*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
Now ask the simplest question: kanino ang perang ito?
The money will never answer.
A ₱1,000 bill cannot tell us whether it came from the legitimate earnings of a businessman, the lifetime savings of a family, or the remittance of an OFW who sacrificed years away from home. Neither can the same ₱1,000 bill confess that it came from an overpriced government contract, a kickback, smuggling, illegal drugs, gambling, scams, extortion, or some other criminal activity.
Money has no conscience. Physical cash does not carry a written autobiography of every hand that previously held it. And once enormous amounts of cash disappear from ordinary financial channels, finding the people behind that money can become extraordinarily difficult.
Sa dami ng pinag-uusapang corruption sa ating bansa, especially when enormous amounts of public money are alleged to have disappeared through questionable projects and transactions, we repeatedly ask the same questions. Sino ang kumuha? Sino ang contractor? Sino ang opisyal? Sino ang pumirma? Sino ang nakinabang?
Those questions are necessary.
But perhaps we have concentrated so much on finding the thief that we sometimes forget another equally important question.
Nasaan na ang pera?
Because identifying a corrupt person is one thing. Recovering the people’s money is another.
And this is where an unconventional idea entered my mind.
Perhaps the Philippines should seriously consider retiring the Philippine peso and replacing it with a new national currency.
I would call it the Lakan.
Sarap pakinggan, di ba?
One Lakan. One hundred Lakan. Five hundred Lakan. One thousand Lakan. One million Lakan.
“How much money do you have?”
“One million Lakan.”
At first, it sounds like a simple exercise in national rebranding. Parang nagpapalit lamang tayo ng pangalan ng pera. But that is not the heart of the proposal.
If we simply remove the word “Peso,” replace it with “Lakan,” print new banknotes, and allow everybody to exchange unlimited amounts without appropriate safeguards, then wala rin tayong ginawa. We merely changed the name printed on Philippine money.
The real power of Lakan would be in the transition itself.
Imagine that after serious economic study, legislation, institutional preparation, public consultation, and nationwide education, the Philippines begins retiring existing physical peso banknotes and introducing the Philippine Lakan.
There must naturally be a reasonable conversion period. Hindi puwedeng biglaan. Government cannot simply announce tonight that tomorrow the peso is worthless. That would punish innocent Filipinos more than corrupt people.
Ordinary Filipinos must be protected.
A grandmother keeping ₱20,000 inside her cabinet should not suddenly become a suspect. A farmer keeping his savings at home should not fear government. A sari-sari store owner handling cash every day should not be treated like a money launderer. Neither should legitimate businessmen or wealthy families automatically become suspicious simply because they possess substantial wealth.
Having money is not a crime.
Being rich is not a crime.
The target should never be wealth itself.
The issue is illicit or unexplained wealth when facts and applicable law provide legitimate grounds for scrutiny.
Now imagine somebody holding ₱100 million in physical cash.
Or ₱500 million.
Or ₱1 billion.
If that money is hidden today, its holder may simply leave it wherever it is.
Tahimik lang. No transaction. No movement. No bank. No new record.
But once the Philippine peso is scheduled for retirement, something fundamentally changes.
The money has to move.
That, for me, is the most powerful argument for Lakan.
The corrupt holder suddenly has a problem. Hindi na puwedeng itago lamang forever ang napakaraming bundles ng lumang peso and assume that those pieces of paper will retain their ordinary monetary usefulness indefinitely.
At some point, a decision has to be made.
Deposit it. Exchange it. Spend it. Transfer it. Give it to somebody. Convert it into something else. Or continue hiding it until the lawful conversion period eventually ends.
Every choice requires action.
And action can create a trail.
Imagine somebody arriving at a bank carrying ₱100 million in physical pesos.
Again, possessing ₱100 million does not automatically make that person corrupt. But now there is something that may not have existed while the money remained inside a private vault.
There is a documented transaction.
Someone presented the money. Someone counted it. Someone identified himself. A regulated financial institution handled it. Applicable financial-reporting and anti-money-laundering mechanisms can operate. And if the facts provide lawful grounds for further scrutiny, authorities now have something concrete to examine.
Parang sa unang pagkakataon, ang perang matagal na nagtago ay kailangang magpakilala.
Kanino ka? Saan ka nanggaling? Paano ka nakuha?
Perhaps we should stop thinking only about catching corrupt people.
Sometimes we should design systems that make corrupt money reveal itself.
Critics will naturally say, “Hindi pupunta sa bangko ang kriminal. Bibili na lang iyan ng lupa. Bibili ng condominium, gold, jewelry, cars, paintings, or other valuable assets.”
