FIRST OF A SERIES

SINCE Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini’s rise to power in the 1979 Islamic Revolution, removing him and his regime have always existed on the margins of American strategic thinking. However, it became a geopolitical obsession of one man: Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

The strategy of grudging equilibrium was the core doctrine of every American president since Jimmy Carter’s debacle in the aftermath the Iranian hostage crisis. Subsequent American presidents, from Bill Clinton onward, understood the risks of turning that doctrine into policy. The memory of the Iraq war, the fragility of the Persian Gulf, and the catastrophic consequences of regime-change adventurism imposed a kind of institutional restraint. Not until Donald Trump’s presidency when American and Israeli interests — with Netanyahu in the driver’s seat — were fused strategically.

Netanyahu found a marionette in Trump, whose focus on “total victory” overshadowed geopolitical stability. On Feb. 28, 2026, that restraint evaporated.

Trump advanced a dramatic war plan — Operation Epic Fury — launching 900 missiles, destroying command centers, eliminating the Iranian leadership, and erasing military infrastructure. The spectacle — designed for impact on television — projected strength, warming the cockles of a reality television star.

For three decades, US military leaders have advised against war with Iran, citing its challenging size and geography. Pentagon simulations consistently showed air campaigns alone would not lead to regime change or submission.

Defying military logic, ultimately, America was maneuvered into a war of choice, one whose political timing aligned far more neatly with Israeli electoral pressures than with American strategic necessity. The fireworks were spectacular; the consequences were deadly.

‘Total victory’ – an illusion

Echoing then-president George W. Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” speech in the wake of the US-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, Trump quickly declared the operation “very complete.” In purely kinetic terms, the claim held some truth. Iran’s aging air force was destroyed within hours; missile depots were reduced to craters. But wars are not resolved by destroying machinery. Here’s the fundamental flaw of the “transactionalist” mindset: it confuses the destruction of hardware with conflict resolution.

By allowing Netanyahu to dictate both the target and timing, Washington stepped directly into a strategic trap that has been decades in the making. Trump appeared convinced he had delivered a decisive blow, perhaps even a “gift” to the Iranian people.

Instead, the attack accomplished something far more dangerous: it decapitated Iran’s old guard and cleared the path for a younger, more radical leadership cohort.

The new supreme leader, Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei, emerged from the political vacuum not as a moderating technocrat, but as a hardened ideological figure shaped by the trauma of the Iran-Iraq War.

Members of his family were among those killed in the initial strikes.

In the Shia tradition of martyrdom, such deaths do not deter. They sanctify. Allahu Ahkbar! The idea that this leadership would now pursue a conciliatory “grand bargain” with Washington was always a fantasy.

Geography, not firepower

Pentagon was prepared for the war they wanted to fight.

They saw aging Iranian aircraft, creaking naval platforms, outdated radar networks. Their calculations suggested that Tehran could not survive two weeks of high-technology confrontation with the US.

They were probably correct. But Iran never intended to fight that war.

Iranian strategists understood their weakness in conventional combat. They understood the West’s structural vulnerability, its’ “Achilles’ heel”: the narrow maritime corridor measuring just 21 miles wide: the Strait of Hormuz, the central artery of global energy trade.

Invisible blockade

Within 72 hours of the initial missile barrage, the theoretical nightmare became reality. Hormuz closed, not through dramatic naval battles with the formidable US carrier strike groups. Instead, a handful of Iranian precise drone strikes near tanker routes changed the risk calculus overnight.

Then Lloyd’s of London and insurers who quietly govern maritime commerce made their move. Confronted with risks that could no longer be priced, they withdrew coverage. Without insurance, ships simply do not sail. In an instant, nearly 20 million barrels a day — one-fifth of the world’s seaborne crude — vanished from the market. Tehran grasped a brutal truth Washington ignored: you need not defeat a navy to paralyze the world, only make shipping uninsurable. The crisis arrived not with explosions, but with silence.

Economic earthquake

The numbers tell the story more clearly than any speech. On Feb. 27, the day before the first strikes, Brent crude and US gasoline on average cost $78 a barrel and $3.75 a gallon, respectively; shipping insurance was standard; and more than 20 million barrel a day pass through Hormuz. But as of March 7, Brent crude and US gasoline on average cost $119/barrel and $4.10/gallon, respectively; shipping insurance was suspended; and barrels of oil passing through Hormuz was effectively zero.

This isn’t just a statistic; it’s a silent tax on daily life. From pumps in Detroit and farms in Kansas to airline fuel and grocery chains, these costs ripple through the economy. Ultimately, the geopolitical chessboard lands on the kitchen table, as the American middle class foots the daily bill for Netanyahu’s long-pursued objectives.

Fracturing security order

The crisis did not stop at gas stations. Regional economies began to buckle. Iraq halted production in its southern oil fields as exports became impossible. Saudi and Emirati infrastructure again faced drone strikes.

