THIS IS HOW ACCOUNTABILITY DIES: THE SUPREME COURT'S DUTERTE RULING

Hello, everyone! Welcome to our live TV talk show Law Made Easy for Dummies.

Tonight’s hot topic isn’t just about judges, lawyers, or politicians in fancy suits. It’s about who really holds power in our democracy—and whether Pinoys still have a way to hold powerful officials accountable.

We’re talking about the Supreme Court's decision that stopped the impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte—and why many are warning that it quietly weakened the balance between branches of government.

To help us unpack this, we’ve invited a very special guest—Mr. AI, our resident constitutional explainer, here to translate legal drama into everyday language. Please welcome Mr. AI.

MR. AI: Thank you for having me. I’m happy to breakdown a complicated constitutional mess in plain, digestible, bite sizes.

ME: Let’s dive right in. Mr. AI, ice-breaker question. In one sentence—what’s really going on here?

MR. AI: The Supreme Court didn’t just interpret the rules—it changed them mid-game and told Congress how to play from now on.

ME: That sounds serious. Are you saying the Court went beyond its role?

MR. AI: Yes. The Court is supposed to be the referee—reading and enforcing the rules.

But in this case, it acted like the referee who suddenly starts rewriting the rulebook while the game is already in progress.

ME: For viewers at home, let’s slow this down. Why did the Supreme Court stop the impeachment in the first place?

MR. AI: The Court said the impeachment violated the one-year rule and lacked due process. On the surface, that sounds technical and reasonable.

But the problem is how the Court reached that conclusion.

ME: What do you mean by “how”?

MR. AI: The Constitution never defines certain details—like how to count “session days.” Congress has always handled that internally.

But the Court stepped in and created its own definitions, even though those rules aren’t written in the Constitution.

ME: So, Congress was following its own process, and the Court said, “No, do it our way”?

MR. AI: Exactly. It’s like being told you failed an exam—not because your answers were wrong, but because the teacher quietly changed the grading system after you submit your paper.

ME: Let’s hear from our studio audience.

AUDIENCE 1: Is the Supreme Court actually allowed to interfere with Congress like this?

MR. AI: Under the Constitution, no.

Impeachment procedures belong to Congress. When the Court dictates how Congress must run those procedures, it crosses a line.

It stops being interpretation and starts becoming legislation.

ME: That sounds like a separation of powers problem.

MR. AI: It is. Separation of powers exists precisely to prevent one branch from becoming too powerful.

ME: Next question from the audience.

AUDIENCE 2: Does this ruling mean the Vice President has been cleared of all accusations?

MR. AI: No—and that’s a crucial point. The ruling did not say the Vice President is innocent.

It simply said the impeachment process should not continue. The allegations themselves were never examined, tested, or resolved.

ME: So, the case ended on a technicality?

MR. AI: Exactly. The door to trial was closed before anyone could even look inside the room.

ME: Our phone lines are open. Let’s take a call from a viewer at home.

CALLER 1: Why did the Supreme Court change its interpretation now? Didn’t it earlier say the complaint was filed on time?

MR. AI: Yes—and that’s what troubles many legal experts.

In mid-2025, the Court acknowledged the complaint was timely. But in early 2026, it redefined key terms and applied those new definitions retroactively.

That kind of reversal creates uncertainty. People need laws to be stable, not shifting after the fact.

ME: Like changing the rules after the game is over.

MR. AI: Exactly. And that undermines trust in the legal system.

ME: One last call from home.

CALLER 2: Why should Pinoys care about this? Most of us will never face impeachment.

MR. AI: Because impeachment is not just about one official—it’s about accountability.

If impeachment becomes nearly impossible, powerful officials become harder to challenge. And when leaders are beyond accountability, it’s the public that ultimately pays the price.

ME: That’s sobering. Mr. AI, final question. What is the most dangerous long-term effect of this ruling?

MR. AI: It sets a precedent that allows one branch of government to quietly weaken the others—using mere technical language.

Democracy rarely collapses in one dramatic moment. Sometimes, it erodes slowly, through legal decisions most people don’t immediately notice.

ME: And that’s why conversations like this matter.

MR. AI: Absolutely. The Constitution isn’t just a document for lawyers—it’s a safeguard for everyone.

ME: Mr. AI, thank you for making a complex issue understandable.

