Gilded holiday forever
The same officials who preach fiscal discipline and national resilience are, in effect, rewriting the rules to suit their own comfort and that of their allies.
Daily TribuneThe same officials who preach fiscal discipline and national resilience are, in effect, rewriting the rules to suit their own comfort and that of their allies.
While Filipinos grapple with an unrelenting national crisis, power shortages, infrastructure breakdowns and the daily scramble for basic services, public duty is being transformed into a vacation extravaganza.
An insider at a state company revealed a troubling reality regarding President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s four-day workweek, a primary response to the crisis intended as a measure of restraint but which has instead become a gilded excuse for institutional absenteeism.
Marcos introduced the policy in response to the economic strain, but it was recycled as a holiday treat, with staff reporting in person only on one designated day per week, with the remaining three days to be completed under a work-from-home arrangement.
The rationale was to develop a scheme of shared sacrifice by conserving electricity in aging public buildings, reducing fuel consumption for drivers and easing the burden of daily commuting costs on lower-ranking employees.
The excuses sounded reasonable, a temporary adjustment to help both the state and its workers weather difficult times.
In practice, however, the policy has been stretched beyond recognition. For many at the top of the government chain interpreted it as a license for a single mandatory office day.
The rest of the week has quietly morphed into what one source inside the agency calls a “perpetual holiday schedule.”
Virtual meetings are convened from private residences, often with scenic backdrops that suggest far more leisure than labor.
Critical decisions are deferred, oversight grows lax and the urgent work of public service is left to the rank-and-file staff who shoulder the heaviest load with the least flexibility.
The reconfiguration of office settings is a quiet betrayal of public trust. At a time when government responsiveness is most desperately needed, whether in processing aid, maintaining essential records, or coordinating crisis response, the very people entrusted with leadership have chosen convenience over commitment.
The same officials who preach fiscal discipline and national resilience are, in effect, rewriting the rules to suit their own comfort and that of their allies.
The mechanisms meant to promote equity have instead shielded a culture of selective disengagement, where the powerful enjoy remote autonomy while ordinary citizens wait in lengthening queues for services that never quite arrive.
The contrast is particularly galling, as those at the apex, shielded by position, protocol and the ambiguity of remote-work guidelines, have effectively declared their own open-ended interlude.
The government now symbolizes not institutional excellence, but institutional entitlement.
Such behavior carries consequences far beyond wasted office space. Public disillusionment deepens when those in authority appear to float above the crises they are paid to manage.
In an era of economic uncertainty and high expectations for accountable governance, the four-day facade risks eroding the very foundation of trust between government and citizen.
Filipinos have shown remarkable resilience in the face of hardship; what they will not tolerate indefinitely is the spectacle of leaders treating public office as a part-time privilege.
The solution lies not in scrapping flexible arrangements entirely, but in enforcing them rigorously and transparently.
Performance metrics for so-called public servants working remotely should be made public.
Until accountability is restored, the four-day workweek will remain what it has become: not a tool for efficiency, but a mask for indolence.
In a period that demands steadfast service, the gap between policy and practice has rarely been so wide, or so damaging to the public good, as in the Marcos flexi-time.