First of a four-part series

THE sudden burst of legislative enthusiasm in both chambers of Congress to “finally operationalize” Article II, Section 26 of the 1987 Constitution — mandating the State to “guarantee equal access to opportunities for public service and prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law” — has been greeted with predictable applause.

Who, after all, would object to curbing dynastic excess?

But the present debate, for all its moral polish, remains trapped in the shallow end of the pool. It asks the wrong question. The issue is not whether Congress should define political dynasties. The real question is why, for 39 years, Congress never did — and why the same institution now claims the moral authority to correct a defect it has carefully preserved.

This is not a story about legislative delay. It is a story about design.

To understand why the anti-dynasty clause has remained a constitutional ornament — admired, cited and ignored — we must go back, not merely to 1987, not to Marcos, not even to the American period. We must descend deeper, into the foundations of Filipino political culture, where the logic of patronage, oligarchy and dynastic rule took root long before the vocabulary of democracy ever reached our shores.

Only by tracing these origins can we understand why Article II, Section 26 has been practically impossible to implement — and why the present congressional effort, however elegantly packaged, risks becoming yet another exercise in political theater.

This four-part series draws from my long engagement with the subject in my columns and essays over the years — an inquiry into the interlocking architecture of political dynasties (polydyn), oligarchy, and patronage (polpat): a fusion I have elsewhere described as olipolidyn, the operating system of Philippine politics.

'Barangay': Our first political unit

Before Spain arrived, the archipelago was a mosaic of small, autonomous barangay (villages). Each was ruled by a datu, supported by a council of maginoo (nobility), and sustained by the labor of maharlika, timawa and alipin classes.

This was not democracy. It was a kinship‑based hierarchy, where authority flowed from lineage, wealth and the datu’s ability to protect and provide. Governance was personal, not institutional. Loyalty was to the clan, not to an abstract “state.”

This is the earliest ancestor of what we now call political patronage.

Spain: Centralization and the birth of the political patron

Spanish rule did not erase the datu system — it co‑opted it. The colonial bureaucracy and the Catholic Church became the new centers of power, but they relied on local elites to collect taxes, maintain order, and mediate between colonizer and colonized.

The datu became the cabeza de barangay, the principalia, the local intermediary. The old bonds of reciprocity were replaced by a new hierarchy of coercion, tribute and clerical authority. This was the first major rupture: Filipino clan politics was absorbed into a centralized colonial state.

America: Democracy imposed on feudal soil

The Americans introduced republicanism, elections, political parties and the idea of popular sovereignty. But they did so without dismantling the centuries‑old clan structures beneath.

Worse, they imposed a unitary presidential system — the exact opposite of the federal structure that might have accommodated our archipelagic diversity and clan‑based loyalties. The result was a political hybrid: Western institutions on the surface; Filipino clan logic underneath.

This mismatch produced the embryo of our modern political system: patronage (polpat) as the operating system of governance.

The president as the ‘top patron’

With the 1935 Constitution, the presidency became the apex of political power. Elections were expensive, national in scope and dependent on local networks. The president became the ultimate dispenser of favors, and local elites became the brokers of votes.

Ferdinand Marcos Sr. perfected this arrangement. Martial law centralized patronage, created monopolies, and birthed “crony capitalism.” When the dictatorship fell, the system did not collapse — it merely changed hands.

The 1987 Constitution restored democracy but preserved the unitary‑presidential structure that makes patronage inevitable.

Term limits and the birth of 'polydyn'

The framers of the 1987 Constitution believed term limits would prevent the concentration of power. Instead, they created a new incentive: succession by blood.

A mayor limited to three terms simply passes the seat to a spouse, child or sibling. Governors do the same. House representatives rotate seats among relatives. Senators groom their children for national office. This is how political dynasties ("polydyn") became the default operating system of Philippine politics.

And this is why Article II, Section 26 has remained unenforceable: Congress is dominated by the very families the provision seeks to regulate.

Why Congress never passed an anti-dynasty law

The numbers are stark: Roughly 80 percent of the House of Representatives, and more than 60 percent of the Senate, belong to political dynasties.

Expecting Congress to define and prohibit dynasties is like asking a cartel to regulate itself. For 39 years, the anti‑dynasty clause has remained merely a symbolic provision — praised, quoted, but not enforced. This is not a failure of political will. It is a structural impossibility.

Why the sudden interest now

The present legislative awakening is not born of constitutional conscience. It is the product of dynastic competition. Alliances that once held have fractured. Families maneuver for succession. The approaching presidential cycle sharpens rivalries.

An anti-dynasty law crafted by dynasts will not dismantle dynasties. It will be calibrated — definitions narrowed, thresholds adjusted, disqualifications timed.

The danger is not that Article II, Section 26 will remain unused. The danger is that it will be weaponized.

