| Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash
In the 1987 Philippine Constitution, Article II, Section 26 reads like a rallying cry for democratic renewal:
“The State shall guarantee equal access to opportunities for public service and prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law.”
Yet nearly four decades later, this clause remains a ghost—quoted often, enforced never. The reason is simple and damning: those tasked with defining political dynasties are usually dynasts themselves. When public office becomes private property, the ruination of a republic becomes most imminent.
Political dynasties are not just about surnames—they are about systems. In the Philippines, over 70% of House members and 80% of Senators hail from political families. These dynasties dominate not only elections but also budgets, appointments, and legislation. They control the levers of power across generations, often treating public office as an inheritance rather than a public trust.
This concentration of political power breeds a parallel concentration of financial control. Dynastic politicians often have privileged access to government contracts, discretionary funds, and regulatory influence. In many provinces, the same families own construction firms, media outlets, banks, and landholdings—creating a feedback loop of wealth and influence that crowds out competition and accountability.
The cost of entrenched power and consequences are stark. Policy is distorted. Legislation often favors entrenched interests over public welfare. Budget capture in the form of infrastructure and social programs is routed through dynastic networks, inflating costs and weakening oversight. Youth exclusion results in aspiring leaders without family ties facing insurmountable barriers to entry. Corruption risk is amplified when power is concentrated, and checks and balances erode.
It is not just bad governance—it’s systemic inequality masquerading as democracy.
Anti-dynasty bills die quietly. Since 1987, dozens of bills have been filed to define and prohibit political dynasties. Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago’s SBN 2649, Senator Panfilo Lacson’s SBN 3, and various House versions proposed bans on relatives up to the second degree from running or succeeding in office. But none have passed. Most are stalled in committee—often chaired by dynasts themselves.
“If Congress won’t act, the public must. If dynasties won’t yield, coalitions must rise. And if the Constitution is to mean anything, it must be defended not just in courtrooms, but in classrooms, barangays, and ballot boxes.”
The irony is brutal: the very people meant to dismantle dynasties are their beneficiaries. Other countries have taken steps to curb dynastic politics:
- Indonesia bars immediate family members from running in the same district.
- Mexico bans consecutive re-election to prevent entrenchment.
- Nepal explicitly prohibits hereditary succession in public office.
The United States, while lacking a formal ban, relies on competitive primaries, campaign finance laws, and media scrutiny to check dynastic power. These mechanisms are imperfect—but they offer friction. In the Philippines, dynasties face no such resistance.
Article II, Section 26 is not just a legal provision—it’s a moral imperative. Its dormancy reveals a more profound crisis: when democracy is hollowed out by inherited power, reform must come from outside the system. It must translate to “From Clause to Campaign,” such as defining dynasties in law, with enforceable rules on succession and simultaneity, creating public dashboards to track familial concentration in government, mobilizing youth-led audit platforms to expose dynastic capture, and framing anti-dynasty reform as generational renewal, not just legal housekeeping.
If Congress won’t act, the public must. If dynasties won’t yield, coalitions must rise. And if the Constitution is to mean anything, it must be defended not just in courtrooms, but in classrooms, barangays, and ballot boxes.
Finally, the state of the nation, each local government unit, and the issues of deprivation, poverty, impunity, and deplorable corruption are all indictments of the status quo – including political dynasties.
The failure of the status quo, particularly political dynasties, is self-evident. The ever-increasing need for public schools, public hospitals, public health centers, social welfare services, ubiquitous ‘unli’ ‘ayuda’, even burial benefits, is all evidence of ever-grinding poverty. In the Philippines setting, who in their right mind would choose public services if they can afford private facilities?
Article II, Section 26 is a promise. It’s time we made it a law.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dr. Crispin Fernandez advocates for overseas Filipinos, public health, transformative political change, and patriotic economics. He is also a community organizer, leader, and freelance writer.