Today, we learned something fascinating. According to some very passionate defenders of power, you apparently need to be a lawyer before you’re allowed to have an opinion about the Constitution.

Yes—forget free speech. Forget citizenship. Forget common sense.

Not a lawyer? No opinion. Please remain seated.

When Senate President Tito Sotto dared to criticize the Supreme Court’s ruling, he was forthwith scorned online—not for being wrong, not for misreading the Constitution, but for committing the ultimate offense: he isn’t a lawyer.

Which raises an important national question: when did the Constitution become a members-only club? Did we miss the fine print that says, “For lawyer use only. Public viewing strictly prohibited”?

Because if that’s the rule now, then let’s be consistent. No complaining about taxes unless you’re a CPA. No opinions on flood control project unless you’re a civil engineer. And please—no comments on inflation unless you hold an economics degree.

And while we’re at it, we might as well cancel this entire show. Tonight’s guest, Mr. AI, is not a lawyer either. No bar number, no law firm, not even a framed diploma on the wall—yet here he was, calmly explaining constitutional issues better than half of social media.

Which brings us to an inconvenient truth. Samuel Johnson's words are illuminating.

In the age of AI, access to knowledge—even legal knowledge—is no longer locked behind mahogany doors and Latin phrases.

The Constitution was never meant to be mysterious. It was written to restrain power, not to protect it. It was designed for citizens to read, question, and—when necessary—push back.

Democracy doesn’t die when citizens ask questions. It dies when they’re told they’re not qualified to ask them.

Good night—and keep asking anyway.

Content & editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Images courtesy of ChatGPT image creator

Still photos courtesy of Getty Images, One News, & Dreamstime.com

FROM LANDSLIDE TO IMPEACHMENT: THE PRICE OF THE UNITEAM'S FAUSTIAN DEAL

 

There are political alliances that look practical, even brilliant, at first glance. Then there are those that feel almost mythical—too powerful, too convenient, too good to fail.

The UniTeam, forged by Bongbong Marcos and Sara Duterte for the 2022 Philippine elections, belonged to the latter. It promised unity, inevitability, and victory. And it took the crown—spectacularly.

Former Chief Justice Artemio V. Panganiban bannered his Inquirer column then "The Bongbong-Sara Juggernaut." In the same way, I referred to the formidability of the duo as Goliath in my ATABAY article “Leni vs Marcos-Duterte: A Modern David and Goliath Fight.”

But history, literature, and faith warn us about deals that appear irresistible. In the old legend of Faust, a man gains power and fulfillment by striking a bargain that ultimately costs him everything that matters.

Looking back, it is hard not to see UniTeam through that same lens: A Faustian bargain—one that flourished quickly, reigned predominantly, and is now demanding its price.

The Allure of the Shortcut

UniTeam was a political marriage for convenience, uniting two powerful dynasties: the Marcoses’ Solid North and the Duterte’s Solid South. Each brought loyal machinery, myth-making, and a deeply entrenched base. Alone, either camp faced vulnerabilities—legal, historical, moral. Together, they appeared unstoppable.

This was the allure of the bargain: a shortcut to power that bypassed hard questions about integrity. The combined force made opposition feel futile. Victory was not just likely; it felt preordained.

In Faustian terms, this is how the pact always begins—not with evil intentions, but with a refusal to wait for legitimacy to be earned rather than seized.

The Price Deferred

Legal and moral objections were not absent. Retired Supreme Court Senior Associate Justice Antonio Carpio warned plainly.

Others raised alarms about electoral integrity, even issuing position papers asserting that the May 9, 2022 elections were rigged. One voice went as far as to say that Smartmatic, not the Filipino people, elected Marcos, allegedly in conspiracy with Comelec—thereby stripping the presidency of legal and moral legitimacy.

These voices did not prevail. They never do at the height of a Faustian bargain. Power, once amassed, has gravity. Institutions bend. Courts decide. The machinery rolls forward.

And here, we must say the uncomfortable truth: the Filipino electorate played a decisive role. Through a landslide vote, millions effectively co-signed the bargain—like a modern-day blood compact—granting democratic cover to a morally fraught alliance. With victory secured, the deal flourished.

The Long Shadow of Compromise

Faustian bargains do not collapse immediately. They work—until they don’t.

Three years on, the consequences have come into sharper focus. Documented corruption scandals, particularly those tied to flood control projects, have exposed the moral compromises that once lay hidden beneath campaign slogans and unity rhetoric. 

