28/06/2025
๐๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐ฉ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ข๐ง๐ฌ, ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ๐๐ฌ
post-election fatigue, performative progress, plastic waste.
Campaign season has come and gone, but its remnants cling like dustโloud, bold, impossible to ignore. Giant tarpaulins sag on rusting fences, candidates long out of office staring down at us with empty smiles. Streets once filled with motorcades now bear only the sound of engines and exhaust. Democracy, they say. But it looks more like debris.
Promises came easyโfree education, job creation, climate actionโcut into catchy phrases, repeated in jingles, printed on leaflets now soaked and torn in gutter water. The spectacle of change was staged on every corner. Now, the stages are gone, but the mess remains. A city left littered, not just with plastic, but with hope that once rallied in plazas. Performative patriotism. Recycled rhetoric. Real issues ignored.
๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐๐ฐ๐น๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฆ๐น๐ผ๐ด๐ฎ๐ป๐, ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐๐ฐ๐น๐ฎ๐ฏ๐น๐ฒ ๐ช๐ฎ๐๐๐ฒ?
Election season transformed the nation into a billboard. Trees were wrapped in faces. Walls were papered over with grins and slogans. Even the sky, at times, was obstructed by banners flapping against the wind. โNo to corruption,โ some readโnailed right onto electric posts without permits, without irony. Environmental laws were bent for campaign spectacle, as if the planet could be paused for politics. And now that the vote is cast, silence. More or less clean
up drives, more or less accountability. Only the weight of what was left behind.
๐๐ฒ๐๐๐ต๐ฒ๐๐ถ๐ฐ ๐๐ฐ๐๐ถ๐๐ถ๐๐บ
Candidates planted trees on camera, only to forget them off screen. Beach cleanups were photo-ops, not policy. Platforms were filled with buzzwords: โgreen,โ โsustainable,โ โinclusive.โ But ask any urban poor community submerged in flood after the first rain and the illusion breaks. The disconnect is starkโthose in office speak of progress, while those on the ground wade through water, duck, and navigate potholes left unfilled. Itโs a cycle. Election after election, the same names return, polished with new taglines, backed by the same machines. Change is promised like a product.
Bought, sold, repackaged.
๐ฃ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฐ๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป
To vote is a right, but it often feels like a transaction. Free shirts, rice, cell phone loadsโcurrency for allegiance. In a country where minimum wage canโt compete with inflation, is it really a choice?The poor donโt vote for hope; they vote for survival. And when itโs over, what do they get? A government office that forgets them. A barangay hall unresponsive to the needs of the people. A jeepney phaseout with no safety net. The people asked for help; they got hashtags.
๐๐น๐ด๐ผ๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐ต๐บ๐ถ๐ฐ ๐๐ฒ๐บ๐ผ๐ฐ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐
Social media didnโt just shape the narrativeโit staged the entire thing. Political opinions came pre-packaged in infographics. Discourse reduced to likes, shares, and branded colors. Misinformation campaigns moved faster than fact-checkers ever could. Youth were blamed for apathy, yet offered little to engage with beyond propaganda dressed as content. Now, the feed has moved onโbut the reality hasnโt. The difference between the elected and the electorate is distance. One gets a convoy; the other gets congestion. One posts โthank you for your supportโ; the other still waits for water to return in their faucet. In the end, democracy is printed in full color on tarpaulinโbut the future is still black-and-white for most.
Words by: Angelle Porras
Layout by: Louis Angeles
