Rebuilding the Nation Through National Discipline: A Presidential Agenda That Starts With Us

Morning Coffee Thoughts – April 1, 2025

Today is April Fools’ Day.

But for me, it’s just another ordinary Tuesday.

It also happens to be a Philippine holiday — President Marcos declared it in celebration of Eid’l Fitr. Most people are still asleep, and the streets were unusually quiet on the drive here. No traffic. Just the faint hum of tricycles and the occasional rooster crowing in the background.

I’m writing this from the tennis court while my daughter trains for PRISAA and CLRAA this month. Pretty exciting times. But also tiring for her. Backhands, footwork, sprint drills, and heat — lots of heat.

Watching her, I’m reminded how much effort discipline demands when no one’s clapping, when the only reward is improvement.

And that word—discipline—lingered in my head this morning.

Because somewhere between sipping coffee from a paper cup and watching her tie her shoelaces in silence, I remembered what Lee Kuan Yew once said during his visit to the Philippines back in 1992:

“I do not believe that democracy necessarily leads to development. I believe that what a country needs to develop is discipline more than democracy.”
(Correct Philippines)

At the time, many were offended. Some still are. But years later, I wonder if he saw something we chose to ignore.

We embraced democracy, but we forgot the part where it only works when people are responsible enough to live with it.

We put our faith in elections, but we didn’t demand discipline from the leaders we elected.

Or from ourselves.

And as strange as it sounds, a question crossed my mind today:
What if I were president?

What would I do, not just to lead, but to restore order without fear, structure without tyranny, and pride without entitlement?

What would discipline look like if it came from within us — not imposed, not feared, but chosen?

I’m not here to campaign.

But if I were to lead — even just in thought — this is what I’d push for.

Because we tried democracy.

Now it’s time we talk about what we forgot.

The Missed Message in Democracy: Discipline

When Lee Kuan Yew stood before Filipino businessmen in 1992, he didn’t insult us.

He diagnosed us.

“What a country needs to develop is discipline more than democracy.”
(Correct Philippines)

That line struck a nerve. And maybe it still does. We’re a proud people — and sometimes, pride doesn’t take well to honesty.

But Lee wasn’t talking down to us. He was laying down what he believed we needed to hear. Because in his eyes, we had chosen the show of democracy, but not the substance of discipline.

And he wasn’t wrong.

He observed what he called our “soft forgiving culture” — a tendency to let things slide, to not hold people in power accountable when they fail or abuse it (YouTube). Forgiveness can be beautiful. But without consequences, it becomes permission.

While we were making jokes about our traffic, our politics, and our leaders — Singapore was quietly building a system that didn’t find dysfunction funny.

They had no natural resources to boast of. No grand islands. No minerals buried beneath the soil.
But they had discipline.

We had charisma. They had structure.
We had style. They had standards.

In the 1960s, the Philippines and Singapore stood on roughly equal economic footing (YouTube). But while we debated which politician sang better on the campaign trail, they were building institutions.
Rules. Processes. Order.

Their government moved efficiently. Ours got stuck in red tape.
Their streets became cleaner. Ours stayed flooded with excuses.
Their leaders were feared for corruption crackdowns. Ours were loved for jokes and handshakes.

We celebrated our freedom.

They built their discipline.

And maybe — just maybe — we mistook noise for democracy.

Because democracy without discipline is just noise.

What we missed was that freedom needs boundaries.
Rights come with responsibilities.
And no constitution can work when the citizens themselves refuse to work with it.

We've Tried Before (But We Gave Up Too Soon)

Discipline isn’t a foreign concept to us.

We’ve tried it. More than once.

In 1939, long before martial law or iron fists, President Manuel L. Quezon issued Executive Order No. 217 — a directive that called for the teaching of civic and ethical principles in every school across the country (Jur Philippines).

It wasn’t just about nationalism. It was about character — moral values, personal discipline, and civic duty.

It was quiet work. No headlines. No hashtags. But it was foundational.
An attempt to build discipline not through fear, but through understanding.

And then came 1972.

Martial Law.

Ferdinand Marcos declared it was necessary — a way to respond to lawlessness and unrest.
And for a brief moment, there was order. Curfews were followed. Streets cleared. People behaved.

