What the Duterte “Destabilization” Saga Reveals About Philippine Politics

There’s something strange about hearing the word destabilization echo again. For years, Rodrigo Duterte used it like a magic spell—summoning imaginary enemies every time the criticism grew too loud. Red October. The communists. The opposition. Even the Church. Now, the tables have turned: Sara faces impeachment, her father waits in The Hague, and the same ghosts they once conjured are being used against them.

The irony bites harder than expected.

For decades, both the Marcoses and the Dutertes have thrived on chaos—feeding on fear, twisting truth, and turning the nation’s pain into performance. They call it public service. We know it as survival. And still, the crowd keeps clapping.

Somewhere between their drama and our exhaustion, democracy starts to look like background noise.

This piece looks at how the word destabilization became a political weapon, how dynasties use fear to protect their power, and what that says about the state of our democracy. If you’ve ever wondered why the same names keep running the same script while the country keeps bleeding, this one’s worth your time.

The Anatomy of a Political Weapon

In Philippine politics, the word destabilization can mean everything or nothing at all. It’s a shape-shifter. It bends depending on who’s talking and what they need to protect.

When Rodrigo Duterte warned of a “Red October” plot in 2018, the military released elaborate charts linking student groups, priests, and opposition politicians to communist rebels (Philstar: AFP says “Red October” plot still on). Some schools named in those reports didn’t even exist, a point raised in later reporting that questioned whether the plot was ever real (SCMP: Duterte hoax?, Philstar Opinion: Was it ever there?, The Diplomat: New coup plot?).

Proof fades, impact stays. The accusation already did its work. It didn’t need to be true—it just needed to sound official long enough to control the conversation. Once fear sets in, truth becomes optional. Critics start defending themselves instead of speaking up. Journalists spend airtime clarifying lies instead of investigating power. And ordinary people, unsure what’s real anymore, tune out completely.

That’s how authoritarian populism survives: turn the accusation into the punishment.

Even Duterte said the quiet part once. In 2017 he admitted, “It’s all politics actually… it’s more of publicity” (Inquirer: downplays destab plot).

And for a while, the performance worked.

When the Script Flips

By November 2024, the stage lights had shifted. Sara Duterte, cornered by corruption probes into her confidential funds, went on camera claiming she had hired an assassin to kill President Marcos, the First Lady, and the House Speaker if anything happened to her (HDFF: Sara Duterte sparks controversy with assassination threats). A few days later, her father faced the press again, calling Marcos a “drug addict” and daring the military to fix what he called “fractured governance” (Manila Times: Protect the Constitution).

The Department of Justice reacted the way his own DOJ once did—ordering investigations for sedition and warning of destabilization (GMA News: Remarks bordering on sedition). President Marcos followed with a speech before military cadets, vowing to defend the Republic from “blatant attempts of destabilization” and warning against “last-ditch efforts to cling to the rapidly disappearing past” (Philstar: President blasts attempts at destabilization).

The irony didn’t need explaining. The same script that once protected the Dutertes was now being used against them.

The Armed Forces of the Philippines, perhaps the only institution that has learned from decades of political manipulation, refused to play along. Time and again, the AFP publicly denied any coup plots, sedition schemes, or wavering loyalty (Ground News: AFP dismisses destabilization rumors, GMA News: Coup claims baseless).

Soldiers have seen this movie too many times. Every dynasty that drags them into its battles ends up stronger, while the military’s reputation takes the hit. They know better now.

And yet, despite all the denials, the performance continues—because chaos, for our political class, is not a failure of governance. It’s a strategy.

The Real Destabilization: Governance by Dynasty

The word destabilization keeps getting thrown around, but the real threat to this country’s stability isn’t an invisible coup or whispered conspiracy. It’s the families who never leave power.

By 2025, about 80% of provincial governors came from what political scientists call “fat dynasties,” up from 57% two decades earlier (LKYSPP: Political Dynasties in Democratic, Developing Countries). In the House of Representatives, dynastic control climbed to 67%, compared to 48% in 2004. In hundreds of towns, single families ran unopposed—around 800 seats with no challengers at all (Wikipedia: Political families of the Philippines).

Power in the Philippines doesn’t circulate. It settles.

