To live is to be political.

Every act, every silence, and every refusal to act likewise echoes our choices within the political system we belong to. Yet while everything is political, many Filipinos find themselves turning away from politics — disillusioned by a system where policies seem to benefit only those in power. 

But can we truly blame them?

In the backdrop, this growing apolitical stance is not born from ignorance, but from a deeply rooted frustration — a rejection of a system that perpetually betrays them, where voices of the many are drowned by the greed of the few.

History has been the witness of such. Under Spanish colonial rule, Filipinos were stripped of self-governance and denied even the most basic expressions of identity and autonomy. Power was concentrated in the hands of the colonizers and their allies, building a governance structure that benefited only a privileged elite. 

Long after colonial rule ended, this pattern has persisted.

During Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s regime, state oppression reached brutal heights — unwarranted arrests, desaparecidos, tortures, and similar human rights abuses to silence dissent. Even though the 1986 People Power Revolution ended the dictatorship and ushered in hopes for a renewed democracy, the decades that followed have shown how it only offered temporary change.

Now, Filipinos continue to grapple with a political system still defined by the same chains of the past. Political dynasties continue to rule, corruption remains at the center of governance, and state-sponsored killings, exploitation, and similar actions persist.

To date, politics remains a closed arena, where power circulates among the same few families, while the public, especially the poor, are cast as mere spectators. Those who attempt to resist are often silenced by cycles of patronage, vote-buying, and institutional neglect. 

To be stuck in a cycle of poor governance where power, rather than the people, stays at the core of public service, what is bred is not merely indifference, but disenchantment, apathy, and loss of hope — exhaustion, to say it simply.

This reality is reflected in the 2022 national elections, wherein out of 67.4 million registered Filipino voters, only 55.5 million of them voted. On the surface, this may seem as an impressive turnout, but with nearly 12 million Filipinos did not participate in voting, it leaves one stark question: why?

One explanation lies in the growing apathy among younger generations. As noted by Madalene Sta. Maria and Jose Maria Diestro Jr. from De La Salle University (DLSU) pointed out that political disengagement stems not from a lack of awareness but from disillusionment, a belief that participation makes no difference, that political systems will fail them regardless of the role they play. This perceived powerlessness threatens the very foundation of democratic life.

At the same time, dynastic politics tightens its grip, reinforcing the idea that power is inherited, not earned. In both national and local elections, familiar names dominate ballots, and this results in a system that restricts real political alternatives and erodes public trust in the possibility of change.

Exacerbating this are disinformation, media spectacle, and bandwagon thinking, where voters are swayed more by popularity than platforms or competence. A prime example of this is Robin Padilla, a well-known action star with no prior experience in elected office, who topped the 2022 Philippine Senate election with over 26.6 million votes, accounting for 47.91% of the total voter turnout.

These tactics thrive in an environment of poor education, limited access to information, and widespread poverty, especially in rural areas. Under these conditions, voting becomes a transactional act, not a transformative one, because survival trumps the fight for representation.

Some argue that apathy is a personal failing — that every Filipino has the right to vote, to speak, to act. But rights mean little without access, safety, or trust. In practice, fear, poverty, and misinformation silence millions long before their voices reach power. As Katherine Adelman asserts, “When voters say they have no interest in politics, what they are really saying is that they have never had meaningful exposure to politics.” Apathy, then, is not apathy at all — it’s exclusion.

The May 12 elections is more than just a date on the calendar — it is a turning point. The ballot is our weapon against oppression, our voice against indifference — a catalyst of true change.

Self-serving politicians thrive on our silence, but we are done whispering. We are the power, and we are awakening. We are the change we seek.

The views and opinion of the writer do not necessarily reflect those of the publication.