the barangay prevents corruption from reaching the national level. When barangay officials treat public funds as trust—not entitlement—corruption loses its roots.

In the end, corruption is not defeated only by laws, arrests, or investigations. It is defeated daily—quietly—by people who choose to stay in their lane.

Perhaps, if all government employees—elected and appointed, national and local alike—would simply remain faithful to their job descriptions, we would have a great nation. A nation with a strong future. A nation with clear direction. A nation guided not by greed, but by service.

This country will not be rebuilt by grand speeches or dramatic promises. It will be rebuilt in the quiet “practice sessions” of governance—budget deliberations, procurement decisions, court rulings, barangay assemblies, and everyday choices made when no one is watching.

Focusing on your job description may sound ordinary. But in a nation wounded by corruption, it is revolutionary.

Because when everyone simply does what they are supposed to do—nothing illegal, nothing excessive, nothing self-serving—we do not just strengthen institutions. We restore trust. We honor the Constitution. And we remind the next generation that integrity, like teamwork, is how nations win.

The role players returned to practice.

The stars prepared for game day.

No headlines were written.

But championships—and nations—are built that way:

by people who know their role, prepare for it, and honor it—especially when no one is watching.

____

 *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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Between China and the United States: Venezuela’s Quiet Fall and What It Means for the Philippines

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

One evening, after finishing her reading, my daughter Juliana Rizalhea looked up from her book and asked me a question that lingered long after the conversation ended. She had just finished The Art of War, and with the honesty that only a child can bring to serious ideas, she asked, “Doc Dad, does winning always mean fighting?”

I paused—not because I lacked an answer, but because the truth behind the question was heavier than it first appeared. I told her that sometimes the most decisive victories happen without a single shot fired, without a battlefield, without even an announcement that a war has begun. Some wars are won through patience, timing, and the quiet exhaustion of the other side. That thought stayed with me, and it led my reflections inevitably to Venezuela—and further still, to how China and the United States have shaped the fate of weaker states in ways we seldom stop to analyze deeply.

Venezuela did not collapse overnight. It unraveled slowly—worn down by years of corruption, economic mismanagement, and the steady erosion of institutions meant to protect its people. When sanctions tightened and international patience ran out, the government under Nicolás Maduro stopped thinking in terms of reform and began thinking only in terms of survival. I imagine that moment clearly—the doors closing one by one, allies growing distant, choices narrowing until even sovereignty itself became negotiable.

The turning point came not just in diplomatic isolation but in a transformation of the conflict into something the United States regarded as criminal. Washington did not only impose sanctions and demand democracy; it charged Maduro and key figures in his government with narco-terrorism, conspiracies to import cocaine, and related drug trafficking offenses—accusations so grave that U.S. authorities concluded this was no longer a political dispute but a criminal enterprise with transnational impact. This indictment, originating from U.S. federal law enforcement and tied to alleged operations of state institutions facilitating cocaine trafficking into U.S. markets, reframed Maduro from a regime leader into a fugitive from international law. 

In early January 2026, that redefinition manifested in a dramatic and controversial action. In an operation officially called Operation Absolute Resolve, the United States launched precision strikes and deployed special operations forces into Caracas, engaging defenses and ultimately capturing Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, at a residence in the Venezuelan capital. Both were flown out of Venezuela and brought to New York to face the U.S. criminal charges in federal court, where they pleaded not guilty. 

This event marked an unprecedented moment—a sitting head of state seized by U.S. forces and transferred to face domestic charges in a foreign legal system. The justification offered by Washington was that Maduro’s alleged conduct placed him outside the protective canopy of sovereign immunity, framing the operation as law enforcement backed by military force rather than outright war. Yet this nuance was lost on many: international actors condemned the action as a violation of sovereignty and international law, while others saw it as an extreme assertion of extraterritorial power. 

The consequences were immediate and profound. Venezuelan acting President Delcy Rodríguez denounced the seizure as a kidnapping and declared a period of national mourning for the soldiers killed during the operation. Regional tensions spiked as neighboring countries and allies of Venezuela condemned what they saw as a U.S. assault on a sovereign nation. 

While the United States pursued justice through indictments and direct action, the Venezuelan people were left to grapple with chaos and uncertainty. The regime recessed into defensive nationalism. The economy, already shattered, braced for further instability. And in that tightening grip, China found an opening.

China did not arrive in Venezuela with lectures about democratic reform. It arrived with loans when others refused to lend, with markets when doors were closed, and with diplomatic cover when condemnation grew loud. In practical terms, Beijing’s posture was often framed as pragmatic engagement, unfettered by political conditionality. But that very pragmatism translated into leverage: long-term contracts, prioritized resource access, and influence over decisions that once belonged exclusively to Venezuelans. No invasion. No occupation. Yet influence grew. 

Venezuela’s oil—once a symbol of its potential—became the instrument of its confinement. Loans were repaid not with money, but with barrels of crude. As production declined and infrastructure decayed, the debt remained. Control shifted quietly. China did not need to conquer Venezuela; it simply waited until Venezuela had nowhere else to turn.

What makes this story particularly unsettling is geography. Venezuela lies in a region once considered part of America’s strategic backyard. As the United States relied on sanctions and distance, China relied on presence and patience. One power spoke loudly about values; the other spoke softly about interests. And in moments of desperation, interests proved more persuasive than ideals.

China’s language of non-interference amplified this effect. Against the backdrop of U.S. condemnation, Beijing appeared calm, pragmatic, and respectful. But silence is never neutral. When no questions are asked, it is often because the answers no longer matter. Sovereignty, once traded for survival, becomes painfully difficult to reclaim.

Venezuela’s tragedy feels less like an anomaly and more like a warning written in advance. When my thoughts turn homeward to the Philippines, they do so with unease—not out of fear of invasion, but out of recognition.

The flood control scandal here—where billions meant to protect communities vanish into substandard projects, ghost infrastructure, and recycled contracts—is not just a governance failure. It is a quiet national security risk. Every collapsed embankment, every flooded barangay, every evacuation center filled after a predictable storm reminds us that corruption is not abstract. It is vulnerability made official.

Rampant corruption does more than steal public funds. It narrows a nation’s choices. When infrastructure fails, foreign loans begin to look like rescues rather than risks. When accountability disappears, long-term consequences are ignored in favor of short-term survival. This is how sovereignty thins—not through invasion, but through necessity.

Venezuela teaches us a hard truth: corruption does not merely impoverish a nation; it prepares it for capture in the geopolitical sense. China understood how to benefit from that reality. The United States underestimated how costly absence could be. Venezuela paid the price.

The lesson for the Philippines is not about choosing China or choosing the United States. Great powers will always act in their own interests. The real danger lies in what happens when a nation weakens itself from within—when corruption becomes normalized, when institutions erode, and when survival politics replaces reform. At that point, foreign influence becomes inevitable, regardless of whose flag it carries.

Maduro’s capture and the U.S. military action in Venezuela illustrate that geopolitics today is not just about ideology, sanctions, or alliances. It is about how power is exercised when legality, strategy, and force intersect. When my daughter asked whether winning always means fighting, she unknowingly asked a question about the world we now inhabit. Venezuela proves that the most decisive battles are often invisible—fought in courtrooms, in contracts, in sanction lists, and in silence. And as a father, a citizen, and a Filipino, I am left with a question that matters more than ideology or alignment: will we recognize the quiet war while we still have choices, or will we only understand what we lost when the silence has already done its work? 

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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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