MY last domestic column concluded a series on political dynasties. For nine weeks since, this space tracked a global apocalypse: a catastrophic war ignited by a megalomaniac Trump that decapitated Iran’s leadership, devastated the Middle East, and wrecked the global economy. Yet, following this American defeat — a disaster Trump’s cohorts still cannot comprehend — (my next few columns) I must shift back to the local scenery.

While the geopolitical stage deals with the fall of empires, the Philippine scene is bracing for a different warfare: the exasperated Filipino versus a shameless Senate leadership. We lack global military might, but our theatrical talent is unmatched. The award for the country’s most gripping prime time drama no longer belongs to television networks; it belongs to the Senate, which has decided to moonlight as a low-budget Hollywood studio.

Following mid-May’s chaos, the public was fed a sanitized narrative. We were told — with straight faces — that the sudden ouster of Senate President Tito Sotto and the coronation of Alan Peter Cayetano was a routine, spontaneous transition. A master class in legislative independence!

Then, Sen. Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa sat down with Jessica Soho on KMJS, opened his mouth, and blew that entire fictional edifice to smithereens. Bato blurted out that the takeover was, indeed, a “coup” and detailed how Cayetano personally micromanaged his stealth extraction into the complex via a custom getaway vehicle to evade law enforcement.

By exposing this frantic evasion and the tactical timing aligned with VP Sara’s impeachment, Bato completely destroyed the “tough guy” persona he spent years cultivating.

The accidental ‘coup’ confession

In politics, the golden rule is elementary: you are supposed to keep the quiet part quiet. Instead, Senator Bato took a primetime megaphone to it.

When Jessica Soho asked him directly if the Senate leadership takeover was, for all intents and purposes, a “coup,” Bato bypassed the standard political doublespeak entirely. He didn’t pivot. He didn’t deflect. He just blurted out: “Yeah, yeah.”

Just like that, the myth of the “organic legislative realignment” died a swift, embarrassing death on national television. Bato proudly admitted he served as the decisive, engineered “13th vote” needed to install Cayetano. But the true comedic brilliance of the interview emerged when he detailed exactly how that 13th vote physically arrived at the Senate complex.

For days, Cayetano’s camp portrayed Bato’s dramatic appearance during the May 11 session as the heroic return of a dedicated statesman performing his solemn legislative duty. Bato’s own testimony, however, painted a picture less like a lawmaker attending a session and more like an episode of “Narcos.”

According to Bato, Cayetano didn’t just invite him; Cayetano allegedly micromanaged a stealth extraction operation. He phoned Bato while the latter was in hiding, provided specific instructions on how to infiltrate the Senate complex, arranged a custom getaway vehicle, and mapped out a clandestine route explicitly designed to bypass law enforcement.

Congratulations to Senate President Cayetano: you have officially graduated from a passive beneficiary of a leadership shift to the alleged chief logistics officer of an underground fugitive extraction unit.

From alpha cop to hide-and-seek champion

The KMJS interview didn’t just create an immediate legal headache for the new Senate leadership; it completely vaporized Bato’s long-cultivated, alpha-male public persona.

For years, the public has been treated to endless loops of fierce, chest-thumping rhetoric regarding the International Criminal Court’s (ICC) probe into the Duterte-era drug war. “I am ready to face the ICC!” “I am not afraid!” “I will face jail time if needed!” It was pure, unadulterated, grade-A machismo.

Cut to the television screen, where reality finally caught up with the script, exposing a striking contradiction:

– The public rhetoric: “I answer only to the Filipino people!”

– The prime-time reality: He openly admitted he spent the last six months playing a high-stakes, panicked game of hide-and-seek because he was terrified of being apprehended by authorities linked to ICC enforcement.

– The public rhetoric: “I fear no one! Let them come!

– The prime-time reality: He deeply regretted showing up at the Senate because he discovered National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) agents were positioned nearby. In his own words, if he had known they were there, he “would never have shown up.”

It takes a very special, unparalleled level of political naivete to go on national television to defend your integrity, only to accidentally confess that your entire public persona is a theatrical performance. The fearless, hard-boiled general was, in truth, just an anxious guy hiding under a metaphorical bed, desperately wishing he hadn’t answered Alan Peter’s phone call. This Bato is one unmitigated idiot!

