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

The Senate President crowed yesterday that the party he nominally coheads, PDP-Laban, has a “pleasant problem” — too many potential senatorial candidates. Koko Pimentel’s estimate is they have up to 20 possible choices for the 12-person slate for the 2019 senatorial race. But his list includes the five administration-affiliated senatorial incumbents up for reelection next year. This is a group that has made noises that, much as it prefers to remain in the administration camp, it is unhappy with the way PDP-Laban has been designating its local leaders and candidates, and therefore prefers to strike out on its own, perhaps in alliance with the other administration (regional) party, Hugpong ng Pagbabago, headed by the President’s daughter and current Davao City mayor, Sara Duterte.

Setting aside, then, the five-person “Force,” the administration-oriented but not PDP-friendly reelectionists (Nancy Binay, Sonny Angara, Cynthia Villar, Grace Poe, and JV Ejercito), what Koko’s crowing over is a mixed bag. Some of them have been floated by Speaker Pantaleon Alvarez (with whom Mayor Duterte clashed in recent months): six representatives (Gloria Macapagal Arroyo who is in her last term in the House of Representatives; Albee Benitez, Karlo Nograles, Rey Umali, Geraldine Roman, and Zajid Mangudadatu), three Cabinet members (Bong Go, Harry Roque, and Francis Tolentino), and two other officials (Mocha Uson and Ronald dela Rosa), which still only adds up to 11 possible candidates (who are the missing three?).

Of all of these, the “Force” reelectionists are only fair-weather allies of the present dispensation; their setting themselves apart is about much more than the mess PDP-Laban made in, say, San Juan where support for the Zamoras makes it extremely unattractive for JV Ejercito to consider being in the same slate. Their cohesion is about thinking ahead: Creating the nucleus for the main coalition to beat in the 2022 presidential election. The contingent of congressmen and congresswomen who could become candidates for the Senate, however, seems more a means to kick the Speaker’s rivals upstairs (at least in the case of Benitez and Arroyo) and pad the candidates’ list with token but sacrificial candidates, a similar situation to the executive officials being mentioned as possible candidates (of the executive officials, only Go seems viable, but making him run would deprive the President of the man who actually runs the executive department, and would be a clear signal that the administration is shifting to a post-term protection attitude instead of the more ambitious system-change mode it’s been on, so far).

Vice President Leni Robredo has been more circumspect, saying she’s not sure the Liberal Party can even muster a full slate. The party chair, Kiko Pangilinan, denied that a list circulating online (incumbent Bam Aquino, former senators Mar Roxas, Jun Magsaysay, TG Guingona, current and former representatives Jose Christopher Belmonte, Kaka Bag-ao, Edcel Lagman, Raul Daza, Gary Alejano and Erin Tañada, former governor Eddie Panlilio and Cebu City Mayor Tomas Osmeña) had any basis in fact.

What both lists have in common is they could be surveys-on-the-cheap, trial balloons to get the public pulse. Until the 17th Congress reconvenes briefly from May 14 to June 1 for the tail end of its second regular session (only to adjourn sine die until the third regular session begins on July 23), it has nothing much to do. Except, that is, for the barangay elections in May, after a last-ditch effort by the House to postpone them yet again to October failed.

Names can be floated but the real signal will come in July, when the President mounts the rostrum and calls for the big push for a new constitution—or not. Connected to this would be whether the Supreme Court disposes of its own chief, which would spare the Senate—and thus, free up the legislative calendar—to consider Charter change instead of an impeachment trial. In the meantime, what congressmen do seem abuzz over is an unrefusable invitation to the Palace tomorrow — to mark Arroyo’s birthday. An event possibly pregnant with meaning.

Here’s a striking statement about love shared with me by an English college mentor. “Love knows no grammar. How it works can’t be measured by any parts or figures of speech. It goes beyond the literate and illiterate. The sad reality is that, even a fool who has got no philosophy is not spared of its harsh reality.” After almost three decades, I reminded him through a private message of his words. Here’s what he said. “Thank you, Jord. This statement about love is searing to the heart. And, yes, fools do fall for it too. But I thought that we as well speak of the beauty that it gives and not so much focus on the harsh realities. After all, our country has had enough of the negativities.” Thank you, dearest Sir Eugene.

