Tag Archives: vote

Qwertyman No. 168: A Vote at the Vatican

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Qwertyman for Monday, October 20, 2025

iN GERMANY right now attending the 77th Frankfurter Buchmesse or Frankfurt Book Fair as a member of the Philippine delegation, I’ve been fortunate to engage in many interesting discussions with German journalists and fellow writers from all over. But one of the most important and frankly troubling conversations was one I had with a Filipino writer now based in Italy, someone with a deep knowledge and understanding of the political situation in his home country and particularly in Mindanao.

“There are two Philippine embassies in what most of us simply call Italy,” my source explained to me. “One is in Rome, and the other, called the Philippine embassy to the Holy See, is in Vatican City, which is a sovereign city-state. Most overseas Filipinos in Italy—over 100,000 of them, mostly domestic helpers and nurses—cast their votes for Philippine elections in our embassy in Rome. Those in the Vatican—priests, nuns, and other religious workers—vote there.”

“And so?”

“This is where it gets interesting. During the most recent midterm elections, where OFWs could vote for senator, there were 23 votes cast at the Vatican for Apollo Quiboloy.”

I had to let that sink in for a moment. “Wait a minute—you’re telling me that two dozen Catholic priests, nuns, and whoever at the Vatican voted for a disgraced and now imprisoned cult leader who calls himself the Appointed Son of God and New Owner of the Universe? Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t believe it myself,” he answered, “so I double-checked that with our embassy there, and they confirmed that it was true: Pastor Quiboloy got 23 votes in the Vatican. Now, I can try to understand if some Filipino Catholics would still vote for Duterte despite everything, but Quiboloy?” He shuddered. “That shows how far we have to go, and how we can’t assume that the Dutertes are spent as a political force.”

I had to laugh at his story, but it was laughter of the nervous kind, born out of irony than mirth. “Here we are in Frankfurt,” I said, “attending the world’s largest and oldest fair devoted to books and literature, to novels and fiction of the most imaginative variety, with many of us having a hard time selling our stories, and then comes along this Quiboloy tale that seems to show that people will believe the craziest things. This is fiction, popular fiction!”

You had to see the humor in the situation—I can easily imagine a cartoon depicting a soutaned priest receiving absolution from Quiboloy garbed in, well, shiny robes befitting a New Owner of the Universe—but its implications were anything but comic. It meant that presumably sane deeply spiritual men and women, living and working at the very heart of the Catholic faith that defined their lives, had found common cause with an accused sex trafficker and abuser of minors. Sure, the accusations remain just that until they’re proven, and sure, these Vatican voters were merely exercising their democratic rights. 

But really? Quiboloy? Might the pastor’s claim of bearing “the exact DNA of the Almighty Father and the New Jerusalem” and of being “the bodily manifestation of the unseen God” have resonated with them? Could they have been enticed by his devotion to “enthroning prosperity and abundance, and (being) a trustworthy steward of the Father’s financial business on earth”? 

Whatever the reason, it’s clear that the Pinoy’s political imagination is capacious enough to combine disparate perspectives and philosophies into one noggin. Pope Leo? Sure, obey. Senator Quiboloy? Sure, support. 

All throughout my talks here in Frankfurt, I’ve been asked who and what the modern Filipino is, and my best response has been to assert that the Filipino (and the Filipino nation) continues to be a work-in-progress, a compound of various historical and cultural influences contending for primacy. An example I conveniently cite is that of a New People’s Army cadre, presumably Marxist, who remains a practicing Christian and prays to Jesus, but who also begs the indulgence of resident spirits when he passes an anthill in the forest. We’re seguristas, investing in alternative fortunes. 

That’s not to say we don’t have people who think only one way and not the other—thankfully many if not most of us still stand on some kind of principle—but the exceptions make more interesting subjects of study. In this regard, Quiboloy’s Vatican voters may have been DDS who saw no contradiction between their Catholic faith and Dutertismo (something we’ve seen and continue to see among the religious, especially in Mindanao). 

