There’s a province where the governor is the father. The congressman is the son. The mayor of the capital town is the daughter. The uncle is a barangay captain. And when elections come around, they switch chairs like it’s a family game of musical chairs.
You’ve seen this story, di ba? Maybe in Cavite, in Ilocos, in Maguindanao, in Cebu, in Davao—or even in your own municipality. We joke sometimes that the ballot looks like a family reunion list. But behind that joke is something not funny at all: the slow suffocation of our democracy.
The truth is, political dynasties have become the default operating system of Philippine politics. It’s not about who has the best plan, who listens to the people, or who works hardest. Too often, it’s simply about who your last name is, and whether your family already holds power.
And yet, when we go back to the Constitution we ratified in 1987—after the Marcos dictatorship, after we shouted “never again”—we will find something remarkable. Article II, Section 26 says:
“The State shall guarantee equal access to opportunities for public service, and prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law.”
Clear, isn’t it? Our democracy promised that no family should monopolize political power. That every Filipino should have a fair shot at leading. That elections should be genuine contests of ideas—not family inheritance.
But here’s the painful truth: almost 40 years later, there is still no law defining and prohibiting political dynasties. Congress—the very institution filled with dynasties—has never passed it.
So here we are. Stuck. Disappointed. Cynical, even.
But we don’t have to be.
This essay is about why we need to break these chains. Why an Anti-Political Dynasty Law is not just constitutional housekeeping, but a lifeline for our democracy, our economy, and our future. And why, if we truly want progress, this law is one of the boldest, bravest steps we can take.
The Constitutional Mandate and the Broken Promise
When our framers wrote the 1987 Constitution, they had just come out of the shadow of authoritarian rule. The Marcos regime had concentrated power in one family for 20 years, and the framers wanted to make sure that wouldn’t happen again.
So they put in Article II, Section 26. They didn’t mince words: the State must prohibit dynasties. But they also added “as may be defined by law,” which meant Congress needed to craft an enabling law.
That was 1987. It is now 2025.
Almost four decades have passed. Six presidents have come and gone. Congress after Congress has filed bills. But not one has survived into law. Why? Because those who would have to pass the law are the very ones who would be most affected by it.
It’s like asking turkeys to vote for Thanksgiving.
The broken promise is this: our democracy said every Filipino should have equal access to public service. But in reality, unless you carry the right surname, your chances are slim.
This gap between what the Constitution says and what the reality is—that’s not just a legal gap. It’s a moral gap. It’s a trust gap. And it’s one reason many Filipinos say, “Eh, wala namang pagbabago kahit bumoto tayo.”
The Rise and Grip of Political Dynasties
Now let’s look at the numbers.
In the 2025 midterm elections, studies showed:
- 87% of provincial governors came from political dynasties.
- 80% of district representatives were dynastic.
- 67% of all House members were from political clans.
- 53% of mayors belonged to dynasties.
That’s not democracy. That’s oligarchy with ballots.
And the trend is not improving. In fact, dynasties are spreading. They are no longer just in big provinces; they now dominate even in smaller municipalities and party-list groups.
You know the names. Estradas in San Juan. Dutertes in Davao. Revillas in Cavite. Marcoses in Ilocos. Villafuertes in Camarines Sur. Ampatuans and Mangudadatus in Maguindanao.
But beyond the famous clans, there are hundreds of local families who control towns and cities like their personal haciendas.
Why do they thrive? Because they have money, networks, and machinery. Because incumbents use their power to ensure their relatives inherit it. And because ordinary citizens, given limited choices, often vote for familiar names.
The result? Power circulates in the same bloodlines. New leaders struggle to break in. Citizens are offered the illusion of choice but not the substance of it.
Why Dynasties Are Dangerous
Some might say: “So what if it’s all in the family? As long as they deliver, it’s fine.”
I understand that. But let’s look deeper at why dynasties are dangerous—not just for politics, but for the everyday lives of Filipinos.
They weaken democracy. When two or three names dominate the ballot, elections stop being about genuine competition. They become coronations. Democracy depends on diversity of voices. Dynasties shrink that diversity.