The filing of twin impeachment cases against both the President and the Vice President—once the groom and bride of UniTeam—now marks what feels like a day of reckoning.

This is the cruel irony of such bargains: the very power that shields leaders early on magnifies their fall later. What is lost is not merely office or influence, but something harder to recover—a good name, moral authority, and an honorable legacy.

A Mirror Held to the Nation—Lessons Learned

Today, the impeachment cases confronting Bongbong Marcos and Sara Duterte are not merely proceedings against two elected officials. They are civic events—tests of how democracy reckons with the consequences of its own choices.

Thomas Jefferson’s line, “The government you elect is the government you deserve,” is often dismissed as cynical. Read plainly, it is instructional. In a democracy, responsibility does not end at the ballot box. When citizens reward shortcuts, excuse ethical compromise, or trade truth for political convenience, they help normalize the very conditions that make abuse of power possible.

The rise and fall of the UniTeam reveals recurring weaknesses in our civic culture: impatience with scrutiny, aversion to hard questions, and a tendency to mistake familiarity and force for competence and legitimacy. This is not a moral indictment of the electorate, but a civic diagnosis. Democracies do not fail only because leaders betray trust; they weaken when citizens stop demanding it.

If there is a lesson to be learned, it is this: accountability is not solely the work of courts, impeachment panels, or institutions. It is a continuing obligation of citizenship. A democracy survives not because leaders are flawless, but because the people insist—consistently and collectively—on standards that power cannot negotiate away.

The Hope Beyond the Bargain

And yet, even here, the story need not end in despair. Jesus reminds us.

But truth is not automatic, nor is freedom effortless. Truth demands courage— the courage to remember honestly, to judge fairly, and to resist the next irresistible bargain that promises salvation without repentance.

Faustian bargains always ask the same question: “What are you willing to give up to win?” History asks a far harder one afterward: “Was it worth it?”

As a people, we are now living inside that question. Whether this moment becomes mere political spectacle or genuine national reckoning depends on what we choose to do next—especially as we approach the crucial elections of 2028. This is not just another electoral cycle; it is an opportunity to decide whether we will repeat old bargains or finally learn from their cost.

Here, faith offers not an escape from responsibility, but a reason to hope responsibly. Through the prophet Jeremiah, God speaks to a people emerging from exile and failure.

This promise was never about shortcuts or power without accountability. It was about restoration after reckoning and renewal grounded in truth.

Hope, then, is not found in forgetting the past, but in confronting it—honestly, humbly, and together. If we choose truth over myth, character over charisma, and responsibility over convenience, the Philippines can yet step away from bargains that cost the nation its soul.

The future is still open. The question is whether we will enter it wiser.

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head image courtesy of ChatGPT image creator; art design by Canva

Still photos courtesy of Freepik, bookstore.org, IMT, indigomusic, Istock, & Shutterstock

DEMOCRACY UNDER THE HOOD: WHAT THE HEADLINES AREN'T TELLING US

Hello, everyone! Welcome to GeopoliTik Talk—the show where we slow down the headlines, lift the hood on world affairs, and ask the questions people are shouting at their TV screens but rarely hear answered.

What a week.

We’ve had calls to release long-buried files involving powerful names.

Federal agents in city streets.

Talk—yes, real talk—about elections being “optional.”

Foreign adventures that sound suspiciously like reality TV pitches.

And social media doing what it does best: turning confusion into outrage in under five seconds.

One headline screams “constitutional crisis.”

Another says “nothing to see here.”

And most people are left wondering: Is democracy breaking down… or just being stress-tested?

Today, we’re not here to panic.

We’re not here to preach.

We’re here to understand.

And to help us untangle what’s really going on beneath the noise, I’ve invited someone who doesn’t vote, doesn’t fundraise, and—most importantly—doesn’t dodge questions.

Let me introduce our special guest who will help us make sense of the burning issues confronting us today. Please welcome Mr. AI, our resident geopolitics explainer!

MR. AI: Thank you for having me I look forward to responding to your questions—and hopefully enlightening rather alarming everyone.

Segment1: Setting The Frame

ME: Let’s start simple. People keep hearing that “democracy is under threat.” Others say, “Relax, this is just politics as usual.” So which is it?

MR. AI: It’s neither apocalyptic nor autopilot.

Think of democracy like an old but reliable car.

