In the heat of Iloilo City’s evolving political landscape, truth is once again the first casualty.
The recent public exchange between Mayor Jerry Treñas and Representative Julienne “Jamjam” Baronda has dragged back into the spotlight a controversy long thought to have run its course: the drug allegations once hurled against former mayor Jed Patrick Mabilog.
Treñas insists he never directly accused Mabilog of anything during his recent remarks. But the implications were unmistakable—his statements painted a picture of suspicion, doubt, and guilt by association. He referenced “common knowledge” that Mabilog had links to drug lords and suggested that the presidential pardon granted to the ex-mayor earlier this year was a tacit admission of guilt.
This is where the line between truth and political storytelling begins to blur.
The mayor cited former House Speaker Pantaleon Alvarez, who allegedly told him there was “mounting evidence” against Mabilog. Yet he brushed aside the more authoritative and recent statement of Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA) Director General Moro Virgilio Lazo, who, in a congressional hearing, clarified that Mabilog’s inclusion in the Duterte-era “narco list” stemmed solely from a speech—not from validated intelligence or official investigation.
Baronda, for her part, responded with full-throated condemnation. She pointed out the contradiction in Treñas’ choice of sources—taking Alvarez’s offhand account over the PDEA chief’s testimony. She rightly noted that these attacks distract the public from urgent city issues such as rising debt, health care gaps, education, and the impact of property tax hikes.
But even Baronda’s response, while measured, was not without political undertones. Her criticisms doubled as a campaign pitch—setting up a contrast between her version of “integrity” and what she portrayed as the mayor’s discredited leadership. In truth, both camps appear more interested in sharpening their electoral blades than clarifying facts.
What makes this exchange even more jarring is that it comes despite the existence of a so-called “unity ticket” between the camps of Treñas and Baronda—an alliance reportedly brokered by national figures in the hope of avoiding a bitter local fight.
If this is what unity looks like, then the public has every right to be skeptical.
The supposed alliance, born from pragmatism and pressure rather than principle, is now unraveling in plain view. It underscores how fragile, even illusory, these political arrangements can be when power and ambition remain unresolved at the core.
This troubling discourse—heavy on innuendo, light on proof—is familiar to Filipinos.
We saw it during the Duterte years, when lists were published without evidence and reputations were destroyed without trial. Iloilo City, infamously tagged as the “most shabulized city,” bore the brunt of this narrative. That label stained not only the city’s leadership but also its people. Treñas himself once fought to remove that mark from the city. Now, ironically, he is citing the same narrative to question his political rivals.
The mayor cannot have it both ways.
He cannot decry the city’s drug stigma while also reviving it when it suits a political goal. He cannot claim moral high ground while brushing aside official testimonies and resorting to personal interpretation of a legal pardon. The statement that Mabilog “cleared himself through his own self-serving testimony” is not a valid counter to actual testimony by agency officials. Nor is “public perception” a substitute for due process.
Likewise, Baronda must be careful not to turn every criticism into a victim narrative.
The public deserves more than two sides talking past each other. They deserve leaders who will debate policy, not personality; who will argue over facts, not feelings.
This episode should prompt voters to ask critical questions:
Who is speaking the truth? Who is using half-truths as political weapons? Who is framing old wounds as fresh threats, not to solve them, but to gain electoral advantage?
If Treñas has real evidence linking Mabilog to the drug trade, let him submit it—formally and publicly. If none exists, then the narrative must stop. If Baronda and her allies seek to prove a new brand of politics, they must do so by elevating discourse—not merely by calling out old tactics.
As the 2025 elections draw near, Ilonggos must resist being drawn into sideshows designed to provoke emotion rather than reflection. The public must demand that campaign conversations focus on performance, policy, and accountability—not personality attacks and recycled accusations.
We must remember: the power to change the tenor of local politics does not lie with politicians alone.
It lies with a well-informed electorate that refuses to be manipulated, that chooses substance over spectacle, and that knows when to call out truth from noise.
Let Iloilo set an example—not of the most “shabulized,” but of the most discerning.