The real issue: The system, not the families

The public debate today focuses on personalities — who benefits, who loses, which families are threatened. But the deeper truth is this: Political dynasties are not the disease. They are the symptom of a deeper structural defect:

– a unitary‑presidential system that centralizes power

– a patronage culture that rewards loyalty over merit

– a party system captured by oligarchs

– a Constitution that mixes incompatible political models.

This is why dynasties flourish. This is why oligarchs thrive. This is why patronage persists. And this is why Article II, Section 26 — even if defined — will not cure the system. You cannot legislate away a symptom while preserving the machinery that generates it.

The path forward

If Congress is serious about political reform, it must confront the structural roots of dynastic power:

1. Shift from a presidential‑unitary to a parliamentary‑federal system — where parties, not families, are the vehicles of governance.

2. Reform political parties — to make them ideological, member‑owned and programmatic.

3. Rationalize campaign finance — to break the dependency on oligarchic funding.

4. Implement genuine decentralization — to empower regions, not clans.

Only then will an anti‑dynasty law have meaning.

Article II, Section 26 is not enough

The Senate and House may pass a definition of political dynasties. They may even claim victory. But unless the system is restructured, the "olipolidyn" — the fusion of oligarchy and political dynasty — will remain intact.

The Philippines does not suffer from a shortage of good people. It suffers from a surplus of bad systems. And no constitutional clause, however noble, can fix a system designed to perpetuate itself.

Next week: The rise of polydyn: How families became the state

I BEGAN this series (TMT, Jan 28, 2026) by tracking the wreckage left by Trump’s initiatives: tariffs hurled at China that boomeranged onto American consumers, just as economists warned; a Venezuela stunt that smelled of domestic distraction from the Epstein files; and the Greenland fantasy, greeted in Europe with disbelief. Add the Nobel Prize theatrics and it all looked like childish tantrums flirting with madness. The real danger, however, was that there was a method to it.

The debate has been miscast as a duel between giants — American volatility versus Chinese patience. That misses the point. What matters is not Greenland or Davos, but what this turbulence does to states like the Philippines. Trapped between an impulsive ally and a methodical neighbor, disaster need not arrive with drama. It can seep in quietly.

No alliance compensates for a republic hollowed out from within. The Philippines is not weakened by lack of friends, but by corruption turned into an operating system. External pressure merely exploits the rot already in place.

Corruption as strategic vulnerability

Corruption is not just a moral lapse; it is a national security weakness. It distorts procurement, weakens readiness, and leaves deterrence strong on paper but fragile in crisis. Infrastructure becomes a bargaining chip, contracts into mechanisms of control, officials into liabilities and policy into theater.

A corrupt state cannot convincingly demonstrate resolve. Its threats are not taken seriously, and its promises are met with skepticism. Alliances weaken not from mistrust, but from calculation: no serious power anchors its security to a partner that cannot govern itself.

Our track record — from the Pharmally pandemic plunder to the Napoles ghost-NGO fake projects, mirroring the current flood-control legislative insertions and kickbacks — show how far and high the rot reaches in our governance. This is why sovereignty is not a slogan. It is resilience: the capacity to absorb pressure without fracture. A state that cracks under inducement or intimidation cannot defend its seas no matter how eloquent its briefs or how frequent its patrols.

The illusions of external substitutes

For decades, Manila relied on the alliance instead of building its own capacity. The Mutual Defense Treaty of 1951 (MDT) became a psychological crutch, invoked to compensate for underinvestment, institutional neglect, and political indulgence. The assumption was simple: US presence would cover domestic weakness. That era is over.

Not because Washington turned hostile, but because it turned transactional. In such a world, weakness carries a price tag. Commitments are contingent, not owed. States that bring no value or can’t manage risk are quietly shoved to the margins. The alliance still matters, but it no longer guarantees protection. Pretending otherwise is strategic self-delusion.

Part 2 (TMT, Feb 4, 2026) argued for a security mesh — overlapping partnerships that raise the costs of aggression and abandonment alike. But even the most elegant external architecture collapses when its foundations are rotten. No mesh can compensate for a state that sabotages itself from within.

The political economy of exposure

Our vulnerability isn’t fate; it’s self inflicted. We chose patronage over competence, procurement that enrich insiders while weakening national security, and infrastructure built through opaque shortcuts. The exceptions piled up until they became the system.

The result is a state that appears functional — until tested. Under crisis or coercion, cracks open. Decisions stall, command blurs, nothing moves until the politics are settled. Clarity gives way to silence when power decides that truth is inconvenient.

 This is the ideal habitat of gray-zone coercion: not invasion, but insinuation; not shock, but seepage. Influence enters through contracts, loans, permits, and “partnerships,” embedding itself quietly and structurally. No grand conspiracy is required — only indifference, complicity, and time.

