The weakness of Philippine democracy

This is my half-baked final paper (God that sounded awful) for one of my Political Science classes. I'm not sure why I'm posting this up here but I'm gonna do it anyway.

Mitchel Tuazon

POS160

Question: Is the Philippines democratic?

            As Asia’s oldest democratic government, the Philippines, with all its nationalistic narratives, truly treasures the idea of a democracy. Experiences rooting in the Martial Law era and the consequent toppling of Ferdinand Marcos via the peaceful revolution in Edsa give Filipinos a sense of national solidarity and, at the same time, hope in the democratic institutions of the country.  Indeed, the four-day People Power Revolution allowed the Philippines to be ‘resurrected from its languid state of socio-political and psychological torpor’ (Villegas 1987, 194) and be part of the so-called ‘third wave of democratization’ (Huntington 1991). The aftermath of this peaceful assembly opened up new opportunities for Filipinos to engage in democratic discourse, as expressed in the 1987 Constitution which regards democracy as a blessing. In real terms, the people expected not just free elections and universal suffrage, but also a vivid civil society, political accountability, and equality under the rule of law. In sum, democratic reconstruction was the name of the game—a strategy which more or less brought in ‘a ray of hope, a promise of change’ (Villegas 1987, 205).

            But is the Philippines truly democratic? To answer the question, one must look at what the literature on Philippine democracy say, and apply these historical analyses in the present context. Are these studies still relevant under the second Aquino regime? Is the Philippine state still dominated by what McCoy (1993) calls ‘anarchy of families?’ Are provinces, cities, and municipalities still under the rule of local autocrats, or what Anderson (1988) refers to as ‘caciques?’ With Quimpo’s (2008) interpretation of Philippines politics as a ‘contested democracy,’ one must ask, does the current situation allow for electoral competition to take place on a level playing field, or are elections mere formalities that make legitimate the already dominant? Is the Philippines still suffering a situation of ‘low-quality democracy’ (Case 2009), ‘democratic deficit’ (Hutchcroft and Rocamora 2003), or a ‘minimalist democracy without sustained quality’ (Morlino 2009)? More than two decades after the so-called democratization of the Philippines, these questions still remain relevant and therefore could serve as a gauge on the level of democracy (or lack thereof) in the country.

            Before looking at the relevant literature, one must first describe what constitutes a democracy. As a form of government which places supreme power at the hands of the people, a democracy must have four basic elements. At its core, a democracy holds free and fair elections, allows the active participation of citizens in civic and political life, protects the human rights of its citizens, and upholds the rule of law, which should apply equally amongst its people (Democracy Reporting International 2011). In light of these criteria, I argue that, given the current state of the country, which is more or less in line with the literature on the weakness of Philippine democracy, it appears that the Philippines, although formally democratic, is yet to achieve democracy in its optimal form. In substantiating this claim, I look into scholarly articles and confirm the frailty of Philippine democracy—a weakness which revolves around the social ills of (1) widespread corruption, (2) violence, and (3) social injustice.

Widespread corruption

The first theme of corruption may be considered as a primary cause of all other democratic problems in the Philippines. As will be discussed later on, the two other themes examined in this essay (violence and social injustice), one could say, are caused by the root problem that is corruption. In brief, corruption is the misuse of public entrusted power for private gain. Vis-à-vis the basic elements of democratic governance, it appears that corruption affects all four characteristics, especially the last one which values the rule of law. This disregard for the law is seen once the broad concept corruption is operationalized; corruption is, more often than not, indicated by the following acts: bribery of public officials, kickbacks in public procurement, embezzlement of public funds, and rent-seeking.

After the first People Power, no less than the national government officials, from senators to the chief executive, have exhibited corrupt practices in order to enrich themselves. In fact, some may argue that ‘high-profile corruption cases have plagued virtually every post-Marcos administration’ (Dressel 2011, 532). The most prominent (or notorious) examples of this governmental corruption occurred during the presidencies of Joseph Estrada and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. The former, while operating under the veil of pro-poor redistributive efforts, ‘brazenly siphoned off billions of pesos of public money to his private bank accounts’ (Hutchcroft and Rocamora 2003, 281). After the ousting of Estrada via the extra-constitutional mass action dubbed as ‘People Power 2’ which allowed Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s rise to power, everything was about the same, at least in terms of corrupt practices. In fact, ‘the pace of electoral manipulations and corrupt practices only quickened’ (Case 2002, 258). In 2008, the NBN/ZTE deal, a controversial multi-million dollar construction contract, pitted the GMA administration, including the president’s husband (Dressel 2011, 532).

After the era of dictatorship, it seems that Philippine democracy has continued to exhibit elements of Marcosian ‘kleptocracy,’ (Chaikin and Sharman 2009) albeit in different forms and strategies, more often than not deploying the ‘public service’ card. Today, the issue of corruption has become very much pronounced in the pork barrel scam, a scheme wherein legislators misuse their Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) and finance bogus NGOs or ghost projects in order to get kickbacks. The PDAF, which has been intended to fund local development projects, has simply been used by congressmen and senators to put more money into their pockets. While there is no shortage of anti-corruption laws in the Philippines (e.g. Anti-Money Laundering Act of 2001 and Government Procurement Act of 2003), the lack of political will to enforce such laws, often overshadowed by personal interest, makes it difficult to remove corrupt practices from the Philippine political arena. This reveals how something as informal (and illegal for that matter) as corruption can occur on a pretense of ‘public service’ or formalities, as evidenced by the PDAF scandal.