But at what cost?

The discipline people remember from that era was wrapped in fear, silenced dissent, and human rights abuses (Rosa Luxemburg Manila). Whatever lessons it tried to teach were buried beneath trauma.
That kind of discipline didn’t grow respect. It grew resistance.

So we pulled back.

And for decades, we became suspicious of anything that smelled like structure.
Every call for order was mistaken for a return to the dark.

Then came Rodrigo Duterte.

He didn’t whisper about discipline — he shouted it.
With his signature bluntness, he brought back GMRC to the K-12 curriculum (Wikipedia), reintroduced the idea that students should learn good behavior, values, and civic duty.

He brought down crime rates. But the war on drugs left scars — thousands dead and a country still divided over whether the ends justified the means.

Another attempt. Another pause.

Now, President Marcos Jr. is calling for a “Bagong Pilipino.” A new Filipino defined by discipline in oneself, at home, and in the streets (PCO).

It's not a bad message.

But the question is — will we follow through this time?

Or will this just be another cycle of trying... and giving up too soon?

The Real Enemies of Discipline

Maybe it’s not the lack of laws.

Or the lack of speeches about change.

Or even the lack of funds.

Maybe the real enemies of discipline are less dramatic — but far more dangerous.

They’re the quiet, familiar things we’ve learned to live with.

It starts at the top.

People will not take discipline seriously when their leaders don’t.
When the rules only apply to the poor.
When violations are brushed off if you're well-connected.
When the laws are enforced only when convenient.

One citizen said it best:
“Discipline should really come first from authorities who will enforce this discipline.”
(PhilStar)

And they’re right.

We can't expect people to follow lines when those in power keep cutting them.

Take the EDSA Bus Lane.

The rule is simple — it’s reserved for buses, emergency vehicles, and convoys of the five highest-ranking officials: the President, Vice President, Senate President, House Speaker, and Chief Justice
(Manila Bulletin).

And yet, from January to March 2024 alone, 1,051 drivers were apprehended for illegally using it. That included 783 motorcycles, 205 cars, 29 vans, 21 taxis, and 13 other vehicles
(DOTr-SAICT via PhilStar).

And it didn’t stop there.

In April, a Philippine National Police official led a convoy of more than ten vehicles inside the busway.
In October, a vehicle from the Laguna Lake Development Authority (LLDA) was caught evading apprehension.
In November, a car registered to the Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG) was flagged.
And a senator’s vehicle was caught violating the rule — only to speed off after handing over the driver’s license.

In just one day — November 28 — three government vehicles were caught in a single operation
(DOTr-SAICT).

No accountability. No shame. No example worth following.

These aren’t isolated lapses. These are patterns. And the message is clear: some people still think the rules don’t apply to them.

Then there's the "wang-wang" culture — that old reflex of using blinkers and sirens to force traffic aside.
The very thing we once tried to end.
But it’s slowly returning. These days, it's not ambulances making noise in traffic — it's black SUVs with police escorts, elected officials, and government-issued plates.

We outlawed it.

They brought it back.

Because without consequences, laws lose their meaning. And when leaders are the first to ignore them, discipline becomes optional for everyone else.

Then there’s this thing we’re oddly proud of — our kindness.

Our ability to forgive.

Which sounds good… until you realize we also forgive everything.

Even corruption.

Even betrayal.

Even incompetence.

Lee Kuan Yew saw it clearly: a “soft forgiving culture” where wrongdoing faces little consequence, especially if you smile enough or say “sorry po” after the fact
(YouTube).

Forgiveness is good.

But when wrongdoing keeps getting brushed aside with a smile and a slogan, it stops being noble.
It becomes a habit — the kind that protects the powerful and leaves the rest of us picking up the pieces.

And then there’s fear.
Not fear of punishment — but fear of the past.

We’ve lived through Martial Law. We’ve heard the stories. We know what unchecked power looks like.
So every time someone says “discipline,” we flinch. We hear echoes of curfews and disappearances.
We associate structure with suppression.

Even when that’s not what’s being asked.

We confuse discipline with authoritarianism — and lose the chance to build a version of it that’s actually healthy, honest, and necessary
(Making It Fun in the Philippines).

