On the morning after the elections, the people will know who their next president is.
The reports from the field are puzzle pieces, that when put together would reveal the portrait of the winner.
Although the official proclamation of the victor will come three to four weeks later during the congressional canvas of returns, the act of Congress is more of a ceremonial validation of the popular scorecard.
Here’s the timetable: Congress convenes on May 23. Then it sits as a national board of canvassers, but letting a committee tally results transmitted by cities and provinces.
The soonest it can wrap up the proceedings is seven days, which is equivalent to the speed of light in a place where things inch in glacial pace. In 2010, it took Congress 12 days to crown then-Senator Benigno Aquino III winner, a pace its leaders hailed as fast.
Say the winner is proclaimed on May 31. This gives the president-elect 30 days to form a government in time for the inaugural which, by constitutional edict, is on high noon of June 30.
From the moment he—or she—utters the “so help me God” phrase in the oath of office, the new president will then have a scant three weeks or so to prepare the maiden State of the Nation Address, which is on the fourth Monday of July.
After the Sona, where, by the way, the new president will witness the traditional mass migration of new converts, there’s a new tight deadline to be met—the submission of next year’s national budget to Congress.
Again by constitutional commandment, this thick catalogue of expenditures in fine print must be delivered to both houses of Congress within a month after the Sona.
Here, the new president has two options: Take the path of least resistance and rubber-stamp his concurrence on the budget prepared by the previous administration.
Or order revisions, like inserting funding for his key projects, or at least de-mine the spending bill of programs he does not like.
From proclamation to Sona and budget deliveries, the mileposts are packed so closely, leaving no time for the winner to even take a victory lap.
In fact, the moment concession speeches and congratulatory calls are made, the heavy demands of the office about to be assumed are already thrust on him.
The load is made heavier by the need to heal the electoral cracks fast before they widen into political fault lines, to court those who did not vote for him, and consolidate his base by making an early down payment on the promises he made during the campaign.
In short, the campaign is not over for the victor. This time, though, the target of his courtship is the whole country because even if he got 30 percent of votes cast, it would mean that 70 percent did not vote for him.
This electoral math underscores this reality: the winner will be a minority president. The sum of the votes of his opponents will be greater than his. He must win over the 70 percent, or they could congeal into an opposition base.
This is not to say that the price of incumbency is eternal campaigning but it will be easier for the minority president to govern effectively if he will be able to form a coalition government, picking talents from beyond his party.
He must have the maturity of a Lincoln, to be able to cobble together a team of rivals. This is not a masterstroke to co-opt them, but a sincere offer borne out of the reality that no group has the monopoly of talent, and one cannot spot talent through biased political lens.
One of the first mistakes the next president could make is to haphazardly choose the members of his Cabinet. The window to name senior officials may be narrow but it must not lead to panic appointments.
On this, vetting must be important. Offices are not spoils to be parceled out but hard labor to be assigned. Therefore, designations must be based on ability and never on affiliation.
If the new faces in government spell political diversity, then electoral wounds would heal fast. If they come from a narrow constituency, many might read it as the investiture of a new ruling class.
The first thing the winner must do is to reach out to his erstwhile adversaries and sincerely seek their help.
This reverses the convention that when it comes to forging government programs, it is winner-take-all. Nothing in the presidential protocol bars the winner from being humble.
The winner must also impress upon the nation the gravity of the challenges that lie ahead, one that requires the cooperation of all. The earlier this becomes the dominant narrative, the sooner his supporters would get this message: This is no time to gloat, but to govern.
If he can hit the ground running, he can use the first 100 days as the period to roll out prototypes of his government policies.
These may not be complete packages but they can convince those who did not vote for him that they portend the good times about to come.