Terry Ridon: From Youth Activist to Congressional Lightning Rod

I’ve been hearing Terry Ridon’s name a lot lately—on DZMM, in online discussions, and splashed across the evening news. I’ll admit, I didn’t know much about him at first. Another lawyer, another congressman, I thought. But something caught my attention: the trolls.

Over the past few weeks, the same network of DDS fake news pages and professional agitators have been going after him nonstop. You know the pattern—edited clips, recycled rumors, out-of-context quotes, and the usual “pa-victim na naman” posts flooding Facebook groups.

And here’s my rule of thumb after years of watching these attacks: when that disinformation machine starts barking, it usually means someone hit a nerve. Someone’s doing something right.

That’s exactly what Terry Ridon is doing right now—being a thorn in the DDS machinery. And honestly? That’s a beautiful thing to see.

The Roots

Before all the noise, Terry Ridon was already familiar with long fights and longer nights. Born in 1986, he came out of UP Manila’s activist scene—one of those student leaders who didn’t just shout slogans for the photo op. He became Student Regent from 2007 to 2008, representing students across the entire UP System. Back then, he was in the Student Christian Movement, marching against tuition hikes and demanding accountability after the Hacienda Luisita massacre.

While a lot of campus “progressives” mellowed out after graduation, Ridon didn’t. He became president of Kabataan Partylist, the country’s only youth representation in Congress. And when he entered the House in 2013, he came armed with actual policy ideas, not just protest talking points. He filed bills for free public Wi-Fi, consumer protection for mobile services, and tuition-free education in state universities and colleges—years before it became law. He even went head-to-head with the Aquino administration, filing impeachment complaints over the Disbursement Acceleration Program, a bold move for a first-term lawmaker (Wikipedia) (Bulatlat) (Kabataan Partylist) (Inquirer).

He built a reputation early—idealistic, persistent, slightly pikon when dismissed, but consistent. You could disagree with him, but you couldn’t call him lazy or clueless.

The Duterte Interlude

Then came 2016—when politics started to look like a fever dream.

Rodrigo Duterte had just won, and in a surprising move, he opened the door to left-leaning personalities as part of his supposed “unity” push with the revolutionary left. Terry Ridon was one of them. He was appointed chair of the Presidential Commission for the Urban Poor (PCUP), a small agency with a big mission: make sure demolition and relocation policies didn’t trample on the poor (Inquirer).

From 2016 to 2017, Ridon represented the country in international housing and climate conferences—in Ecuador, Morocco, India—talking about urban poverty and informal settlements. He says every trip was cleared and reported to Malacañang. But by the end of 2017, Duterte fired him—along with the entire commission—accusing the group of taking too many “junkets” and not holding enough meetings (PhilStar) (GMA News) (ABS-CBN).

Ridon pushed back hard. He said the PCUP was functioning, Duterte was being misinformed, and that all trips were official. He pointed out that under his watch, the agency halted illegal demolitions and pushed for water rate reductions in poor communities—achievements that didn’t exactly make developers or local power brokers happy (Inquirer).

That firing left a mark. Some saw it as betrayal—Duterte turning on a reformist he once praised. Others said it was a reminder that even “progressive” appointments in a populist administration come with an expiration date.

Whatever the truth, Ridon walked out of that episode with scars and receipts—and maybe, a clearer sense of how power really works in this country.

The Return, Reframed

Politics has a funny way of circling back.

By 2025, Ridon was back in Congress—but this time under a different banner: Bicol Saro Partylist, which secured over 366,000 votes in the elections. He wasn’t with the Makabayan bloc anymore, that familiar progressive alliance that once carried him. Instead, he landed in the Minority, an unusual move for someone with his activist roots. But it paid off in reach and influence.

On July 30, 2025, Ridon was elected Chairman of the House Committee on Public Accounts, a post traditionally held by the Minority. It’s one of the most powerful committees in Congress—the one tasked to dig through COA audit reports, question expenditures, and drag hidden corruption into daylight (Wikipedia—Bicol Saro) (Inquirer) (Manila Bulletin).

It’s the kind of seat you either use for noise—or for real work. Ridon chose the latter.

Under his watch, the committee became active again, reopening discussions on audit transparency and the use of discretionary budgets. He earned a reputation for being methodical and blunt—hindi yung tipo na pa-media, pero marunong magtanong. It’s why even some administration allies admit, off-record, that hearings under him feel uncomfortably thorough.