But maybe the hardest enemy of all is the one inside us.

That quiet voice that says,
“I’ll follow the rules… if someone’s watching.”
“I’ll do what’s right… if there’s a fine.”

We live reacting to rules, instead of rising to values.
We follow only when forced.
We behave only when afraid.

And that’s not discipline.

That’s fear with better packaging.

Real discipline is doing the right thing — even when there’s no camera, no punishment, no reward.
It’s internal.
Personal.
Quiet.

“Successful and prosperous societies are peopled by those who do right on their own, not just because they are afraid of punishment.”
(GetRealPhilippines)

And it’s not just about big things.

It shows up in the everyday, too.

“Beating the red light — kasi Linggo naman.”
No enforcer. No cars. So we pretend the rule doesn’t count.

“Singitan mo na lang ng 500 yang lisensya mo.”
Caught in the act? Just treat it like a service fee. No shame. No lesson.

“Wala na, late na rin naman ako.”
Running late becomes the excuse to ignore everything — traffic signs, speed limits, and common sense.

“Tapon mo na lang, wala namang CCTV.”
From candy wrappers to trash bags, we dispose of them like no one else exists.

“Kamag-anak ko 'yung barangay captain.”
We don’t need permits. We don’t need rules. We know someone.

We’ve built a culture of convenience.

We bend the rules to fit our day — and then wonder why our days never really change.

Until we face that — not just as a system, but as individuals — no reform, no campaign, no president can fix it.

My 7-Point Program for a Disciplined Republic

You know that stoplight meme?

The one with the machine gun mounted on top so people stop beating the red light?

Yeah. That one.

Let’s get this out of the way: no, I’m not going to do that.

Doing that would wipe out half the population before lunch.

And honestly, it wouldn’t solve the problem anyway.

Because fear might make people follow rules — but it doesn’t make them disciplined.

Fear doesn’t last. Culture does.

So if I were president, and I wanted to instill real, lasting discipline, here’s what I’d do.

Not a campaign. Not a PR stunt.

Just a 7-point program that focuses on culture, consistency, and example — built on what already works.

1. Lead by Example: Discipline Begins With Me

If I want the country to be disciplined, I can’t ask people to do what I won’t do myself.

So no sirens. No special lanes. No “backdoor” negotiations.

The presidential calendar would be public. Monthly updates on promises vs. delivery. No quiet removals of non-performing cabinet members — every action would be accounted for.

If we want people to believe in discipline, they need to see it — not just hear about it.

2. Build a National Discipline Framework

We don’t just need rules. We need rules that are actually followed — by everyone.

This means setting up a uniform disciplinary code across all government agencies and local units.
Structured sanctions. Clear steps: warning → suspension → dismissal → disqualification.
Not left to whim. Not weaponized for politics.

We’ll publish disciplinary actions in a real-time Government Transparency Portal — accessible to all.
Let the public see what’s happening. Let everyone know: no one is untouchable.

RA 6713, the Code of Conduct and Ethical Standards, will finally have teeth — through ethics training, performance reviews, and real accountability.

3. Strengthen the Watchdogs: COA, CSC, and the Ombudsman

These offices are meant to guard the people’s trust. We’ll help them do that.

That means budget increases, staff expansion, and digital tools for audits, case handling, and complaint tracking.
Citizen Participatory Audits will be mandatory. Reports will be simplified and published in a format the average Filipino can actually understand.

The Ombudsman will be backed by specialized prosecutors. CSC will run a metrics-based performance system tied to promotions and demotions. And investigators exposing corruption will be protected by law — and by me.

This is what empowering institutions really means.

4. Reform Education: Build the Citizen Before the Worker

We’ll revive civic education — not just as a subject, but as a foundation.

Every school will teach responsibility, public ethics, and community engagement through actual programs.
We'll bring back GMRC — but updated. Not just about manners, but about values.

“Project Citizen” will be expanded. Students will propose policies, write letters to public officials, observe Senate sessions. They'll see democracy in action before they're old enough to vote.

We'll partner with the Philippine Center for Civic Education and Democracy (PCCED) and tap teachers as mentors, not just graders.

And maybe for the first time, we won’t just graduate students.
We’ll graduate citizens.