At first glance, that sounds like an obvious loophole.
But think about the transaction carefully.
Suppose I possess ₱100 million in questionable physical cash. I know that the peso is being retired. So I approach somebody selling a property worth ₱100 million.
I tell him, “Bibilhin ko ang property mo. Cash. One hundred million pesos.”
Why should the seller automatically accept my money?
The moment he accepts my ₱100 million in old physical peso banknotes, my conversion problem becomes his conversion problem.
The seller now possesses ₱100 million in a currency approaching retirement. He must eventually deposit it, exchange it, or otherwise deal with the conversion rules.
A legitimate seller might simply tell me:
“Ayoko ng lumang peso. Convert mo muna. Bayaran mo ako ng Lakan.”
And now I am back where I started.
I have to face the conversion system.
The same applies to gold.
Suppose somebody carries ₱50 million in physical pesos to a legitimate gold dealer and purchases ₱50 million worth of gold.
The buyer now possesses gold.
But what does the dealer possess?
The same ₱50 million.
The money did not disappear.
The conversion burden simply changed hands.
Why would a legitimate gold dealer automatically want mountains of old peso banknotes knowing that eventually he will be the one who has to convert them?
The same logic can apply to luxury vehicles, jewelry, art, and other high-value assets.
As the conversion deadline approaches, legitimate people and businesses may increasingly say:
“Lakan ang ibayad mo sa akin.”
And that changes everything.
The criminal’s problem is no longer simply, “Ano ang mabibili ko sa pera ko?”
The question becomes:
“Sino ang papayag tumanggap ng napakaraming lumang peso at akuin ang problema ng pagpapalit nito?”
Yes, there will be people willing to cooperate. There will be accomplices. There will be underground transactions. There may be discounts offered to people willing to assume the risk.
But notice what has happened.
The criminal who once needed only a cabinet now needs other people.
He needs sellers. Intermediaries. Nominees. Businesses. Documents. Transactions. He needs people willing to accept his old pesos.
And every additional person creates another possible witness, another relationship, another transaction, another document, another mistake, and potentially another trail.
Secrets become more fragile as more people are required to keep them.
That alone changes the economics of hiding illicit cash.
Of course criminals will find loopholes.
Hindi naman tanga ang kriminal.
Some may divide the money among dozens or hundreds of people. Some may use relatives, employees, corporations, or nominees. Some may attempt foreign-currency conversion. Others may use offshore structures or digital assets. And certainly there will be schemes that policymakers have not yet anticipated.
But the existence of loopholes should not automatically kill the idea.
Every law has people trying to circumvent it. Every tax system has tax evaders. Every border has smugglers. Every anti-money-laundering regime has money launderers. Every police force operates in a society where crimes still occur.
Yet we do not abolish criminal law because criminals continue committing crimes.
We improve the system. We close loopholes. We strengthen institutions.
The objective is not perfection.
No government policy can guarantee that every corrupt person will be caught.
The objective is something more realistic and perhaps more powerful:
Make corruption increasingly difficult to enjoy.
We constantly talk about preventing corruption. We talk about investigating corruption. We talk about prosecuting corruption.
But what about making the proceeds of corruption increasingly difficult to preserve and enjoy?
Imagine being a corrupt official with ₱500 million hidden in physical cash.
Yesterday, your biggest problem was finding a safe place to hide it.
Under a Peso-to-Lakan transition, another question begins haunting you:
Paano ko gagawing Lakan ang ₱500 million ko?
Go to the bank? There is a transaction.
Give it to other people? Now more people know.
Buy property? Someone must accept your old pesos.
Buy gold? The dealer inherits the conversion problem.
Move it overseas? Movement creates another transaction and another risk.
Keep it hidden? The conversion period continues moving toward its end.
Suddenly, the stolen money that once made you feel powerful begins to become a liability.
And perhaps that is exactly what we should want.
Make stolen money uncomfortable in the hands of the person who stole it.
Make corruption difficult to enjoy.
But while I favor replacing the peso with Lakan, I would never support turning the transition into an excuse for arbitrary government power.
Government cannot simply say, “Marami kang pera. Magnanakaw ka.”
No.
That is not justice.
There must be due process. There must be clear laws, clear standards, constitutional safeguards, privacy protection, independent oversight, audit trails, and judicial remedies where required.
There must also be strict penalties for government personnel who abuse confidential financial information, extort people during conversion, selectively target political enemies, or protect favored individuals.
Because imagine the irony if we introduce Lakan to fight corruption only for corrupt officials to make money from the transition itself.
Hindi puwede.
