By Herman M. Lagon
Truth is not a trending hashtag. It does not dance on TikTok or shout over a loudspeaker in the middle of a barangay basketball court. It does not come wrapped in tarpaulins with faces the size of jeepneys. Truth, as historian Yuval Noah Harari reminds us, is often painful, complicated, and, yes, expensive. However, as we approach the midterm elections on May 12, 2025, truth is also the most urgent ballot we must cast.
The lies, however, are more tempting. They are shinier, louder, easier to digest. A candidate who once called the poor lazy now sells himself as their savior. Another who has never authored a single bill, let alone read one, flaunts a three-minute edited clip where he kisses a baby, winks at a lola, and throws free jackets to screaming crowds. We laugh. We share. We vote. Then we complain for six or three years.
But this is not new. Fiction has always seduced better than fact. A 2023 study from the University of the Philippines Media and Public Affairs Program found that disinformation networks funded by political actors could reach more than 50 million Pinoys in just a week. These campaigns are not only well-funded—they are psychologically engineered. They know our fears, exploit our fatigue, and mimic our language. Truth is up against a machine, and the odds are uneven.
Some candidates build their platforms on real issues—education reform, food security, transparent budgeting, sovereignty dispute, climate action, living wage, human rights—but they rarely trend. Why? Because truth requires thinking, questioning, and checking receipts. It is not as catchy as a remix of a campaign jingle or a viral dance number. It does not come with confetti or a celebrity endorsement. It is slow, often boring, and painfully honest.
Yet, it is also the only foundation we have left. When a candidate lies about their degree, income, or age, they are really lying about their fitness to serve. A small lie on the campaign trail becomes an enormous betrayal in office. A made-up résumé leads to made-up reports, padded budgets, and ghost projects. As Senator Leila de Lima once said, a leader who wins by lying will govern by lying.
And still, the liar thrives. He cries foul when fact-checked, plays the victim card when confronted with receipts, and spins tales of persecution when held accountable. He does not need to speak the truth. He just needs to be louder than it. In the country, as political scientist Julio Teehankee noted in a 2024 forum, “our elections are no longer contests of vision, but battles of manipulation.”
To be clear, not all politicians who go viral are liars, and not all quiet candidates are saints. But voters must learn to sniff the red flags. Does this candidate avoid debates? Do they recycle slogans with no substance? Do they suddenly remember the barangay’s name only when cameras roll in? Do they invoke their love for the marginalized but never sit through a single policy briefing on food security?
Even worse are those who claim divine anointment. They do not lie outright—they blur. They hide behind spiritual mumbo jumbo, vague moral platitudes, and nationalist chest-beating. They speak in sermons, not solutions. But ask them for their position on human rights, plunder claims, or education budget cuts; their silence is louder than any speech.
This is not just about personal dishonesty. The danger of electing liars is institutional collapse. Fake leaders hire fake experts. They appoint relatives, cronies, even ghost employees. They peddle fake news, then punish truth-tellers. The cycle deepens. Corruption becomes a culture, not a crime. And when truth becomes inconvenient, they rewrite it. Historical distortion, after all, is the lie that eats your past to control your future.
But there is hope. Voter behavior is not static. The 2022 elections showed that when voters are mobilized by truth, hope, and clear platforms, alternative candidates do have a fighting chance. Grassroots movements, volunteer-driven campaigns, and youth-led coalitions pushed back against traditional political machinery. And they will do so again—if we let truth be our compass.
We must reward the brave. Candidates who risk unpopularity by telling inconvenient truths about debt, environmental degradation, or broken institutions deserve our attention. They may not have the funds for national jingles, but they have blueprints. They may not have TV slots, but they show up where it counts—in classrooms, at climate rallies, and in committee hearings.
We must also protect our fact-checkers. In the last few years, groups like Rappler, #FactsFirstPH, and LENTE have faced harassment, lawsuits, and state-sponsored intimidation. Yet they persist because they understand that truth is not just a virtue—it is infrastructure. Without it, democracy collapses into mob rule.
Let us not be ashamed to ask hard questions to our fellow voters. Where is your SALN? What bills have you passed? Why were you absent in key votes? Do you know what the Sangguniang Panlalawigan does? Asking is not disrespectful. Blind loyalty is. Voting is not just a choice—it is an act of trust. And trust, once betrayed, has generational consequences.
We have been lied to before, and we will be lied to again. But we can choose differently. On May 12, let us vote for those who do not just perform truth but practice it. Truth is not perfect. It is often messy, incomplete, and, yes, expensive. But it is the only thing that can outlive any campaign, survive any regime, and build a country we can be proud to leave behind.
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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.