I suddenly recalled an article published on Rappler in July 2020 by Fr. Amado Picardal, CSSR, who wondered aloud why so many of his colleagues, including a university president, openly rallied behind a man who cursed God and the Pope. He wrote: “In the religious community where I was living, most supported his candidacy, and I felt like a lonely voice warning them about the dire consequences…. One confrere proudly told me to my face that he was voting for Duterte, knowing my stance. A seminarian wore a Du30 bracelet. There were three confreres who posted their photos on Facebook doing a fist bump. A contemplative nun campaigned on Facebook for him and even made her pet dog wear a Du30 collar.” Fr. Amado offered some explanations: regionalism, the Left’s deluded belief in Duterte’s progressive pretensions, his strongman appeal. 

Given these, the Vatican result makes more sense, without offering any comfort to those of us who might have been under the illusion that proximity to the Vicar of Christ and Successor to the Prince of the Apostles induced enlightenment. Being the New Owner of the Universe apparently exerts more power, even from prison, and we should be afraid, be very afraid.

(Image from aleteia.org)

Qwertyman No. 145: The Devil on My Shoulder

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Qwertyman for Monday, May 12, 2025

TODAY, ONCE again, we troop to the polling booths in the hope of making our votes matter—votes that, if the cynics are to be believed, might as well be dust in the wind. The surveys have spoken, the winners named. All that remains is for this day to be over, for the formalities to be done with, for the supposedly inevitable to play itself out. And then we’ll watch the new-old Senators of the Republic proclaimed in a ceremony that will showcase the state of our electoral mind. 

As absurd as it may seem, many Pinoys will actually be happy with the outcome—that’s what the surveys are all about, aren’t they? These are the senators we wanted—or most of us, anyway. “Most of them” is probably what you’re thinking, if you’re a regular reader of this column and agree with most of my views.

I can’t think of a more complicated election in recent times, in terms of an answer to the question of “What’s in our best interest as Filipinos, and how do we make that happen?”

The idealist in me has the simplest and probably the morally most unambiguous response: vote for the best candidates, period: the intelligent, the progressive, the principled, the proven, the humane, the hardworking, the uncompromised. Whether they win or lose, it shouldn’t matter—you’ve done your best as a responsible citizen; in a sense, you’ve won. I sorely want to believe this, and to do this today.

But persistently, impishly, like a little devil perched on my shoulder, a contrarian spirit urges me to temper my idealism with some consideration of its practical costs.

Last week in California, a Fil-Am friend asked me to explain the significance of these elections. In the US, midterms usually mean a referendum on the incumbent President’s performance, and next year will most definitely be one for the Orange Pope and his systematic dismantling of American democracy.

For us Filipinos, May 2025 isn’t that clear-cut—although it should have been, if the armies of May 2022 had remained in place, leaving us with a stark choice between the good and the bad.

But the ruling “Uniteam” alliance has since collapsed, with each side fielding its own troubled slate of aspirants, all seething with the most primal of motives: survival, revenge, profit, and opportunity.

The opposition seems to be a loose coalition of liberal, Left, and anti-administration forces. Among these, four names have consistently surged to the top in the kind of social media neighborhood I inhabit. I’ll call them my Triple A candidates, the ones I won’t have any second thoughts about, leaving me with eight more spots to fill.

It’s those eight that give me pause—not for any lack of qualified and virtuous prospects, but because there could be dire consequences for not filling up the rest of my ballot, as some have suggested, or voting for names without a prayer of winning, as a matter of principle (or, by this time, by force of habit).

It’s interesting to observe how, unlike in previous elections where voting straight for a party’s slate was the norm, various formulas and menus have emerged on social media—cafeteria or halo-halo style—to reflect this urge for some balance between the ideal and the practical in this three-cornered fight. Even opposition stalwarts, including Leni Robredo herself, have been excoriated for their previously unthinkable endorsements of certain candidates from the other side. Whatever happened to ideological purity? (It was always an illusion: note the Left’s earlier alliances with a notoriously bloodthirsty Digong Duterte and an unabashedly capitalist Manny Villar.)

