“Dynasties or Democracy?”: Kiko Pangilinan’s Lone Crusade to End Political Inheritance in the Philippines

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

In a country where surnames often spell electoral victory more than sound policies ever could, one man is once again daring to challenge the deeply entrenched bloodlines of power.

Senator Francis "Kiko" Pangilinan has reemerged as a singular force battling the behemoth that is Philippine political dynasties. On July 9, 2025, he filed the Anti-Political Dynasty Act of 2025, a bold and sweeping piece of legislation that seeks to shatter the unbroken chain of familial dominance in politics — a chain that has held the nation hostage since long before the first ballots were cast under a democratic constitution.

His words cut deep: “Political power and public service must never be treated as a birthright.” A stinging rebuke to those who wear their lineage like a crown, Pangilinan’s message is clear: leadership is a responsibility, not an heirloom.

A 40-Year Broken Promise

The Philippine Constitution of 1987 contains a promise — an explicit mandate to prohibit political dynasties. It was written in the ashes of a dictatorship, envisioned to restore fairness and give every Filipino an equal shot at public service. But nearly four decades later, that promise remains just that: unfulfilled, ignored, and buried under a mountain of vested interests.

Pangilinan’s bill seeks to finally breathe life into this skeletal provision, defining dynasties with precision and laying down strict prohibitions: no two relatives within the second degree — parents, children, siblings, grandparents, in-laws — may hold or run for multiple elective posts at the same time, or one after another. Even if no one from the family is currently in office, a candidacy would be barred if it results in dynastic succession or simultaneous power consolidation.

This is not Pangilinan’s first attempt. The 61-year-old lawyer, farmer, and stalwart of the Liberal Party has filed similar bills in the 17th, 18th, and 19th Congresses — all of which quietly died in committee, stifled by those who stood to lose the most. And yet, he remains undeterred.

The Power of the Few in the Poverty of the Many

The 2025 midterm elections only made the case for reform more urgent. According to data from the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, 87% of governors, 80% of congressional district representatives, and 53% of mayors now hail from political dynasties.

Eighteen “obese dynasties” — clans with five or more elected members — emerged from the polls. Over 800 positions went uncontested, further highlighting the stranglehold these families have on democracy.

Worse still, these dynasties often dominate the poorest provinces in the country. In places where survival trumps idealism, political clans control both resources and narratives, offering aid in exchange for allegiance, and making it nearly impossible for newcomers to compete.

The vicious cycle is clear: power fuels wealth, and wealth fortifies power — generation after generation.

Public Momentum and a Viral Call to Action

On July 16, Pangilinan released a video breaking down his bill. It wasn’t just an explainer; it was a call to arms. In the video, he reminded viewers, “The leadership is not an inheritance. It should be earned through trust, not passed within one clan.”

The video went viral, igniting support across social media platforms. Netizens, many of them young and disillusioned, responded with fervor. For a generation that has only ever known politics dominated by the same last names, the idea of change — even symbolic — felt revolutionary.

With two other senators from opposing camps filing companion bills in the incoming 20th Congress, there’s a glimmer of hope that this push may be different. Even President Bongbong Marcos, scion of the country’s most notorious dynasty, said he was “open” to reviewing the measure — a statement many view with skepticism but also with strategic curiosity.

Will the 20th Congress Pass the Ultimate Test?

Still, hope clashes with reality. An estimated 70% of lawmakers in Congress belong to dynasties. Many rotate positions among family members to skirt term limits — a legal workaround that has birthed what scholars call “fat dynasties.” Local posts with three-year terms become a game of political musical chairs among relatives, all while ordinary Filipinos remain locked out.

“It’s a stacked deck,” says political analyst Julio Teehankee. “But public pressure could tip the scales.”

The bill grants enforcement powers to the Commission on Elections, which could disqualify candidates motu proprio or based on public petitions. Citizens may also file quo warranto petitions to challenge illegal dynastic posts. Disqualification and even criminal liability await those who defy the law, if passed.

Pangilinan remains grounded, if not galvanized, by the odds. “This is not just a legal fight — it’s a democratic one,” he declared in a press release dated July 18.

A Nation at a Crossroads

As the 20th Congress prepares to convene, one question looms: Will the Philippines finally choose reform over relationships? Or will yet another attempt to unshackle democracy from its dynastic captors collapse under the weight of self-interest?