Integrity as strategic reform

If Part 1 traced the external shift and Part 2 sketched the architecture, Part 3 faces the unavoidable truth: integrity is strategy. This is institutional hardening, not moralizing. It begins by shielding procurement, specifically defense, digital and infrastructure from political brokerage. In this context, transparency functions as essential risk management; every hidden clause represents a future point of leverage for an adversary.

Strategic defense also requires regulatory overhaul. Fragmented authority and overlapping mandates invite capture; therefore, clarity is a protective shield. Beyond acquiring hardware, we must build a professional security sector focused on doctrine, logistics, and continuity. Capabilities that cannot be sustained are merely liabilities.

Finally, true accountability must replace performative outrage. A system that rewards “fixers” while punishing whistleblowers cannot survive the rigors of long-term strategic competition.

Reframing national security

National security must transcend narrow militarized definitions. In a transactional global landscape, security is systemic: ports are as vital as patrols, energy resilience as crucial as missiles, and data governance as fundamental as alliances. Education, bureaucracy, and law enforcement are not peripheral social concerns; they are the very substrate of national stability.

This reframing is uncomfortable because it denies easy scapegoats. It demands self-audit over external finger-pointing. It requires political leadership willing to name corruption not as scandal, but as systemic sabotage. Ironically, internal reform bolsters external standing. International partners commit more deeply to states that demonstrate seriousness, coherence, and reliability. Integrity is not a domestic indulgence; it is a primary signal of strategic strength.

From victimhood to power

Much of Philippine strategic discourse remains trapped in the language of victimhood — buffeted by great powers, constrained by geography, betrayed by history. This narrative is emotionally satisfying and strategically paralyzing.

Geography is not destiny; governance shapes it. History does not excuse present neglect. Power does not respect grievance; it responds to capability.

Agency begins with refusing the comfort of helplessness. It requires accepting that while the Philippines cannot control the behavior of great powers, it can control the condition of its own state. This is where the trilogy converges.

Part 1 warned that the world has crossed a threshold. Part 2 argued that alliances now come with asterisks and require insulation. Part 3 insists that insulation without integrity is illusion.

The discipline of survival

Survival in this era is not heroic. It is disciplined. It requires resisting the temptation of shortcuts. It demands patience in institution-building and intolerance for rot. It means choosing friction now over vulnerability later.

It also requires political courage, the willingness to confront interests that profit from weakness. Corruption is not an abstraction; it has beneficiaries. Reform threatens them. That threat is the measure of seriousness. A state that cannot discipline itself will be disciplined by others.

Closing the circle

The Philippines does not lack options. It lacks coherence. The strategic architecture is within reach: a diversified alliance mesh, regional coordination and calibrated deterrence. But architecture without foundations collapses. Law without enforcement decays. Sovereignty without integrity is theater.

Manila will not survive by demanding loyalty from allies. It will survive by making exit costlier than commitment — externally and internally. By building institutions that hold under pressure. By hardening systems against capture. By treating corruption not as embarrassment, but as existential threat.

This is where geopolitics ends and statecraft begins. And this is the real choice before the republic — not between America and China, but between our political reform and ruin.

Last of two parts

THE real damage in Davos last week was not Donald Trump’s public humiliation (TMT, Jan. 28, 2026). It was strategic. The world — especially Beijing — was reminded that this American era still runs on a familiar cycle: thunderous threats followed by cheap, face-saving retreats. Wall Street has given it a clinical name: “TACO” (Trump always chickens out). In the logic of Texas Hold’em poker, it is a bet on the inevitability of the fold once bluffs harden into habit and habit masquerades as doctrine.

This pattern is no longer anecdote. It is signal. And for countries whose security calculations rest on American resolve, signals matter more than speeches.

For the Philippines, the implications are profound. We have long treated Washington as the custodian of international law, the guarantor that rules would restrain appetite. Trump’s recent conduct exposes that guardianship as conditional at best, illusory at worst. The realtor’s attempt to “acquire” Greenland should be read in Manila not as farce, but as warning: An ally that treats territory as inventory may one day treat Ayungin Shoal or Bajo de Masinloc as negotiable line items in a larger bargain with Beijing.

When Arctic ice melted, Greenland revealed itself to Washington not as a people, but as a distressed asset. If the United States can threaten punitive tariffs on NATO allies over land it does not own — then abandon those threats for a vaporous framework — what, precisely, is the market value of a rusting hull like the BRP Sierra Madre?

The asterisk in the alliance

This is where the danger sharpens. Manila’s red lines now come with an asterisk. Beijing’s salami-slicing — incremental seizures via water cannons, maritime militia and administrative creep — is designed to exploit exactly this rhythm of bluff, threaten, fold without triggering war.

Each action is calibrated to remain below the threshold of automatic response, betting that ambiguity and fatigue will do the rest.

