Intelligent stupidity in public office

By Herman M. Lagon

There is a familiar feeling when you watch a public hearing long enough. At first, you listen closely. Then, somewhere along the way, you stop expecting answers. You just try to follow the flow, hoping something real comes out of it. The words sound right. The tone is steady. It all feels deliberate — and yet nothing quite holds. It is like watching someone carefully walk around the truth — not because they are blind to it, but because they would rather avoid it. And that is what stays with you. Not a lack of intelligence, but how it is being handled.

We often say, out of frustration, that some politicians are “stupid.” It is an easy word. It gives us release. But if we sit with it a little longer, it does not quite fit, at least for a number of them. Because stupidity suggests confusion. It suggests a gap. What we are seeing is something else. Many of these officials are educated, articulate, even sharp. They know how to argue, how to frame, how to redirect. Which makes it harder to accept when they twist facts, dodge clarity, or defend what clearly does not hold. That is not simple ignorance. That is a choice.

The Greeks had a word for this — amathia. It sounds heavy, but the idea is simple. It is not about not knowing. You see this all the time. The facts are already on the table. Everything is clear enough. But instead of pausing and thinking it through, the person just digs in deeper. It is not confusion. It is something else. A quiet decision to stay with what benefits them. Because the moment they admit the truth, they would have to change — and that change comes with a cost they would rather avoid.

It shows up in ways we have all seen. A lawmaker speaks for 10 minutes, sounding like they are building a solid argument, only for one simple question to unravel everything. A hearing meant to clarify an issue becomes a stage for grandstanding. A straight question gets a long answer that never quite arrives anywhere. There is a certain skill to it, to be fair. It takes some level of intelligence to sound convincing while avoiding the point. But that is exactly where the discomfort lies — the intelligence is there, just pointed in the wrong direction.

Still, it would be too easy to stop at blaming those on the microphone. The bigger story is why this kind of behavior works. Why it resonates. Why it gets repeated. Philippine politics does not exist far from everyday life. It lives in the way we talk at home, in the jokes and arguments in group chats, and in the posts that keep resurfacing on our timelines. Even the stories we heard growing up quietly shape how we see leaders today. When something is repeated long enough, it begins to feel familiar. And once it feels familiar, it becomes easier to accept — even when it should be questioned.

But calling voters “stupid” does not really help. It just shuts people out. Most Pinoys are not spending their day reading policy papers or checking every claim online. They are working, commuting, stretching their money, trying to make it through the week. So when information comes — from Facebook, from a neighbor, from a relative — it gets taken in quickly, often based on instinct. Not because people are careless, but because there is simply no time. In that kind of pace, what sounds certain travels faster than what needs careful thinking.

Then there is the system around it. The way stories are framed. The way anger spreads faster than explanation. The way some voices are pushed forward while others barely get heard. Disinformation does not just appear — it is shaped, shared, repeated. And over time, even those who sense something is off begin to adjust. Not always because they fully agree, but because going against the flow can feel tiring, even isolating.

What makes it more concerning is when the same thing happens in spaces that are supposed to be more careful. Rooms filled with experts, advisers, and lawmakers — people trained to question and examine things — yet still ending up with decisions that feel rushed or disconnected. There is a term for this: “collective stupidity.” It happens when capable people stop asking the questions they normally would. Not because they cannot, but because the environment quietly discourages it.

If you teach, you have likely seen this in a smaller way. A student who clearly knows the lesson — you can see it in how they explain — but when it is time to answer, they go with what they think will please you. Or someone who can walk you through everything step by step, then suddenly hesitates when you ask, “So what do you really think?” It is not about intelligence. Somewhere along the way, thinking stops being about understanding and starts being about getting through.

So the issue is not just intelligence. It is what we choose to do with it. Intelligence can make things clearer, yes — but it can also be used to protect a position we have already decided on. It can open a conversation, or quietly steer it away from where it should go. The real difference is not how much someone knows, but whether they can stop and ask themselves, “Am I being honest here, or just staying where it is easier?”

That pause is easy to miss. It does not sound impressive. It does not trend. But that is usually where better thinking begins. Not in louder arguments, but in more careful ones. Not in trying to win, but in being willing to rethink. That is what many are still waiting for: leaders who are not just sharp in argument, but steady in conscience — willing to stand for the public good even when it costs them something personal or political.

Ultimately, the issue is not intelligence. It is honesty. It is integrity. Because when people begin to look away from what they already know, knowledge stops being useful. The problem is no longer just about what we understand. It is what we choose to ignore — and allow to continue.

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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 by or connected with.