Accepting the challenge of 2025

I almost didn’t want to write an article this week. The Christmas season, as marked by the traditional calendar, ended with the Epiphany—what we used to call the Feast of the Three Kings. Over the past few weeks, buoyed by memories of my personal history and the festive spirit of Christmas 2024 and New Year 2025, I managed to lift myself above the political chaos of the past year. But now, a sense of foreboding about what lies ahead weighs on me.

This apprehension isn’t about political partisanship—there’s no need for that. Most Filipinos who aren’t part of the elite circles of immense wealth and influence share the same anxiety. While the privileged few may not be completely immune to the challenges ahead, their resources provide a cushion to soften the blows of political and economic crises. For the rest of us, preparation—both material and psychological—is imperative.

We closed last year with what I can only describe as a bizarre national budget. Professor Cielo Magno, an expert in the field, didn’t mince words and called it “the most corrupt national budget ever.” Without her level of expertise, I simply find it laughable—but in a way that makes you want to cry. It’s a budget designed not for national interests, but for politicians in the Palace, Congress, the Senate, their sycophants, the DPWH and its contractors, and the DSWD, where vast sums of ayuda will flow. Let’s not forget the public officials who cling to their confidential and intelligence funds. This budget serves vested interests, not the people.

Meanwhile, questions about the use—or misuse—of PhilHealth funds refuse to fade away. Our education system fares no better. Learning poverty threatens the quality of labor and productivity for generations to come, yet DepEd faces budget cuts. We need an actionable framework to reverse this crisis, and it cannot hinge on teacher salary increases alone. Higher pay is essential but insufficient unless it translates to improved knowledge and skills among students in public schools.

And then there’s agriculture, a perennial horror story. For decades, small farmers and fisherfolk have struggled while importers and big businesses thrive. National leadership remains woefully incapable of charting a different course. The Masagana 99 program of the 1970s had potential, but corruption derailed it, nearly bankrupting the rural banking system. Half a century later, nothing has changed except ballooning budgets, rising corruption indices, and unchecked confidential funds.

As midterm elections approach, the lingering questions surrounding the 2022 presidential elections cast a long shadow. The Comelec and the National Government insist all is well, yet simple requests—like opening ballot boxes to match physical and electronic results—are denied. Why? What harm is there in basic transparency? This refusal reeks of arrogance and a deliberate lack of accountability.

Speaking of accountability, the same standards being demanded of VP Sara Duterte regarding the use of confidential funds should apply to everyone: the President, the former President, and all other officials entrusted with public money. Billions in confidential and intelligence funds must be audited to ensure they serve national interests, not personal enrichment.

Professor Cielo Magno has shed light on how a national budget can be twisted until it reeks of corruption. Similarly, former COA Commissioner Heidi Mendoza could educate us on the primacy of accountability in public service. These two respected UP professors exemplify expertise and integrity—qualities we desperately need in our leaders. Their insights could validate the substantial public investment in the University of the Philippines.

But even as we look to individuals like them, we must remember that the ultimate responsibility lies with us. We must learn from their example and strive to embody the same values. Leaders reflect the people they serve. If we tolerate dishonesty, our leaders will be dishonest. If we are too afraid to uphold our principles, that fear will be weaponized against us.

Last week, I wrote that heroism is the only thing standing between us and ruin—not the grand, life-risking heroism we associate with revolutions, but the quiet, everyday kind. It’s the heroism of being more productive today than yesterday because the stakes are higher now. It’s the heroism that makes us love our lands, mountains, seas, keep them healthy so they can feed and protect us.

It’s the heroism of caring for the elderly and the vulnerable in our communities, of rekindling the bayanihan spirit. It’s the heroism of caring for the young and the poor, taking them out not only from hunger but helplessness, the heroism of developing their capacity to be strong and ultimately independent.

It’s the heroism of simple honesty in thought, word, and deed—the kind our ancestors wove into the fabric of our culture. It’s the heroism that will not accept compromises to integrity, and the heroism to reward good deeds and elevate the common good.

Let us embrace that heroism. It is ours to claim.