*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
I write this not from theory alone, but from memory. This isn't a calculated deduction or a scholar’s map; it is the raw, jagged reality of a life actually lived. While others speculate from the safety of the sidelines, these pages offer the grit of the terrain and the weight of the scars. Forget the abstract—this is the undeniable testimony of someone who was there.
I was once a municipal councilor of San Mateo, Rizal, and I remember what it felt like to sit through budget deliberations knowing that no matter how sincere our intentions were, the money simply was not enough. Every meeting was an exercise in choosing which problem would wait. Not which problem mattered more—but which problem could be postponed without breaking the community completely. Health or drainage. Flood control or classrooms. Prevention or emergency response. Governance, at the local level, was never about abundance. It was about survival.
This lived experience is why the Mandanas Ruling matters to me. And this is why President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.—PBBM—must implement it fully and faithfully, not just as a constitutional obligation, but as a moral commitment to the countryside, to peace, and to sustainable development.
For decades, the countryside has learned to live with less. Less infrastructure. Less health care. Less opportunity. Development plans were announced in Manila, while rural communities waited for trickle-down benefits that rarely came on time, if they came at all. In many barangays, the presence of the state was felt only during elections, disasters, or police operations. In between, people learned to fend for themselves.
This absence is not just an economic problem. It is a security problem.
As a former student political activist, I see that insurgency does not begin with ideology. It begins with neglect. It begins when communities feel unseen, unheard, and permanently left behind. When roads are impassable, when schools deteriorate, when health centers run out of medicine, frustration hardens. And when frustration is left unattended, it becomes fertile ground for conflict.
The Mandanas Ruling offers a quiet but powerful correction to this historical imbalance.
Anchored on Article X, Section 6 of the Constitution, the ruling insists that local government units receive their full 40 percent share of all national taxes, not a selectively reduced computation. When the Supreme Court of the Philippines decided the Mandanas–Garcia case, it did not invent decentralization. It simply restored honesty to a constitutional promise that had long been diluted by administrative convenience.
When the ruling took effect in 2022, money finally moved closer to where people live.
This is why PBBM must see Mandanas not as a fiscal adjustment, but as a peace-and-development strategy.
When funds reach provinces, cities, municipalities, and barangays directly, local governments can finally act before problems metastasize. Roads can be built not as political symbols, but as lifelines. Farm-to-market roads shorten the distance between labor and reward. Health centers become functional, not ceremonial. Schools remain places of hope, not overcrowded holding rooms for deferred futures.
These are not soft outcomes. These are the foundations of peace.
Peace and order cannot be sustained by force alone. They are sustained when people feel that government works, that effort is rewarded, and that dignity is protected. A barangay that receives timely services rarely becomes hostile. A community that is heard rarely rebels. Development, when felt, disarms resentment more effectively than any slogan.
The Mandanas Ruling also directly confronts one of the most corrosive realities of our governance: corruption hidden by distance.
For years, flood-control projects became the perfect illustration of overcentralization gone wrong. Budgets were designed far from the rivers they were meant to tame. Projects disappeared into layers of bureaucracy. When floods came despite billions spent, accountability dissolved into process. Ghost projects thrived because they were buried in paperwork and geography.
Mandanas changes that.
When funds are devolved, projects can no longer hide. Mayors see the rivers every day. Barangay officials know where water rises first. Citizens can inspect what is built—or what never existed. Oversight becomes personal. Corruption loses its favorite weapon: invisibility.
This is why calls for federalism are no longer urgent simply to achieve decentralization. Decentralization is already happening—constitutionally, immediately, and without tearing the system apart. Mandanas delivers what federalism promises in theory, but without the risks of constitutional overhaul, prolonged transition, or institutional shock.
For PBBM, this is a historic opportunity.
His administration speaks of Bagong Pilipinas, of development that reaches the grassroots, of governance that people can feel. Mandanas is the most concrete pathway to that vision. It allows the President to strengthen regions without weakening the nation, to empower local governments without fragmenting the state, and to promote development without sacrificing stability.
But Mandanas also carries a burden—and this is where leadership truly matters.
With the full 40 percent share finally flowing, excuses disappear. Local leaders can no longer hide behind national neglect. Performance becomes visible. Failure becomes traceable. And citizens, in turn, can no longer be passive spectators. Democracy becomes heavier when it moves closer—but also more honest.
As a former local official, I welcome this burden. It is the burden of relevance. The burden of trust restored.
PBBM did not author the Mandanas Ruling. But history will judge him by how firmly he protects it. To weaken it, delay it, or quietly undermine it would be to repeat the same mistake that kept the countryside waiting for decades. To implement it fully is to affirm a simple but powerful truth: that unity is built not by centralizing power, but by sharing it responsibly.
The Mandanas Ruling gives the countryside what it has long asked for—not charity, but fairness; not speeches, but tools; not promises, but presence. It tells communities that peace is nurtured through development, and development is sustained through trust.
If fully implemented, Mandanas will not just redistribute money. It will redistribute hope.
And in a country where too many have learned to live with less than they deserve, that hope may be the strongest foundation for peace and progress that PBBM can leave behind.
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*About the author:
