Scientists have long argued that we climbed down from the branches of evolution, but when I see the avarice and plunder happening before my eyes, I cannot help but insist: these robbers did not descend from apes—they crawled up from crocs. That, to me, explains much of the rot gnawing at our society today.
Darwin, for all his brilliance, might have missed a local footnote in his theory of evolution. Perhaps he never walked the muddy riverbanks of the tropics where crocodiles lurk, jaws wide and eyes gleaming with hunger. Here, the predator is not just an animal—it has also become a metaphor for men in fine suits who feed on the weak and fatten themselves with what does not belong to them. The ape may look clumsy and mischievous, but at least it knows family and play. The crocodile knows only appetite, patience, and the cold art of ambush.
When one thinks of an ape, one sees curiosity, community, and even awkward empathy. They groom each other, share food, and sometimes look like they are laughing at their own silliness. But when one thinks of crocodiles, the first images that come to mind are deceit, cold-bloodedness, and unblinking hunger. Tell me, then, which lineage better explains the behavior of politicians who stash public funds in offshore accounts, or contractors who siphon billions from flood projects while the people drown in waist-deep water?
It’s almost insulting to the apes to say we came from them when our so-called leaders behave in ways more fitting of reptiles. Monkeys and chimpanzees never invented pork barrel scams. Gorillas never built ghost schools or bridges that collapse after one rainy season. But crocodiles? They’ve been ambushing, devouring, and surviving unchanged for millions of years. And now, in the Philippines, their spiritual descendants occupy Congress.
The crocodile metaphor has become part of our everyday language, and not without reason. When Filipinos call a corrupt official a “buwaya,” it is not out of ignorance but out of accuracy. A buwaya does not stop feeding until it is too fat to move, and even then, it only rests before devouring again. So too with these plunderers: insatiable, unapologetic, and completely detached from the suffering of the people whose money they devour. The ape would have thrown a banana or two back to the crowd, but the crocodile throws nothing.
Darwin believed in gradual progress, in species refining themselves for survival. But in this land, the crocodilian branch of evolution has mastered regression. We are told that humans are intelligent, rational beings capable of morality and higher thought. Yet when corruption remains unchecked, when the same faces keep getting reelected despite proven theft, one begins to wonder if intelligence is really advancing—or if we are just perfecting the crocodile’s grin.
Still, I must admit, crocodiles possess an honesty that their human counterparts do not. The reptile hunts openly, according to its nature. It never pretends to be a servant of the people, never delivers speeches about “public service” or “national development.” The crocodile makes no promises, and it breaks none. The human version, however, smiles on television, swears by God, and still robs blind. In that sense, the real crocodile deserves more respect than the politician who imitates it.
What, then, is to be done with these crocodile descendants? The answer is not to deny Darwin but to refine him: perhaps humanity carries within it both ape and croc—the mind of one, the appetite of the other. Our task as citizens is to starve the reptile side, to stop feeding it with votes, silence, and tolerance. Until we learn that lesson, the rivers of this nation will always remain infested.