Most revealing, however, was the reaction of America’s allies. When France announced an independent naval escort mission led by the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R91), the message was unmistakable.

European governments no longer fully trusted the American security umbrella to keep maritime trade secure. For 75 years US naval supremacy guaranteed open sea lanes. That assumption now looks fragile. What tariffs could not fracture, strategic recklessness has begun to unravel.

Erosion of institutional discipline

Perhaps, the most troubling dimension of the crisis lies within the US itself. Its Constitution is explicit: the authority to declare war rests with Congress. Yet, the country now finds itself deep inside a regime-change conflict that was never formally authorized.

When a War Powers resolution in the House failed by 219 to 212, it revealed something deeper: institutional checks and balances have become increasingly decorative. The architecture of restraint, once central to American power, has weakened.

This matters more than any missile strike. America’s strength has never rested solely on military capacity, but on institutional discipline — the habit of calculating the day after before launching the day of. That discipline now appears to be eroding.

Quiet redefinition of power

Trump declares the mission complete, but reality remains unimpressed. With the Strait of Hormuz shuttered and oil hitting $120, it is clear that geopolitics is not a Trump casino where one can simply declare bankruptcy a victory and walk away. Escaping this trap requires acknowledging a strategic miscalculation — an intellectual maneuver rarely seen from Mar-a-Lago’s current occupant.

Instead, escalation looms. We see the familiar pattern: more strikes, naval surges, and the dangerous whisper of “boots on the ground.” This is the desperate remedy of leaders who realize, far too late, that the map is infinitely more complex than the slogan.

Meanwhile, the true damage occurs in the shadows. Insurers are retreating, trade routes are fraying, and allies are quietly designing security frameworks that bypass Washington entirely. History rarely turns on the initial explosion. It turns on the chilling silence that follows when markets shudder and the world realizes the man who pulled the lever never understood the machine.

To be continued on March 25, 2026

OVER the last three columns, we have peeled back the layers of the Philippine political onion to find a core that is not a vacuum of leadership, but a dense grid of familial controls. We have traced the trajectory from pre-colonial datu roots to the modern captured state, where the line between private profit and public policy has been erased by the oligopolidyn. This hybrid elite has effectively swallowed our democratic mechanisms, transforming even the party-list system — intended to be a beacon for the marginalized — into a mere family holding company subsidiary.

Enter the modern arena. While the 1987 Constitution is hailed as a shield against tyranny, it has become the ultimate playground for the elite. The 2026 “Charter change” push isn’t about economic ideals or efficiency; it’s a strategic maneuver in a dynastic civil war. In this concluding part, we examine why the Constitution is the last barrier to total hegemony. We’ll explore how the anti-dynasty clause, left toothless by the very people it regulates, is now a bargaining chip in a high-stakes siege. The families that captured the economy are rewriting the rules to ensure they never have to leave the field.

Two models of state capture

We conclude this series amid the spectacular collapse of the “UniTeam.” To most, the scorched-earth war between the House Marcos and the House Duterte looks like a Shakespearean drama fueled by betrayal and “cryingcrying” telenovela optics. But beneath the ruling conjugal “bangag” drug-use allegations and assassination threats, this isn’t a personality clash. It is a “structural civil war” — a violent recalibration of the oligopolidyn as two competing models of state capture fight for total hegemony.

The Marcos “Bagong Pilipinas” model is a return to centralized, technocratic capture. It seeks to rehabilitate the family brand by aligning with Western security interests and institutionalizing a specific “accountability” — not to end corruption, but to make the state investor-friendly, kuno. By pushing for constitutional transparency and allowing international pressure against the Duterte patriarch, the Marcos faction is “cleansing” the capture, moving away from the raw, punitive style of the previous era.

In contrast, the Duterte “DDS model” represents decentralized, illiberal capture. It thrives on “punitive populism,” a law-and-order narrative that trades human rights for regional stability and “protection.” This model views Western institutions as existential threats and prefers a “nostrings-attached” partnership with China — whatever that means — also fueling local dynastic interests.
The 2025-2026 political cycle has turned state institutions into weapons of war. The impeachment proceedings against Vice President Sara Duterte and the subsequent Supreme Court technicalities are not about “justice,” but about the Unitary-Presidential system working as designed: a “winner-take-all” zero-sum game.

In this captured state, the vice presidency is a vestigial organ — a heartbeat away from power but possessing no actual function — making the system unstable when the incumbent belongs to a rival oligopolidyn. The weaponization of the House stripping confidential funds simply demonstrates that the legislature is no longer a deliberative body, but the “enforcement division” of the president’s clan.

