Challenging Political Dynasties, One Step at a Time

Some mornings, it feels like déjà vu.

You scroll through the headlines and there they are again—those names. The ones printed on every ballot, billboard, and barangay project tarp for as long as you can remember. They don’t just run for office. They rotate. Replace. Reappear. As if public service is a family heirloom, passed down like antique furniture.

And you wonder: How do you even begin to undo a system built on bloodlines?

It’s not just a political issue. It’s cultural. Economic. Structural. These families don’t stay in power by chance. They’ve mastered a formula: poverty to keep people desperate, patronage to keep them loyal, and legacy to keep them blind.

But maybe—just maybe—there’s a way to reverse-engineer that formula.

Quietly. Systematically. One crack at a time.

Where It All Began: Power That Outlived Colonizers

We didn’t invent political dynasties. We inherited them.

Back in the Spanish colonial days, there was the principalia—local elites appointed to govern in the name of Spain. They collected taxes, settled disputes, and made sure the colony ran smoothly. In return, they were given power, land, and influence. When the Americans took over, they didn’t dismantle this system. They refined it. They gave these families a Western education, access to elections, and new titles—senators, governors, congressmen.

That was the blueprint. And we’ve been living with it ever since.

By the time we wrote our own Constitution in 1987, we knew dynasties were a problem. That’s why it says right there in Article II, Section 26:

“The State shall guarantee equal access to opportunities for public service and prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law.”

But more than three decades later, that law has never been passed. Not because we forgot. Not because it's complicated. But because the people who are supposed to write that law are often the same ones who would be disqualified by it (Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism).

It’s not just about politics. It’s about power that families treat like inheritance.
In some towns, it’s spoken with pride: “Dito, mayor ang lolo, tatay, at ngayon apo na.”
But what that really means is: wala nang iba.

And that’s the danger. When the same names keep coming back—not because they’re the best, but because they’ve blocked everyone else from even trying.

But while their roots run deep, the hold they have on us isn’t unbreakable.
It just takes knowing how the machine works—and where to start pulling wires.

How They Hold On: The Machinery Behind the Surnames

It’s not just name recall. It’s an entire system built to make sure they stay in place.

Political dynasties don’t win elections just because people recognize their names. They win because they’ve spent decades building a machine that feeds on poverty, loyalty, and fear of losing access to ayuda or jobs. And they do it well.

In the poorest provinces, they don’t just run for office.
They own the businesses.
They control the contracts.
They approve the permits.
They fund the fiestas.
And during campaign season, they can outspend every independent candidate tenfold—easily.

That’s not campaigning. That’s suffocation.

Studies show that the more entrenched a dynasty is in a province, the worse that province performs in terms of poverty, education, and human development (Asian Institute of Management).
Because why fix the system that makes people depend on you?

But their power doesn’t stop with the budget.

They’ve built influence networks that are harder to see—but just as powerful. Local police who “know their place.” Religious leaders who preach loyalty from the pulpit. Barangay captains who can mobilize votes overnight. Even the media isn’t always free—some families own the radio station, or have columnists on payroll.

And they don’t just run one position.
The mother’s a mayor.
The father’s the congressman.
The son is party-list nominee.
The daughter heads the youth council.
It’s chess. And every piece on the board belongs to the same last name.

That’s how dynasties survive—not just through elections, but through design.

And if you want to dismantle something like that, you don’t just yell at the machine.
You have to learn how to disassemble it.

Cracks in the Armor: Quiet Tactics That Cut Deep Without Saying “Dynasty”

We already know the rule that should’ve changed everything:
“Prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law.”

It’s been there since 1987.
And it still hasn’t moved.

We talked about that. We felt the frustration. We’ve lived with it.

But here’s the shift: some people stopped waiting for Congress to act.
They started looking for the cracks.

Legal Hacks That Bypass the Bottleneck

A few public interest lawyers are trying to use the Constitution anyway—with or without enabling legislation. Their strategy? Find a dynasty case so extreme, so concentrated, that it forces the Supreme Court to take a position.

It hasn’t succeeded yet. But even filing the case starts the clock.
It forces the issue out of silence and into public discourse.
It forces dynasties to defend the indefensible.

And in a country where delay is power, sometimes just forcing a conversation is a win.

But maybe it’s time to do more than just wait for someone to file a case.

If you live in a province where political control has been passed around like a family business for decades — where mayor, vice mayor, and congressman all share a roof and a last name — you can help put that system on trial.

Not in the streets.
In the Supreme Court.

Talk to a lawyer who believes in good governance.
There are public interest legal groups and advocates quietly waiting for cases like this — they just need citizens willing to sign the papers and push it forward.

Because the truth is, the Constitution doesn’t need permission to be interpreted.
It needs a petition.

And maybe that petition comes from you, your barangay, or your small coalition that’s had enough.

You don’t need to win the case overnight.
You just need to make it impossible to ignore.

