WELCOME TO THE Philippines—where politics is performance art, governance is occasionally improv, and the budget for tarpaulins seems to outpace actual flood control. If you missed President Bongbong Marcos Jr.’s fourth State of the Nation Address, don’t worry—we were watching, scrolling, screenshotting, and, like many Filipinos, soaking in both sarcasm and floodwaters.
Let’s talk about the moment that made every viewer at home side-eye their screen. The president, with all the gravitas he could summon, slammed the corruption behind failed flood-control projects. The irony? He was met with a standing ovation from a room likely sprinkled with those responsible for those very “palpak” projects. It was the kind of moment that makes you wonder: is this governance, or is someone auditioning for the sequel to Ang Probinsyano: The Senate Years?
As one netizen put it: “Marcos calling out flood corruption while the culprits cheer? That’s not a SONA, that’s a sitcom.” Another zinger went: “When he said ‘Mahiya naman kayo,’ somewhere a DPWH contractor choked on caviar and called his lawyer.”
Outside the plush walls of Batasang Pambansa, it was a different scene entirely. Rain poured. Protesters marched. Students from UP Diliman literally braved habagat to give the president a failing grade—live and unfiltered. Civil society groups, workers, and activists filled the streets with placards, chants, and unrelenting truth bombs about inflation, joblessness, and climate neglect. The kind of effort that deserved its own press con, but instead earned police barricades and barely a paragraph on mainstream media.
And just when we thought the optics couldn’t get more awkward, viral photos surfaced of government workers struggling to put up SONA banners while standing knee-deep in floodwater. If irony were a budget item, it would’ve been fully liquidated.
Meanwhile, over in Cebu, things were… surprisingly upbeat? Governor Baricuatro took the president’s “mahiya kayo” line and ran with it, declaring that SOPs and kickbacks have no place in the local government. Admirable, if not a little optimistic. Mayor Archival chimed in too, praising the “synchronization” of flood-control plans with DPWH. That’s right—synchronized swimming, but for local infrastructure. We wish them buoyancy.
Back in the air-conditioned comfort of post-SONA panels, analysts from OCTA and WR Numero were charitably calling the speech “realistic.” Marcos did say he knows the people are disappointed—though he stopped short of saying why or how that’s going to change. BusinessWorld labeled it the “toughest SONA yet,” which likely referred to delivery, not policy.
And then there was Sandro. Yes, Majority Leader Sandro Marcos, who praised the speech for being “in touch with the realities we live in right now.” We’re not sure if he meant the same realities where rice is still far from ₱20 per kilo, or the ones where “healthcare for all” exists mostly on PowerPoint slides.
Speaking of rice—the president once again resurrected the holy grail of campaign promises: ₱20 per kilo. Word on the street is it’s happening “in select areas,” which is code for “in places with ribbon-cutting ceremonies and drone shots.” Meanwhile, vendors and suppliers continue to shout into the void about subsidies, while consumers settle for overpriced lugaw and existential dread.
And here’s the thing—Filipinos aren’t looking for perfection. We’re not ungrateful. We know progress takes time. But we also know when we’re being sold the same speech repackaged with new metaphors and matching barongs. You can’t blame the people for being skeptical when speeches are sharp but actions remain soggy. You can’t talk flood control while literal floods take over your photo ops. You can’t say “no to corruption” while clinking glasses with its enablers.
So when Marcos said, “Mahiya naman kayo,” we felt that. Just… not in the way he probably intended.
As one tweet (equal parts savage and sincere) captured:
“Nice speech, Boss. Now show us the receipts.”
Or better yet, show us bridges that don’t collapse, prices that don’t skyrocket, and governance that isn’t allergic to transparency.
Until then, the real SONA doesn’t echo in the chamber of Congress. It echoes in flooded streets, on activist placards, in sarcastic Facebook posts, and in a nation that’s still waiting—for delivery, not just drama.
We’re tired, we’re witty, we’re watching. And yes, we’re still hoping.