Charter as the armor of the elite

The most bitter front of this war is the move to revise the 1987 Constitution. Ironically, both sides use “reform” as a shield. The Marcos administration argues that “Cha-cha” is necessary to open the economy, while the Duterte faction denounces it as a power grab designed to extend term limits. Yet the 1987 Constitution is the very architecture that “fossilized” these monopolies. Its restrictive economic provisions acted as a protectionist barrier for the local oligarchy, while its political framework allowed dynasties to metastasize in the absence of a real party system.

The current struggle is a fight over who gets to rewrite the rules for the next 50 years. If the Marcos faction succeeds in a shift toward a parliamentary system — without a sine qua non ban on turncoatism or a genuine anti-dynasty provision, or the establishment of ideologically differentiated political parties, they will simply have created a more efficient machinery for their own brand of oligopolidyn.

Basically, the current mess proves that the oligopolidyn runs on pure spite. Voters aren’t debating real policy like land reform or industrialization; they’re just picking sides in a regional turf war — “Solid North” versus “Davao Stronghold.”

It’s the ultimate win for a captured state: they’ve convinced the marginalized that their only “voice” is to hitch their wagon to one of two warring dynasties. In the end, it’s just choosing which family gets to run the country like their own private ATM.

The path to ‘decapture’: Disrupting the game

We must move beyond the “reformist” delusion that the captors — on both factions — will voluntarily rewrite the laws to exclude themselves. The path to “decapture” requires a shift from being spectators of this dynastic telenovela to becoming architects of a new systemic reality. This involves three strategic disruptions that go beyond mere constitutional tinkering.

First, we must prioritize “economic democratization over simple liberalization.” Change shouldn’t just open doors for foreign investors; it must dismantle the oligopolidyn’s vertical monopolies. True decapture requires an antitrust revolution to stop a single family from simultaneously controlling vital utilities, media and political office. We must ensure “opening the economy” fosters genuine local competition rather than simply swapping a domestic dynasty for a foreign conglomerate.

Second, we need “radical transparency” via digital counter-institutions. The captured state thrives on “opaque budgets” — confidential funds and pork disguised as development. By using blockchain-verified ledgers for every LGU, we can bypass dynastic gatekeepers. Once citizens can track the “bloodline of the peso” from the Treasury to the contractor, the patronage fueling the oligopolidyn finally starves.

Third, we must break the “surname-seat linkage.” We must pivot the “anti-dynasty” conversation from moral pleas to structural bans.

This requires a constitutional mandate for ideologically differentiated political parties and proportional representation — not party lists; where citizens vote for platforms, making it impossible for a single family to colonize multiple seats under the guise of “public service.”

The tragedy of the 2026 Philippine political landscape is that the civil war between Marcos and Duterte is consuming all the oxygen in the room, leaving no space for structural reforms that actually matter. While the two houses trade blows in the Senate and the ICC, the economy remains a “private pond” for the hybrid elite, the party-list remains a backdoor for heirs, and the unitary-presidential system continues to encourage strongman worship over institutional strength.

My parting refrain for my co-advocates. The war you see is a smokescreen. This “conflict” is just a distraction to keep us in line. True liberation isn’t a trophy passed between dynasties; it’s the radical act of divorcing the surname from the seat of power. The Philippines isn’t weak — it’s hijacked. You don’t liberate a captured state by begging the captors; you rewrite the rules until the cost of owning the players exceeds the profit of the prize.

The 1987 Constitution is the arena, but the era of the spectator is over. It’s time to stop watching the game and seize the territory.

Third of a four-part series

IN the previous parts of this series, we explored how the Philippine state is not inherently “weak,” but is instead “captured” — its institutions repurposed to serve narrow interests rather than the common good. To understand how this capture is maintained across generations, we must look at the structural DNA of the Philippine ruling class. It is a phenomenon I call “oligopolidyn:” the seamless fusion of the oligarchy (economic control by the few) and political dynasties (political control by the few). In the Philippines, wealth and power are not merely neighbors; they are the same creature, living in the same house, sitting at the same table.

Evolution of the hybrid elite

Historically, political science viewed economic and political elites as distinct entities that balanced one another. In a functional democracy, business interests advocate for infrastructure and the rule of law, while politicians regulate industry to protect labor and the environment.

In the Philippines, this distinction has evaporated. Through the oligopolidyn model, the lawmaker and the conglomerate head are often the same person — or immediate kin. This transcends mere “crony capitalism,” which suggests a transactional friendship between two separate actors. Instead, we see structural integration: The office of governor or congressman has become the political wing of a family enterprise. Governance is no longer a check on private interest; it is its instrument.

The dynasty as a holding company

To understand the modern polidyn, we must stop viewing it through the lens of public service and see it as a holding company. In corporate form, holding companies protect assets, diversify risk and ensure succession. The Philippine political dynasty functions identically:

– Asset protection: A congressional seat ensures that family land, malls, or utility franchises are shielded from competitors or unfavorable taxation.