Filter a crisis at Ayungin through the TACO lens and the Mutual Defense Treaty (MDT) risks mutation — from deterrent into bargaining chip, tradable in a grand deal elsewhere.

Imagine a late-night Truth Social post: “Had a great talk with Chairman Xi. We’re doing a historic trade deal. On the South China Sea, we’re looking at a New Era of Cooperation. Moving the ship to save lives!”

In a transactional world, automaticity is dead. Protection becomes a subscription service — renewed only if the cost of the show does not exceed the value of the deal. The problem for Manila is not sudden abandonment, but conditionality disguised as partnership.

Europe calls the bluff

Trump’s tariff tantrums and Greenland theatrics collapsed at Davos not because of sudden wisdom or moral awakening, but because Europe found its spine. The European Union answered bluster with leverage, hinting at coordinated retaliation that would hurt where America actually listens: markets. This was value-based realism in action. Adults forcing a bully to stand down when power finally met power.

The Philippines cannot call bluffs the way Europe can. We do not move markets; we wave principles. For years, we treated international law like Vaclav Havel’s greengrocer’s sign — displaying the 2016 arbitral ruling as moral cover, a diplomatic anting-anting hung in the window to ward off coercion. But the Greenland farce reminded us of a hard truth: The strong do not obey signs. They negotiate with those who can impose pain.

From alliance monogamy to the security mesh

Surviving the TACO era requires a strategic pivot — away from alliance monogamy and toward archipelagic autonomy. If our shoals can be traded, our survival depends on weaving a security web so dense that no single thread — American included — can cause the structure to collapse.

This is not abandonment of Washington. It is insulation from Washington’s volatility.

Japan: The stealth anchor

Recent logistics agreements with Tokyo quietly complete a circuit that matters more than rhetoric: fuel, ammunition, food. Force multiplied. In a TACO scenario where Washington hesitates to resupply exposed outposts, Japanese logistics provide a secondary lifeline, reinforced by new infrastructure assistance. Tokyo is not merely helping Manila. It is defending its own southern doorstep, recognizing that Philippine vulnerability quickly becomes Japanese exposure.

Australia: Squad-ifying the shoals

As the Philippines assumes the Asean chairmanship, defense cooperation with Canberra must move from intent to permanence. Infrastructure projects across Luzon are not symbolic; they create a standing footprint. A blockade of Ayungin would no longer affront Manila alone — it would implicate Australia. This is deterrence by persistence, not performance. Middle-power solidarity that cannot be casually traded away in a late-night deal.

France: Europe’s hard power

France’s entry into the Philippine defense orbit introduces something we have long lacked: European hard power in Asian waters. Beyond patrol craft, Paris offers a pathway to undersea capability. Submarines change psychology before they change tactics. The calculus shifts when every Philippine asset is no longer trackable from orbit. Presence becomes ambiguity. Vulnerability becomes doubt.

What emerges is not a replacement for the American alliance, but a mesh — overlapping, redundant, resilient. If one ally hesitates, the others remain engaged. Exit becomes costly. Commitment becomes rational.

Asean as a survival blueprint

Europe’s defiance offers Southeast Asia a lesson it has long resisted learning: collective economic retaliation changes the arithmetic of intimidation. As chair, the Philippines must push Asean beyond its comfort zone —— from a gallery of pliant clients into a coalition of consequence. A unified trade posture transforms Southeast Asia into a market whose response is automatic and coordinated. Coercion loses efficiency when the target is not Manila alone, but a regional network.

The gray zone thrives on isolated victims. It withers under collective friction. This is not idealism. It is mechanics.

Living without illusions

The ice has melted — geographically and morally. Defense can no longer be treated as a hand-me-down from MDT 1951. It must be understood as a multilateral joint venture, assembled deliberately for an age of transactional power.

The emerging architecture is clear enough: overlapping partnerships among the United States, Japan, Australia, key European actors, and a more assertive Asean core. If one partner “chickens out,” others remain in the water. Multi-alignment raises the entry price for Chinese aggression and the exit price for American abandonment.

Manila survives not by demanding loyalty, but by making exit more expensive than commitment. We must sail with those already afloat — and build a hull that does not crack when the bluffs come roaring.

The final hurdle: The internal rot

Even the most elegant security architecture collapses when its foundations are rotten. The Philippines’ gravest vulnerability is not external pressure, but internal decay. Systemic corruption has hollowed out institutions, shattered public trust, and made strategic commitments brittle. Against this rot, American double-speak and Chinese intimidation are secondary.

Corruption masquerading as governance is the republic’s foremost national security threat. It distorts procurement, weakens deterrence, and turns strategic nodes into points of coercion. Sovereignty is not a slogan; It is the capacity to absorb pressure without fracture. So long as our internal systems remain compromised, our maritime claims rest on sand.