The gospel according to the tarpaulin
I am not a fan of the Tulfo brothers, but give credit where it is due. Sen. Raffy Tulfo’s recent skewering of Tourism Secretary Christina Garcia Frasco, over the Department of Tourism website being plastered less with tourist spots than with her own very large, very smiling face, was a small but satisfying civic service. For once, someone said out loud what many had been thinking quietly while scrolling: Is this the Philippines we are promoting, or a political headshot portfolio?
The secretary’s defense was textbook. She did not consent to the pictures, she said. And like so many politicians caught with their hands not just in the cookie jar but arranging the cookies alphabetically, she added the sacred incantation: she has no plans of running for national office.
But Frasco’s case is hardly exceptional. It is merely honest in its brazenness. In the Philippines, political self-promotion is not an aberration; it is an ecosystem. Elections come every three years, which in political time is practically tomorrow. Why wait for the campaign period when you can start campaigning now, especially if you can do it cheaply, or better yet, for free, courtesy of the public purse? Name recall is good. Face recall is better. The goal is familiarity: the slow, subliminal embedding of one’s smile into the consciousness of the madlang pipol, until the ballot feels less like a choice and more like déjà vu
Almost everyone is guilty of this because the much-invoked Anti-Epal Act remains, to this day, a legislative ghost story, frequently cited, never seen. And yet, the irony is rich. We actually do not suffer from a total absence of rules. We suffer from selective amnesia.
The General Appropriations Act explicitly prohibits government officials from attaching their names, images, or even initials to programs, projects, and services funded by the national budget. The Department of the Interior and Local Government has issued multiple memorandum circulars—Memorandum Circular No. 2010-101 and the more recent MC 2026-006—directing officials to remove their names from public signages and properties. The Commission on Audit, in Circular No. 2013-004, went further, declaring the display of names on project billboards an unnecessary expense. Then there is the Commission on Elections, with its regulations on campaign materials under the Fair Election Act (Republic Act No. 9006).
On paper, it is almost a Scandinavian paradise. In reality, many Filipinos, especially in the provinces, are either unaware of these rules or, more disturbingly, aware but unmoved. A tarp is seen not as an ethical violation but as proof of performance. No face, no credit. No credit, no gratitude. No gratitude, no votes.
Contrast this with other countries. In the United States, Japan, South Korea, and much of Europe, you will almost never see a bridge proudly declaring the name of the senator who voted for it. Roads and railways announce only their funding source: the national government, the transport ministry, the taxpayers. The reason is simple and quietly radical: public projects are understood to belong to the public. Politicians are temporary stewards, not benefactors handing out favors from a personal wallet.
Here, the logic is inverted. Projects are framed as gifts. Gratitude is expected. “Utang na loob” is quietly invoiced.
And this logic does not stop at government. Step into almost any Catholic church in the city or the countryside and look around. If your eyesight is decent, you will find the names of benefactors etched into stained glass windows, engraved on pews, carved beneath statues of saints. “Donated by Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So.” The larger the donation, the larger the font.
To be fair, many give quietly, sincerely, and even insist on anonymity. But we, the Church included, often override this humility because recognition attracts more donors. Plaques multiply. Names are read aloud at Mass. Gratitude becomes marketing.
Which is awkward, considering the founder of the Church had some very clear things to say about this. Jesus and his early followers depended entirely on the generosity of others (Luke 8:1–3). And yet he also warned: when you give alms, do not announce it with trumpets; do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing; give in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you (Matthew 6:1–4). The Bible, it turns out, anticipated the tarpaulin problem.
So how do we solve a practice so deeply embedded in our culture, reinforced by poverty, patronage, and utang na loob? Do we legislate humility? Audit gratitude? Criminalize applause? Or do we begin, slowly and painfully, by changing what we praise. By teaching ourselves to thank institutions instead of individuals, systems instead of saviors, citizenship instead of favors?
Until then, the smiling faces will remain. Watching. Waiting. Campaigning, three years early, at our expense.
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Fr. Cyrain Cabuenas is a Catholic priest from Borongan, Eastern Samar, who currently serves in the State of Vermont. He is a former correspondent of the Philippine Daily Inquirer Visayas bureau.
