Intense Religiosity, Failed Political Morality
Every year, when Ash Wednesday arrives in the Philippines, churches overflow from bustling Manila to the smallest barangays. Foreheads bow. Ashes are traced in the shape of a cross. The priest’s words are solemn and unyielding: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Lent begins—the great Catholic season of fasting, repentance, and preparation for Easter.
For many Filipinos, the observance is sincere and heartfelt. Meat disappears from Friday meals. Devotions multiply. Social media timelines fill with black crosses and Bible verses. It is a nation visibly aware of its faith. The ritual is powerful. It reminds the believer of mortality, humility, and the need for conversion.
Yet beneath this public display of repentance lies a difficult question: what are we truly fasting from?
We fast from pork and chicken, but not from corruption. We give up sweets, but not the sweetness of political favors. We abstain from indulgent food, yet remain indulgent in defending dishonest leaders. The ashes on our foreheads symbolize humility, yet in politics we cling fiercely to family names, loyalties, and idols.
Surname-bias politics continues to shape elections. Familiar last names often outweigh competence and integrity. Public office becomes a family inheritance rather than a public trust. Dynasties flourish because voters feel comfortable with what they recognize. But Lent challenges comfort. It calls believers to detach from unhealthy attachments. If we can sacrifice meat for forty days, can we not sacrifice blind loyalty for the good of the nation?
Even more troubling is political idol fanaticism. Campaigns resemble fan clubs. Supporters defend their chosen candidates with almost religious fervor. Criticism is treated as betrayal. Wrongdoing is excused if it comes from “our side.” In a country so visibly devout, political devotion sometimes surpasses moral discernment.
True religion calls for self-examination. Fanaticism demands only defense. Faith teaches that no human leader is perfect; fanaticism insists that our leader must be. The irony is painful: we kneel in church to confess our sins, yet stand outside ready to justify corruption in public life.
Lent is not merely about diet. It is about discipline of desire—especially the desire for power, influence, and control. The deeper meaning of fasting includes justice. It means refusing to participate in systems that harm others. If one abstains from meat but sells one’s vote, the fast becomes empty. If one receives ashes yet spreads disinformation, the ritual loses its meaning.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that power, fame, and surnames all turn to dust. Political dynasties will not escape mortality. The question is whether we will allow this season to change not only our plates, but our principles.
Perhaps the real fast the nation needs is from corruption, from blind loyalty, and from idol worship in politics. Before the ashes fade from our foreheads, we must ask ourselves: is our Lent only a ritual, or is it a true conversion that reaches even the ballot box?