Dynasty, not evil per se; merely abused
Last Monday, I argued that without enforcement, accountability weakens and impunity thrives (see “How to contain dynasties,” 12/15/25). Dynasties endure not because corruption is hidden, but because exposure carries little to no cost. The problem is not the existence of political families, but whether our institutions are well-designed to contain them. I will now address three questions: how antidynasty laws should be designed; why public trust fails as a restraint; and whether reform can rely on “good” dynasties or on systemic change. (For more on dynasty, see my columns on “Destiny and legacy, not dynasty,” 5/30/10; “Political dynasties: bane or boon?” 12/8/13; “Dynasties, for good or for evil,” 8/1/22; “Transform dynasty into legacy,” 2/6/23; “Why dynasties endure,” 12/8/25; and “How to contain dynasties,” 12/15/25)
THE ISSUE IS STRUCTURAL, NOT MORAL. Political families have evolved from what may be called “thin” dynasties to “obese” or “fat” dynasties that simultaneously occupy multiple elective and appointive posts. The “obese” entrenches influence across all levels of government. Judging this phenomenon on purely moral grounds is unproductive. It is akin to questioning human nature itself—our instinct to pass on to kin. The more relevant question is not why individuals seek power or act in self-interest, but what institutional constraints are needed to channel this search toward fairness and accountability.
Antidynasty legislation should therefore not aim to vilify individuals or abolish families. Its purpose should be to institutionalize structural safeguards. Prohibiting immediate family succession and the simultaneous holding of offices widens political competition and weakens monopoly over power. These rules create a critical temporal buffer—a pause that allows voters to reflect, alternatives to emerge, and accountability to take root. Ironically, such pauses may even benefit dynasties themselves by allowing public memory to reset.
A restriction up to the second degree of consanguinity or affinity (spouses, siblings, parents, children, grandparents, grandchildren), I believe, is reasonable. It targets the most direct and potent forms of political succession and alliance. Extending it to the fourth degree risks overreach, rather than a democratic safeguard, raising constitutional concerns about equal protection and access to public service.
TO AVOID PUBLIC TRUST DEGRADING INTO PUBLIC DELUSION, Article XI, Section 1 of the Constitution declares: “Public office is a public trust.” I once assumed that this trust was inherently grounded in truth and integrity. I now believe that trust itself is subjective, because it can also be rooted in lies, loyalty, and familiarity.
This subjectivity explains why officials facing credible allegations, or worse, convictions of graft, corruption, and other high crimes still win elections and ascend to the highest offices. Millions continue to “trust” them. Dynasties do not merely accumulate power; they cultivate familiarity so deeply embedded in the public consciousness that voters confuse recognition with competence and loyalty with accountability.
The result is a distorted form of institutional memory—one that recalls surnames rather than records, brands rather than performance. This familiarity-based trust corrodes the electorate’s ability to distinguish between good and bad governance, between public service and self-service. When loyalty to a political family supersedes loyalty to democratic principles, the very concept of “public trust” is corrupted.
DYNASTIES ARE NOT EVIL PER SE. Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto, Sen. Bam Aquino, and Akbayan party list Rep. Chel Diokno all belong to prominent political clans, but are nurtured in competence and reform, each grounded in public service, human rights advocacy, and respect for the rule of law. Their examples are real and important.
But they also raise an uncomfortable question: Should reform depend on the consolidation of “good” dynasties as a counterweight to corrupt ones? Should democratic progress be reduced to a contest between good and bad families?
However well-intentioned, even “good” dynasties carry the same structural risks. They remain susceptible to drift toward extractive systems, as power tends to insulate itself from accountability over time. History shows that such dynasties depend on exceptional individuals. Inclusive institutions, by contrast, must function even when leadership is ordinary or flawed. Systems designed around exceptions fail the moment mediocrity or malice returns.
In my humble view, a healthy democracy is not one that produces good dynasties, but one that thrives without them. By that standard, we have failed many times. Yet, we have also learned, painfully, what does not work.
When legislation stalls and institutions weaken, we often fall into waiting: for destiny, for fate, or for history to deliver another critical juncture. Democracy, however, is not sustained by waiting. It is inherently disorderly, renewed through crises, scandals, and mass movements; rather, it demands constant vigilance.
In the end, reform is not about hoping for better surnames. It is about voting competence over nostalgia, platforms over pedigree, and accountability over affinity, and ensuring that institutions, as our Constitution requires, make those choices consequential.
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