When warning lights flash, you don’t immediately abandon it—but you also don’t crank up the car stereo and pretend nothing’s wrong. You pull over. You look under the hood.

What we’re seeing now are warning lights. Not proof of failure—but signals demanding attention.

Segment 2: The Headlines Everyone’s Talking About

ME: Let’s talk about the headlines. One lawmaker recently said, “No one should be above scrutiny.” That was about reopening controversial files involving powerful elites. Some cheer it. Others call it destabilizing. Which is it?

MR. AI: Transparency always feels destabilizing to people who benefit from silence.

The fact that citizens, journalists, and lawmakers are still demanding answers is actually a sign of democratic muscle. A system in trouble hides files. A system still functioning argues about opening them.

Messy? Yes. Dangerous? Only if accountability disappears.

ME: Now, a tougher one. Federal agents, heavy presence, local backlash, tragic loss of life. Supporters say “law and order.” Critics say “overreach.” What does this tell us?

MR. AI: It tells us legitimacy matters more than force.

Democracy isn’t just about power—it’s about consent. When people start asking “Who authorized this?” and “Who answers for this?” those aren’t radical questions. They’re democratic one.

The danger isn’t the enforcement. The danger is when enforcement stops explaining itself.

Segment 3: The Red Line—Election Talk

ME: Let’s go there. When public figures casually float the idea that elections are unnecessary, delayed, or inconvenient—some say it’s just talk. Others say it’s a red line.

MR. AI: That’s not just a red line. That’s the foundation.

You can debate policies. You can challenge court rulings. But when elections become optional, democracy becomes decorative.

History is very clear on this: systems don’t usually collapse when tanks roll in. They collapse when people stop defending the rules that keep tanks out.

Segment 4: Foreign Adventures & Global Image

ME: Now zooming out. Venezuela. Greenland. Bold moves, some say. Reckless, others argue. Does foreign behavior affect democracy at home?

MR. AI: Absolutely.

When a democracy starts sounding like a strongman abroad, people at home begin asking uncomfortable questions. Not because foreign policy must be perfect—but because credibility matters.

You can’t sell democracy as a moral example while practicing coercion like a shortcut.

Segment 5: Studio Audience Questions

AUDIENCE 1: Are we overreacting? Every generation thinks democracy is dying.

MR. AI: Fair question.

But here’s the difference: previous generations argued about who should win. Now we’re arguing about whether the rules still matter.

That’s new—and worth paying attention to.

AUDIENCE 2: Can democracy fix itself, or does it need a reset?

MR. AI: Democracy doesn’t need a reset button.

It needs maintenance—and participation. Systems don’t heal themselves. People heal them.

Segment 6: Phoned-In Questions

CALLER 1: Is polarization the real enemy?

MR. AI: Polarization isn’t the enemy. Dehumanization is. 

Democracy can survive disagreement. It cannot survive when opponents become enemies instead of rivals.

CALLER 2: What should ordinary people actually do?

MR. AI: Pay attention.

Demand explanations. Defend processes, not personalities.

Democracy survives when citizens refuse to outsource responsibility.

Final Word

MR. AI: Here’s the quiet truth.

Democracy isn’t special because it avoids crises. It’s special because it allows correction without collapse.

The headlines we’re seeing are not proof that democracy has failed. They’re proof that the experiment is being tested.

What happens next depends less on leaders— and more on whether citizens still care enough to look under the hood instead of walking away.

Closing

ME: Personally speaking, this whole shebang wasn’t just about politics or policies; it was about the very soul of a nation—the ideals it once promised, and the stark, sometimes unsettling reality it now wrestles with.

America—a country that shaped my education, colored my worldview, and even helped shape my identity as a Filipino—sometimes now feels like a distant acquaintance rather than the vibrant, familiar friend I once knew.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we watch, why we question, and why we care—because the experiment of democracy, for all its noise and chaos, still calls for our attention, our thought, and our conscience.

Thank you, Mr. AI, for helping us slow things down and think a little deeper.

And thank you to our audience—here in the studio and at home—for staying curious in an age that rewards outrage more than understanding.

This has been GeopoliTik Talk.

I’m your host—see you next time, when we once again ask: “What’s really going on?”

God bless everyone!

Content & editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head image and still photos courtesy of ChatGPT image creator & Adobe Stock

AMERICA DIVIDED: WHEN WAR BECOMES A DISTRACTION, NOT A SOLUTION

 Early mornings have a way of softening memory.

