10/05/2025
“Ante muchos ojos, no soy más que un charlatán—una sombra entre sus certezas.” (In the eyes of many, I am nothing but a charlatan—a shadow among their certainties.) And yet, I still feel it is my quiet responsibility to stand, and to speak, in my own little way.
Warning: another long read before the elections.
There was an instance when I had a friend over for a bottle of wine. That bottle, as the evening wore on, turned into rum—and to wash it all down, we ended with a cold bottle of beer. In the mellow haze of camaraderie, I, being a new transferee voter in San Jacinto from the city, cautiously sought his advice: Who should I vote for as councilors? He hesitated at first but eventually gave a few names, sharing why. One reason stood out, loud and clear: “Madali po ini siya halapitan.” They were easy to approach. Easy to ask for help. Always ready with a handout in times of need.
Another friend, far more jaded, voiced his thoughts online: if a candidate could only afford to offer him P500 for a vote, to then enjoy three years in power, it simply wasn’t worth it. He broke it down with cold precision—how much his vote cost per day. If he was to sell it, it had to be for more. Much more.
And then there was that moment at the port, waiting to board the fastcraft. I overheard a group of young voters, casually discussing who they’d vote for as SB. Their choices? Those known for generosity during solicitations. One even shared how, when they came knocking for financial help—once for a medical emergency, another time for a burial—they were promptly handed what they asked.
These are but scratches on the surface, yet they reveal so much. They tell of a deeper malaise—of how, at the local level, the vote is often reduced to simple arithmetic: who gives more, who meets a personal need, who’s easy to ask money from. And so, year after year, decade after decade, the most capable and qualified, those who understand the true craft of legislation, never make it. It is no surprise, that those who are most qualified, most knowledgeable in the art of legislation, fail to make it into office. The usual refrain? “Dili man ngani ina sinda madali dalian san kwarta, san bulig—naman kay sinda an akon botohan.” If they cannot easily give, they are not worth the vote.
But we forget, or choose to ignore: in local elections, those we vote for as members of the Sangguniang Panlalawigan or Sangguniang Bayan are not aid-givers—they are lawmakers. They are the ones entrusted with the duty to legislate, to draft ordinances that reflect both reason and justice. They are led by the Vice Governor and Vice Mayor, who, in turn, work within the bounds of the national legislative framework shaped by our Senators and Congressmen. If crafting policy is their true work, then we must ask: Are they equipped to write the future we hope for?
We need more than charisma. More than a wallet of quick cash. We need malasakit—but the kind that does not end in a crumpled bill or a plastic bag of rice. We need malasakit that breathes in the ordinances they author. Compassion that moves beyond sympathy into structure. Heart that transforms into policy. Help that is institutional, consistent, and inclusive. Imagine, if tarpaulins of these candidates can reach the furthest of the furthest part of the country, but the basic services and help do not even go beyond the cemented pavements.
Sadly, for the longest time, this malasakit has been hijacked. Weaponized by cunning politicians, wrapped in sweet-tongued concern, yet used to entrench a broken system. A system where dependence is disguised as kindness. Real malasakit should echo in sustainable programs, equitable ordinances, and institutions that don’t just respond but prepare. Not band-aids. Not vote-buying. Not selective generosity. Not "tulong na kailangang mamatay ka muna bago ka tulungan."
We’ve seen a glimpse of what could be. Pasig City stands today as a model worth emulating. Diba, sumana all ka rin? If it can happen there, why not here?
Our systems are not the enemy. Like rivers carved by time, they are designed to nourish, to bring order, to irrigate the fields of public life. The laws—national and local—define both our freedoms and our obligations. And so, the kind of ordinances we live by reflects the kind of lawmakers we elect. If their malasakit is real, it will not be whispered in favors but shouted in policy. It will be felt in inclusive development, in programs not made for allies but for all.
Imagine a future where laws are free from personal agendas. Where political dynasties fall not by force, but by the sheer power of informed choice. These reflections aren’t easy to digest—one needs more than a semester to unpack them all. So how much more should we expect from our would-be legislators? They should know better. Give better. Serve better. Respect better. When I was sitting trying to finalize some work, an officemate narrated a story about one purok leader, whose in dire need for the hospital expense of her expiring child. Since she was a purok leader she was able to go into a politician's house and personally ask for help. The politician asked who she was and what she needs, after the dramatic narrative with tears flowing, she said buligi man kami kay binuligan ko man ikaw San nagakandidato ka pa. The politician simply stood up un- sympathetic and said, pasensya na Tiya, pwede matuod ina na nagtrabajo ka para sa akon, Pero tandaan mo man bayad ko ikaw.
If we truly seek change, then we must begin paving that road ourselves. The system, after all, is just a tool. It is neither cruel nor kind—it only mirrors its wielder. It is the people behind it—the implementers, the voters, the elected—who steer it toward either ruin or redemption. And yes, from the very beginning, the power has always been ours. We need only to believe it. To claim it. To exercise it with grace and courage.
In the end, change lies in our hands. It begins with a choice. And often, change asks something from us in return. But if it is for true and lasting transformation, then why not—we give all. And we will take pride one day and stand, bomoto tayo at hindi bayad, unlike the purok leader who fell in tears out of frustration, kasi totoo nga naman diba bayad siya.
Ikaw, handa ka na ba? Monday is coming. Let us go out and vote—not with our palms open for alms, but with our consciences wide awake. We deserve better. As one professor once said, “We deserve the leaders we have.” To which I add: we also deserve the consequences of our choices. Indeed, our vote is the mirror of the future we want.
Ang mga nilista mong iboboto, ganun din ba? Do they reflect the future we want for our country to be? Our vote should be one of conscience, not of cash. Kasi bumoto tayo na hindi bayad. Let this be a challenge to us all: cast an informed vote this Monday, that is our part in building this Nation great once again. Keep the faith and pray.
God bless our country.