This idea of formal institutions being dominated by informal structures is not new. In Alfred McCoy’s (1993) historiography of the state and family in the Philippines, it is clear that the state institutions of the Philippines are far from upholding democracy and are simply used to strengthen the reins of oligarchs in their respective local bases. At the outset of his book, he mentions that ‘in the Philippines, elite families can be seen as both object and subject of history, shaping and being shaped by the processes of change’ (McCoy 1993, 1). Today, political clans continue to persist. Some of the specific cases McCoy mentions in his work have produced formidable political entities. Mohamad Ali Dimaporo’s three sons are currently in office, serving as vice governor, governor, and congressman for Lanao. In Danao, ‘real’ contestation is difficult to perceive, with two Duranos recently battling each other for the top position in the city.

This system of dynastic rule is destructive, in a variety of ways, for it not only makes control of state resources available to only a few families, but also makes it difficult for the electorate to have ‘real’ choices. In this year’s midterm elections, 18,000 posts, overall, were up for grabs, but contestation was limited to politicians belonging to political clans—convincing critics that the event was ‘not genuinely democratic’ (Agence France-Presse 2013). In relation to corruption, this dominance of dynasties, especially at the provincial and local scene, make it easier for elites to create and perpetuate fiefdoms out of their local bases for generations, controlling the economies as well as political structures.

At the national level, when Benigno ‘Noynoy’ Aquino III was sworn into office in 2010, two things were clear. On one hand, he was a breath of fresh air, following the scandal-ridden presidency of Arroyo which had left millions of Filipinos dissatisfied, to say the least, and hungry for reform. The darker side of Noynoy’s ascent, however, reveals the reality of Philippine politics as a field dominated by oligarchic clans with bases in the provinces. Aquino, while leading a broad coalition of reform forces, is ultimately still a member of the Cojuangco dynasty, one of the most powerful clans within the Filipino oligarchy. Moreover, the fact remains that ‘in Philippine politics, a family name is a valuable asset’ (McCoy 1993, 8). There is no denying that the Noynoy campaign team, aside from its anti-corruption crusade, benefited immensely from the so-called ‘Cory magic,’ that it was Noynoy’s destiny, following Cory’s death, to continue the legacy of his mother and even his father. In the 2013 elections, the likes of Bam Aquino (nephew of the current president), Nancy Binay (daughter of the current vice president) and JV Ejercito (son of former president and current Manila Mayor Joseph Estrada) have all benefited from their prominent last names. The Philippines’ current setting, therefore, indicates that pedigrees, and not so much institutions, continue to drive the country’s history—a dangerous predicament especially when one considers the prevalence of corruption in the country.

            But another feature of McCoy’s analysis that leads to the second theme of this essay is the strategic use of violence, especially at the local level. In his article, McCoy (1993, 21) argues that in contrast to the metropolitan civility in the capital, provincial politics often involves ‘a zero-sum struggle for hegemony over an electoral or commercial territory that encourages organized violence.’ In other words, one must not ignore the significance of violence, especially at the local scene, in terms of securing the tenure of local elites, and in relation to the perpetuation of a weak democracy.

Violence

            After the downfall of Marcos,  it appears violence still plagues the country. Political violence can take several forms—genocide, human rights violations, war, torture, police brutality, famine, or even capital punishment. In this essay, for the sake of concentration, I shall focus on three types of violence which equally portray the weakness of Philippine democracy: election-related violence, political violence in the conflict-ridden southern region of the country, and extrajudicial violence (i.e. forced disappearances, extrajudicial killings). The persistence of these kinds of violent instances in the country only solidifies its situation of democratic deficit and violates the elements of democratic governance, particularly those concerning the holding of free and fair elections and the protection of human rights.

In addition to the dominance of elite politicians from dynastic clans in electoral contests,  these local warlords, through the use of private armies, strengthen their reign over their localities by means of coercion, most especially during elections. Coupled with vote-rigging (which falls under the first theme of corruption), election violence helps explain why, in the past few years, 'Freedom house no longer ranks the Philippines as an electoral democracy but only as partially free' (Dressel 2011, 538). One of the most brutal incidents of electoral violence in the country occurred in late 2009, when 58 people, including women, journalists, lawyers and simple bystanders, were killed by the Ampatuan private army (which included members of the Philippine National Police) in a massacre in the southern province of Maguindanao, in an attempt to stop the filing of candidacy of opposition candidate Esmael Mangudadatu. This tragic event, one of the bloodiest in contemporary history, goes to show how far some politicians would go just to ensure electoral victory.