Policies That Hurt Without Saying the Word “Dynasty”

Here’s the clever part: not every reform needs to say “anti-dynasty.”
Some of the most effective tools don’t mention dynasties at all — but they hit where it hurts:

• Campaign finance monitoring exposes where the money flows and who funds who.
  
  

• Freedom of Information laws reveal which families keep winning contracts.
  
  

• Merit-based hiring makes it harder to reward loyalty with government jobs.
  
  

• Local budget transparency lets voters see who’s building roads—and who’s building wealth.
  
  

Cities like Naga and Pasig have quietly adopted some of these reforms. They didn’t wait for national laws. They just got to work.

And it’s working.

Because once people see the difference between a government built for service and one built for survival—they start asking questions.

And those questions? They’re dangerous to anyone whose power depends on silence.

We’re not breaking the whole machine yet.
But we’re unscrewing parts.
And sometimes, all it takes is one loose bolt to bring the whole thing down.

Where Change Is Still Possible: At the Polling Station

This is where it gets real.

Because no matter how loud the rallies or how sharp the petitions, dynasties still hold their grip through the one thing they’ve mastered better than anyone else: elections.

They don’t just have posters.
They have fleets of tricycles.
Stacks of envelopes.
Endless jingles.
And more often than not—no real competition.

Sometimes the opposition isn’t weak—it’s just divided.
Three candidates split the anti-dynasty vote, while the incumbent wins with 38%.

That’s not democracy. That’s math.

Opposition, But Smarter

But the game can change when people talk—really talk.

When candidates set aside egos and work together, vote-splitting loses its power.
When the opposition forms a united slate, even dynasties start to sweat.
It’s already happened in pockets across the country—quiet upsets in cities where the family name wasn’t enough anymore.

It also helps to support people who don’t come from legacy.
The teacher running for councilor.
The community organizer trying for board member.
The nurse who’s never held office but actually knows what a budget should do.

And while mainstream parties are hard to break into, the party-list system still offers cracks where new voices can squeeze through. It’s flawed, yes—but still usable. Still winnable.

Voter Education as a Weapon

People don’t always vote for dynasties because they like them.
Sometimes they vote for them because they’re scared of losing what little they have.

That’s where education matters.

Not the condescending kind. Not the “let me tell you who to vote for” type.
But the kind that shows what dynasty politics actually costs you.

The unfinished roads.
The overpriced waiting sheds.
The scholarships that go to the cousin’s kid.
The development plans that never seem to include your street.

When voters start connecting bad governance to the same last names, something shifts.

And it starts when someone takes the time to explain—gently, honestly, without judgment.

The Youth Vote Is Already Moving

Here’s some hope: the data is on our side.

Younger, urban voters—especially those in universities and online spaces—are increasingly skeptical of dynasty candidates. They’re asking more questions, sharing more infographics, watching debates instead of just clapping at rallies.

Groups like YouthLed Philippines and Vote Pilipinas are tapping into that. Not telling people what to think—but helping them think in the first place.

And sometimes that’s enough to make a voter pause before shading a familiar name.

The ballot is still a battlefield.
But it’s also still ours.
And as long as we keep showing up—curious, angry, hopeful, informed—we still have a shot.

Because no dynasty, no matter how old or rich, can survive a community that stops playing along.

Behind Every Brave Candidate Is a Braver Crowd

Not everyone runs for office.
Some just refuse to look away.

While political dynasties pour millions into campaign jingles and tarpaulins, there’s another movement—quiet, scattered, sometimes fragile—but always there.

They’re the ones helping behind the scenes.
The ones who don’t need their faces on posters to make an impact.

They’re teachers who open up classrooms for voter education.
Priests who preach about justice from the pulpit, not loyalty.
Journalists who dig through asset declarations when no one else will.
Students who print their own flyers with facts instead of slogans.
And yes—business owners who are tired of paying off gatekeepers just to renew a permit.

This is what a civil society coalition looks like.
It’s not one group. It’s a thousand hands trying to untangle a very old knot.

Who Holds the Line When the Campaign Ends?

Long after the rallies are done and the votes are counted, it’s usually these same people who keep going.

They file the FOI requests.
They show up at budget hearings.
They help train future candidates who don’t come from money or family names.

In Naga, Jesse Robredo built his governance model on this — not charisma, but participation. His work outlived him because it wasn’t about him to begin with.

Groups like YouthVote Philippines and the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism don’t wait for elections. They prepare for the next generation. They teach. They publish. They hold receipts.

Because that’s what change needs—people who don’t clock out after the campaign.

Don’t Make It About Names. Make It About Systems.

The most effective movements don’t attack specific families. They go after the idea that power should be inherited. They talk about corruption, not cousins. Public service, not personal grudges.

Because when we frame it around personalities, it becomes tribal.
But when we frame it around broken systems, people listen.

And slowly, quietly, the conversation shifts from “Who will run?” to “Why are they the only ones who ever do?”

Change doesn’t always come in waves.
Sometimes it comes in ripples—started by people who simply refuse to accept that this is the best we can do.

And in today’s world, those ripples don’t stop in town halls or classrooms.
They reach timelines. They show up in charts.
They go digital.