Typhoons, testosterones and caveman politics
By Mary Lou Cunanan
Nothing says “Philippines” quite like the country being battered by four typhoons in two weeks while politicians challenge each other to fistfights.
Crising, Dante, Emong, and Krosa have made sure we’re soaked, stranded, sliding down mountains, or clutching onto banana trees in knee-deep water — and yet, our leaders seem preoccupied with… boxing and ticket sales.
Videos have flooded social media, literally and metaphorically — students wading through waist-deep streets, good Samaritans pushing broken vehicles in a torrential downpour, couples allegedly finding shelter (and romance?) in hourly motels turned “evacuation centers.” Classic bayanihan meets viral content. And here I am, guilt-ridden because the worst thing I had to do was convert my in-person meetings to Zoom calls while sipping hot chocolate in dry pajamas. I even made Sopas and Lugaw, because that’s what middle-class resiliency looks like these days.
And while I daydream about the sun — specifically, whether my laundry will ever smell like sunshine again instead of “kulob” dryer musk — over in the halls of Philippine power, the circus is alive and well. The storms may come and go, but political games are eternal.
The latest episode? A delightful little feud between Davao Mayor Baste Duterte and PNP General Nicolas Torre. Apparently, Sarah Duterte’s impeachment trial (which has the same odds of happening as snow in Manila) wasn’t enough drama. So Baste — clearly inspired by decades of patriarchal glory and childhood memories of his equally macho father — challenged General Torre to a fistfight. Yes, a fistfight. In the year 2025. In the age of AI, quantum computing, and self-driving cars, we’ve been dragged back into the caveman era of governance.
What’s even better? Torre, rather than laughing it off or choosing dignity, accepted. He doubled down. Set the date. July 27. Rizal Memorial Coliseum. 4,000 spectators. ₱300,000 in ticket sales. ₱16 million in donations (which, by the way, is still not enough to fix half a barangay’s drainage system). I guess this is what public service means now: fight night. And the best part? Baste was a no-show.
Torre stood victorious in an empty ring while Baste mumbled something about his schedule being too tight. Don’t worry, though. Baste’s calling for a rematch on Tuesday. Because clearly, the country needs closure on this urgent national matter.
Meanwhile, the rest of us are soaked to the bone. Farmers have lost what little crops they managed to grow between storms. Thousands have been displaced. Students are still attending online classes despite brownouts and flooded homes. And as if that weren’t enough, we’ve got lawmakers hard at work — not on relief programs or housing solutions — but on taxing long-term savings (thank you, Senator Recto) and passing a bill that will punish children who “neglect” their elderly parents (cheers, Senator Lacson). Because if the government can’t support its citizens, the least it can do is guilt-trip the next generation into picking up the slack.
But this is where our infamous Filipino resiliency kicks in, right? The kind where we endure everything — floods, landslides, power outages, taxes, and now macho showdowns — with a smile, a meme, and a serving of lugaw. We clap for celebrities who do donation drives and call it governance. We laugh at our leaders’ antics because the alternative — anger, despair, revolution — is just too exhausting. In this theater of absurdity, the Duterte brand of politics thrives. They don’t offer solutions, they offer distractions. Big, loud, theatrical performances that capture attention while the rest of the country quietly sinks — literally and metaphorically.
Why face the complexity of infrastructure reform when you can hold a boxing match for clout? In a nation where governance has become a telenovela, fistfights are easier to digest than facing multitude of problems our country is facing. Where should we even start? Perhaps with our poor educational system resulting to 86 as average IQ of Filipinos (well below the world’s average of 100). Or maybe the poor urban housing and ridiculous traffic over 15 millions of Filipinos face every day in the capital.
Maybe that’s the most tragic part: we’ve been conditioned to expect so little that even a stunt like this can pass as political engagement. So go ahead, let them fight. After all, laughter is free. Solutions? Not so much.
