A 2021 Rappler investigation documented how coordinated networks amplified false narratives during elections. Meanwhile, researchers like Cialdini (2022) have shown how repeated exposure inside digital echo chambers reinforces loyalty and tribal thinking. After hearing the same narrative long enough, even absurd claims begin sounding familiar. Familiarity then masquerades as truth. That is why some people can watch a corruption scandal unfold in high definition and still say, “At least may nagawa.”
Ironically, intelligence alone does not protect anyone from political fanaticism. One of the most uncomfortable truths in public life is that educated people can also become fiercely irrational when ego, tribe, or ambition enters the conversation. I wrote previously about the Greek concept of amathia — not lack of intelligence, but refusal to confront truth even when it is already obvious.
One sees this during Senate hearings where eloquent officials spend 15 minutes speaking without answering one direct question. One also sees it online when highly educated supporters twist themselves into intellectual yoga routines just to defend a politician’s indefensible behavior. Intelligence can illuminate truth, yes, but it can also become an elegant weapon for avoiding it.
Still, it would be unfair to pretend only one political camp suffers from blind loyalty. Every faction has its saints, its devils, and its selective memory. Some excuse corruption because “our side did worse before.” Others suddenly discover morality only when the opposing camp is involved.
Philippine politics has become emotionally symmetrical in many ways. Different colors, same habits. One side weaponizes nationalism. Another weaponizes moral superiority. Both sometimes reduce complex social problems into hashtags and slogans. Somewhere in between sits the exhausted ordinary Filipino who just wants lower prices, decent healthcare, flood-free streets, accessible quality education, and leaders who do not embarrass the country every week.
What fascinated me most about the responses to my post was how the different LLMs answered almost like mirrors of human society. Gemini sounded clinical and analytical. Claude leaned philosophical. ChatGPT tried balancing empathy with critique. Perplexity became concise and practical. Grammarly behaved like the calm English teacher in class. MetaAI drifted toward social commentary.
Even artificial intelligence seems to understand that there is no single word for voters who defend deeply flawed politicians. “Apologist,” “fanatic,” “tribalist,” “enabler,” “partisan,” “true believer,” “hostage of propaganda” — each captures only one slice of a very human condition.
The frightening part is not that people disagree. Democracy expects disagreement. The frightening part is when people stop listening entirely.
Studies by Ateneo de Manila Univesity and the Philippine Institute for Development Studies on voter behavior repeatedly show that political choices are shaped not only by education, but also by identity, economic insecurity, family influence, emotional narratives, and perceived survival needs.
University of the Philippines’ Prof. John Molo, writing during the 2021 elections, argued that persuasion works better than humiliation because people rarely change when they feel attacked. That insight matters. Teachers know this instinctively. A student shamed in class rarely learns better afterward.
The same applies to voters. If conversations begin with “bobo ka kasi,” dialogue already died before it started. Listening does not mean surrendering principles. It simply means understanding why people think the way they do before trying to change minds.
Perhaps that is the deeper discomfort behind the entire thread. The question was never really about what to call these voters. Deep down, many of us already know the labels. The harder question is why the system keeps producing this kind of politics repeatedly.
Why does corruption remain electable? Why does celebrity still overpower competence? Why do political dynasties survive every scandal? Why do emotionally charged speeches often outperform detailed policy plans?
Those questions are less satisfying than memes because they force everyone — including intellectuals, educators, journalists, and institutions — to confront uncomfortable failures within society itself.
Somewhere between the insults, sarcasm, and political tribalism, one truth quietly remains: democracy is fragile because people are human. Human beings vote with memory, fear, utang na loob, anger, identity, hope, survival instinct, and sometimes exhaustion. Facts matter, but emotions often arrive first.
That does not mean citizens should stop demanding accountability. Quite the opposite. But perhaps the country needs less political sneering and more difficult conversations grounded in honesty, humility, openness, and courage.
The goal is not merely to win arguments online. The goal is to create citizens who can pause long enough to ask themselves one uncomfortable question before defending any leader: “Am I protecting the just and the truth here, or just protecting my side?”/PN