This isn’t just a test of legislation — it’s a test of national will. Of whether a country long dominated by family names can carve a future where merit, not lineage, determines who leads.

Senator Pangilinan has drawn the line in the sand. Now, it is up to Congress — and the people — to decide whether they will cross it, or remain shackled to the past.

Your Travel Dreams Are Being TAXED: The Unjust Reality Filipino Travelers Can't Escape!

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

PASIG CITY, Metro Manila, Philippines – For countless Filipinos, the dream of stepping onto foreign soil, whether for business, leisure, or the pursuit of new opportunities, is a powerful one. We gaze at travel vlogs, plan itineraries, and save diligently, picturing vibrant new cultures and wider horizons. Yet, as the moment of departure nears, a familiar, unwelcome shadow falls: the Philippine Travel Tax. It’s more than just a fee; for many, it's a symbolic slap, a final burden imposed by a nation that often seems to prioritize its pockets over its people.

This isn't about our lauded Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), who are thankfully exempt from this particular levy. This is about every other Filipino citizen who works hard, contributes to the economy, and yearns to explore, connect, or seek broader experiences beyond our shores. And for them, this tax feels less like a contribution and more like a punishment.

The Unjust Burden: Paying for the "Privilege of Leaving"

Imagine the scene: Bags packed, boarding pass in hand, the excitement palpable. Then comes the inevitable. A charge for the very act of leaving – an archaic "goodbye fee" that sets the Philippines apart from most of its progressive neighbors. As Edwin Jamora so keenly observes, it’s as if the government is saying, "Thank you for navigating our struggling systems, for dreaming of more... now pay us for the privilege of leaving."

This tax forces a bitter truth into sharp relief: many Filipinos travel abroad not merely for luxury, but because opportunities at home are often stifled by a persistent economic disparity. Whether it's to attend a conference that could boost their career, visit family in another country, or simply experience a different way of life that feels increasingly out of reach within our borders, this outbound journey is often born of aspiration, necessity, or deeply personal connection. To be taxed for this fundamental movement feels profoundly unjust.

A Relic in a World Moving Forward

While ASEAN neighbors are actively opening their doors, fostering seamless travel, and promoting regional integration, the Philippines clings tightly to a Marcos-era decree like some sacred relic. It’s a policy that feels utterly out of step with the 21st century.

This clinging to an outdated tax isn't just an isolated policy flaw; it's symptomatic of a broader issue. Why are we still burdened by such fees when our public services often remain woefully inadequate? Why are we taxed for leaving when the facilities at our own airports can feel neglected – from "baho na CRs" to a lack of proper food courts, and the glaring absence of integrated public transport like subway trains to connect to the "real world" outside the airport? It paints a picture of a nation that extracts from its citizens without fully delivering on its end of the social contract.

The Deeper Betrayal: When Pockets Outweigh People

This brings us to the heart of the matter: the soul-crushing reality that our leaders often appear to prioritize their own "pockets" over the genuine well-being of "their people." The travel tax, in this light, is a stark reminder of the widening chasm between the rich and the poor – a gap that feels not only too wide, but morally indefensible.

Does happiness truly come at the expense of others all the time? In a society where opportunities are unevenly distributed, and where the struggle for basic dignity is a daily battle for millions, it often feels that way. When immense wealth coexists with profound poverty, and when policies seem designed to maintain this imbalance, the collective happiness of the nation is undeniably diminished.

If the government genuinely aims to boost tourism – both inbound and outbound – and truly empower its citizens, then the answer is remarkably simple, yet profoundly challenging for the current paradigm: Stop taxing people for pursuing the opportunities and experiences that the nation itself struggles to provide. This isn't just about revenue; it's about dignity, aspiration, and the fundamental right to move freely and seek a better life, however one defines it.

A Call for Conscience and Courage

The abolition of the travel tax is not merely an economic adjustment; it’s a moral imperative. It's about sending a clear message to every Filipino planning a trip abroad: "We trust you. We value your aspirations. We believe in your right to explore and thrive, whether at home or away."

The time has come for leadership that embodies true courage – the courage to dismantle outdated systems, to prioritize equitable growth, and to truly bridge the gap between the privileged few and the longing many. Only then can we truly foster a Philippines where happiness is not a luxury afforded at someone else's expense, but a collective aspiration pursued with dignity and unfettered freedom.