5. Enforce the Law Without Fear or Favor

We’re not lacking laws. We’re lacking fairness.

So let’s make it simple: the law applies to everyone, or it means nothing.

Traffic laws? Enforced.
Civil ordinances? Enforced.
But no more secret exemptions for the well-connected.

Barangay Disiplina Brigades will be formed. Clean Barangay Awards will return — with real rewards, not just tarpaulins.
We’ll launch apps where people can report issues in real time, including officer misbehavior. And every report will have a tracking number.

We’re not out to scare people — we’re out to remind them: following the rules benefits all of us.

6. Modernize Governance Through Systems, Not Speeches

Let’s digitize everything.

Licenses. Permits. Complaints. Salaries. Reports.
The less human contact, the less corruption.

We’ll streamline recruitment, automate performance evaluations, and install digital signatories. No more fixers, no more long lines.

Rightsizing the bureaucracy doesn’t mean firing people — it means removing ghost positions, fixing broken systems, and giving real performers the tools to do their jobs right.

Then we open it up to the people: mobile apps for complaints. SMS surveys. Anonymous feedback.
Not because citizens should serve government — but because the government should serve citizens.

7. Address Root Causes: You Can’t Discipline the Hungry

You can’t talk discipline to someone who hasn’t eaten. So we fix that too.

We’ll tie 4Ps cash assistance to school attendance, health checkups, and community participation.
Livelihood programs will reward barangays that maintain public order, cleanliness, and civic involvement.

And yes — we’ll invest in mental health resources, especially for civil servants and the underprivileged. Stress, anxiety, and poverty aren’t excuses for bad behavior — but they are real. And we can help.

Inspired by Local Leadership That Works

But I won’t pretend I invented these ideas.
I’ve seen them in action — right here at home.

Vico Sotto didn’t need sirens. He used transparency, consultation, and data to end the palakasan system in Pasig
(Wikipedia, US Embassy).

Jesse Robredo walked in slippers, not limousines — and gave Nagueños a seat at the table through participatory governance
(Naga.gov.ph).

Jerry Treñas created jobs, promoted urban farming, and connected discipline to survival and pride
(PNA).

Eric Singson made Candon a smart city — not through foreign consultants, but by believing that small towns can lead, too
(Candon.gov.ph).

And Vilma Caluag showed that discipline and compassion are not opposites — they are partners.

If they can do it in their cities, I can try to do it for the country.

With them. With you.

If we want a disciplined republic, we don’t need tanks.

We need teachers, auditors, honest officials, students who care, and everyday Filipinos who choose to follow the rules — even when no one is watching.

That's the kind of president I’d try to be.

Not a superhero. Not a savior. Just a tired, observant Filipino who knows what’s wrong and is finally serious about fixing it.

Because this 7-point program isn’t about lofty ideals or catchy slogans. It’s about structure, consistency, and example — anchored in real programs, local leadership, and lived experience.

Discipline, after all, isn’t force. It’s care.

And if people still disagree — that’s okay.

As long as it makes them think.

Then we’ve already made progress.

Addressing the Criticisms

No idea is immune to criticism — especially when it involves discipline.

And if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t expect people to embrace it immediately.

Because in the Philippines, the word discipline has baggage.

Say it out loud and watch people squirm.
Not because they’re lawless. Not because they enjoy chaos.
But because for many of us, discipline meant punishment.

It meant the belt. The ruler. The slipper.
It meant being told to shut up, not speak up.
It meant fear — not fairness.

Especially for those of us who grew up before the turn of the century, disiplina wasn't about consistency or accountability.
It was about pain. It was about control.

So when people hear that a government wants to “bring back discipline,” what they really hear is:
“Here we go again.”
The curfews. The checkpoints. The abuse hiding behind a uniform.

That reaction isn’t overthinking.
It’s memory.
And we need to respect that.

“Is this authoritarianism in disguise?”

That’s the first question people will ask.

Some will say this whole thing — this 7-point program — is just Martial Law Lite.

I don’t blame them.

We’ve seen how easily the promise of “order” can slip into silence.
We’ve seen how authority can be twisted to protect power.
We’ve seen how the word discipline has been used to justify abuse — and how the abusers walk away while the poor carry the blame.

