“People see billions spent, yet when the rains fall, streets turn into rivers and families lose their homes”
IT’S easy to be cynical about politics.
Almost every day, the news confirms the suspicion that it is nothing more than a dirty game of power and money.
The recent flood control controversy—bloated budgets, questionable allocations, and entire communities still underwater—only deepens that frustration.
People see billions spent, yet when the rains fall, streets turn into rivers and families lose their homes. That gap between money poured in and lives unchanged makes many wonder if politics is hopeless altogether.
When I first entered public service, many warned me: “Politics is dirty.” And I cannot deny that there are moments when politics reveals its worst side. But to stop there is to miss something important: politics, despite its flaws, still holds its value.
I was reminded of this while speaking to a group of young leaders. One of them stood up and asked me bluntly: “Why should we listen to you? You’re a politician. You’re part of the problem.”
It was a difficult question because there was honesty in it. Some of our deepest problems have been made worse by bad politics.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a one-thousand peso bill, and held it up.
“Who wants this?” Almost every hand went up.
I crumpled it, dropped it to the floor, and stepped on it. “Who still wants it?” Every hand stayed up.
“But it’s dirty,” I said. They replied, “We don’t mind. It’s still worth the same. It depends on how you use it.”
That, I told them, is the truth about politics.
Its flaws don’t erase its worth.
Politics is not defined by the bad people who misuse it.
What gives politics value is not the mud it sometimes gathers, but what it can be used for – service.
Which is why cynicism alone is not enough. If we believe politics is broken, then it is our duty to help it deliver on its promise.
And what does this promise look like? At its best, politics is about three things: service, crafting the right policies, and putting the people first.
First, politics exists for one reason: to serve people.
Its meaning is not found in the noise of debates or the drama of headlines, but in the quiet evidence of lives made better.
Real service is seen when children have more chances to learn, when families can live with greater security, and when communities feel a little more hope about tomorrow.
Politics is not about what it claims for itself but about what it gives away for others. Its real test is simple: did it make life more humane, more just, more livable? If it did, then politics has done what it was meant to do.
Second, politics is about shaping society through the right policies.
A policy may look like words on paper, but in reality it is food on the table, medicines for the sick and the elderly, classrooms that welcome students, or jobs that give dignity.
Bad policies waste resources and deepen inequality; good ones lift burdens and expand opportunities. The worth of politics is not in the laws passed but in the lives changed because of them.
When policy is guided by fairness, foresight, and compassion, politics fulfills its role as a tool for building a society where everyone has a chance to thrive.
Third, politics is about putting people first. Every decision, big or small, carries consequences for ordinary lives.
When politics listens to people—their struggles, their hopes, their daily realities—it becomes what it was intended to be: a space where the common good is pursued above all else. When politics forgets the people, it loses its soul.
To put people first is to constantly ask: will this choice lighten their load, protect their dignity, or open a door of opportunity? If the answer is no, then it has no place in public service.
And this is why I often ask myself what success in politics really means.
It cannot simply be about winning an election. Earning the people’s vote is not the destination—it is only the doorway.
What truly matters is what we choose to do once we step inside that trust. Did I serve with integrity? Did the policies we worked on genuinely make life better? Did I put people first, even when it was harder to do so?
These questions do not have easy answers, but they are the compass I return to.
Because politics, at its heart, is not about me—it is about the people who gave me the chance to serve.
And like that worn-out thousand peso bill, politics keeps its worth—if we use it for what it was always meant to be: a platform for goodness.
If politics feels broken, it is not a reason to turn away—it is a reason to demand better, and to make it better ourselves.