These dynasties follow the same old playbook: keep voters dependent, keep opponents afraid. They control the police, the courts, even local media. They rewrite history through disinformation and guard their influence like property passed from one generation to the next. The 2009 Maguindanao Massacre, where the Ampatuan clan killed 58 people including journalists, exposed how violence sits at the core of this system (BBC: Maguindanao Massacre).

Both the Marcos and Duterte families grew from that soil. The Marcoses rebuilt their image using the remnants of martial law and the billions siphoned from it. The Dutertes came from the politics of fear, promising order while growing their own reach (Cambridge: Persistence of Ethnopopulist Support, Modern Diplomacy: Media Manipulation and the Marcos Dynasty).

Neither broke the cycle. They only refined it.

And the longer it continues, the harder it becomes to tell whether we’re choosing leaders or just recognizing surnames.

The Midterm Elections as Proxy War

The May 2025 midterm elections turned into a battlefield. Every speech, every headline, carried the tension of two families fighting to keep their grip on power.

The Marcoses and Dutertes went head-to-head, using their candidates as stand-ins for their family war. The Dutertes carried the “Duterten” slate, while Marcos backed his own lineup (Lowy Institute: Family Feud in the Philippines). Mud flew from both sides—insults, accusations, and online propaganda flooding every corner of social media.

Meanwhile, genuine opposition groups couldn’t unite. Reform-minded candidates from civil society and progressive parties split into smaller camps, too scattered to form a counterweight (Journal of Democracy: The End of the Duterte Dynasty?).

Lost in all this noise were ordinary Filipinos. While two dynasties fought for dominance, people were still cleaning up after typhoons, counting losses from floods, and watching public funds vanish into questionable flood-control contracts (AP News: Corruption in flood projects, Inquirer: Sara Duterte on anti-corruption drive).

Even anti-corruption probes became part of the war. Each camp weaponized investigations to discredit the other. Every arrest, every audit, every headline turned into ammunition.

Congress, the courts, and law enforcement were supposed to stand above all this. Instead, they became extensions of family rivalry—institutions pulled in opposite directions, depending on which dynasty held the gavel.

Elections are meant to reset a nation’s direction. That year, they only showed how small the circle of power had become.

The Populist Trap

Populism always begins with a promise. Someone stands before the crowd and swears to fight for the people against the corrupt, the rich, the untouchable. For a moment, it feels like hope.

Rodrigo Duterte mastered that role. He spoke like the everyman—using Bisaya, swearing onstage, mocking the elite. He made people believe he was one of them. The appeal worked because it gave people the illusion of power while placing all authority in one man’s hands.

He called it protection, but it came with killings, fear, and silence. The drug war took thousands of lives, mostly poor users instead of the wealthy traffickers who kept business running (Human Rights Watch: Duterte Arrested on ICC Warrant). The message was clear: brutality could be justice if it came from the right man.

His strategy was simple but effective. Play the ordinary guy. Attack critics. Use humor to soften cruelty. Turn anger into spectacle. He spoke of discipline while dismantling institutions that kept power in check. He turned fear into loyalty (SNUAC: Durability of Populism and Authoritarian Practices).

That language still echoes today. Sara Duterte uses the same tone—framing investigations into her confidential funds as political persecution, painting herself as the target of an insecure administration afraid of “the people’s voice” (ABS-CBN: Sara Duterte says corruption probe selective).

Every accusation becomes proof of her supposed courage. Every sanction turns into a symbol of victimhood.

Populism works that way—it feeds on emotion, not evidence. The outrage feels real, but it drains the country dry.

The Complicity of Institutions

Political dynasties endure because the very institutions meant to restrain them have learned to kneel.

The 1987 Constitution calls for an anti-dynasty law, but Congress has never passed one. How could it? Most of its members belong to the same families that would lose power if the law ever existed (Democratic Erosion: The Ruling Family).

Law enforcement and the courts should protect the public from corruption, but those systems are also managed by the same political clans. Cases go nowhere when the accused and the investigators answer to the same circle (Wikipedia: Political families of the Philippines).

Even the press, the last refuge of accountability, has taken blows. Duterte shut down ABS-CBN, branded Rappler as fake news, and insulted journalists in public (Al Jazeera: AI and Disinformation Fuel Political Tensions). The Marcos family spent years refining its propaganda, turning revisionism into an art form (Modern Diplomacy: Media Manipulation and the Marcos Dynasty).

