“Urgent for image rehabilitation, perhaps, but hardly for genuine reform”
WHAT’S up, fellow taxpayers and long-suffering citizens who’ve been squeezed dry by the same families for four decades?
Congress has just served up the latest telenovela: two young crown princes of the nation’s most entrenched dynasties—Speaker Faustino “Bojie” Dy III of Isabela and Majority Leader Ferdinand Alexander “Sandro” Marcos of Ilocos Norte—have jointly filed House Bill 6771, proudly billed as an “Anti-Political Dynasty Bill.”
Yes, you read that correctly. The Marcoses and the Dys, who have long treated national and local governments like family corporations, are now positioning themselves as the saviors who will finally rid us of political dynasties.
One can only laugh—or retch.
The timing could not be more cynical.
For months, mainstream media and social media have been ablaze with exposés on billions in “flood-control money” vanishing into Department of Public Works and Highways projects and local dynasties.
Ghost structures, overpriced dikes, and kickbacks have dominated headlines, fueling nationwide protests and Senate inquiries.
While public fury boils over this massive corruption scandal—one that has left communities drowning in the same floods year after year—Malacañang suddenly declares the bill “urgent,” and poof: a distraction appears.
Classic sleight of hand.
As citizens rage against graft that costs lives and livelihoods, attention is redirected to an abstract debate over “local dynasties,” while the bill’s authors remain safely insulated.
Urgent for image rehabilitation, perhaps, but hardly for genuine reform.
And let us not forget: 2028 looms on the horizon.
A loophole-filled “anti-dynasty law” could serve as a convenient legal bludgeon against rivals—like the Dutertes—while the sponsoring clans merely shuffle seats and retain control.
Let us dissect the motives, as one would a rotting corpse:
First, legitimacy laundering (95 percent likelihood).
The administration needs to bleach a family brand tarnished by private jets and flood-fund scandals.
A “reformist” gloss is desperately required. Sandro, the fresh-faced heir, seeks credentials beyond mere lineage.
Second, a pre-emptive strike (90 percent likelihood).
By limiting only simultaneous office-holding, rivals running in tandem can be disqualified, while the Marcoses rotate positions like a well-oiled carousel.
Third, the classic bait-and-switch (99 percent likelihood). File for glowing headlines, then allow dynasty-controlled committees to riddle it with holes until it resembles Swiss cheese.
The result: a law on the books, no change on the ground, and the sponsors claiming, “We tried—now vote wisely.”
Fourth, international theater (80 percent likelihood).
For the World Bank, Asian Development Bank, and credit raters eyeing a feudal-like state, paper reforms boost democracy scores and ease borrowing.
Fifth, coalition management (70 percent likelihood).
A warning to wavering congressmen: toe the line, or your own families feel the pinch.
Article II, Section 26 of the 1987 Constitution declares: “The State shall guarantee equal access to opportunities for public service and prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law.”
For 38 years, this has been a dead letter, because Congress is overrun by dynasts.
The Supreme Court, in Pamatong v. COMELEC (2004), ruled it non-self-executing—requiring an enabling law that the foxes guarding the henhouse have steadfastly refused to craft.
Enter HB 6771: It bans only simultaneous holding at the same level or district, covers relatives to the fourth civil degree, demands a sworn statement to the Commission on Elections (essentially an honor system), and applies only from the “next election” onward—a generous grandfather clause.
In plain terms: Succession remains permitted.
Seat-swapping is fine. Proxies—loyal cousins, drivers, or placeholders—are viable. Cross-level domination (national post for Sandro, provincial for a cousin, barangay for an aunt) is untouched.
The law is tailor-made to spare its authors any real pain.
What lies ahead? The best-case scenario (0.5 percent probability): a pristine version passes, dynasties crumble, and we awaken in a renewed Philippines. Sweet fantasy.
Most likely (85 percent): A perforated “Swiss Cheese Law” emerges, allowing the administration to boast of reform while clans adapt with new arrangements.
Worst-case (14.5 percent): It dies quietly in committee after serving its distraction purpose, with the Senate conveniently blamed.
Do not fault only Sandro and Bojie. Indict the entire captured institution—a Congress where, for 38 years, foxes have deliberated henhouse security.
A genuine anti-dynasty law would ban simultaneous and immediate succession, limit kinship to the second degree, impose criminal penalties for proxies, grant the Commission on Elections real enforcement powers, eliminate grandfather clauses, and prohibit cross-level empires.
Sandro, if sincere: Begin at home. Resign as Majority Leader. Convene a family meeting and declare the dynasty finished.
We all know that will not happen.
Thus, remember HB 6771 not as reform, but as 2025’s grandest political comedy.
And the joke, dear citizens, is on us.