I think many Filipinos understand what’s at stake in this election—not just who will compose the next Senate, but what that composition will mean. As I told my Fil-Am friend, Rodrigo Duterte may be safely imprisoned in the Netherlands, but his specter looms large and heavy over these midterms, through his proxies led by his daughter, VP Sara and their “DuterTEN” team (now more like DuterTWELVE, if you add one Marcos and one Villar). Sara was all set to be impeached for grave threats against the First Family and grand theft Piattos—which would not only have taken her out as VP but disqualified her from running for President in 2028. But that procedure—needing at least 16 votes in the Senate—got kicked down the road, after the election, leaving Sara’s fate up to the newly reconstituted Senate to seal.

So again, I told my friend, presuming that the BBM administration’s game plan here is to freeze Sara out of the presidency so it can install its own man, 2025 is really all about 2028. It’s a referendum, sure—not so much about the present President, but rather the past and maybe the future one. We’re not just—or not even—voting necessarily for the best candidates, but for senators who will push Sara out, or keep her in. Daddy Digong’s summary extradition to the ICC, while a relief for many, merely intensified that drama, raising the stakes to a matter of survival for the Dutertes.

It’s another sad and sorry spot to be in, for these elections to come down to choosing among the lesser or the least of 8, or 16, or 24 evils, against the statistical near-certainty of another wipeout for the truly good. Should I support this fairly familiar trapo, the devil I know, over that manifest idiot, just to help ensure that the latter stays out? Or, again, should I simply disregard all the surveys and scenarios, and vote from my purest and most innocent of hearts for the best people on that ballot? (Was this how the cardinals chose Pope Leo XIV, or did more pragmatic considerations come into play?)

By the time you read this, I shall have cast an early vote as a senior in my barangay. Like we often say, we are whom we vote for, and there’s a part of me that fears what I’ve become or may have to be. I need some of that Holy Spirit with me today—we all will.

Qwertyman No. 142: A Long Learning Process

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Qwertyman for Monday, April 21, 2025

I RECENTLY came across a thread on social media urging Filipinos to boycott the midterm elections next month on the expectation that they will be tainted with fraud, as the 2022 elections were believed or alleged to have been by many.

When I looked it up, as early as last October when certificates of candidacy were still being filed, a retired OFW named Ronnie Amorsolo had already protested the elections, telling aspirants to not even run and calling the May 2025 polls a waste of time, energy, and money as they were already rigged. Political dynasties were making sure they would stay in power, he said, with the connivance of the Comelec and Miru Systems, the contractor for this year’s automated vote counting.

I can understand the extreme frustration of our countrymen like Ronnie who feel that the current electoral system is hopeless and that our democracy itself is a fraud given the seemingly unbreakable grip of dynastic families on our political leadership. But I disagree with his cynicism and with his call for a boycott. I think abstention will simply play into the hands of those dynasties and be written off as a virtual surrender.

To put it another way: if Leni Robredo herself believed in the futility of seeking change through elections, then why is she running for mayor of Naga? Granted, it’s friendly territory for the Robredos, but she could have symbolically stayed away to make a point. (There are, of course, those who fault even Leni for not protesting her presidential loss loudly enough and for wishing her opponent well, but I for one admire her for her graciousness and sobriety. I suspect she must have known that whether or whatever fraud may have occurred, much more work needed to be done to move Filipinos toward the light.)

As a longtime educator, I believe in learning—sometimes, the hard way. What’s happening in America now is what tens of millions of Americans didn’t realize they had voted for—but they did, and now they’re reaping the dire results; we’ll see in the US midterms next year if they’ve learned anything (and the Democrats as well, about their messaging). I’ve always thought that it will take at least two more generations before we Pinoys start looking for real merit in our leaders like the Singaporeans (whose inclination to self-censor I have always scoffed at, but for whom governance has become a learnable science). 