Civil society has also been split apart. Duterte courted some religious and civic groups while branding others as terrorists or foreign agents. Those who stayed neutral were pushed to silence. The few who kept speaking up were left exhausted and isolated (SSOAR: Duterte’s Assaults on Civil Society).

Even the International Criminal Court’s investigation into drug war killings became a political weapon. Duterte dismissed it as foreign interference. Marcos allowed cooperation, leading to Duterte’s arrest—then both sides used the case to fuel their own stories of persecution (Carnegie Endowment: Polarized Opinion, Guardian: Sara Duterte impeached).

Institutions are supposed to guard the nation from abuse. Instead, they’ve turned into shields for whoever holds power next.

What This Reveals About Us

Destabilization rumors survive because we keep giving them life. Every time a new “plot” makes the news, we dissect it, debate it, and treat it like a serious threat. Meanwhile, the families behind the noise tighten their grip.

We’ve seen this play before. When we argue over whether a coup is real, we end up ignoring why the same dynasties never lose power. Each scandal becomes another act in a long-running performance where the audience keeps returning, hoping for a different ending.

Even the most absurd story gets airtime. We ask whether Sara Duterte’s assassination claims were sedition or just politics. We debate whether Rodrigo Duterte’s tirades against Marcos count as incitement. But legality stopped being the issue long ago. What matters now is how numb we’ve become to threats, chaos, and abuse of power (HDFF: Sara Duterte Sparks Controversy).

The Marcos-Duterte feud has also trapped us in false balance. Newsrooms and voters alike treat their rivalry as if it were a real political contest, when it’s only two brands of dynastic power clashing for control (The Conversation: Philippine Elections Leave Marcos-Duterte Feud Dominating Politics).

We’ve been conditioned to choose between names, not visions. And because of that, reformers who stand outside the family system—those with no dynastic ties, no moneyed network—barely get a chance.

The problem isn’t that the Dutertes are plotting against Marcos. The real danger is that our democracy has been reduced to a family argument, and we’ve mistaken that for national discourse.

Until we stop reacting to their drama, the story will never end.

Breaking the Pattern

If there’s anything worth calling destabilization, it’s not what the politicians claim. It’s the slow, deliberate destruction of institutions that could have kept them in check.

Political dynasties have ruled for generations, treating government as family business and the people as currency (NUS: Political Dynasties in Democratic, Developing Countries). Populist strongmen promise change but leave citizens dependent on the very systems that exploit them (Journal of Democracy: End of the Duterte Dynasty?). Disinformation poisons the public sphere until lies sound more believable than evidence (PCIJ: Duterte Influence Machine).

Real destabilization is the quiet kind—the one that happens when no one’s looking. It’s the normalization of corruption. The constant recycling of the same surnames. The fear that voting differently won’t matter.

Stability won’t come from silencing critics or arresting rivals. It will come from dismantling the system that keeps producing them. That means enforcing an anti-dynasty law, protecting independent prosecutors, reforming campaign financing, and strengthening public education so propaganda loses its grip (Democratic Erosion: The Ruling Family).

But laws alone won’t be enough. Voters will have to make the harder choice—to stop rewarding familiar names and start believing that competence can exist outside the old families.

That’s the only kind of destabilization this country actually needs.

The Uncomfortable Conclusion

Destabilization talk keeps returning because it benefits both sides. Marcos paints himself as the defender of democracy against sedition. The Dutertes play the victims of persecution. Each side gets to perform righteousness while using the same playbook that keeps the public distracted (The Conversation: Feud Between Marcos and Duterte Families).

The Armed Forces continues to deny any coup rumors because there are none to begin with—only two political dynasties locked in a war for survival (GMA News: AFP: No Destabilization Plot). What unfolds before us is not rebellion at all, but a routine cycle of power dressed as crisis.

And that’s the real tragedy. The noise of their feud keeps drowning out what truly matters: justice for the killings, accountability for the stolen billions, and a political system that refuses to renew itself.

Real destabilization would mean breaking this cycle—refusing to pick between rival families, demanding clean governance, and finally choosing leaders who don’t treat power as inheritance. It would mean citizens deciding that stability built on silence isn’t stability at all.

Maybe the reason these rumors never die is because they’re easier to accept than the harder truth—that our democracy has already been captured. And freeing it will take more than waiting for one dynasty to fall.

It will take waking up, refusing the script, and walking out of the theater.