They breed corruption. If the mayor is the brother, and the governor is the father, who will investigate wrongdoing? Accountability weakens when power is kept inside the family. It becomes easier to cover up, to protect one another, to silence critics.
They block social mobility. Leadership becomes a matter of inheritance, not merit. A brilliant teacher, a passionate NGO worker, a young entrepreneur—they can’t easily run for office because the machinery is already locked by political clans. The result? The best and brightest are excluded.
They entrench poverty. Studies from UP and Ateneo show that provinces dominated by dynasties have higher poverty rates. Why? Because dynasties benefit from keeping citizens dependent—on patronage, on handouts, on favors. When people remain poor, they remain controllable.
They encourage violence and patronage politics. Remember the Maguindanao massacre of 2009? Fifty-eight people were killed, including 32 journalists. It was a direct product of clan warfare. Dynasties often defend their turf not just with ballots, but with bullets.
This isn’t just theory. We’ve seen it. We’ve lived it.
Common Arguments Against Anti-Dynasty Laws—and Why They Fail
Now, dynasties have their defenders. Let’s hear their arguments—and calmly, politely, dismantle them.
“The people should decide.”
Sounds democratic, right? But when choices are limited to relatives of incumbents, the people are not really deciding. They are choosing between members of the same clan. That’s not freedom. That’s entrapment.
“It violates equal protection.”
Some lawyers argue that banning families from running discriminates against them. But the Constitution itself mandates prohibition. The law isn’t targeting individuals; it’s correcting systemic imbalance.
“Not all dynasties are bad.”
True. Some dynastic politicians are hardworking and honest. But the system itself is harmful. It blocks equality of opportunity. Even if there are good apples, the orchard is still poisoned.
“It’s part of Filipino tradition.”
So was utang na loob in politics. So was patronage. So was vote-buying. But tradition should not excuse injustice. We are not bound to repeat harmful practices just because they are old.
What an Anti-Dynasty Law Should Contain
So what should this law look like?
It must start with a clear definition of political dynasty. The law should prohibit relatives within the second degree of consanguinity or affinity from running simultaneously or successively in the same city, district, or province. Congress can later expand this to the fourth degree, which would cover cousins, uncles, and aunts.
It must ban both simultaneous and successive holding of power. No father-to-son succession. No husband-to-wife handoff. No brother-to-sister “substitution.”
It must apply to all levels—from barangay to Congress, including party-list nominees.
COMELEC must be empowered to enforce it, requiring sworn statements of non-dynasty, allowing citizen petitions for disqualification, and denying candidacies found in violation.
There must be penalties. Disqualification. Nullification of votes. Administrative fines.
And to make it practical, there can be a transition period of two election cycles so that political families have time to adjust.
This is not radical. It is constitutional compliance. It is fairness.
The Path Forward: Why Now?
Why must we push this now?
Because dynasties are expanding. In 2025, they already control more than four-fifths of provinces. By 2028, without reform, we may wake up to find our democracy completely hereditary.
Because poverty is stubborn. Studies show dynastic provinces lag behind in human development. If we want real inclusive growth, we must open politics to new leaders who bring new ideas.
Because young Filipinos are watching. Many feel cynical: “Politics is just for the rich families.” Passing this law can restore faith, telling the youth: “You, too, can lead someday.”
Because democracy is fragile. History has shown us how quickly it can collapse. Breaking dynasties strengthens our defenses against authoritarianism.
The best time to act was in 1987. The second best time is now.
A New Call to Action
We, the people, cannot sit idly by. If Congress is hesitant, it is our role as citizens to raise our voices. To demand action. To remind them that they swore to uphold the Constitution—not just the parts that are convenient for their families.
This is not about hatred for certain surnames. It is about fairness. It is about opening doors. It is about giving every Filipino child—whether born in a mansion in Forbes Park or in a nipa hut by the sea—a fair chance to serve the country.
Imagine a Philippines where leadership is not inherited but earned. Where candidates win not because of their last name, but because of their vision, integrity, and service. Where every barangay, every town, every province is led by the best among us—not just the most connected among us.
That is the Philippines we deserve.
And that is why we must break the chains. Pass the Anti-Political Dynasty Law.
Every Filipino deserves a chance to lead—not just those born into a last name.