We cannot fight corrupt money through a corrupt conversion system.
The people watching the money must themselves be watched.
Changing or replacing a national currency is also not something unheard of in world history. Different countries have done it for very different reasons—independence, political transformation, monetary crisis, economic reform, redenomination, or entry into a monetary union. Germany moved from the Deutsche Mark to the euro. France retired the franc for the euro. Italy replaced the lira with the euro. Several former Soviet republics established their own currencies following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Brazil went through a series of currencies before introducing the real in 1994. Turkey redenominated its currency in 2005 through the introduction of the new Turkish lira, eventually returning to the name Turkish lira.
These experiences are not identical to what I am proposing for the Philippines, and we should never pretend that they are.
But they establish an important point.
A national currency is not an untouchable institution that can never be replaced.
Nations have changed currencies when their political, economic, historical, or monetary circumstances demanded it. So the question is not whether changing the Philippine peso would be unprecedented. It would not be.
The more meaningful question is whether the Philippines can design its own transition intelligently enough to serve distinctly Philippine objectives: financial modernization, stronger accountability, and a new national monetary identity.
And then comes another question.
Why Lakan?
Why not simply call it a new peso?
I did not choose Lakan merely because it sounds good when we say “one thousand Lakan” or “one million Lakan.”
The word reaches deeper into our history.
Lakan was associated with leadership, rank, dignity, and authority in early Tagalog society. Long before Filipinos were counting their money in pesos, the term already belonged to the political and cultural vocabulary of people living in these islands. One of the historical names Filipinos readily associate with it is Lakandula, connected with Tondo during the period of early Spanish contact.
That historical connection gives the name meaning.
The Philippine peso is unquestionably Filipino today because generations of Filipinos made it Filipino. We earned it. We saved it. We sent it home. We built businesses with it. We paid tuition with it. We raised families with it.
We should never disrespect that history.
But the word peso itself came to us through Spanish monetary history.
Perhaps a mature nation can respect what it inherited while still deciding that its next monetary chapter deserves a name more distinctly its own.
Japan has the yen. Thailand has the baht. Malaysia has the ringgit. Indonesia has the rupiah. South Korea has the won. India has the rupee.
And perhaps someday:
The Philippines has the Lakan.
There is something dignified about it.
Something historical.
Something unmistakably Filipino.
But there is another symbolism in the name that I find even more meaningful.
Historically, lakan was associated with leadership and rank.
Now imagine transforming that word into the currency of an entire democratic nation.
Then Lakan no longer belongs only to someone powerful.
The farmer earns Lakan.
The teacher receives Lakan.
The worker saves Lakan.
The entrepreneur invests Lakan.
The OFW sends Lakan home.
The child receives Lakan as allowance.
The government collects Lakan in taxes.
And government becomes accountable for every Lakan belonging to the Filipino people.
There is something almost poetic about that transformation.
A word once associated with leadership becomes something possessed by everybody.
The Lakan would no longer belong to the lakan.
The Lakan would belong to the people.
Perhaps that symbolism is appropriate for a country trying to redefine leadership itself.
Leadership should not be measured by how much public money someone can control.
Leadership should be measured by how faithfully that money is protected.
Imagine someday saying:
“Bilyon-bilyong Lakan ang pera ng bayan. Every Lakan must be accounted for.”
That is the monetary identity I imagine.
Not merely replacing a Spanish word with a Filipino word for the sake of nationalism. Not pretending that changing terminology erases history. And certainly not claiming that a Filipino name automatically creates a stronger economy.
Because changing peso to Lakan will not magically strengthen our currency against the US dollar.
We cannot solve economic weakness through vocabulary.
You cannot rename a weak economy into a strong economy.
Currency strength comes from productivity, investment, exports, fiscal credibility, stable inflation, sound monetary policy, competitive industries, political stability, rule of law, strong institutions, and confidence.
If we introduce Lakan but continue stealing government money, tolerating smuggling, wasting public funds, weakening institutions, and discouraging investment, then eventually Lakan will inherit exactly the same economic weaknesses we complain about today.
A strong-sounding currency cannot rescue a weak system.
But a stronger system can give meaning to a new currency.
That is why if we ever move from Peso to Lakan, let us not waste the opportunity by treating it merely as demonetization.
Let it become part of a broader national financial reset.
Strengthen anti-money-laundering enforcement. Improve beneficial-ownership transparency. Digitize major government payments. Make public procurement more transparent. Improve audit trails for infrastructure projects. Strengthen tax and customs administration. Modernize financial intelligence. Improve cybersecurity. Expand financial inclusion. Protect whistleblowers. Improve asset recovery.