– Succession planning: Like a CEO grooming an heir, a patriarch prepares a child for the district. It isn’t about merit; it’s about brand continuity.– Risk diversification: Clans split members across executive, legislative, local and national roles. This ensures the family remains relevant regardless of who occupies Malacañang.

When wealth and power merge, both the market and the ballot lose independence. Entering politics becomes as daunting as challenging a utility monopoly. The “startup” candidate is crushed by the capital weight of incumbency.

The travesty of the party-list system

The distortion of the oligopolidyn is nowhere more visible than in the evolution of the party-list system. Conceived by the framers of the 1987 Constitution, this mechanism was intended as a vehicle for genuine democratic representation — a bridge for a planned parliamentary transition. It was designed to ensure that the “voiceless” – laborers, peasants and Indigenous groups — could secure a seat at the legislative table through proportional representation, shifting focus from cults of personality to ideology-driven platforms.

When the parliamentary transition was aborted, the system was awkwardly grafted onto a presidential framework, creating a structural misalignment that invited exploitation. Instead of empowering the marginalized, the party-list has become a “dumping ground” for election losers and a backdoor for powerful families to expand their reach.

Today, many groups are defined by inane acronyms or single-issue gimmicks rather than ideological depth. More distressingly, they function as “family businesses” where dynasts install relatives to occupy the one-fifth of the House reserved for the underrepresented. By co-opting these seats, the elite have neutralized a tool meant to challenge their hegemony. Rather than democratizing Congress, the party-list has become an adjunct to political patronage, ensuring power remains a hereditary commodity.

Ultimately, the “hybrid elite” has transformed Philippine governance into a sophisticated holding company, where the party-list system — once intended for the marginalized — serves as its latest subsidiary. By merging economic muscle with legislative control, these dynasties have effectively privatized democracy, ensuring that power remains a closed-circuit, hereditary commodity.

 The economic cost of political monopolies

The marriage of oligarchy and dynasty — the oligopolidyn — creates a closed-loop system corrosive to economic vitality. When a single family controls both the provincial capitol and the local marketplace, innovation stagnates. Why innovate when you can simply legislate? If a family-owned firm is guaranteed contracts because they are the government, the incentive to improve service vanishes.

This fuels the “rent-seeking trap.” Our economy relies on extracting wealth from controlled resources — land, utilities and licenses — rather than creating value through manufacturing. The oligopolidyn is the ultimate rent-seeking machine, maintaining a veneer of democracy while offering voters only an illusion: a choice between clan A or clan B, both committed to the same extractive model.

Breaking the loop: systems not families

For decades, Filipinos have been told the solution is to “elect better people” or pass a simple anti-dynasty law. This is a category error. We are not suffering from a “family” problem; we are suffering from a system problem. To dismantle the oligopolidyn, we must stop moralizing about personalities and start reengineering the architecture of the state.

The current unitary-presidential system is the primary oxygen supply for this elite capture. By centralizing immense power in a single office and geographic center (Metro Manila), the system creates a “winner-take-all” environment favoring those with the most initial capital. It reduces politics to a popularity contest rather than a policy debate.

To correct this, three fundamental structural shifts are imperatives:

– Transitioning to a parliamentary system: A parliamentary system shifts the focus from the “strongman” to the “strong party.” In a parliament, the executive is not an untouchable monarch but a “first-among-equals” who is daily accountable to the legislature. This negates the unitary-presidential centralization that allows a single family to capture the national direction.

– Institutionalizing ideologically differentiated parties: Currently, Philippine political parties are “flags of convenience” — empty vessels used by dynasties. We need a system defined by ideology (e.g., labor, green, liberal) rather than surnames. By mandating party-switching bans and providing public financing, we replace the “family holding company” with an “ideological institution.”

– Revising the 1987 Constitution: The current Charter has inadvertently fossilized the monopolies it sought to prevent. Its restrictive economic provisions protect local oligarchs from competition. A comprehensive revision is an act of survival, required to build a decentralized, competitive state that treats the economy as a field for innovation rather than a private pond for the elite.

The soul of the state

The Philippine tragedy is not lack of resources or talent. It is that the gatekeepers of our resources are the same few families. Oligopolidyn has turned our democracy into a private club and our economy into a family estate.

Operating within the 1987 framework is merely rearranging deck chairs on the “Titanic.” An anti-dynasty law under a presidential system — currently contemplated in Congress — will only yield new loopholes. True reform requires changing the rules, so the “dynastic strategy” is no longer the most efficient path to power. By uncoupling the surname from the seat of office, we can finally build a state that serves its citizens rather than its owners. The goal is systemic transformation, not just shifting personalities.

Next week: The dynastic civil war — why the 1987 Constitution is the battlegroundThe soul of the state