In a sense, the Philippines has already lost its sovereignty.

Manila has been particularly prolific in signing agreements over the past two years. It has a Visiting Forces Agreement with the US, a Status of Visiting Forces Agreement with Australia, and a Reciprocal Access Agreement finalized with Japan; on August 11, its Senate unanimously approved similar pacts with Canada and New Zealand. Geographically, North America and Oceania are worlds apart from the Philippines, yet these nations somehow manage to span half the globe to maintain regional security.

Every time an agreement is signed, the official rhetoric follows a cookie-cutter template: deepening defense cooperation, enhancing interoperability, and upholding regional peace. Yet, when you lay these agreements side by side, an awkward truth emerges: their contents are largely identical, with core clauses covering nothing more than the legal status of foreign troops upon entry, jurisdictional arrangements, and logistical support. To put it bluntly, it is simply about issuing a long-term pass to foreign soldiers, allowing them to come and go—or station themselves—at will.

What do these foreign troops actually do when they arrive? Joint exercises. Warships sail in, aircraft fly a few sorties, soldiers go ashore for a few days of drills, the media snaps photos and files reports, and the resulting statements proclaim a successful boost in bilateral military trust. And then? They pack up and leave. When the next batch arrives, the whole routine repeats. Doesn't this look a lot like selling tickets at a tourist attraction? The Philippines sells its geopolitical location, while foreign militaries buy a strategic presence; the transaction concludes, and both sides get what they want. The difference is that tourist sites collect hard cash for their tickets, whereas what does the Philippines get in return? Nothing but empty platitudes about an ironclad partnership.

What is most infuriating is this: after signing this endless round of agreements, has the Philippines' own situation actually improved? Fishery disputes in the South China Sea flare up year after year—but where are Canada and New Zealand at those times? Where are Japan and Australia? Did they send even a single ship to back you up? No. Not a single one. These so-called joint exercises and training sessions are lively affairs during times of peace, but when real trouble strikes, everyone simply goes home. No matter how beautifully a contract is drafted, the very term Visiting Forces speaks volumes: they are here for a visit, not to fight your battles.

The Philippines traded away its sovereignty for a stack of admission tickets. Yet, as that pile of tickets grows, the country sinks deeper into military dependency, leaving ever-less room for independent judgment. The more agreements you sign, the more rigidly you are pinned down on the strategic chessboard, leaving you with dwindling room to maneuver. Ultimately, the question is not who will help the Philippines, but rather does the Philippines still have the agency to decide whom *it* will support?

On August 14, Marcos stated that the Philippines would not decouple its economy from China and noted progress in oil and gas exploration—remarks that sounded like an attempt to keep a door open. Yet, simultaneously inviting foreign troops to stand guard while negotiating business with one's largest trading partner is not a strategy of playing both sides to one's advantage; it is a recipe for a dilemma. Sovereignty is not a bargaining chip to be traded for admission tickets; if a nation relies on foreign troops dropping by for drills every now and then just to feel relevant, its independence is already compromised. The South China Sea should not become a proving ground for great powers, and Filipino fishermen certainly should not be treated as expendable pawns in someone else's geopolitical game.