What Happened to Delicadeza, Yedda Romualdez?

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

When poise becomes political clinging, and power refuses to let go.

In a nation wearied by dynasties and the slow erosion of democratic norms, the case of Representative Yedda Romualdez is not just another episode of political maneuvering—it is a profound test of our national conscience. Yedda, often lauded for her grace, approachability, and genuine concern for women and children, now finds herself at the center of a brewing storm over term limits and delicadeza, or political propriety.

The Constitution is clear: no member of the House of Representatives shall serve more than three consecutive terms. Yet here we are, with Yedda Romualdez poised to reenter the House for a fourth straight term—just under a different banner.

From 2016 to 2019, she served as Leyte’s 1st District Representative. From 2019 to 2022, and again from 2022 to 2025, she represented Tingog party-list. Now, once more, she is stepping forward as a returning lawmaker, her fourth consecutive term, skating on the technicality that these were different “positions.”

This is not just a legal gray area—it is a moral black hole.

Some will argue that the Constitution is silent on switching from district to party-list seats. But that silence is not consent. The spirit of term limits is unmistakable: no one should hold on to power indefinitely. Political life, like public trust, is not a personal possession to be inherited, rotated, or disguised.

And so we ask: what happened to delicadeza?

Yedda is not your stereotypical dynastic matriarch. According to various profiles, she entered politics with reluctance. She is not known for arrogance or the overbearing air of entitlement. Even progressive sectors have spoken kindly of her character. But precisely because she appears to know better, her decision to stretch constitutional boundaries becomes all the more disappointing.

In the eyes of many, this is not just Yedda’s overreach—it is also her husband’s.

House Speaker Martin Romualdez, one of the most powerful men in the country today, has remained conspicuously silent. Shouldn’t he, as Speaker of the House and chairman of the Congressional Spouses Foundation, be the first to exemplify restraint and good conduct? Instead, he appears to be an enabler of yet another Romualdez term in Congress, brushing aside the weight of public accountability like an inconvenient truth.

“Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion,” the old saying goes. But in the halls of Philippine power, even that seems negotiable.

Let us zoom out and see the bigger picture.

The party-list system, designed to amplify the voice of the marginalized, has long been hijacked by the powerful. According to watchdog groups like Kontra Daya and the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, over half of today’s party-list groups are controlled by political families. In the last elections alone, the most dominant party-lists included Tingog (Romualdez), Agimat (Revilla), ACT-CIS (Tulfo), PPP (Duterte), and the eventually disqualified Duterte Youth.

This isn’t representation. It’s replication.

It’s no secret: Philippine politics thrives on revolving doors. Surnames hopscotch across positions—from mayor to congressman, from senator to vice president. But what makes the Yedda Romualdez case more insidious is that it normalizes a new loophole: the circumvention of term limits via the party-list system.

When you can no longer run for your district, you slide into a party-list seat. When that's exhausted, you return to the district. Like musical chairs—but only the same players ever get to sit.

Yedda’s decision, therefore, isn’t just about her. It’s a symptom of a deeper rot. It reflects an institutional culture where constitutional boundaries are stretched, blurred, and reinterpreted to preserve family influence. It is a culture where stepping down, even for a mandated rest of three years, is treated as an existential threat.

But letting go of power is not weakness. It is the true test of character. If the Binays—once the most formidable political family in Makati—can step back, even momentarily, why can’t others?

If delicadeza still means anything in this country, it must mean having the humility to obey not just the letter, but the spirit of the law.

We must begin to recognize what political dynasties cost us—not just in stolen opportunities, but in stunted accountability. Families do not check each other; they shield each other. They do not challenge performance; they protect reputations. They do not disrupt the status quo; they entrench it.

We need to plant the seeds of a cultural zeitgeist where voting for spouses, siblings, and children is not just frowned upon—it is rejected. Because we can’t expect change from families that protect one another’s power more fiercely than they protect the public interest.

No matter how kind, poised, or well-spoken a leader may be, clinging to power—especially under questionable legal interpretations—is not just undignified. It is dangerous.

And if we, the people, don’t say no to this now, we’re inviting more of the same—indefinitely.

Let this moment be a reckoning. Let it be a reminder that public office is not a family heirloom.

Let delicadeza rise again—not just in the hearts of politicians, but in the conscience of a vigilant nation.