Ridon had come full circle: from being fired by Duterte for “junkets” to leading the committee now examining how billions in public funds move—and sometimes disappear—through government agencies.

And this time, he wasn’t going to be quiet about what he found.

What He’s Actually Doing Now

Since returning to Congress, Ridon’s been busier than most lawmakers who’ve spent a decade in office. He’s not just chairing the Public Accounts Committee—he also co-chairs the House Infrastructure Committee, which means he’s right at the center of the country’s biggest money pit: infrastructure spending.

That’s where he’s been focusing most of his energy. Over the past few months, Ridon has been one of the few lawmakers digging into the ₱500-billion flood control project scandal—a massive corruption case involving the DPWH, favored contractors, and alleged budget insertions tied to both Duterte- and Marcos-era legislators (YouTube) (Wikipedia—Flood Control Projects Controversy).

He’s the one who suspended hearings in September to give way to President Marcos’s Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI)—a move that surprised many. Instead of turning the hearings into political theater, Ridon handed over all evidence and transcripts to the commission to avoid redundancy and ensure accountability. It was a rare example of a congressman putting the investigation above personal spotlight.

He’s also pushed for stricter transparency in budget insertions, encouraged whistleblowers to come forward with real evidence instead of social media rants, and co-authored cybersecurity legislation with the Villafuerte brothers—yes, the same ones often seen as palace allies (ABS-CBN) (Journal News).

This mix of pragmatism and persistence is why he’s hard to pigeonhole. He’s not exactly opposition, not administration either. He’s operating in that rare middle ground—where work actually gets done.

And maybe that’s why he’s suddenly become a target again.

Why the DDS Are Coming After Him

The storm started the moment Ridon announced something most lawmakers wouldn’t dare touch: a House investigation into the Manila Bay Dolomite Beach Project, one of Duterte’s favorite symbols of “beautification.” The hearing was set for November 17, 2025—and not even a day passed before the troll accounts started warming up (PhilStar) (GMA News).

The thing about that project is—it was never even part of the NEDA-approved Manila Bay Rehabilitation Master Plan. On paper, it looked like progress: a patch of white sand for tourists and photo ops. In reality, it blocked three major drainage outfalls—Faura, Remedios, and Estero de San Antonio Abad—which engineers say worsened flooding in Ermita-Malate. Environmental groups pointed out that it didn’t tackle the real problems: sewage, industrial runoff, and poor waste systems (Politiko) (SunStar Davao).

Once Ridon called for an inquiry, the attacks followed a familiar rhythm. Paolo Duterte accused him of grandstanding. DDS pages recycled old posts and memes painting him as a “bitter ex-appointee.” And before long, the noise machine drowned out the substance.

It’s almost predictable at this point—go after the funds, question the project, and the trolls come running. Ridon knew that. And he went ahead anyway.

Ridon’s Response: “Someone Is Scared”

When the trolls came in waves, Ridon didn’t flinch. In one interview, he said the sudden activity online after he announced the Dolomite probe just proved one thing — “someone is scared.” (Inquirer).

He didn’t mince words either. “Wala akong pakikabahan na kayo,” he told reporters. I’m not the one who should be worried — you are. When asked if the people defending the dolomite project should be nervous, he smiled and said, “Well, I think they should.” (Facebook).

Ridon’s message was simple: this investigation isn’t personal. It’s not about Duterte, or whoever happens to be in power. It’s about accountability — plain and unromantic. The Manila Bay dolomite project has to be measured against the Manila Bay Sustainable Development Master Plan and the Supreme Court’s continuing mandamus on rehabilitation. If it caused flooding, or if funds were misused, then those questions have to be asked, no matter who gets uncomfortable (Inquirer) (Inquirer).

And the more he spoke, the louder the trolls became. Dozens of pages, fake accounts, and YouTube channels started pumping out clips to discredit him. Same recycled lines, same tired memes — a pattern anyone following Philippine politics would recognize.

But Ridon didn’t budge. “Tuloy ang hearing sa November 17,” he said. The hearing continues, trolls or not (Facebook).