A year after the vacation with my wife abroad, I sometimes revisit it quietly—before the house wakes up, before the world intrudes. Coffee cooling beside me, light just beginning to reach the corners of the room, memory does the rest.

Belgium comes back first: the hush of its farm roads, mist rising over pastures, cattle moving with unhurried patience. Villages stitched together by stone and steeple, bread warm from the oven, life paced by the rhythm rather than urgency. It felt like a country content to breathe—quietly reminding me that simplicity can be its own kind of wealth.

Then Texas.

Suburban streets measured and calm, trees easing into fall, American life going about its business with reassuring ordinariness. From afar, America often feels most itself in these small, unguarded moments—before slogans, before headlines, before the machinery begins to hum.

I remember thinking then that the country felt tired, but still familiar. Divided, yes—but functioning. Like a family that no longer agrees at the dinner table yet still shows up to eat.

When The Headlines Arrive

Out of habit, I opened my laptop.

And just like that, the mood changed.

“Trump’s Attack on Venezuela Is Illegal and Unwise”

“U.S. Invasion of Venezuela: Power and Profit”

“U.S. Strikes in Venezuela Trigger Regional and Global Alarm”

The quiet morning evaporated.

This no longer felt like a reflection. It felt like a screenplay I had seen before.

Right on cue, “Wag the Dog” returned—America’s most honest documentary disguised as fiction. Robert De Niro, unbothered. Dustin Hoffman, inspired. A presidency under pressure. A public in need of diversion.

“We need a war.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Mark Twain once warned that history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes. In Washington, it doesn’t even bother rhyming. It just releases a remastered version.

A Familiar Script, A Different Stage

In the film, they chose Albania. Why Albania? Because nobody knew anything about it.

Today, Venezuela steps into the role. Greenland waits patiently in casting—same mystery, same “why not?” energy, plus a certain because-we-can audacity. Geography becomes prop. Strategy turns into set design. Patriotism gets mood lighting.

As George Orwell observed, political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable. Add a flag, and suddenly the soundtrack swells.

But here’s the trouble with reruns: the audience remembers the ending.

Vietnam: When Might Failed To Persuade

Vietnam was meant to demonstrate power. The United States possessed overwhelming military superiority—advanced air power, massive troop deployments, unmatched resources. On the battlefield, it won many tactical engagements. Cities were taken, enemy casualties were high. Militarily, it was rarely defeated in conventional sense.

And yet, it lost the moral and political war.

Globally, the war came to symbolize imperial overreach. Images of napalm, civilian casualties, and My Lai shattered America’s moral narrative. Domestically, public support collapsed. Internationally, legitimacy eroded. In the end, the U.S. withdrew, and Vietnam was unified under the very force it sought to stop.

Vietnam remains the textbook lesson: overwhelming might can win battles, but without moral credibility and political legitimacy, it cannot secure victory. Might is impressive—but it is not persuasive.

History, unlike press briefings, keeps receipts.

Foreign adventures are often sold as national unifiers. In practice, they tend to unite everyone else—neighbors, regions, even allies—against the adventurer.

Closer To Home: The Same Playbook At Sea

This script feels uncomfortably familiar closer to home.

Here in the Philippines, we have watched the same drama unfold in maritime form. When domestic pressures rise, the Dragon’s “historical claim” conveniently surfaces. Swarms of maritime militia vessels appear, employing water cannons and dangerous maneuvers. Maps grow creative. National pride is summoned on cue. The West Philippine Sea becomes a stage, complete with uniforms and talking points.

Different superpower. Same playbook.

Dwight Eisenhower once cautioned Americans to beware the military-industrial complex. He did not offer it as satire, but as warning. Somewhere along the way, the warning became a business model.

Empires do not stumble because they lack strength. They stumble because they confuse spectacle with unity, noise with consent, and distraction with legitimacy.

As Hannah Arendt noted, the ideal subject of total power is not the convinced believer, but the person for whom the distinction between fact and fiction no longer exists.

A Domestic Mirror Of Division

That distinction grows blurrier this week.

As foreign-policy theatrics dominated screens, another headline ignited nationwide outrage: the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old American, during an immigration enforcement operation. Protests erupted across cities. Officials issued competing narrative. Trust eroded in real time.