In the meanwhile we will keep making mistakes and keep paying the price—until we learn from those mistakes. Experience, they say, is the best teacher, but to learn from experience, you still need someone in the room to make sense of what just happened and what’s likely to happen again, if we don’t choose wisely. That’s what a good opposition should do—tilt against windmills and prepare to lose if they must, but give voters clear choices and alternatives. And the opposition itself has much to learn in terms of communicating with the seemingly unreachable. I don’t think it’s true that the only language the poor understand at the polls is money; a moving narrative of hope could work miracles.

In a very recent study titled “Elections Under Autocracy: The Opposition’s Dilemma—Compete or Boycott,” law professors Samuel Issacharoff and Sergio Verdugo point out that “Even in extreme authoritarian situations, opposition leaders should develop a pragmatic and strategic assessment of the political landscape. In many cases, the opposition should opt for participation while simultaneously exposing and denouncing the regime’s electoral abuses. Participation does not necessarily imply endorsing the legitimacy of a rigged system—despite the risk of elections strengthening the regime in the end—but instead serves as a means to challenge the regime, mobilize supporters, maintain political visibility and denounce abuses to both the domestic and international communities. By engaging in the process, opposition forces can highlight institutional flaws, document electoral manipulation, and create pressure for reform, even in the face of near-certain defeat. While acknowledging that outright victory is unlikely, there are there are compelling reasons for opposition forces to contest elections in authoritarian settings to be considered.” 

Remember 1985? If we had boycotted the snap elections then—and what a brazen act of larceny those elections turned out to be—would February 1986 have happened? It wasn’t just the plight of the military rebels that brought us out on EDSA; it was our outrage—and yes, maybe we just don’t have enough of that today, but push us some more, and it could happen again.

At this point, let me borrow some thoughts from a group called the Global Transparency and Transformation Advocates Network (GTTAN), which recently put out a statement in response to the calls for a boycott of the May elections: 

“While GTTAN understands that the boycott aims to express dissatisfaction with the electoral system and pressure authorities for reform, the reality is that with only three months remaining, any significant changes are highly unlikely.

“The COMELEC and the current administration have demonstrated little interest in implementing reforms, making boycott rallies an ineffective protest strategy.

“Furthermore, refusing to participate will not prevent the election from taking place. 

“Instead, it may lead to a sweeping victory for the administration’s candidates, as their supporters will still cast their votes.

“An outright boycott risks further weakening opposition to the government.

“For these reasons, GTTAN firmly opposes the call to boycott the elections. Instead, GTTAN advocates a strategic approach that includes: 

  1. Deploying poll watchers to oversee the voting process, including vote counting, recording, and reporting at each precinct; 
  1. Collaborating with and supporting organizations including political parties that are actively working for electoral integrity; 
  1. Advocating for citizens’ rights to review the automated election system, ensuring it meets transparency and auditability standards;
  1. Pushing COMELEC to maintain election records for a minimum of 10 years after each election and to make such records available for inspection by the public upon request; and  
  1. Educating voters on proper voting procedures and raising awareness to prevent election fraud. 

I couldn’t have put it better: engagement, not withdrawal, remains the activist’s bravest and toughest option. Whether those twelve names you write down win or not—or even get counted or not—you’ve already won your own battle against despair.

(Image from philtstar.com)

Penman No. 427: Lights and Loudspeakers

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Penman for Monday, November 8, 2021

THE ELECTION season is upon us, and for Pinoys for whom Christmas begins in September, November 15 can’t come soon enough to start figuring out who they’ll be voting for on May 9, a full half-year down the road. That date should really have been October 8, the official deadline for the filing of candidacies, but given our penchant to further complicate the already-complicated, we just had to set the stage for the last-minute substitution dramas we expect to happen by next Monday.