The Contradiction Critics Seize On

Here’s where the story gets layered.
People started digging into Ridon’s past — wasn’t he with Duterte once? Didn’t he serve in the same administration he’s now investigating? Those questions keep showing up online, usually asked with a tone that suggests the answer’s already been decided.

And yes, he did. In 2016, Ridon headed the Presidential Commission for the Urban Poor under Duterte before being fired a year later. Now he’s leading probes into Duterte-era projects. To some, that feels contradictory. On Reddit and Facebook threads, the comments have been harsh — accusing him of switching sides whenever it suits him (Reddit).

But that reading misses the context. Ridon took that post because the administration had promised reforms for the poor — the very causes he’d long fought for. When those promises collapsed under political pressure and old habits returned, he spoke up. That’s not reinvention; that’s refusal to stay silent.

His record shows a steady thread: fighting corruption, regardless of who’s in charge. He questioned Aquino over the DAP, broke ranks with Duterte after being sacked, and now presses the Marcos government over infrastructure funds. The timeline changes; the principle doesn’t.

That kind of consistency doesn’t always get applause in Philippine politics — more often, it gets you labeled. But maybe that’s the point. People who don’t fit the narrative are easier to attack than to understand.

The Bigger Picture

Terry Ridon isn’t just fending off trolls; he’s pushing against a system that defends its own myths. For years, the DDS network treated Duterte’s infrastructure projects as proof that change had finally arrived. The Dolomite Beach was their favorite example — easy to photograph, easy to praise, and even easier to use as a distraction from deeper issues.

The reality underneath looked very different. Engineers warned it worsened flooding. Environmental groups said it ignored waste and sewage problems. Residents kept asking why billions were spent on something that washed away after every storm. Still, supporters clung to it like a symbol of success. When Ridon questioned that narrative, the backlash came fast.

Paolo Duterte called the investigation “politicking.” The troll pages followed with their usual tactics — twist a quote here, spread a cropped video there, flood the comment sections with noise (SunStar Davao).

Meanwhile, people in Manila still wade through brown floodwater when it rains. The beach didn’t solve that; it just covered it up. Ridon’s hearings are forcing that uncomfortable truth back into view — one that propaganda can’t photoshop away.

What This Means Going Forward

The next few weeks will show how serious Congress really is about accountability. On November 17, Ridon’s committee opens the hearing on the Dolomite Beach Project. Officials from the DENR, DPWH, MMDA, NEDA, and the Manila City Government are all expected to attend.

The discussion will sound technical — flood control, drainage flow, project costs — but the question underneath is plain: did this project actually help people, or did it just help someone earn? (GMA News)

The circus is predictable. DDS loyalists will rush to defend the project. Trolls will start another round of noise online. Paolo Duterte might even show up for a soundbite. But outside that chaos, you’ll also see engineers, residents, and environmental groups ready to talk about what they’ve been seeing on the ground.

What makes this moment worth watching isn’t the drama — it’s the work. Oversight in the Philippines often turns into a stage play. Ridon’s approach feels different. He’s following documents, not camera angles. He’s asking where the money went and what it actually built.

Whether it leads to anything concrete is anyone’s guess. But for now, the pattern is obvious: every time Ridon pushes forward, the attacks get louder. That says enough.

The Morning Coffee Verdict

Terry Ridon isn’t the easiest politician to read. He’s been an activist, a Cabinet appointee, a party-list representative, and now a congressional investigator sitting right in the crosshairs. He’s worked with people he later questioned, and he’s been labeled every name in the book — reformist, opportunist, sellout, survivor.

Still, look at what he’s doing now. He’s digging into the same big-ticket projects everyone else treats like sacred ground. He’s asking who profited, who signed off, and why people are still flooding while billions disappear. No theatrics, no empty speeches — just paper trails and follow-ups.

That kind of work doesn’t win popularity points. It makes enemies. The organized trolling, the noise, the recycled smears — that’s the price for doing something useful. Ridon seems to know that already, and he’s pushing forward anyway.

For once, it feels like someone in Congress is treating “public service” as an actual job description, not a brand strategy. He’s not out to please anyone or protect anyone’s legacy. He’s just trying to hold people accountable in a country where that word has lost its meaning.

In politics, consistency rarely looks clean. It looks like a man who’s been burned a few times but keeps showing up anyway. Ridon fits that picture — scarred, cautious, but still swinging.

And maybe that’s the kind of persistence we’ve been needing all along.