Yet, election-related violence is not merely a problem in the south but is a widespread practice all across the archipelago; one only has to look at the country's record. In 2004, 189 candidates and supporters were killed in election-related violence across the country. Three years after, 126 Filipinos were killed amid the 2007 elections (Dressel 2011, 533). Although the last two elections have witnessed significantly lower incidents of election-related violence, there are 'no signs that new government security measures have lessened the motivation of political actors to perpetrate political violence' (Pacific Strategies and Assessments 2013).

Going back to the political dynamic in the south, one cannot ignore the cycle of violence that has long been occurring in Mindanao, a type of political violence which could be considered as a special case due to its long-standing and prominent image internationally. Of course, it is wrong to assume that this seemingly unending conflict in the south is simply an effect of the so-called Moro struggle against colonizers or a product of the clash between Christians and Muslims to form an independent nation for the latter (Abinales 2010, 119). It is erroneous to put the acts perpetrated by rebel groups such as the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), Moro National Liberation Front (MILF), the Abu Sayaff Group (ASG), or even the newly formed Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) under a united stance of ‘Muslim resistance.’

In fact, it is safe to say that the recent Zamboanga City crisis suggests that the unstable situation in Mindanao should be analyzed on the basis of key personalities and political developments. The former governor of the failed Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) and MNLF leader Nur Misuari, who ordered some 200 members of the MNLF to attack Zambo, through his spokesperson, announced that the siege was part of the bigger ‘war for independence’ to extend the reach of the ‘Bangsamoro Republik’ (which ceases to have effective control over the region) in Sulu. In reality, however, it appears that Misuari and the rest of the MNLF rebels decided to attack the city to derail peace talks between the government and the other rebel group, the MILF (Diola 2013).

            Finally, extrajudicial violence, or the government's use of violent (and, needless to say, unconstitutional) methods which undermine civil and political liberties is still a type of violence present in the Philippines. Essentially, these are acts which are 'committed outside the legal system with no prior judgment of a court' (Lanfer 2010, 4).Very much related to the violence in the country's southern region, the government's fight against insurgency and terrorism has, arguably, 'been eroding political rights; for instance, the 2007 Human Security Act (HSA) gave the government more discretion to...detain suspects without warrant.' Moreover, From 2001-2009, around 800 people were victimized by extrajudicial killings (Dressel 2011, 538).

Social injustice

            The last type of violence discussed in this essay carries over to the theme of social injustice in the country. From a politico-legal perspective, it appears that the law, which often favors those in power, has been and still is the foundation of justice, and not the other way around.  The lessons of the brutal mass killing in Maguindanao revolves around this reality in the Philippines. With domestic remedies ineffective and unduly delayed (not one person is convicted of murder), some analysts contend that in the Philippines, 'there is no rule of law...Under a weak criminal justice system, one can hardly expect justice for victims of human rights

violations' (Ferrer 2010, 37).

            In viewing law in the Philippines, therefore, it is not enough to focus on what 'law on paper' states,  it is also necessary to look at what Franco (2011) refers to as 'the many languages of law.' The 1987 Constitution's social rights and social justice catalogue is quite comprehensive; it embodies the ethos that ‘those who have less in life should have more in law’ (Bernas, 2003: 971). Yet, according to Franco (2011, 46), this principle appears 'to be an old theme without legs, as far as many rural poor people are concerned.' In the Philippines, justice 'depends not on the weight of evidence, but rather the class and status 'weight' of the litigants themselves' (Franco 2011, 47). In fact, a World Bank report has concluded that 'the poor have far less access to justice2 than the well-connected, who work the system to their advantage' (Dressel 2011, 531).

            This allows one, therefore, to bridge social injustice with the first theme of corruption. One may remember Marcos' later years in power, which were marred by economic stagnation, and a consequent widening economic gap between the haves and the have-nots due to, again, widespread corruption. After Marcos, one sees  today that ‘the judicial system generally is plagued by problems ranging from limited access to justice by the poor to chronic inefficiency and widespread perceptions of corruption and political interference’ (Dressel 2011, 531). Injustice in the courtroom, in a sense, perpetuates injustice on the streets, where millions of Filipinos continue to fight poverty. Even with anti-poverty programs and a high GDP rate, the Aquino administration cannot ignore the facts: according to an NSCB report, the poverty rate only decreased by 0.7% since 2009; an SWS survey suggests that unemployment is on the rise, with a million more jobless Filipinos; the 7% GDP growth rate proves to be rather exclusive, benefiting only those on top (Cerda 2013). Democracy, again, seems to be deficient in the Philippines, as far as the rule of law and economic justice are concerned.

With all this said, one must always keep in mind that the problem of the country’s politics roots in historic and institutional events which have shaped how ‘democracy’ functions throughout Philippine society. This essay, however, focuses on the indicators (widespread corruption, violence, and social injustice) which suggest that Philippine democracy remains weak. While the aforementioned problems indicate Filipinos are far from the optimal democracy its citizens, especially the marginalized, deserve, looking at the systemic defectiveness of Philippine politics may just successfully tackle the root cause of the problem, and may help Filipinos realize that real democracy is not just a pipe dream.

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