By Herman M. Lagon

What makes Philippine politics uniquely exhausting is that sometimes the punchline writes itself before critics even begin speaking. The recent Senate reshuffle following the takeover of the new majority under Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano gave Filipinos another season of what increasingly feels like political situational comedy. Robinhood “Robin” Padilla heading the Committee on Basic Education. Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa chairing Constitutional Amendments and Revision of Codes. One can almost hear exhausted teachers whispering, “Lord, indi na guid ni ya funny.”

For many, the reactions were immediate and brutally sarcastic. Robin Padilla overseeing basic education in the middle of a national learning crisis felt, to critics, like assigning someone allergic to water to manage drought response. Meanwhile, Bato dela Rosa handling constitutional reform made some joke that the Constitution itself may now need witness protection. The memes came quickly not because Filipinos are disrespectful, but because humor has become the country’s emotional airbag against institutional absurdity.

Yet beneath the jokes lies a far deeper structural problem—one that UP Visayas Chancellor Dr. Clement Camposano articulated sharply in his recent reflection, “Restore the Old Senate.” Camposano argues that the dysfunction seen in the Senate this past week is not merely about personalities. It is rooted in the flawed institutional design of the Senate itself. Because senators are elected nationally, like the president and vice president, the chamber naturally becomes a breeding ground for presidential ambition, permanent campaigning, and political theatrics.

And honestly, his point hits hard.

If a senator’s entire survival depends on nationwide visibility, then governing quietly and competently becomes politically dangerous. Attention becomes currency. Viral moments become investments. Sound bites matter more than substance because airtime is expensive and maintaining a national political brand requires constant public performance. In such a system, senators are incentivized not merely to legislate but to entertain, provoke, dominate headlines, and remain perpetually “top-of-mind.” The result is a Senate increasingly shaped by spectacle rather than statesmanship.

Perhaps this explains why many Filipinos today wonder: where are the senators who once inspired respect?

The Senate used to be home to lawmakers known for intellect, integrity, and courage. Lorenzo Tañada fought for democracy. Jose Diokno defended human rights. Jovito Salonga pursued corruption cases seriously. Joker Arroyo refused pork barrel. Raul Roco pushed meaningful reforms. Miriam Defensor-Santiago transformed debates into masterclasses in law and governance.

They disagreed often, but there was seriousness in the institution. Hearings once demanded preparation, evidence, and deep understanding—not just airtime and spectacle.

Today, however, politics rewards visibility differently.

Camposano reminds us that senators were once elected by districts under the Jones Law of 1916, making them more grounded in regional representation than national celebrity politics. According to Camposano, this structure changed dramatically in 1940 when President Manuel Quezon restored the Senate as a nationally elected body—a brilliant political move at the time because national campaigns then depended heavily on access to government machinery and presidential alliances.

But today’s media landscape has transformed politics into a nonstop national popularity contest. One no longer needs deep grassroots statesmanship to mount a Senate campaign. One needs massive funding, celebrity recall, algorithmic visibility, emotional branding, and increasingly, entertainment value. In that environment, committee assignments sometimes begin to resemble casting decisions more than governance decisions.

This explains why policy-oriented and reform-minded leaders often struggle nationally despite impressive credentials. Former COA commissioner Heidi Mendoza spent years fighting corruption and advocating fiscal transparency, yet remains far less visible than celebrity candidates. Labor lawyer Luke Espiritu passionately articulates workers’ rights and structural reforms but still struggles for mainstream recall. Veteran labor leader Sonny Matula advocates for labor dignity yet barely penetrates media noise. Even experienced reformists like Bam Aquino and Kiko Pangilinan often perform better in university and youth surveys than in broader national polling dominated by celebrity politics.

The danger here is not simply electoral disappointment. It is democratic erosion.

A Senate deprived of serious, independent, intellectually grounded voices risks becoming less a deliberative institution and more a political echo chamber. The Senate’s constitutional role is not to entertain audiences or merely protect alliances. It is supposed to serve as a stabilizing check against abuse, corruption, impulsive legislation, and executive overreach. Historically, some of the country’s most courageous democratic moments came from senators willing to challenge power despite political cost—from Tañada and Diokno during dictatorship to Salonga, Roco, Arroyo, Miriam, Aquino, Hontiveros, Pangilinan, and De Lima in more recent periods of political intimidation.

Without strong dissenting voices, institutions weaken quietly.

This is why Camposano’s proposal to restore a region-based Senate deserves serious discussion beyond social media jokes. Electing senators by region could dramatically expand the leadership pool by giving capable but less nationally famous regional leaders a real chance to serve. Right now, many competent governors, mayors, educators, economists, scientists, and local reformers remain invisible nationally simply because they lack celebrity machinery or Manila-centered media exposure.

More importantly, regional representation may temper the constant presidential posturing that defines today’s Senate. If senators no longer share the exact same nationwide constituency as the president, the chamber may become less obsessed with positioning for Malacañang and more focused on legislation itself. It could encourage governance grounded in regional realities rather than purely national theatrics.

The current structure also unintentionally deepens Manila-centric politics. Regions like Mindanao, Eastern Visayas, and other historically marginalized areas often remain underrepresented in national policymaking despite carrying unique economic, cultural, and security realities. A region-based Senate could produce a more equitable balance of perspectives and reduce the dominance of personalities built mainly through NCR-centered media ecosystems.

Still, structural reform alone will not guarantee excellent leaders. Dynasties and populists can thrive anywhere. But Camposano’s argument matters because it shifts attention from personalities to the system that rewards spectacle over competence.

The country still has brilliant and ethical leaders. The challenge is that many of them now struggle in a political environment where visibility is often valued more than vision and performance more than policy.

Filipinos will keep joking about Senate theatrics, and perhaps satire is necessary. But after the jokes pass, the nation must ask itself a difficult question: are we rewarding genuine leadership or simply rewarding those who know how to stay viral?

The future of the Senate may depend on how honestly we answer that question.

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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.

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