And most importantly, prosecute corruption rather than merely talking about it.
Then Lakan becomes more than a banknote.
Lakan becomes reform made visible.
Yes, the transition will cost money.
New banknotes and coins must be designed and produced. ATMs and banking systems must adjust. Businesses must modify accounting systems. Government databases must be updated. Contracts, loans, salaries, pensions, mortgages, taxes, insurance policies, bonds, and countless other obligations must transition with full legal continuity.
Those costs must be calculated honestly.
But if critics ask, “How much will Lakan cost us?” then perhaps government should also ask:
How much is corruption already costing us?
Not merely in pesos.
How many classrooms were never built? How many hospitals lacked equipment? How many roads deteriorated? How many flood-control structures failed to protect communities? How many farmers received inadequate assistance? How many families remained poor? How many opportunities disappeared because money intended for public development ended somewhere else?
A billion pesos stolen from government is not merely a billion missing from an accounting ledger.
It represents human opportunities that disappeared.
Behind every stolen billion are Filipinos who received less because somebody took more.
And that brings me back to the cabinet where this reflection began.
Imagine again that ₱100 million is hidden inside.
Yesterday, the owner could simply close the cabinet.
Tahimik ang pera.
Nobody sees it. Nobody hears it. Nobody asks anything.
But now the Philippines begins its historic transition from Peso to Lakan.
Suddenly that cabinet is no longer merely a hiding place.
It becomes a countdown.
The holder must make a decision.
Go to the bank? There is a transaction.
Give it to someone? There is another person.
Buy property? Someone must accept the pesos.
Buy gold? Someone inherits the conversion burden.
Move the money? Movement creates risk.
Keep it? Time continues running.
Whatever he chooses, the money can no longer comfortably sleep forever.
It has to wake up.
It has to move.
And when money moves, it has a greater chance of leaving footprints.
Will we catch everyone?
No.
Will every stolen peso be recovered?
No.
No serious policy proposal should promise that.
But if Lakan can make hiding enormous amounts of illicit physical cash more difficult, more expensive, more inconvenient, and more dangerous, then we have already changed the battlefield.
And perhaps there is one final meaning that Lakan should carry.
If Lakan once represented leadership and authority, then the Lakan of a modern democratic Philippines should represent something greater than authority.
It should represent service.
Money, especially public money, should never become the master of government. Government officials should never become servants of money. Money should instead become an instrument through which government serves its people.
Every Lakan collected from a Filipino taxpayer should return to the Filipino people through education, healthcare, infrastructure, public safety, agriculture, social services, economic opportunity, and national development.
Every Lakan entrusted to government should have a purpose.
A destination.
An accounting.
Perhaps that should become the deepest identity of our proposed currency.
The Lakan will be the ultimate Tagapaglingkod ng Bansang Pilipinas.
Not because a banknote can literally serve a nation, but because every Lakan should represent the labor, sacrifice, productivity, and trust of the Filipino people—and therefore must ultimately serve them.
Hindi dapat ang Pilipino ang alipin ng pera. Hindi rin dapat ang pera ng bayan ang magsilbi sa interes ng iilan.
Ang pera ng bayan ay dapat bumalik at magsilbi sa bayan.
That is the Lakan I imagine.
A currency rooted in Filipino history but dedicated to the Filipino future.
A currency that does not merely measure wealth but reminds us of responsibility.
A currency that does not merely circulate through our economy but symbolizes the principle that public wealth exists for public service.
Someday, perhaps somebody will casually ask:
“How much money do you have?”
And the answer will be:
“One million Lakan.”
Sarap pakinggan.
But what would make those words truly beautiful is not merely how Lakan sounds.
It would be knowing that behind every Lakan stands a nation that finally decided that stealing from the Filipino people should never again be so easy to hide.
The Peso has carried the story of generations of Filipinos. We should respect that history.
But respecting history does not require us to remain permanently bound to it.
Sometimes a nation honors its past by having the courage to write its next chapter.
The Peso served our history.
Perhaps now we can begin imagining the currency that could represent our future.
A currency of Filipino identity.
A currency accompanied by greater accountability.
A currency that forces hidden money to move.
A currency that reminds every government official that public money never belongs to the person temporarily entrusted with it.
From Peso to Lakan.
A new Philippine currency against corruption.
A new identity. A new accountability. A new beginning.
The Lakan will be the ultimate Tagapaglingkod ng Bansang Pilipinas.
And perhaps the most important meaning of all:
The Lakan would no longer belong to the lakan. The Lakan would belong to the Filipino people.
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