Here lay the stark microcosm of “Divided America”: the clash between a citizen’s life and the machinery of state power; justice contested by authority; outrage answered by procedure. If America’s divisions were cracks in a façade, this moment made them visible—uncomfortably, unmistakably.

What Does Not Test Well

I closed my laptop. The coffee had gone cold. Outside, morning light continued doing what it always does—indifferent to spin doctors, unmoved by strategy memos.

America does not need a war.

Neither does anyone else.

What divided nations need is quieter and far less cinematic: repair, restraint, and the courage to face their own domestic mess without changing the channel to divert the homecourt viewers.

Unfortunately, as any producer will tell you, that doesn’t test well with audiences.

Content & editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head Image courtesy of ChatGPT image creator

Still photos from travel album, movies anywhere, Freepik, Indo-Pacific Defense, Richmond Free Press

IF VENEZUELA CAN BE TAKEN, WHO'S NEXT? SOVEREIGNTY, EMPIRES, & PHILIPPINES

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Geopolitic Talk—where world affairs drop by our living rooms without knocking.

Before anything else, let me read tonight’s headline—the kind that makes you put down your coffee and say, “Wait… Is this for real?”

Breaking News: U.S. forces launch a midnight incursion into Venezuela, capture President Nicolas Maduro, and extract him via military aircraft—igniting global outrage over sovereignty, power, and precedent.

According to initial reports, the operation was swift, surgical, and justified—at least by Washington—as an act of “international justice.” Critics, however, are calling it a dangerous escalation: a reminder that in today’s world, borders can dissolve overnight—if you’re weak, isolated, or strategically convenient.

Which brings us to today’s question: If this can happen to Venezuela… who’s next?

To help us unpack this explosive moment—and what it means for us Filipinos—we’re honored to have a very special guest. He doesn’t need a passport, a visa, or diplomatic clearance—just good questions and an open mind.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our resident geopolitics explainer, Mr. AI!

AUDIENCE [applause, a few whistles, someone shouts: “Go AI!”]

MR. AI: (smiling, playful) Thank you, thank you! I feel like I just parachuted into the studio—no drones, no Delta Force, just pure conversation. Much safer… for now.

SEGMENT 1: Sovereignty As Spectacle

ME: Mr. AI, let's dive straight in. The U.S. storms Venezuela, captures a sitting president, flies him out like a prized artifact. Filipinos watching the news are asking: Is sovereignty now just a stage prop in empire's theater?

MR. AI: That’s exactly the right metaphor. Imagine sovereignty as crown—resting on a velvet cushion, guarded by tradition, law, and international norms.

In Caracas, the eagle swooped down, snatched the crown mid-performance, and announced: “Justice served!”

But here’s the uncomfortable question: Justice for whom?

For the Venezuelan people struggling under sanctions and shortages? Or for an empire reinforcing its storyline—that it can enter, extract, and exit at will?

AUDIENCE [Murmurs. One voice: “Parang sine!”]

SEGMENT 2: The Philippines As The Undecided Act

ME: Speaking of sine—this really feel episodic.

Act I: Russia invades Ukraine.

Act II: America raids Venezuela.

Act III: China rehearsing lines for Taiwan.

So, where does the Philippines enter this play?

MR. AI: Ah—Act IV: The Archipelago’s Suspended Curtain.

Picture the West Philippine Sea as a shimmering stage set. The dragon studies it, rehearsing monologues about “historic rights.” The eagle whispers reassurance of protection, alliances, and shared values.

But behind the curtain—far from the cameras—the script may already be sketched in marbled halls:

Ukraine—mine.

Venezuela—yours.

Taiwan—contested.

Philippines… pending.

AUDIENCE [gasps, uneasy laughter]

ME: So, what are we—extras waiting for our cue?

MR. AI: Worse. You risk becoming props. A reef here. A shoal there. Sovereignty traded like marbles on a table.

The danger isn’t only invasion—it’s erasure. Being reduced to scenery in someone else’s grand narrative.

SEGMENT 3: Spontaneous Audience Questions

ME: At this point, let’s hear from the audience. I see hands going up already. Yes, sir—please.

FISHERMAN: (holding his cap) Mr. AI, kung kaya nilang hulihin si Maduro sa disyerto, paano naman kami sa dagat? Eh, kung isang araw, may dragon na lang na manghuhuli ng bangus at sovereignty namin sa West Philippine Sea?

