April 22, 2025
MANILA – It is excruciating to witness the United States—once a global beacon of democratic ideals—squirm under the shadow of a returning Trump presidency. Not even a hundred days into office, and already, the outlines of authoritarianism are hardening. The constitutional architecture of checks and balances—so meticulously crafted by the American Founders—has begun to buckle. The executive, once counterbalanced by Congress and the courts, is now careening with dangerous momentum, largely unchecked, empowered by the very system designed to constrain it.
This moment is not merely American. It is global. In a real sense, the people of the world are all Americans. We have all lived in relative peace—and, at times, the painful contradictions—of a world order shaped by the fusion of American power, liberty, and ingenuity since World War II. From the belated but decisive US entry into the war after Pearl Harbor, to the genius of the Lend-Lease Act, to the Marshall Plan’s resurrection of Europe and Japan—America’s reach has shaped the fate of nations.
But today, that same America is at war with the world—not through bullets, yet—but through policy, contempt, and withdrawal. The Trump administration has inflicted despair across continents: in the bombed-out streets of Gaza, war-torn borders of Ukraine, and even in the once-assured homes of allies like Canada, Japan, Australia, and Europe. Smaller, more vulnerable nations—like ours—can only look on, too insignificant to retaliate, too dependent to speak out.
What we are seeing is not a temporary disruption. It is systemic unraveling. The US is upending itself—and in doing so, threatening the global order it helped build. It does so because it can. The American presidency commands unmatched institutional power. But when that power is hijacked by a man driven not by service but by vengeance, ego, and ideology, the effect is like a runaway bulldozer flattening the very values it once fought to uphold. And what if this is not merely a moment—but a movement? What if this is not four years, but the beginning of a long descent? What if the guardrails—the courts, the FBI, Congress, even the press—are not enough?
This unraveling, of course, did not begin with Trump. It began in the hearts and minds of disillusioned Americans. Once inspired by dreams of freedom, fairness, and human rights, many now feel abandoned by a system that promised too much and delivered too little. Into this vacuum came Trump—the avatar of grievance, the chosen battering ram of those who feel left behind. His voters seek to reclaim America for themselves—not realizing they are empowering the greatest threat to its very foundations since World War II.
From the Philippines, this looks familiar—painfully so.
No country mirrors the US constitutional and political design more than ours. Our presidency, inspired by theirs, is in many ways more powerful, less encumbered by strong institutions or traditions of restraint. Our 20th-century descent into dictatorship was not only a tragedy—it was a case study. Ferdinand Marcos Sr., after two terms, decided democracy was too inconvenient. He staged a constitutional coup, imposed martial law, and cloaked it in the language of revolution.
Trump now rides a similarly sinister logic. He disowns Project 2025 while marching in step with its goals. He rallies his base not under ideas, but under a slogan: “Make America Great Again”—which, in practice, means making the rest of the world grit its teeth and brace for impact.
There is something psychological—almost mythic—that happens to strongmen in presidential systems. The second term emboldens them. The temptation to rewrite the rules becomes irresistible. Marcos did it. Trump may do it. And unlike 1972, the US today has weaker brakes, more tribal media, and a population more divided than ever before.
And so we must look not only outward, but inward.
The Philippines faces its reckoning. Our political center—once held together by an emerging educated, principled middle class—is unraveling. What we now have is a cacophony of partisan noise: Dutertards, Pinklawans, dynasty operatives, and digital hustlers feeding on rage and algorithms. As 2028 looms, we must ask: is this our last semi-democratic election?
Our vulnerability to authoritarian backslide is greater now than it was in 1972. And if history is to rhyme, the next real people power moment may be decades away—perhaps not until 2046.
This is not alarmism. This is foresight.