Laughing through the chaos
Lately, my TikTok feed has been slipping Philippine political commentary into its usual mix of cat videos, “Jujutsu Kaisen” memes, and Eyecon edit videos. When I first stumbled upon Mark “Tasha” Geronda, who uncannily resembles our Vice President, around September last year, I wasn’t much of a fan.
Diving back into political content
I had logged out of local news and politics back in 2019—exhausted by the endless crassness, stupidity, and toxicity. Feeling like my brain was flatlining from all the noise, I retreated to consuming horror and true crime podcasts. I also exclusively listened to international news like BBC Global News on Spotify, tracking the Hong Kong protests. I also just wanted my cat videos, Japanese walking tours, and onsen vlogs.
Then came the Senate drama this year, and Tasha’s videos began filling my feed again. While I found some corny, a few made me chuckle, leading me to remember my own batchmate, Rene Boy Facunla, who played Ate Glow around the time after EDSA II—an impersonation of then-President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
I became interested and began migrating to long-form political podcasts and current-affairs shows on YouTube. It started with “The Insiders” with Edwin Lacierda and Barry Gutierrez. From there, the algorithm fed me “Kwatro Alas,” followed by “Facts First” and “The Lovelyn Show.” Before I knew it, I was tuning back into traditional news channels. I was hooked on Filipino political content all over again.
Then this week I saw that Jon Santos had launched a weekly segment on Bilyonaryo News Channel called “Aganda,” a satire of the same network’s Agenda.
The absurdity of an era
I suddenly remembered “Sic O’Clock News.”
For those who grew up in the 1980s, “Sic O’Clock News” was one of those television programs that made politics look ridiculous at a time when the country was still figuring out what to do with its newly recovered freedom.
The IBC program ran from 1987 to 1990, directed by Marilou Diaz-Abaya and featuring Jaime Fabregas, Ces Quesada, Manny Castañeda, Junix Inocian, Rene Requiestas, and an ensemble of comedians and actors. Its credited writers included Amado Lacuesta Jr., Jobart Bartolome, and Tony Apon. There was one episode where they poked fun at a very young Kris Aquino who was starting an acting career in Hong Kong.
This was the country after EDSA in 1986, still recovering from the era of martial law, political violence, and the exhilaration of having gotten rid of a dictatorship. Political satire became a way of looking at the news and saying, “Yeah, those high and mighty politicians and elites can be the butt of our jokes.”
A few years later came “Abangan ang Susunod na Kabanata,” which ran on ABS-CBN from 1991 to 1997. Written by Jose Javier Reyes and directed by Johnny Manahan and Ipe Pelino, the show starred Tessie Tomas as Barbara Tengco and Noel Trinidad as Congressman Anding Tengco, alongside Anjo Yllana as their drug-addicted, gun-toting son, Dino.
I fondly recall an episode where Congressman Tengco built a stopover house in Corinthian Gardens purely to use the toilet on his commute from home to Congress, claiming his sensitive rear end was “nangingilala” in other restrooms.
Even back then, before the worst of the vehicle ownership explosion, EDSA traffic was already a nightmare waiting for a solution. The satire and excessiveness captured the absurdity of the era and, frankly, feels timeless today.
Comedy material
Politicians became characters you could laugh at over dinner. Their grand speeches, family dramas, vanity, and corruption could be turned into a sitcom. That is what satire does particularly well. It takes something that has acquired too much authority and gives it a ridiculous hat.
There is something psychologically useful about that. Fear makes power feel enormous. Outrage can make everything feel like a battlefield. Satire gives people a little room to breathe. You can look at something together, laugh at it, and for a few seconds the person or institution being mocked loses some of its ability to dictate the mood.
We have spent recent years talking about political color with the fervor of warring tribes, rather than as one nation looking for better leaders. Sometimes, I just want someone to make a joke.
Literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin argued that laughter is inherently anti-authoritarian because it strips power of its terrifying sanctity. When we laugh at the powerful, we dismantle the fear that keeps them untouchable. It is a democratic act: humor drags self-important figures back down to earth, exposing human egos, absurd mannerisms, and very ordinary fallibilities.
This is why seeing Santos on “Agenda” made me remember “Sic O’Clock News.” The format itself is part of the joke. He impersonates Korina Sanchez, and even Undersecretary and Malacañang Press Officer Claire Castro. Take the familiar machinery of television or broadcast news, reproduce its authority, and then let Santos pull the whole thing sideways.
Suddenly the anchor is a character. The delivery becomes part of the punchline–even the camera work. The seriousness of the format becomes material for comedy.
I had spent so long being tired of Philippine politics and the futility of advocating for better leaders that I forgot I could laugh at it. Perhaps that is worth remembering. Laughter does not solve corruption; a funny TikTok will not repair a damaged civic culture.
But when people can laugh at the powers that be, they no longer have hold over us. We no longer fear them. They are not gods among us.