AUDIENCE [a ripple of laughter, then uneasy murmurs]

MR. AI: That’s not a simple question. You cast your nets for fish but empires cast theirs for nations. The dragon doesn’t just want bangus—it wants the whole reef as its aquarium. The question is: will you let your sovereignty be filleted like a catch of the day, or will you guard your waters as covenant, not commodity?

STUDENT: (sporting university jacket) Sir, parang Netflix series na lang ang geopolitics—Ukraine, Venezuela, Taiwan. Pero kami mga estudyante, tanong namin: are we just binge-watching our own future, or do we get to write the script?

AUDIENCE [chuckles, some clap at the clever phrasing]

MR. AI: Ah, the binge-watch generation! Empires love to keep you glued to their cliffhangers. But sovereignty isn’t a series—it’s a manuscript. If you only watch, you become extras. If you write, you become authors. The pen is mightier than the drone, but only if you dare to use it.

AUDIENCE [nods, soft murmurs of agreement]

JEEPNEY DRIVER: (arms crossed) Boss, kung ganyan ang laro ng mga empires, parang boundary lang kami. Sila ang may ruta, kami ang nagbabayad ng gasolina. Saan pupunta ang jeep ng Pilipinas kung ang manibela hawak ng dragon at agila?

AUDIENCE [cheers, then nods in agreement]

MR. AI: Kuya, the jeepney is the perfect metaphor. Empire wants to drive, but it doesn’t know your streets. If you surrender the wheel, you end up in a dead end of dependency.

SEGMENT 4: Phoned-in Questions From Home

ME: Powerful questions. And speaking of voices beyond this studio—we have two callers on the line. Good evening, you’re on Geopolitic Talk.

MOTHER: Mr. AI, if sovereignty is like a crib, who’s guarding it? Because if empire is the babysitter, the child might grow up without its own story?

AUDIENCE [sighs, a mix of empathy and reflection]

MR. AI: Nanay, you’ve nailed it. Sovereignty is a crib, and empire is the babysitter who tells the child bedtime stories that erase the parents. The danger is not just invasion—it’s inheritance. If you don’t guard the crib yourselves, your children will grow up believing their lullabies were written in Washington or Beijing.

LAWYER: Good evening po. Tanong ko lang—may parallel ba ‘yung nangyayari ngayon kay Maduro, sa mga issue noon tungkol sa sovereignty at kidnapping allegations kay dating Pangulong Duterte?

Parang parehong sinasabing “internal issue,” pero biglang naging international.

ME: That’s a heavy one, Mr. AI?

MR. AI: It is—and it’s a fair comparison.

In both cases, sovereignty is invoked like a shield— “This is our internal affair.” But once international crimes, human rights, or global power interests enter the picture, that shield becomes… porous.

The difference lies in who controls the narrative and who holds leverage. Maduro stands isolated, sanctioned, boxed in. Duterte, at the time, operated within alliances that complicated any direct action.

The lesson? Sovereignty is strongest when institutions are credible, justice is internal, and accountability is real.

Otherwise, others will claim the right to step in—selectively.

Final Word & Closing

ME: (leaning forward) So what’s the civic critique here, Mr. AI—especially for us Filipinos?

MR. AI: (calm, firm) That you must stop being passive spectators.

If sovereignty is treated as theater, then you must insist on being authors, not actors reading someone else’s script.

A nation’s covenant is not written in Washington. Not drafted in Beijing. It is carved in memory—in your seas, your struggles, and your insistence on dignity.

And remember: in theater, the audience has power. If you refuse to clap for empire’s absurdity, the illusion collapses.

AUDIENCE [sustained applause, omeone shouts: “Tama!”]

ME: Thank you, Mr. AI. Today’s lesson is clear. Empires may treat nations as props—but the Philippines must hold the pen.

Because if we don’t write our own role, history will cast us—and edit us out without apology.

That’s Geopolitic Talk today. Thank you to our audience here and at home.

Until next time—keep your eyes open, your questions sharp, and your sovereignty sacred.

Good day and God bless everyone!

Content & editing put together in collaboration with Bing Microsoft AI-powered Co-pilot and ChatGPT

Head image courtesy of ChatGPT

Still photos courtesy of The Wall Street Journal, CNN, CBC, Foreign Policy, Bloomberg, KPTV,  Vector Stock ,& Your Dictionary