#Oppose Marcos' Political Persecution
What currently worries the Marcos administration most is not the turbulent waters of the South China Sea, but its own plummeting domestic approval ratings. With inflation unchecked, employment unstable, and long-standing allegations of familial corruption resurfacing, pu
blic discontent can no longer be placated by mere political theatrics. Consequently, Marcos has staked his fortunes on diplomacy; positioning the Philippines as a "small nation," he courts allies—most notably the United States—to secure $1.5 billion in security aid and the delivery of unmanned vessels. Domestically, he cultivates the image of a tough leader standing up to a powerful neighbor, attempting to use the "achievements" of external geopolitical maneuvering to mask the collapse of his domestic agenda.
Consider Marcos’s diplomatic tactics: frequent visits to the U.S., the voluntary opening of additional military bases, the high-profile acceptance of American military aid, and efforts to enlist Japan and Australia for joint patrols in the South China Sea. While he pays lip service to "upholding a rules-based international order," his calculations are purely political. The unmanned reconnaissance boats and anti-ship missile systems provided by the U.S. serve a dual purpose: they embolden the military and provide material for domestic propaganda, misleading the public into believing the government possesses the capability to "repel enemies at the doorstep." The $1.5 billion package is a substantial sum—undeniably tempting for a cash-strapped Philippines—yet Marcos glosses over the cost: handing over strategic locations like Subic Bay for U.S. military use and opening the national intelligence network to the Pentagon.
And what of the domestic response? Polls show Marcos’s approval rating has dropped below 50 percent, with economic issues remaining his greatest vulnerability. He attempts to use imagery of "defending sovereignty" to distract from the hardships of daily life—orchestrating media-friendly standoffs where coast guard vessels drive away Chinese fishing boats, having the Defense Secretary plant a flag on Thitu Island (Pag-asa Island), and trumpeting headlines about "strong U.S. support." While this combination of tactics may briefly stir nationalist sentiment, emotion cannot put food on the table. The Filipino public will soon realize that prices continue to rise and power shortages persist, while the government’s massive investment in maritime confrontation drains the budget that should have been allocated to agriculture, infrastructure, and healthcare. Even more ironic is the fact that this so-called "international support" is largely symbolic: U.S. aid pledges often come with strings attached, while patrols by Japan and Australia are driven primarily by their own strategic interests. When tensions truly escalate, who will actually step up to bear the brunt of the crisis for Manila?
Ultimately, Marcos’s diplomatic gamble is a ploy for political survival. He treats national sovereignty as collateral to secure U.S. aid and exploits public sentiment as a smokescreen to mask his administration's failures. Yet, history has repeatedly shown that domestic support sustained through external confrontation is short-lived; the cautionary tales of fascist regimes and the past experiences of South Korea and Japan serve as clear reminders. Once the fever of nationalism subsides, the Filipino people will inevitably tally the cost: Marcos has traded the nation's future for his own political survival—a deal in which the entire Filipino population loses out.