What couldn’t wait for November 15 or even October 8 was the onset of the propaganda war—the long series of campaigns and battles for our hearts and minds, with the prize being the right to seat someone you think you know and who thinks they know you in the Palace by the Pasig. And if there’s anything we can depend on to display Pinoy character and creativity at their best and worst, it will be a political exercise like a presidential election, during which people who had been largely content with watching telenovelas, munching sweet corn, playing pusoy, and sharing some kakanin with the neighbors suddenly rediscover their convictions, prejudices, longings, and peeves, and jump onto one bandwagon or another, many with knives drawn. (Of course, there are others who had been suffering in silence and gritting their teeth for the past five years, just waiting for the trumpet to sound from the top of the hill.) 

As a boy in the 1960s whose father kept getting roped into some politico’s campaign, I reveled in the hoopla that heralded every election. The contending parties held rallies in the plaza or the bukid (depending, I guess, on whose side the incumbent mayor was), and places more often attended by dog poo and carabao dung were transformed into one-night circuses. 

The stages were festooned with banderitas, and the lights and loudspeakers promised an evening of entertainment, at least from the movie stars, singers, and comedians whom the people really came for, before the real jokers running for congressman or mayor came onstage. Bands played as pickpockets worked the crowd. They gave away fans, hats, key fobs, stickers, and anything they could stamp a candidate’s face on, and if you were lucky you got a T-shirt—flimsy as hell and reeking of paint thinner or whatever it was they used for silkscreening. I’m sure some folks got more than that, but being too young to vote, I missed out on the serious stuff backstage.

The speeches were loud and bombastic, and you stood in rapt attention, feeling like a droplet in a huge surging wave about to engulf the nation. (Decades later, someone would call this “astroturfing.”) One particularly artful speaker might weave a tale of woe, of how the people had only themselves to blame for all the misery they had sunk into, because they had cast their lot with the other party in the previous election. (Decades later, someone would call this “gaslighting.”) Every candidate promised the moon, the stars, and a galaxy or two of blessings dependent on his or her election: more artesian wells, more puericulture centers, free dental clinics, free coffins, and a lechon for every barrio’s fiesta (loud applause). At some point, some bags of rice and boxes of milk might even go around, the word “RELIEF” overstamped with its new donor’s name.

No self-respecting campaign today would not claim a party color or motif—pink, white, blue, checkered, etc. (What was that? Pink as well? Maybe I should have said “No self-respecting campaign today would claim another party’s color.”) Back in the day, this didn’t seem to be a big deal. The Nacionalista Party’s colors were red, white, and blue, while the Liberal Party’s colors were—well, red, white, and blue. At least, if you were a Liberal today and a Nacionalista tomorrow, which sometimes happened, you didn’t have to change your wardrobe or your paraphernalia.

Neither do I recall proprietary hand signs then, like the Cory-Laban “L” that helped to overthrow her predecessor, and FVR’s jaunty thumbs-up. Ferdinand Marcos flashed the “V” sign, but that had been around for ages, and is now more widely associated with young girls in white socks trying to look their cutest for the camera. I suppose it stands for “victory,” although the “V” word that springs to mind most quickly when I hear that particular name is “vaults.” (Is there such a word as “villions,” like a billion billions?) Mayor Isko has appropriated the “No. 1” sign, with the forefinger pointing up, as if to suggest he has nowhere else to go. (That other mayor who became President, which must inspire Isko, prefers raising the next finger.) 

Frankly Leni’s hand sign remains a bit of a mystery to me, and I haven’t seen one from the boxer and the police general. At any rate I doubt this election will be won with carpal contortions. After all, there are only so many things you can do with your fingers, and the Vulcan “Live long and prosper” hand salute is difficult enough to master.

The fight, as everyone says, has gone to the Internet and the airwaves, and while we may like to believe that everything has changed in half a century, the very players on the field tell us they haven’t—only the lights and the loudspeakers have. So now, as ever, truth, reason, and justice will remain the underdogs, and those who root and clap for the jokers will end up getting their pockets picked.

(Photo from asiatimes.com)