The recent filing of COCs brought with it the familiar wave of political campaigns, promises, and—across many parts of the Philippines—familial power. Political dynasties have long dominated the landscape of our national and provincial politics, and while Baguio City has, so far, been free from this trend, there’s always a lingering fear that complacency could let such a system take root.
The power of political dynasties is both astounding and, frankly, alarming. In the early 2000s, one of us was conducting research on recidivism and social reintegration, and it entailed several visits to the New Bilibid Prisons, where she spoke with inmates in the maximum and medium security sections. During one interview session, the inmate or interviewee pointed out then-congressman Romeo Jalosjos Sr., who had been convicted of raping a minor yet remained in office while behind bars. Even more baffling was that Jalosjos had the audacity to run for re-election—not once, but twice—from prison. He won in both 1998 and 2001. It wasn’t until 2002, after the Supreme Court reaffirmed his sentence, that he was officially removed from office. Yet, his sister, Cecilia Jalosjos-Carreon, through a special election, seamlessly replaced him in Congress, continuing the family’s tight grip on political power.
This anecdote highlights a disturbing reality in Philippine politics: dynasties seem untouchable. Even when convicted for heinous crimes, powerful families manage to hold on to public office, passing down positions like an inheritance. The Jalosjos family’s reign in Zamboanga del Norte is just one example. Aside from Cecilia, his siblings and children have also occupied government posts, with another sister currently serving as governor and several of his children holding key political roles. It’s a dynasty that stretches across the local and national landscape, seemingly immune to the consequences of their patriarch’s criminal conviction.
This is in stark contrast to the experiences of ordinary Filipinos. Many of us are aware that even applying for a part-time job requires an NBI clearance to prove that we have no criminal record. How, then, do politicians with much higher stakes—entrusted with the future of entire provinces or cities—manage to stay in office even after a conviction? Why do the standards seem lower for those at the top than for the average person just trying to earn a living?
The Jalosjos family is not alone. From the Marcoses in Ilocos Norte, Dutertes in Davao, Ortegas in La Union, to the Estradas in Manila, the Balindongs in Lanao del Sur, and the Cojuangcos in Tarlac (and many more), political dynasties dominate the country, exerting influence and control spanning generations. Despite various efforts to push for anti-dynasty laws, these families remain deeply entrenched in power, using their wealth, influence, and name recognition to retain control.
Here in Baguio, we’ve been fortunate to avoid the dynasty trap—so far. But it’s crucial to remember that these political systems take root when people become lax. Dynasties thrive on familiarity, loyalty, and sometimes, complacency. If we don’t scrutinize candidates closely, if we allow political families to monopolize power, we risk eroding the very democratic ideals we hold dear.
As election season ramps up, we need to be vigilant. The people of Baguio and Benguet must ask themselves: Are we voting for a person who genuinely serves the public good, or are we unknowingly enabling the rise of a political dynasty that could cling to power for decades? Let’s not be fooled by names, slogans, or family legacies.
Public office is not an inheritance, and the future of our city should never be treated as such.
