“No nation divided from within can endure”
IT WAS the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Charles Dickens wrote those words in 1859 in his novel ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ but they could have been written for us today.
We are a nation full of potential, full of faith, full of grit.
Yet we are also a country wrestling with uncertainty, frustration, and a deep sense of being pulled apart.
The ongoing crisis has exposed not only our economic fragilities but also our emotional and political ones. Everywhere we turn, it seems easier to argue, easier to attack, easier to assume the worst of one another.
Maybe this is why, now more than ever, we need to learn how to disagree better.
Because disagreements will not go away.
They are normal, even healthy.
They are signs of a democracy at work.
But what cannot become normal is allowing our disagreements to define who we are or destroy the bonds that should hold us together.
We cannot keep treating politics like an arena where only one side deserves to stand. No house divided can stand. And no nation divided from within can endure.
If we want to change the tone of our public life, we need a different way of dealing with each other.
And maybe it can begin with three words that start with the same letter. Three simple habits that can transform how we speak, listen, and lead.
First, respect sounds basic, almost old-fashioned, but it is exactly what our politics needs.
Respect is the decision to see the other not as someone to defeat but as a fellow Filipino with a story, a struggle, and a stake in this country’s future.
It is choosing to listen without dismissing, to critique without insulting, to debate without diminishing anyone’s dignity.
Respect does not require us to surrender our beliefs. It only asks that we hold our convictions without losing our compassion.
Second, restraint is what keeps our emotions from running ahead of our better judgment. It is the discipline to pause before reacting, to breathe before posting, to reflect before responding.
Restraint is not weakness. It is wisdom. It is the understanding that not every disagreement needs to escalate, not every issue requires outrage, and not every moment calls for a fight.
In times of crisis, restraint prevents us from turning our anxieties into attacks on each other. It protects the space where truth, nuance, and kindness can still grow.
Third, repair is the decision to mend what disagreement can break: trust, connection, and community.
It means recognizing that even when we argue passionately, we still belong to the same country and share the same future.
Repair does not require us to erase our differences. It invites us to rebuild the spaces where cooperation is possible and respect can return.
Repair reminds us that there is far more that unites us than what separates us, and that the fabric of a nation can be rewoven one honest conversation at a time.
When we practice respect, restraint, and repair, we begin to change the temperature of our national life.
We make room for calmer voices.
We help create spaces where people feel safe enough to speak without shouting and strong enough to listen without fear. Little by little, we rediscover our ability to engage one another with both conviction and kindness.
And as Christmas draws near, this work of healing feels even more urgent.
The season invites us back to the basics. To peace on earth. To goodwill toward all. To the belief that hope can still take root in difficult times.
Christmas reminds us that meaningful change does not always begin with big gestures. Sometimes it begins in the quiet choices we make. In a softer tone. In a kinder word. In the courage to understand before we judge.
If we are looking for a Christmas gift worthy of our country, maybe it begins here.
Not in grand speeches or sweeping promises, but in our willingness to treat each other better in the days ahead.
A little more patience. A little more empathy. A little more generosity of spirit. These are not small things. They are the seeds of national renewal.
The truth is, the best gift we can offer our country, and ourselves, is the commitment to disagree better.
To hold our views without holding grudges.
To stand firm in what we believe while still making space for the humanity of those who disagree.
To remember that loving our country requires loving its people, even when it is difficult.
If we choose this path, even slowly and imperfectly, then perhaps the peace we pray for every Christmas is not something we wait for but something we begin to build together.
