A FEW months ago, I posted a question online that sounded half-sarcastic, half-exhausted:
“What do you call a person who, after everything is said and done, will still vote for and defend the corrupt, the sloth, the gasbag, the inept, the vile, the crass, the trapo, the greedy, the prig, and/or the fraud?”
I expected a few witty reacts, and perhaps some memes. Instead, the comment section became a miniature portrait of the Filipino political psyche.
Some answered “DDS.” Others wrote “bobotante,” “apologist,” “cultist,” “enabler,” “asinine,” “8080,” “subhuman,” “tanga,” “walang kaluluwa,” “successfully indoctrinated,” “hopeless,” or simply “poop.”
One even quoted Winston Churchill’s famous jab about democracy and the average voter.
The replies were funny, harsh, creative, sometimes disturbing, and honestly revealing. Beneath the insults sat something deeper: fatigue.
Many are simply tired. Tired of recycled surnames, tired of fake outrage, tired of hearing “para sa mahirap” from politicians whose watches cost more than a teacher’s yearly salary.
The easy temptation, of course, is to stop at ridicule. Social media thrives on humiliation. One wrong political opinion and suddenly a person becomes “bobo,” “bayaran,” “moron,” or “Dutertard.” It feels satisfying for five seconds. Then nothing changes.
The voter remains unconvinced, the divide deepens, and everyone retreats back into their algorithmic bunker.
Political discussions now resemble basketball fandom more than civic engagement. People defend politicians the way die-hard fans defend a struggling import in the PBA: statistics no longer matter because identity already entered the room.
Once politics becomes personal identity, criticism feels like insult. Research in Political Psychology supports this, showing that highly partisan individuals often process political information emotionally before rationally (Goldsmith & Moen, 2024). In simpler terms, many people no longer ask, “Is this true?” They ask, “Is this against my side?”
Teachers see this dynamic quietly unfold every day. A student repeats a fake TikTok claim with full confidence because it already received 100k likes. A parent dismisses verified information because “mas gasalig pa ko sa vloggers.” A faculty room discussion about elections suddenly turns tense because someone mentioned a surname that has become almost sacred or demonic depending on who is listening.
Sometimes it is not ignorance at all. Sometimes it is emotional investment hardened over years. The late psychologist Daniel Kahneman once argued that humans often think fast emotionally before thinking slowly and critically. Our local and national elections reveal this beautifully and painfully at the same time.
Yet calling voters “bobotante” often misses the complicated reality behind many political choices. Social scientist Eric Gutierrez correctly pointed out that the term has become a politics of humiliation rather than understanding.
A farmer accepting ayuda before elections may not be stupid. A tricycle driver voting for the politician who paid for his child’s hospitalization may not be irrational from his perspective. A market vendor supporting a familiar dynasty may simply distrust every alternative presented to her.
Poverty reshapes political choices. Patronage reshapes them further. When institutions fail consistently, people cling to personalities because systems have stopped feeling reliable. That does not excuse corruption. But it explains why emotional loyalty survives despite repeated disappointment.
This is where some middle-class conversations about politics become disconnected from reality. Some professionals talk about elections as though every voter has the luxury of spending evenings reading policy papers between coffee runs at Starbucks. Most do not. They are commuting for three hours, stretching budgets, surviving inflation, and trying to avoid another electric bill shock.
Political information is absorbed in fragments: Facebook reels during lunch break, YouTube commentaries while cooking dinner, rumors from neighbors, TikTok edits with dramatic background music. In that environment, certainty spreads faster than nuance. Propaganda succeeds not because people are inherently foolish, but because modern disinformation is emotionally efficient.
Social media made this worse. Before, political echo chambers required physical spaces. Today, one only needs a smartphone. Algorithms reward outrage, certainty, and mockery. Calm analysis dies quietly beside dancing campaign jingles and manipulated clips. (To be continued)/PN