So if you’re skeptical, good.

It means you're paying attention.

But I believe there’s a version of discipline that isn’t about fear.
It’s rooted in fairness, in care — not in punishment.
It’s not a gun on a stoplight.
It’s a leader walking to work without a siren — because no one needs to move aside for him.

It’s equal rules, equal consequences, and equal protection — for all.

“Is this even realistic?”

That’s another fair question.

And my answer is simple:
No — not if you expect everyone to change overnight.
No — not if you think people will fall in line just because the president said so.

But yes, if the message is consistent.
Yes, if it’s modeled from the top.
Yes, if the rules apply upward first, not downward.

Filipinos know when something’s real.
They know sincerity when they see it.

“But Filipinos don’t like being told what to do.”

That’s true.

Because for decades, being told what to do meant silence, not dialogue.
It meant being reminded of your place — not being invited to participate.

But here’s the thing:

Filipinos aren’t allergic to discipline.
We’re allergic to hypocrisy.

We follow rules when they’re fair.
We obey when we’re respected.
We contribute when we’re seen.

So the work isn’t just about creating systems or writing laws.
It’s about rebuilding trust — that when a leader says “Bawal ’yan,” it applies to everyone. Including themselves.

And maybe that’s the real challenge.

We’re not just trying to introduce a new program.

We’re going up against a nation whose tolerance for corruption, impunity, and indiscipline has spanned generations.

We’ve normalized the broken.

We’ve shrugged off the absurd.
“Ganyan talaga sa gobyerno.”
“Wala nang bago diyan.”

This isn’t just skepticism. It’s deep, rooted resistance.

Because asking Filipinos to suddenly believe in discipline — after watching the undisciplined thrive for decades — almost feels like a bad joke.

But maybe that’s why this matters.

Because if we can break that cycle — if we can prove, even once, that fairness is possible and rules can apply to all — then maybe the next generation won’t grow up thinking ganyan talaga.

Maybe they’ll grow up thinking pwede pala.

That’s the version I believe in.

That’s the version I’d fight for — even if I’ll never sit in Malacañang.

Conclusion: Discipline as a Path to National Development

It’s now 8:30. My daughter’s still running drills under the morning sun, and my coffee’s gone lukewarm.

But this thought — this whole idea of what I’d do if I were president — hasn’t left me since we drove past that empty stoplight.

And now that I’ve said everything I needed to say, I still come back to this question:
What kind of country would we be if we finally took discipline seriously?

Not the kind that hurts. Not the kind that silences.
But the kind that builds. That leads. That remembers its promises — even after the event is over.

Speaking of events — I was there at the launch of Bagong Pilipinas.

In principle, the idea is solid. It speaks to what we need — a cultural reset, a focus on development, a government that knows where it’s going.
But the launch itself? It was all fanfare. Lights. Speeches. Branding.

And the attendees?

Most of them were there for the same reason: attendance was being checked.

I was curious — I wanted to see what this “Bagong Pilipinas” really meant.
I’m not a believer of Marcos, let me say that upfront.
But I went, stood among the employees, and listened.

And for several hours, all I heard was whispers about whether their names had been signed off.
They were required to be there. Because they worked for the government.
And when the new boss launches a new program, you align — or you pack up.

I understood it.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

When something is required, it isn’t heartfelt.

You can’t obligate change. You can’t enforce belief.

Discipline — real discipline — has to come from within.
Otherwise, it’s just another performance.
Another poster.
Another slogan that fades long before the term ends.

So no, this blog isn’t a campaign.
I’m not running for anything.
This was just a thought experiment on April Fools' Day — sitting courtside, coffee in hand, watching my daughter chase tennis balls in the heat.

But even if it started as a joke, the heart behind it isn’t.

Because I still believe the Philippines can be better.
I still believe we can move past the mess we’ve normalized.
And I still believe that discipline — the kind rooted in care, in fairness, in example — is one of the ways forward.

It won’t come fast.
And it won’t come from a speech.
But maybe, one day, it’ll come.

When we stop checking attendance.
And start checking ourselves.

Let that be our Bagong Pilipinas.

Now, time to buy another coffee. I think I’ll need it.