Breaking the Silence

By Herman M. Lagon

Imagine a day when no one’s talking about Rodrigo Duterte. No Sara Duterte headlines. No drama, no soundbites. No big personalities hogging the political limelight. The cameras turn off; the noise dies down. What is left in the silence should have been front and center—how this country is quietly bleeding from within. The issue is no longer about personalities. It is about systems. About structures being bent, institutions crumbling, and public funds vanishing into thin air without anyone batting an eyelash. Strip away the sideshow, and an alarming reality remains: a government growing more comfortable spending billions in confidential funds without clear accounting. At the same time, public services—those that matter most to the ordinary Filipino—are being neglected. Schools lack classrooms, health centers have missing supplies, and fundamental rights are slowly being chipped away.

Many fail to realize that as attention gets hijacked by arrests, alliances, and clickbait statements, the more crucial battles are being fought—and lost—in plain sight. Speaker Martin Romualdez, cousin to President Marcos Jr., already controls Congress. Now, imagine a Senate swept 12-0 under the same banner. There is no credible opposition. No critical questioning. No meaningful dissent. It sounds dramatic, but it is not fiction—it is a political monopoly in the making, and it places every check and balance on life support. The result? Scandals, like the repeated PhilHealth fund mismanagement, are swept under the rug, and no one dares rock the boat—bills protecting public interest stall. Budgets favor the few. And rights, especially those of the marginalized, become negotiable footnotes.

It is tempting to look at all this and shrug. To think, “I do not like Duterte, but I also do not like Marcos Jr.—so this is not my fight.” Neutrality feels safe, reasonable, and even sophisticated. But let us call it what it is: a silent surrender. Once we tune out, we hand the pen to those in power to write the story their way. As Hannah Arendt put it, the worst things happen when people never bother to choose. Today, silence is not neutral—it is permission. It is complicity.

One cannot claim to sit on the fence when the fence is already collapsing. This is not about rooting for or against the Dutertes or the Marcoses. This is about the future we leave behind—the kind of governance we normalize when we refuse to pay attention. Public funds are a public trust, yet year after year, we see ballooning confidential or ‘ayuda’ funds whose recipients barely blink when asked to explain where the money went. Last year, reports surfaced that Vice President Sara Duterte’s office disbursed ₱125 million in confidential funds in just 11 days. There was no clear breakdown. No proper accounting. And the Senate and the majority, if not all of the senators, did not even budge to investigate. Why would they? The Senate is mainly populated by the same names huddled under the same power umbrella.

If this pattern continues, imagine the state of education. Imagine public school teachers, already stretched thin, still waiting for basic supplies while funds mysteriously vanish elsewhere. Imagine PhilHealth premiums climbing, but people with low incomes are still left scrambling to cover hospital bills when illness strikes. Imagine a nation where policy-making is dictated not by public good but by kinship ties and political expediency. Economist Ronald Mendoza’s research on political dynasties and governance shows that areas dominated by dynasties often suffer higher poverty rates and weaker social services. It is not hard to connect the dots. The more concentrated the power, the fewer people are left to question or challenge decisions. That is dangerous terrain for any democracy.

Some argue that choosing neutrality is practical—avoiding “toxic” political debates and staying out of conflict. But being practical now has long-term costs. History reminds us how complacency erodes freedoms little by little. Martial Law did not feel absolute on day one. It crept in, normalized by silence, justified by fear, propped up by indifference. It is not melodramatic to say that the same seeds are being planted again. What makes it worse this time is how dressed up the erosion is—glossed over by PR machines, muted by distraction politics, softened by the illusion of peace and order.

Playing it safe might feel comforting, but it is a luxury we cannot afford in times like these. We teach our students that real growth starts when we face discomfort—why should we expect less from ourselves? The same applies to civic responsibility. Democracy is not built for comfort. It asks us to stay sharp, think hard, and stand up—even when it is inconvenient.

Look around—prices soar, infrastructure is prioritized over healthcare, and teacher salaries lag behind inflation. Yet, the same political families expand their reach, and budget cuts happen in sectors that matter most: education, health, and public welfare. Meanwhile, the national budget allocates over a trillion pesos to infrastructure while public hospitals and classrooms crumble. The imbalance is glaring, but who is paying attention? Neutrality will not fix that.

At the heart of it all is the simple question: What kind of future are we allowing by staying silent? To pretend this is not your fight is to hand over the reins to those with too much control. To detach is to endorse. And no amount of rationalizing can change that.

This is not a call to pick a side based on personality. It is a call to wake up, to stop sleepwalking into a reality where accountability is optional and public trust is transactional. The worst political dynasties thrive when voters disengage. Corruption deepens when scrutiny weakens. Democracies die not just at dictators’ hands but also at their people’s collective apathy.

We often discuss forming people for others and cultivating reflective and discerning minds. But reflection without action is empty, and discernment without courage is hollow. To be responsible citizens and have many more educators shaping the next generation, we must start by asking ourselves uncomfortable questions. Are we choosing silence because it is safe, or are we too afraid to confront what that silence costs?

The future bends to what we allow, what we challenge, and what we refuse to overlook. Before deciding whom to support—or worse, whether to support at all—we must ask: What kind of country are we willing to wake up to?

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.