The dark side of diskarte is when cleverness becomes cheating, and “I’m just being practical” becomes an excuse that breaks trust over time. In this article, Jef Menguin shows how diskarte can drift from creative problem-solving to selfish advantage—and what to do before it becomes your default. Apply the shift and pass it on at work so you win with wit, not with damage.
My first time in Calamba, I was at SM and trying to get to Dona Jovita.
I didn’t know the place. I didn’t know the routes. I didn’t know what “normal” looked like. I was new, and that shows—even if you don’t say it out loud.
Outside the mall, a tricycle driver asked where I was going.
“Dona Jovita,” I said.
He nodded like it was far, then gave me a price with full confidence: “Two hundred.”
I paid.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I thought it was fair. I paid because I didn’t know. In that moment, I trusted the person who looked like he knew.
Later, I found out the jeepney ride was ₱12.
That’s the part that stays with you. Not just the money. The feeling that you got played, and the system quietly allowed it to happen.
That wasn’t diskarte.
That was dugas.
We love diskarte when it means resourcefulness. When it means you found a way to solve a real problem with what you have. That kind of diskarte creates value. It helps people move.
But dugas borrows the word “diskarte” to look respectable. It pretends to be cleverness, but it’s really advantage-taking. It wins by making other people lose.
Let me show you what it looks like in real life.
The “diskarte” convoy
I used to expect motorcycles to counterflow. They’re small. They can squeeze through. You almost don’t notice them.
But what shocked me was when private cars started doing it.
One car enters the opposite lane like it’s testing the water. Then another follows. Then another. Suddenly, it becomes a convoy. It’s not “one driver being stubborn” anymore. It’s a pattern spreading in real time.
Then the ambulance shows up.
People give way, as they should. The lane opens. The road breathes for a moment.
And right behind the ambulance—like a shadow—two or three cars follow it. They ride the privilege of emergency. They borrow the urgency that isn’t theirs.
If you call them out, you’ll hear the excuse: “Diskarte lang.”
But that’s not diskarte.
That’s stealing a system meant to save lives.
How to handle it: Stay calm and predictable. Don’t chase them. Don’t block aggressively. Let the enforcers do their job if they’re present. Your job is safety.
How to avoid becoming that person: When you see an “opening,” ask a simple question: Is this opening meant for everyone—or for someone in need? If it’s for someone in need, don’t touch it. Don’t borrow it.
The jeepney line that never moves
I was in line for a jeep. I was waiting my turn. I could count it. Maybe three more jeepneys, then I’m next.
Then I noticed a group of students arrive.
They didn’t line up behind. Instead, they walked forward, scanned the crowd, found someone they knew, and stood behind them. One became three. Three became seven. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.
I stayed quiet. Most people stay quiet. You don’t want a scene. You don’t want to be the “bad guy.”
But here’s what happened: five jeepneys left, and I still didn’t get on.
That moment teaches a harsh lesson. Not about patience, but about power. In a system where cutting is tolerated, the honest person pays the price.
How to handle it (a simple, non-drama line): “Hi, the line starts back there. We’ve been waiting.”
Say it calm. Not loud. Not angry. Just clear.
If they ignore you, ask for support from the people near you: “Can we agree to follow the line? Para fair lang.”
This works better when it’s not just you speaking. Dugas survives when everyone looks away.
How to avoid it: Don’t “join” a line by finding a friend. If you came late, accept the back. That small self-control builds a culture you’ll benefit from later.
The bus terminal “attachment”
In Cubao, we were lined up at the HM bus terminal going to Los Baños.
Then I noticed a familiar move.
New arrivals would walk up to the front, start chatting with seniors, and act like they were together. They weren’t rude. They were friendly. They smiled. They made it look harmless.
But the intention was obvious: pretend you’re “with” someone who has priority, so you can move ahead too.
Some people even call it diskarte. Like it’s a smart life hack.
But again, it’s not.
Priority lanes exist to protect people who need protection. Seniors don’t get priority because it’s fun. They get it because they’ve earned it and because the system recognizes their vulnerability.
When you attach yourself to that lane, you’re not being smart.
You’re being selfish—quietly.
How to handle it (if you see it): If you’re near the staff, you can say: “Just checking—are they really with the senior? Because the line is getting cut.”
If there’s no staff, you can use the same calm line: “Let’s keep the line fair. Seniors first, then the rest of us.”
You’re not attacking anyone. You’re protecting the rule.
How to avoid it: Respect lanes you didn’t earn. Don’t borrow someone else’s privilege to speed up your day.
The line that matters
Diskarte creates value. Dugas takes value.
Diskarte helps things work. Dugas breaks things, then calls it “being street-smart.”
And the dangerous part is not that dugas exists. It’s that we normalize it. We laugh about it. We treat it like survival.
Pause for a second.
What’s one small dugas you’ve tolerated lately because you were tired? And what’s one small dugas you’ve done because it was convenient?
That question is not meant to shame you. It’s meant to wake you up.
The Diskarte Filter
Before you label anything as “diskarte,” run it through this:
Would I be okay if everyone did this? Who pays the price for my win? Would I still do it if my name was attached to it?
If it fails even one, stop calling it diskarte. Name it properly.
Try this today
In the next 24 hours, choose one moment to protect fairness.
Speak one calm sentence. Hold your place in line. Refuse the shortcut. Give credit. Respect the lane.
Because dugas spreads when good people stay silent and tired.
And it weakens when one person decides: Not today.
If you’re tired of knowing but not doing…
Let’s make one shift easier to live daily.
→ Shift Experiences
