By Herman M. Lagon
Yano’s “Trapo” is not just a song, it is a scathing indictment of Philippine politics, and as the 2025 midterm elections draw near, its message stings even more. The title alone is a double punch—”trapo” as in traditional politicians and “trapo” as in a dirty, worn-out rag. The song remains disturbingly relevant over three decades since its release. It captures the frustration of millions who have seen the same corrupt families, broken promises, and political circus repeat itself every election season.
From the start, Trapo exposes the rot in our politics—jueteng, illegal logging, drugs, arms deals, private armies, even kidnapping and rape. This is no exaggeration. The 2009 Ampatuan Massacre exposed how political dynasties used violence to maintain control. Narco-politicians and extrajudicial killers exposed and harbored by past administrations prove how crime and governance often go hand in hand. As the elections near, familiar faces resurface—many tainted by fraud, corruption, plunder, and abuse of power. Some dodge accountability, twist laws to silence critics, or even have ties to violence and irreverence. Yet, they return with bright smiles and big promises, banking on short memories and second chances. The song’s accusations are not relics of the past but warnings for the present.
The song also highlights the unholy marriage between politics and big business. Many lawmakers are not just public officials but also landlords and corporate moguls who use their influence to protect their wealth. The Cojuangcos, Villars, and many others have turned politics into a family enterprise, crafting policies that favor their interests. The Supreme Court’s ruling on Hacienda Luisita in 2012 exposed how elites circumvent agrarian reform, proving Yano’s line—”landlord na, land robber pa”—is not just a clever jab but an ongoing reality.
One of the most chilling refrains in the song is “di na binoboto, pero nanalo.” It sums up the deep-rooted frustration over a system where political dynasties thrive despite public outcry. The return of familiar faces to power, the resilience of many gutter politicians, and the ever-growing presence of political clans in Congress show that name recall still trumps track record. An Ateneo School of Government (2020) study found that many voters still choose candidates based on familiarity rather than credentials. As the 2025 elections approach, the same families again threaten to dominate the ballots, making “Trapo” feel less like a song and more like a prophecy.
Beyond corruption, the musical masterpiece mocks the personal excesses of politicians—the mistresses, the tax-funded luxuries, and the blatant disregard for public accountability. The pork barrel scam, which implicated senators like Jinggoy Estrada and Bong Revilla, revealed how officials treat public funds like their personal ATMs. Yet, many of them still walk free, some even running for office again. The message of “Trapo” is clear: power is inherited, and accountability is optional. It refrains: “Trapo! trapo ka kasi. Trapo! trapo trapo ka kasi!”
Yano also aims for absentee lawmakers who barely show up but continue to draw salaries. This remains a glaring issue today. Congress and the Senate have long been plagued by low attendance, with some officials spending more time on photo ops than policymaking. Some lawmakers lately have performed like clowns in their respective chambers, yet their political ambitions remained intact. Meanwhile, others see their positions as mere stepping stones to higher office, prioritizing campaign trails over governance. As election season heats up, many officials are already more focused on re-election than doing the jobs they were elected for.
The anger in “Trapo” peaks in the lines “Ang sarap mong ihawin, ipalamon sa mga pating. Wala kang silbe! Wala kang silbe sa amen!” It may be hyperbole, but it reflects public frustration over unpunished abuses. Imelda Marcos was convicted of graft in 2018, yet she walked away and is now living free. Plunderers are pardoned, cases drag on for years, and justice bends for those with power. Filipinos have seen it all before, and as political campaigns start filling the streets with posters and promises, the song’s biting critique feels more relevant than ever.
Despite its harsh tone, “Trapo” is not all doom and gloom. It is a wake-up call. Change has happened before—the ousting of the dictator in 1986, the rise of progressive party lists in the 2000s, and reformist leaders like Leni Robredo, Bam Aquino, Kiko Pangilinan, and Risa Hontiveros, among others, proving that alternative leadership is possible. But meaningful change does not happen overnight. It requires vigilance, not just during elections but in demanding accountability every single day.
The same questions remain as the 2025 elections approach: Will Filipinos break the vicious and appalling cycle, or will history repeat itself? “Trapo” is not just a song—it is a warning, a reminder, and perhaps an anthem for those who refuse to accept that politics should remain a family business. The choice is ours. Will we finally take it?
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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