In these decisive times when our nation trembles under the weight of corruption, inequality, and disillusionment, it is you―the youth, burning with idealism, courage, and an unyielding sense of right―who must stand at the forefront of CHANGE. The future of the Philippines hangs in the balance, calling not for silence or apathy, but for unity, conviction, and action. Let your dreams be the spark that ignites renewal; let your voices thunder against injustice; let your hands build the nation our forebears envisioned but never fulfilled. Now is the hour to awaken, to rise, and to lead the march toward a just and transformed Philippines.

Remember, the pages of our history resound with the triumphs of youth who dared to dream and act. From the Propagandists who wielded the pen against tyranny to the Katipuneros who took up arms for freedom, it was always the young who ignited revolutions and rebuilt nations. As Dr. Jose Rizal declared, “The youth is the hope of our motherland,” but that hope is not a gift to be passively claimed; it is a duty to be earned through courage and purpose.

Today’s generation must transform awareness into action―to confront corruption with integrity, to challenge inequality with empathy, and to counter apathy with participation. The time for mere commentary has passed. What the nation demands now is commitment, creativity, and collective resolve. When the youth stand united in conscience and conviction, no obstacle is insurmountable, no reform impossible. The power to redeem the nation’s promise lies not in the hands of the few, but in the awakened spirit of the many. Rise, therefore, as one generation with one objective―to forge a Philippines worthy of its people’s deepest hopes. And to those who were once the torchbearers of youth but have since laid down their fire―hear this call.

The nation does not forget its veterans of hope, those who once believed that change was possible but have since grown weary in the long twilight of disappointment. Thus far history grants no sanctuary to resignation. It demands of every generation the same unrelenting duty―to defend what is right, to confront what is wrong, and to labor still for what remains unfinished.

Now is the moment to rise again. Let not caution disguise itself as wisdom, nor comfort as peace. The courage that once stirred your youth still flickers within; rekindle it, and let it burn anew for the sake of those who follow. Your experience, tempered by time, must now join hands with the fervor of the young - to guide, to mentor, to strengthen.

Together, let the wisdom of the seasoned and the passion of the rising coalesce into a single, indomitable force for renewal. For the task of nation-building is not bound by age, but by conviction. The call of the motherland resounds to all who still believe that the story of the Filipino is not yet complete―and that redemption, though delayed, is still within our grasp if only we choose to act once more. And to those whose hands have long gripped the levers of power―hardened by privilege, dulled by entitlement―hear this with clarity: the era of self-preservation must yield to the dawn of selfless service.

The nation can no longer afford leaders who mistake possession for stewardship, nor governance for dominion. The time has come to relinquish the throne of complacency and make way for the custodians of vision, courage, and renewal.

To step aside is not to surrender, but to honor the sacred rhythm of nationhood―to allow new voices, new hearts, and new minds to breathe life into institutions that have grown stale from neglect. True leadership is an act of stewardship, and stewardship demands humility―to know when to lead, and when to pass the torch. Those who have ruled long enough must now become mentors, not masters; guides, not gatekeepers.

To the youth who will inherit this burden and blessing alike, the call is equally profound. Lead not with arrogance, but with awareness; not with impulse, but with integrity. Let optimism be your discipline―a conscious act of faith in the nation’s capacity to rise again. Lead with inclusivity that unites rather than divides, with courage that reforms rather than destroys, and with resilience that endures when hope seems frail.

For the measure of a new generation’s greatness lies not in its defiance alone, but in its wisdom to build where others have failed. Let your leadership become the living testament that the Philippines, once disillusioned, has learned at last to believe again―through you.

Now, the Filipino youth stand at a defining crossroad of history. The echoes of the past and the murmurs of the future converge upon this moment, and in your hands rests the fragile, however formidable promise of a nation reborn. You are the inheritors of unfinished dreams and the architects of what is yet to be. United in thought and deed, strengthened by the wisdom of history and the fire of conviction, you possess the power to shape a Philippines anchored in justice, animated by democracy, and sustained by the collective flourishing of its people.

The mantle of responsibility has passed to you. Do not falter beneath its weight; bear it with courage, for it is through your resolve that the nation will rise from the ruins of complacency. Let your unity transcend boundaries of region, class, and creed. Let your integrity redefine leadership, and your compassion restore faith in the Filipino spirit.

This is your hour. Let this narrative be not merely a call to awaken, but a solemn commitment―to the country that nurtures you, to the people who believe in you, and to the generations who will follow your example. Stand firm, for you are the heartbeat of a nation yearning to live with dignity once more. Speak right and shine!

Rise, Filipino youth, and let history remember that when your time came ―you stood unwavering, and the nation moved forward.