It used to be that the most we had to endure from a “trapo” (traditional politician) was a sun-faded tarpaulin draped over a basketball hoop or their face plastered on a relief goods bag. Those were simpler, albeit still annoying, times.
Today, the campaign trail never ends; it has simply migrated to the palm of your hand. From Cabinet secretaries to local mayors, the Philippine bureaucracy has traded policy papers for ring lights and TikTok dances. While it’s morbidly entertaining to watch a high-ranking official struggle through a choreographed Gen Z dance trend or attempt a “day in the life” vlog, we need to look past the cringeworthy acting and ask the hard, expensive questions.
Who is footing the bill?
The most pressing concern isn’t the lack of rhythm — it’s the logistics. When you see a high-production skit or a meticulously edited cooking show on an official’s page, you aren’t just looking at “relatability.” You are looking at man-hours. If a plantilla employee, a Job Order worker, or a high-priced “communications consultant” is spending their 8-to-5 drafting scripts, filming transitions and managing the comments section of a politician’s personal brand, how is that a proper use of government resources? These are taxes meant for public service, not for building a follower base for a 2028 run. We are essentially subsidizing the vanity projects of people who were hired to solve traffic, fix the economy, and manage the bureaucracy.
Follow the likes, find the money
Furthermore, the digital shift introduces a murky financial frontier. Many of these pages, despite being fueled by the labor of public servants and the electricity of government offices, are monetized. When a video goes viral and the ad revenue starts rolling in, where does that money go? Does it return to the National Treasury to fund more social programs? Or does it end up in the private pockets of the official or their inner circle? If the public’s money paid for the content, the public should own the profit. Anything else is just a digital kickback.
The new face of trapo
Make no mistake: this is “Digital Trapo” behavior at its peak. The tarpaulins haven’t disappeared; they’ve just become interactive. By trying so hard to be “one of us,” these officials are actually displaying a calloused form of self-promotion. They offer us bread and circuses — mostly circuses — hoping we won’t notice the lack of actual legislative or executive progress. In the movie Gladiator, Maximus famously asks the crowd, “Are you not entertained?” as a critique of their bloodlust. Today, we must ask ourselves: Should we be entertained? Should we be happy that our hard-earned taxes are being spent on influencer-wannabes who think a viral song-and-dance number is a substitute for a transparent CoA report?
The power of ‘Unfollow’
This real-life tragedy is that cringeworthy content only survives because we provide the audience. The best proof of disgust isn’t a “haha” react; it’s a total withdrawal of attention.
It is time to unlike, unfollow, and unsubscribe. We must send a clear message: we don’t need our leaders to be viral sensations; we need them to be competent. When the cameras stop rolling and the ring lights turn off, all that should remain is their track record of service. Let’s stop feeding the frenzy and start demanding a return to dignity in public office.