The Order of National Artists is supposed to be the Philippines’ highest and most sacred recognition of creative genius — reserved for those rare talents who have shaped the nation’s soul through decades of uncompromising excellence.

Yet, under the stewardship of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and its partner, the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP), this honor, which the public anticipates each year, has repeatedly been reduced to a cheap partisan event, ultimately decided by a small circle.

The NCCA and CCP jointly administer the honors, which are then conferred by the President.

Once again in 2025, the process is mired in controversy. Leaks, rumors, and open letters are circulating as the selection is reportedly tainted by political biases, with names allegedly promoted or buried based on loyalty to the administration rather than on a lifetime of merit and contribution.

Questions were raised over the multiple positions held by the NCCA chairperson Victorino “Ino” Mapa Manalo, whose presence is all over the cultural bureaucracy.

He holds the reins of two powerhouse institutions that shape who gets celebrated and who gets consigned to the abode of the unsung.

As NCCA chairperson since 2023, he oversees the nomination and vetting of candidates for the Order of National Artists, while simultaneously serving as executive director of the National Archives of the Philippines, a role he’s held since 2011.

Manalo is also the former museum director of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, making him an influential presence in the annual ritual of awarding artistic honors.

The National Archives under Manalo curates documents and artifacts that serve as the basis for determining an artist’s legacy and provide evidence for NCCA deliberations.

Thus, the same executive who decides what historical treasures see the light of day also heads the board that scores nominations for lifetime achievement.

His past stint as museum director at the CCP, which also plays a role in the National Artists selection process, embeds him in the network that recommends the awardees.

Thus, there is a need for full disclosure in the NCCA process about who are proclaimed to have dedicated their lives to promoting the nation’s artistic soul.

Transparency is not optional but an obligation of the cultural agency due to the history of abuse of the process, including the insertion of four midnight appointees in 2009 and Malacañang’s 2014 veto of Nora Aunor over a decades-old drug conviction, despite her topping the final deliberation.

Those in the cultural sector also complain that the list favors Manila-based, commercially successful, or academically connected artists.

In the United States, which gives out the National Medal of Arts; France, with its Commandeur des Arts et des Lettres, and Japan’s Person of Cultural Merit, shortlists are provided, jury members are named, criteria are explicit, and rationales are released.

Only the Philippines and a handful of authoritarian states treat their highest cultural honor like a national security issue.

Thus, the process is being likened to the Independent Commission for Infrastructure, where the powerful protect the powerful with its opacity.

In both the NCCA’s chamber for artists and the sham investigation into stolen flood funds, secrecy is the weapon of choice.

Institutions that should serve the Filipino people are exploited as private clubs for the connected.

Every time the NCCA hides behind confidentiality, it is not protecting the integrity of the award, but it is killing it.

The Filipino people, who fund the salaries and galas of the NCCA officials, deserve to view the agency’s actions in broad daylight.