The chants came first. Then the placards rose above the crowd, and the videos quickly spread online for everyone to see. Whenever I watch overseas protests directed at President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. and members of his administration during some foreign visits, I cannot dismiss them as ordinary political noise because they reflect genuine anger among at least a portion of Filipinos living abroad.

I have always believed that overseas Filipino workers deserve to be heard, whether one agrees with them or not. They spend years away from their families, endure loneliness that cannot be measured in pesos, and send home billions of dollars that keep many households afloat and strengthen the Philippine economy. That reality gives them every right to speak passionately about the direction of the country they continue to support from thousands of miles away. Their remittances are not merely financial transactions; they are sacrifices wrapped in envelopes, bank transfers, and sleepless nights.

One grievance that frequently appears in protest banners and interviews is the perception that corruption remains deeply rooted in government. Allegations of misuse of public funds, controversies surrounding government spending, and questions raised by critics naturally fuel suspicion among citizens who work tirelessly abroad. If I had spent decades working double shifts in a foreign land to help my family survive, I would also demand convincing proof that every peso collected from taxpayers and every public fund was being managed honestly. Trust is difficult to build and remarkably easy to lose.

Politics, however, seems to ignite even stronger emotions. Many overseas Filipinos openly identify themselves as supporters of former President Rodrigo Duterte, Vice President Sara Duterte, or their political allies. As a result, actions taken by the current administration against prominent opposition figures are often interpreted by those supporters as political persecution rather than ordinary legal or constitutional processes. Whether those interpretations are ultimately correct is for independent institutions and the courts to determine, but the political resentment they generate is unmistakable.

That explains why these demonstrations often feel more emotional than ideological. People who have spent Christmases alone in distant countries, watched their children grow up through video calls, and buried homesickness beneath endless work rarely explode over a single issue. Their frustrations usually accumulate over time. By the time they stand outside a venue holding banners, they are expressing years of disappointment rather than reacting to one headline.

Of course, fairness also requires acknowledging that overseas Filipinos are not politically united. Some OFWs continue to support President Marcos and defend his administration, just as others strongly oppose it. Social media often amplifies the loudest voices, making it easy to forget the quieter majority who simply continue working without joining demonstrations. Still, when protests repeatedly accompany official visits, dismissing every critic as merely partisan would be an unwise response. Governments should pay attention whenever a visible segment of their own citizens feels compelled to protest abroad.
What strikes me most is the symbolism. A head of state normally travels overseas to strengthen diplomatic ties, promote trade, and reassure citizens working abroad that their homeland remembers them. When those visits instead become scenes of angry chanting, something important has changed. The distance between government and citizens suddenly becomes visible—not in kilometers, but in confidence. A passport may still say “Republic of the Philippines,” yet many protesters seem to say that, emotionally, they no longer feel represented.

If I were advising any administration—not only this one—I would say that shouting back at critics accomplishes very little. Listening accomplishes much more. Public confidence cannot be restored through security cordons, carefully managed appearances, or political messaging alone. It returns only when people see transparent governance, impartial institutions, and a sincere willingness to answer legitimate concerns. When Filipinos working overseas begin to welcome their leaders with applause rather than protest, that will be a far more meaningful measure of success than any political survey ever published.

ONE unmistakable mark of a true child of God is this: like Christ, we are willing to complicate our life for the good of others. We do not run away from inconvenience when someone needs our help—whether materially, emotionally, or spiritually. Love always demands something, and genuine love never settles for comfort.

That is exactly what Christ showed when he saw the crowds. The Gospel says he “was moved with compassion for them, because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9:36). He did not look the other way. He did not excuse himself. He allowed their needs to become his concern.

We are called to do the same. If we truly want to follow Christ, we have to be ready to complicate our lives by making room for others. Their problems become, in a way, our own. Their burdens invite our generosity. This is how charity ceases to be a nice idea and becomes a concrete way of life.

In fact, the more our life resembles Christ’s, the more complicated it will inevitably become. We will have more responsibilities, more sacrifices, more interruptions, and more occasions to forget ourselves. Yet these very complications become opportunities for holiness. They stretch our patience, strengthen our virtues, and deepen our love for God and neighbor.

The important thing is not to complain about these complications. As long as we remain united with Christ, they will never overwhelm us. Instead of seeing them as burdens, we can see them as privileged occasions to love. What appears to be a heavy load becomes a joyful participation in Christ’s saving mission.

More than simply accepting life’s complications, we should willingly embrace them. We should not wait until difficulties come knocking at our door. We should actively involve ourselves in Christ’s work, making ourselves available to those who need our time, attention, encouragement, and service. Love is proactive, not passive.

Of course, this requires preparation. We need to strengthen ourselves physically, emotionally, mentally, morally, and above all spiritually. A generous heart needs a strong foundation. Prayer, the sacraments, good formation, and self-discipline equip us to give ourselves without burning out or giving up.

Christ remains our perfect model. His heart was always alert to the needs of others. He noticed the unnoticed, sought out the forgotten, and responded with quiet generosity. Remarkably, after performing great miracles, he often told people not to publicize what he had done. He sought neither applause nor recognition. Love was enough.

Such compassion demands deep humility and real self-denial. It asks us to forget ourselves so that faith, hope, and charity can take full possession of our heart. Only then can compassion become more than emotion; it becomes self-giving love that perseveres.
This is especially urgent today. Our culture subtly teaches us to prioritize ourselves—to protect our comfort, chase personal fulfillment, and avoid inconvenience. The Gospel points in the opposite direction. It invites us to develop the habit of thinking first of others, sincerely wishing them well, and doing whatever good we can.

It is not easy. But with God’s grace and daily effort, this way of living gradually becomes second nature. We learn to rejoice with those who rejoice and to weep with those who weep. Compassion begins in the heart, where prayers, sacrifices, and generous desires know no limits. Even when our material resources are limited, our capacity to love is never exhausted. That is the compassion of Christ, and it should become ours.