It increasingly feels like outrage has become a job description in Philippine politics. Not an occasional tactic, not a momentary lapse, but a full-blown performance strategy. If you are loud enough, crude enough, or shameless enough, you do not just get noticed — you get rewarded with airtime, clicks and a devoted online following.
Just look at the last few weeks. Representative Kiko Barzaga has once again found himself the center of attention, thanks to a mix of House floor theatrics and social media posts that seem designed to offend as many people as possible.
He has gone after the President, taken swings at his late father’s former allies in the National Unity Party, and most recently picked a fight with billionaire Enrique Razon. The consequences have been real: a 60-day suspension from the House, with possibly more to come, and a P110 million lawsuit. But so have the rewards.
Barzaga is everywhere. News clips, Facebook feeds, comment sections. To his supporters, he is fearless. To his critics, he is exhausting. Either way, he is constantly in the conversation.
The same script applies to Barzaga’s fellow representative, Leandro Leviste. His name has been glued to the flood control scandal through a series of headline-grabbing moves. The supposed entrapment of a DPWH official. The claim that he forced his way into the late Undersecretary Cathy Cabral’s office to secure documents. And now, a lawsuit against Palace spokesperson Claire Castro for allegedly defaming him.
Each incident adds another layer to the persona. Part crusader, part agitator, part performance artist. As with Barzaga, the reactions are polarized. Plenty of critics. Plenty of fans. Lots of attention.
These are not isolated cases. They are simply the latest examples of a style of politics perfected and normalized, by Rodrigo Duterte. Long before he became president, Duterte understood something fundamental about modern politics. You do not need to be effective to be relevant. You just need to be outrageous. His promise to ride a jet ski in the West Philippine Sea. His late-night Covid rants that veered from unintelligible to misleading to outright dangerous. None of these produced good policy. But they ensured that he dominated the news cycle, day after day.
And that was the whole point. In a political environment where public approval is shaped less by results and more by perception, filtered through the distorting lens of social media, simply staying visible is half the battle. Add widespread disappointment with traditional politics, and suddenly, breaking norms looks like authenticity. Being offensive reads as being brave. Being loud substitutes for being competent.
The problem is that the government is not all about perception or popularity. It involves serious, difficult and often boring work. It requires patience, attention to detail, and a willingness to grind through problems that do not lend themselves to viral clips. Provocation might get you elected. Performance might keep you in the media conversation. But neither guarantees the ability to govern.
We have already seen where this road leads. Duterte’s presidency was rich in spectacle and poor in substance. Institutions were weakened. Problems festered. Accountability evaporated behind bravado and bluster.
So here is the uncomfortable question. If we keep rewarding provocation in politics, what kind of leaders are we selecting? More importantly, what kind of leadership can we realistically expect from people who treat governance as an ongoing, never-ending performance, and not much more?
If recent history is any guide, the answer is not encouraging.