Justice Antonio Carpio’s article posted on social media, “The Blind Leading the Lost: A Nation Betrayed,”
rips through the shallow façades of our supposed democracy, unveiling the painful reality of a country
on the brink of ruin.
Carpio’s unflinching critique of the Philippine government, particularly its Congress—a body of elected officials he accuses of being blind to the needs of the people—captures the heart of an unrelenting crisis that plagues the nation: betrayal.
The piece is a scathing condemnation of how the Philippines’ political elite has systematically looted the very resources needed to secure a future for the Filipino people, leading the nation down a path of irreversible despair.
At the crux of Carpio’s argument is the assertion that the Filipino people’s elected officials are not leaders, but traitors. The article begins with an unambiguous charge: The halls of Congress are no longer the sanctuaries of democracy, but the breeding grounds of greed and corruption.
Far from fulfilling their mandate, these officials engage in a “grand heist”—a theft not just of resources, but of dignity, leaving 119 million Filipinos to suffer. They have taken it upon themselves to demolish the pillars upon which the nation was built: education, healthcare, and the very institutions meant to protect the public good.
Carpio’s words hit hardest in his analysis of the gutting of the education budget. By slashing funds for
education, Congress has not merely reallocated resources but condemns generations of Filipinos to an existence marked by ignorance and stagnation.
In a country where education is often the only pathway out of poverty, such actions constitute not just a political misstep, but a moral crime. The nation’s dismal performance in global rankings is painted as a direct result of this deliberate neglect—a generation’s potential systematically crushed for the sake of political maneuvering and financial gain.
Carpio is clear: This is not incompetence; this is treason. A betrayal of the Filipino youth, whose dreams
of bettering their lives have been shredded to pieces.
The ruthless betrayal extends beyond education and strikes at the center of the healthcare system.
Carpio points to the zero funding for PhilHealth in 2025, a move that he decries as not just negligence, but a deliberate attack on the poor. PhilHealth, the lifeline for millions who cannot afford private healthcare, is left to wither, as millions of Filipinos are deprived of the most basic human right: access to life-saving medical treatment. The failure to fund this crucial service not only violates the tenets of the Universal Health Care Act but also reinforces Carpio’s damning charge: The government has declared war on its own citizens, particularly the most vulnerable.
What compounds the tragedy is the diversion of resources into the “Ayuda sa Kapos ang Kita Program”
(AKAP). Carpio sees this as a craven political ploy—an election-season bribe masquerading as charity.
The allocation of P26 billion to this program, while education and healthcare are starved of funds, is
described as an attempt to buy votes, to pacify a population pushed to the edge of survival. Carpio’s
outrage at this is palpable; it isn’t aid—it’s a calculated plot to maintain power at the cost of the nation’s future.
Yet, perhaps the most damning indictment is reserved for the Filipino people themselves. Carpio
challenges the public’s silence in the face of these betrayals.
Why aren’t we in the streets? Why haven’t we risen against the plundering of our nation?
In his eyes, the passivity of the people is as much a betrayal as the actions of those in power. Carpio believes that every moment of silence is a tacit endorsement of tyranny, and without the active participation of the masses in demanding accountability, the nation is doomed to fall.
Carpio’s call to action is clear and uncompromising. He warns that unless the Filipino people rise and
demand justice, unless they reject the complacency that has allowed these abuses to continue, the nation will be left in ruins.
But there is hope, he asserts—there is still time for change.
The Filipino people possess the power to reclaim their country from the clutches of corruption, but they must act now. The question is not whether change is possible; it’s whether the Filipino people will have the
courage to demand it before it is too late.
This article is a powerful reminder of the moral and ethical obligations of both the government and the
people. It paints a grim picture of a nation on the verge of collapse, but it also presents a clear path
forward: accountability, action, and unity.
The stakes are high. The choices we make today will determine the future of our country.
Will we remain passive, or will we rise to the occasion and demand the justice we so desperately need? The time to act is now.
