(When the pillars of democracy are broken…)

For years, I stayed away from political writing. The arena felt toxic, exhausting, and at odds with the culture of positivity I’ve been promoting through my self-improvement advocacy. I even avoided crafting satirical poems that confronted human folly through anthropomorphism. But silence eventually stops being a restraint; it becomes complicity. And seeing what my country has been going through, I knew I couldn’t stay silent any longer.

And so, in recent months, I have been writing about the socio-political upheavals in the Philippines, sharing my thoughts on social media and on my website (madligaya.com). The responses flooded in, and as I replied to them, I realized that I had inadvertently answered two painful questions haunting many Filipinos today:

“Is the Philippines really a democracy? ”

and

“Why is the Philippines down on her knees? ”

In my most recent commentary, I asked why religious and civic organizations are inconsistent in their call for accountability. They demand action yet refuse to urge officials to step down. Don’t tell me they don’t know who is most responsible for the biggest daylight robbery of the national coffers—who orchestrated it, who consented to it, and who deliberately turned a blind eye as it happened. And certainly don’t tell me they don’t understand why, when one of those who colluded realized their scheme was about to explode in their faces, he suddenly played both Judas and Pilate—betraying the plot, then washing his hands as if he were never part of it. Only those born yesterday would fail to see that this is exactly what happened.

A friend argued that these organizations actually know the truth. Their dilemma, he said, is that they are choosing between what they perceive as a “weak” leadership and an alleged “power-hungry, iron-handed” leadership waiting in the wings.

I retorted, “By avoiding what they view as the ‘greater evil’ and the ‘lesser evil,’ they end up protecting both.”

The next part of my extended response to his comments led to the answer to the following question:

“Is the Philippines really a democracy? ”

Let me put it bluntly. The leader some people call “weak” is not weak. He is held firmly by the same oligarchs that the previous “iron-handed” president pushed out. Now that these oligarchs have reclaimed power, they will stop at nothing to keep their puppet in place. Power and wealth are their only ideology.

This is the tragedy: the Philippines is not functioning as a democracy. It is ruled by an oligarchy. Many Filipinos fail to see it—or choose not to. Religious and civic groups are not independent moral voices; many are influenced, funded, or even controlled by the same oligarchs.

These oligarchs (and their allies) are firmly embedded (either directly or by proxy) in all three branches of government—the Executive, Legislative, and Judiciary. They took turns in holding the reins of government.

Even our media, the so-called Fourth Estate, is owned by the oligarchs.

So who stands with the ordinary Filipino?

No one.

This provides an answer to the question, “Why is the Philippines down on her knees?”

Answer: The pillars of our democracy have already collapsed.

Ang mga haligi ng ating demokrasya ay giba na.

If the Philippines were a house, it would be crumbling—if not already in shambles.

Since only God knows when, members of the Executive and Legislative branches have been interested only in one thing: the cake—the national budget—and how to divide it among themselves. I cannot help but wonder how much of the money borrowed by past and present administrations truly benefited Filipinos… and how much went to fattening personal bank accounts.

My friend also pointed out that the 1987 Constitution was crafted by academicians, technocrats, and legal minds from wealthy and influential sectors—people who were once powerless under the dictator at that time, but who seized the opportunity after 1986 to control the government and its resources for their own interests.

To this, I replied:

“…and they were displaced when their bets in 2016 and 2022 lost. But when the person you call the ‘weak’ leader won in 2022, they realized they could manipulate him. That put them back in power. They will do everything to keep him in power and stop those who beat them in 2016 from coming back. Why? Because they would lose their grip on both power and the nation’s coffers.”

That is the real picture. Filipinos are sandwiched between the same old political forces that care not about nation-building but about controlling both power and purse.

Kahabag-habag ka, Juan! Kanino ka tatakbo?

Supreme Court? They had the chance to stop the 2025 National Budget fiasco. They were warned. What did they do? NOTHING. In one of my previous articles, I wrote this: 

“The judicial branch of the government has constitutional authority to review actions of the legislative and executive branches, including the passage and implementation of the national budget, if these acts violate the Constitution. The Supreme Court had the opportunity to halt the implementation of a budget tainted by secrecy and excess. How? By issuing a temporary restraining order (TRO). They did not (am I right?). Instead, it looked away.”

Judicial silence, in times of moral crisis, is complicity dressed in robes.

The pillars of democracy have already collapsed—and not quietly. The Executive has been seized by oligarchs who pull the strings behind the curtains. The Legislature has turned its power into a marketplace, where national budgets are bartered like goods at an auction. The judiciary, which should have stood as the last upright pillar, now wavers at the very moments when justice demands a spine. Even the media, the so-called Fourth Estate, has been absorbed into the same circle of power, choosing survival over truth. What remains are not pillars, but ruins—and in those ruins, Juan is expected to believe he still lives in a functioning house.

This is not to say that every public servant, judge, legislator, soldier, or religious leader is corrupt. There are still individuals within these institutions who strive to uphold integrity, who resist the pressure to bow to oligarchic interests, and who try—quietly or courageously—to do what is right. But they are outnumbered, outpowered, and often sidelined. In a system where loyalty is rewarded more than honesty, the righteous become the exception, not the rule.

What about the military? What are they doing? Singing “Silent Night” hoping that bonuses are on their way for the Yuletide.

My friend argued, “The military cannot intervene lest they be accused of forming a fascist, Myanmar-style government, which armed leftists and Islamic secessionists would use as an excuse to return to the conflicts of the 60s and 70s.”

To this, I simply replied:
“Their silence is not neutrality. It is consent.”

Wala ka talagang matatakbuhan, Juan.

The church? You must be joking if you think it remains a refuge. Even the devil can wear a habit and hide behind a crucifix.

Kaya, Juan, dumiretso ka na lang sa Panginoon.

At ang iyong ikapu—gamitin mo na lang dagdag sa budget ng pamilya. Ibili mo na lang ng bigas.

And if Juan turns to the institutions outside government, he finds no refuge there either. The military, which should stand as the nation’s shield, has chosen the safety of silence over the burden of service. They watch the house collapse from the barracks, humming neutrality like a lullaby, even when neutrality has become another form of consent. The churches, meanwhile, have grown timid, compromised by political alliances and oligarchic benefactors. Many pulpits now echo carefully measured sermons—loud on morality, silent on injustice. Even the guardians of faith have learned to kneel before power, leaving Juan with no shepherds, only silhouettes wearing cassocks and collars.

The pillars of democracy are broken. Juan’s house has collapsed, and he is helplessly trapped.

At this point, Juan must understand the painful truth: no hero is coming. Not from Malacañang. Not from Congress. Not from the Supreme Court. Not from the barracks. Not from the pulpit. Not from the editors’ desks. The institutions meant to protect him now protect only themselves. And when a nation’s protectors abandon their duty, the people have only two choices — endure the injustice or confront it.

But if Juan remains silent, then he becomes exactly what the oligarchs expect him to be: obedient, afraid, and easy to rule. Democracy survives only when its citizens refuse to kneel. If the Philippines were a house, the pillars may be collapsing—but Juan still decides whether to rebuild or to live forever in the ruins.