Albert Einstein once said that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. By that measure, the Philippines may be one of the world’s most enduring examples. Every election cycle, the same surnames dominate the ballots. And every term, the same problems persist — poverty, corruption, and political paralysis.
Political dynasties have long been the backbone of Philippine politics. From the north to the south, family names are stronger than party platforms. The same clans that shaped the post-Marcos years still hold power today, often trading positions among relatives to skirt term limits. The 1987 Constitution rejects dynasties in principle, but Congress refuses to pass the enabling law that would end them. That’s what happens when lawmakers are the beneficiaries of the law.
The price of this stubborn continuity is steep. Dynasties blur the line between public service and family business. They weaken political competition, deter reformers, and make governance an extension of personal ambition. When power is inherited, accountability disappears, and mediocrity becomes the norm.
History offers stark lessons. China’s Ming dynasty decayed under the weight of corruption and complacency. Russia’s Czars fell when privilege deafened them to poverty. The French monarchy collapsed spectacularly when the people, starved and ignored, finally revolted. In each case, rulers mistook continuity for stability—and paid the price for ignoring change.
Today’s constitutional monarchies—like the United Kingdom, Japan, and Thailand—have learned restraint. Their kings and queens serve as national symbols, not political actors. They lend tradition, not dictate policy. Real power rests with elected officials answerable to the people.
“If the nation wants real change, it must first break the spell of the surname. An anti-dynasty law is one start, but public will is the real weapon. No law can fix what the electorate keeps rewarding at the polls. “
Philippine dynasties have no such restraint. They rule like royalty without the crown. They command local treasuries, deploy influence over police and courts, and build political machines that outlast any reform movement. Their grip leaves little room for young and capable leaders outside the family circle.
The danger is not only political but cultural. We have grown used to name recycling and inherited leadership. We tell ourselves that these families are “tested,” that change is risky, that it’s better to stay with the familiar. But this comfort has a cost: it keeps the country trapped in a loop of predictable disappointment.
If the nation wants real change, it must first break the spell of the surname. An anti-dynasty law is one start, but public will is the real weapon. No law can fix what the electorate keeps rewarding at the polls.
Because in the end, expecting new results from the same old families isn’t just naïve. It’s national insanity.
Anti-Dynasty legislation must ban not only simultaneous political positions but also succession regardless of vertical or horizontal lineage up to the 4th degree of consanguinity and affinity.
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.
