A jeepney driver in his sixties once told a passenger, “Ayoko ng matalino, gusto ko ‘yung galit sa mga mayayaman.” That line—raw, defensive, desperate—says everything. Populism didn’t just arrive; it was summoned by fatigue, inequality, and a people aching for someone who punches up.
The Filipino electorate is not drawn to populist leaders merely out of ignorance or whim, as the urban elite often smugly imply. What draws them in is the spectacle of power made human—leaders who speak like them, curse like them, feel their pain, and swear at the same villains they blame for their misery. It is not policy that moves the masses, but personality and proximity—how closely a candidate resembles them, or how powerfully that candidate pretends to. This isn’t stupidity; it is survival politics. When institutions fail, populism feels like the only accessible voice left.
One must also reckon with the failure of traditional governance to deliver basic dignity. The same surnames cycled through power for decades while poverty remained a fixed point in people’s lives. Public trust declined not because of gullibility, but because hope repeatedly decayed under polished campaign slogans and well-dressed thieves. In that vacuum, the populist emerges as a savior—not necessarily with solutions, but with a spectacle that looks like revolt. The louder the populist barks at the status quo, the more validated the electorate feels.
And let us not pretend that the system has ever encouraged critical, independent thinking. The country’s educational gaps are glaring, and media sensationalism thrives. Political maturity does not evolve in an environment where virality shapes information more than truth. Add to this a culture soaked in patronage—from barangay halls to the Senate floor—and what you have is an electorate conditioned to value closeness and charisma over competence and credibility.
Social media, the modern-day arena of gladiators, turbocharges this loyalty. Populists thrive online not only because they entertain, but because they offer catharsis. They meme themselves into relevance. They outshout facts. In a space where attention is currency, they spend outrage lavishly. And people pay attention not because they are misled, but because in a country where daily life is a constant negotiation with hardship, being heard, finally, furiously, feels like power.
But while populism feeds on discontent, it often leads to more control, not empowerment. History has shown us how populist leaders consolidate power by silencing dissent, attacking institutions, and replacing public accountability with blind loyalty. The sad irony is that those who vote for populists in the name of democracy may eventually mourn its loss. By the time that realization sets in, the damage is already institutionalized.
Still, blame alone does not fix this. It is intellectually lazy to laugh at the masses and declare them fools. What must be asked is why, despite years of broken promises and mounting evidence of incompetence, the same patterns repeat. There is a deeper hunger here—not just for food, jobs, or peace, but for dignity. Populist leaders promise, or at least perform, that dignity. Until others do the same—honestly, consistently, and without condescension—the cycle will continue.
To break it, those who aspire to lead must risk being boring, even unpopular, by choosing truth over spectacle. And those who seek to uplift this nation must first listen, not to ridicule, but to understand the pain that populism masks. If no one else is willing to walk through the mud with the people, then the crowd will always choose the loudest voice, no matter how reckless.
