*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
I am writing this fully aware that 2028 will not be an easy contest for anyone. The administration will surely field a strong candidate—one backed by incumbency, resources, and a political machinery that knows how to win. What makes the coming election unusually complex is not just the strength of the administration, but the quiet reshaping of alliances that would have seemed impossible a few years ago. In Philippine politics, permanence belongs not to friendships or ideologies, but to interests.
One of the clearest developments today is the posture of the Kakampink movement. Their priority is no longer subtle: prevent any Duterte comeback in 2028. Ideological purity has given way to strategic necessity. Because of this, they are increasingly open—however reluctantly—to a tactical alignment with the administration of Ferdinand Marcos Jr.. It may feel ironic, even uncomfortable, but Philippine political history teaches us that coalitions are often forged not by love, but by fear.
This emerging convergence matters because it reshapes the entire battlefield. A Marcos-backed candidate reinforced by Kakampink discipline, messaging, and moral framing will be formidable. This coalition will not be sentimental. It will be calculated, unified by a single objective: ensure that Malacañang does not return to Duterte hands. In such a scenario, clarity becomes power—knowing exactly who the enemy is, how to frame the narrative, and how to mobilize resistance.
This is precisely why the widespread assumption that Sara Duterte is the inevitable standard-bearer deserves serious reexamination.
I know this is where discomfort begins. I know many will read this as disloyalty, even betrayal. But this is not an argument that Sara Duterte is weak or unwinnable. She is strong, popular, and capable of mobilizing a loyal base. The problem is not her ability to excite supporters; the problem is that she equally energizes opposition. She is a familiar symbol, and familiarity cuts both ways. Her candidacy would instantly solidify the very alliance now quietly forming between the administration and anti-Duterte forces. The story would be simple, emotionally charged, and easy to sustain throughout a long campaign.
This is where reality intrudes.
Politics is not won by who inspires the loudest devotion, but by who enters the race carrying the least baggage. And this is where Christopher Tesoro Go emerges—not as a disruptor by confrontation, but as a disruption by presence.
For years, Bong Go was dismissed as nothing more than an accessory to power, a loyal assistant living in someone else’s shadow. I shared that view once. Many of us did. But elections have a way of stripping illusions. His rise was not theatrical or dramatic. It was quiet, repetitive, almost unremarkable in the way real service often is. And yet, when votes were counted, it became clear that people were not voting for nostalgia or endorsement alone. They were voting for something far more practical: familiarity born of help received, problems solved, and presence felt in moments of need.
What makes Bong Go uniquely unsettling for established strategies is that he does not fit neatly into the moral or political boxes prepared for a Duterte comeback. He does not carry confrontational energy. He does not provoke instant outrage. There is no defining scandal that easily sticks, no excess to dramatize, no lifestyle narrative to inflame. He does not frighten moderates or exhaust independents. In a country weary of political noise, that restraint becomes a strength.
This is why I believe—quietly but firmly—that the administration is more uneasy at the idea of a Bong Go candidacy than a Sara Duterte one. A loud opponent can be anticipated. A polarizing figure can be planned against. But how do you fight someone who does not announce himself as a threat, who enters the national consciousness not as a symbol of conflict but as a figure of reassurance?
The Kakampinks understand this, even if they would never say it publicly. Their willingness to align tactically with the Marcos administration is built on clarity: they know who they are fighting when the opponent is Sara Duterte. They know the slogans, the angles, the pressure points. But a Bong Go candidacy introduces hesitation. It fractures certainty. It forces coalition partners to ask uncomfortable questions. And in politics, uncertainty is poison to rigid alliances.
What troubles me most is how narrowly many are thinking—both in the opposition and within the Duterte-aligned base. They speak as if 2028 has already been decided, as if there is only one acceptable banner to carry, as if loyalty alone guarantees victory. History is unforgiving to that kind of complacency. Elections are not won by emotional inheritance; they are won by expanding acceptability.
This is not about abandoning Sara Duterte. It is about acknowledging that Bong Go is acceptable to more people across more political divides. He occupies a rare space in Philippine politics: loyal but not polarizing, familiar but not exhausting, credible without being threatening. That space is often where elections are quietly decided.
There is also the matter of time, which politics never forgives. Windows open, and they close. If Bong Go harbors any genuine intention of becoming president, 2028 is not merely an opportunity—it is the moment. Beyond that year, the country will inevitably shift toward generational leadership. By 2034, it is entirely plausible that a new political age emerges, one where figures like Vico Sotto dominate the national imagination with youth, reformist appeal, and a narrative that is almost impossible to defeat.
When that age arrives, today’s battles will feel old, no matter how disciplined or loyal their champions once were.
That is why I chose to write this now—not to provoke division, but to challenge complacency. Not to deny strength, but to confront reality. Because in the end, 2028 will not be decided by who is loved the most, but by who is feared the least and accepted the widest.
The uncomfortable truth is this: the administration and its tactical allies are preparing for a familiar enemy. But history often turns on the candidate no one planned for. And sometimes, the most dangerous contender is not the one who rallies crowds, but the one who quietly convinces the country that choosing him would feel safe.
That is the question 2028 will ultimately answer.
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