Political Dynasties and the Realities of Power

The Ateneo School of Government’s 25th anniversary, held last May 5, 2026, was a moment for reflection—but also for reckoning. Beyond the celebration lies a more difficult question: how did we arrive at a political system that promises renewal, yet repeatedly reproduces the same outcomes?

Despite being admired for our resilience and drive, Filipinos continue to operate within a political system that struggles to deliver meaningful change. Ours is a democracy that moves regularly, yet ironically, barely moves forward.

Our political system is democratic in form. In practice, however, it is riddled with traps. It pulls citizens away from substance and toward spectacle, away from accountability and toward personalities. Populist rhetoric thrives in this environment—offering easy answers, feeding on frustration, and steadily eroding the very ideals democracy is meant to uphold.

And yet, the system promises renewal. Every three years, local government posts are contested; every six years, the entire political landscape—national and local—is up for grabs. In 2028, some 18,257 positions will be contested, based on 2025 COMELEC figures, with 80 more seats if the BARMM parliament is included. On paper, the scale is staggering—an opportunity for a political reset every three and six years.

But paper promises are not political reality. Those thousands of seats are not as open as they appear.

Political dynasties have entrenched themselves across the system, tightening their grip election after election. What should be a gateway for renewal has instead become a mechanism for continuity—leaving little room for newcomers, reformers, or genuinely new leadership to emerge.

The prohibition against political dynasties is a constitutional promise—one that has long been deferred.

The reason is as political as it is structural: the very institution tasked with enabling this mandate—Congress—is itself dominated by members of political dynasties. Expecting them to legislate against their own interests is, at best, optimistic—and at worst, a convenient illusion.

The Ateneo de Manila University’s recent call for an Anti-Political Dynasty law reflects a broader consensus among educational institutions, civil society, faith-based groups, and public intellectuals. The demand for reform is neither new nor marginal—it is sustained and widespread.

Still, while the call is compelling, reform must be approached with care. Urgency should not be mistaken for a license to adopt sweeping measures that have not been fully studied. Proposals range from targeted restrictions—such as limiting candidacies within the second degree of consanguinity—to broader prohibitions covering extended kinship networks, as well as functional limits that bar family members from holding office simultaneously within the same locality. These are not interchangeable options; each carries distinct implications for governance, feasibility, and risk.

More fundamentally, removing dynasties does not automatically dismantle elite dominance. Without parallel reforms in campaign finance, political parties, and accountability systems, the same incentives will reproduce the same outcomes—only with different names. What is framed as transformation may, in practice, amount to little more than elite substitution.

These risks are compounded by institutional fragility. Many local governments already operate with limited administrative capacity. Abrupt, large-scale leadership turnover could strain bureaucracies, slow decision-making, and weaken implementation. The costs will not be evenly distributed; they will fall most heavily on poorer and more vulnerable communities, where governance failures translate directly into diminished access to basic services.

Equally concerning are the political consequences of failure. Reforms enacted without sufficient preparation—and that fail to deliver—risk fueling public cynicism and reform fatigue. This pattern is all too familiar in Philippine politics: reforms that raise expectations but falter in execution often end up reinforcing the very structures they seek to dismantle.

At its core, the issue is not only who holds office, but how institutions function. Any reform that ignores this reality is, at best, incomplete—and at worst, counterproductive. The goal, therefore, is not merely to regulate political dynasties, but to transform the system that enables them. Legal prohibition alone will not suffice. Without deeper institutional reform, the likely outcome is disruption without transformation—reform without results.

Reform must be bold—but it must also be serious, carefully designed, and grounded in institutional realities. Anything less risks turning a necessary reform into a costly and avoidable failure.