In the high-stakes world of Iloilo City politics, where every handshake and nod is analyzed under a microscope, a marriage of sorts has been forced upon two seemingly mismatched souls.
Yes, we’re talking about the shotgun political wedding of Congresswoman Jam Baronda and Raisa Treñas for the 2025 elections—a partnership neither bride seems too thrilled about, but one that the orchestrators from behind the curtain insist is the best way to ensure a “united front.” If you ever wondered what political pragmatism looks like in human form, this might be it.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Oh no, Baronda had been busy with a different arrangement—a much more organic (and let’s admit, far more intriguing) pairing with none other than the ever-polarizing figure of former Mayor Jed Patrick Mabilog. Together, they were poised to present a formidable team, giving voters something fresh to talk about, a possible shift in the political winds of Iloilo City. In fact, Baronda even went so far as to personally oversee Mabilog’s candidacy filing—smoothing out every wrinkle, ensuring nothing would derail their carefully constructed narrative.
But alas, in politics, nothing is ever certain, except for the fact that someone, somewhere, is always pulling the strings. And so, in this grand telenovela, an unseen hand reached into the script and tore it up. Goodbye, Baronda-Mabilog dream team. Enter the forced union with Raisa Treñas, an alliance glued together by necessity, not desire.
And now here we are, watching this forced union between two figures who clearly have very different political tastes. Like awkward newlyweds at a party who can’t agree on the music, Baronda and Treñas support completely different vice mayoral bets and city council aspirants. It’s as if they agreed to walk down the aisle, but not before drafting separate prenuptial agreements with their own set of political friends. Unity, you say? Not so much.
This is what makes the Baronda-Treñas shotgun wedding so bewildering. It’s one thing to form a partnership for the sake of winning an election. But to back different candidates for vice mayor? To endorse different slates for the city council? It’s like going to war with two different armies, each marching to a different beat while supposedly fighting for the same victory. The contradictions are hard to miss.
The public, of course, watches this unfold with a mix of amusement and skepticism. After all, a partnership between Baronda and Treñas wasn’t exactly the match voters envisioned. It’s like seeing two characters in a soap opera suddenly confess undying love for each other after episodes of barely exchanging pleasantries. The chemistry? Questionable. The motives? Crystal clear.
The architects of this “unity pact” would have us believe that this marriage is for the greater good, that it will bring much-needed stability to Iloilo’s political landscape. But let’s not kid ourselves—this is no love story. This is cold, calculated strategy, where the common interest is survival, not passion. The so-called alliance between Baronda and Treñas seems to be the result of external pressures, a shotgun marriage arranged to keep certain powers in check and maintain the balance in Iloilo’s political ecosystem.
Perhaps the real irony here is how quickly and quietly Mabilog, once poised to return to the fray, was shuffled out of the spotlight. One can almost imagine him receiving a text at midnight, telling him the wedding’s been called off—not his, but the one in which he was supposed to play a starring role. How exactly this dismantling occurred is anyone’s guess, though insiders speak of “not-so-unseen” hands, moving like a conductor directing an orchestra that no one quite asked for.
Now, as this awkward pairing of Baronda and Treñas sets sail for 2025, one must wonder how long the ship will stay afloat. Forced unions rarely last. Without genuine chemistry or shared goals beyond winning, cracks are bound to appear. And if we know anything about Iloilo politics, those cracks will be pried open by rivals and critics alike, eager to see this match end in a spectacular divorce.
But until then, we sit back and watch the drama unfold. Will this unity pact limp across the finish line in the 2025 elections, or will it implode under the weight of its own contrivance? Either way, Iloilo’s political landscape has given us a spectacle, a political shotgun wedding where love is optional but winning is mandatory.
In the end, maybe this is less a love story and more a cautionary tale—a reminder that in politics, as in life, you can’t force chemistry. But you can force a partnership… for a while.