A masterclass in chronology and coincidence

Let us not overlook the impeccable, totally “coincidental” timing of this entire circus. The Senate leadership overhaul happened on May 11. By sheer, cosmic happenstance, which was the exact same day the House of Representatives finalized the articles of impeachment against VP Sara.

To believe these two monumental events were isolated requires a level of gullibility that borders on a medical emergency. To any conscious observer, the sequence is glaringly obvious. First, Bato publicly announced that authorities were preparing to arrest him. Public sympathy was mobilized online, and DDS loyalists were urged to gather.

Then came the grand finale inside the Senate complex: reports of gunfire, armed personnel pacing the hallways, breathless claims of suspicious intruders, and an abrupt lockdown atmosphere that plunged the institution into instant crisis mode.

Yet, when the smoke cleared, there were no reported casualties, no publicly identified attackers, and the terrifying threat was quietly downgraded to “perceived” NBI agents. But the best part of the magic trick? Amid all this expertly manufactured, cinematic chaos, the idiot somehow vanished completely from the premises!

The death of plausible deniability

The Senate exists to uphold constitutional governance, yet current optics suggest it is being used to build a plush, taxpayer-funded barricade against it. The Senate is not a medieval fortress, an elite safehouse, or an overgrown playground for politicians to evade law enforcement.

By trying to play the victim on KMJS, Bato accidentally destroyed the one thing his sophisticated allies desperately needed: plausible deniability. By proudly detailing the phone calls, the secret transport arrangements, the tactical timing and the frantic evasion of authorities, Bato effectively transformed Cayetano from a passive politician into the central coordinator of a highly questionable operation.

Legal observers are already noting that this stunningly naive display of show-and-tell may expose the Senate leadership to serious allegations, ranging from abuse of institutional authority to obstruction of justice and harboring or assisting an individual evading law enforcement presence.

As Senate president, you do not get to invoke institutional independence without also accepting institutional responsibility. Leadership carries accountability for what occurs under your watch, especially when a major government building suddenly functions like a getaway car.

The KMJS interview will undoubtedly go down in history as one of the most consequential pieces of political self-sabotage ever televised. Bato wanted to show the world his heart; instead, he handed everyone the blueprints to the conspiracy.

As a Davaoeño — in the same neighborhood as the idiot — I am appalled!

THERE are strategic moments when the most dangerous illusion is not defeat, but victory. Hormuz may come to stand as one of those moments.

By every optics, America appears to be winning. Missiles intercept. Carrier groups in place. Air superiority remains intact. The system functions exactly as designed. And, as the slapstick duo of Trump and Hegseth repeatedly proclaim, Iran’s navy is “at the bottom of the sea, its air force wiped out, its military gone!”

On paper, America is succeeding. But war, like finance, has two ledgers: one records victories; the other records costs. Victory appears in the first. Sustainability in the second. And it is in that second ledger where the numbers begin to turn ominous.

The arithmetic of asymmetry

What is unfolding is not failure of capability. It is failure of symmetry. Iran does not need to defeat the United States conventionally. It merely needs to impose pressure at a cost curve the Americans cannot comfortably sustain indefinitely. Tehran fires drones costing tens of thousands; Washington swats them with interceptors costing millions. At times the ratio blows past 200 to 1. The imbalance isn’t a flaw. It’s the point.

Each Iranian drone isn’t just a weapon — it’s a bill. Every interception is a payment. The US is still winning tactically; its forces are stronger and more advanced. But wars aren’t won by single exchanges. They’re won by whoever can absorb the cost longer. That’s where the real danger lies.

Modern precision warfare depends on fragile supply chains, limited manufacturing capacity and weapons systems that often take years to produce. Many advanced missiles are manufactured in small annual numbers but are now being consumed in weeks. Inventory once treated as background logistics becomes a strategic issue.

A destroyer that empties its vertical launch system does not reload at sea. It withdraws. Presence, the true currency of naval power, is quietly spent. Not destroyed in battle but consumed through use.

Hormuz therefore exposed something larger than a regional conflict. It exposed the growing gap between America’s display of power and the long-term discipline required to sustain it.

For decades, America guaranteed open sea lanes and secure global trade. That credibility became the foundation of the international order. Iran understood this. By threatening Hormuz — through which roughly 20 percent of global oil flows — Tehran was not merely targeting shipping. It was testing whether American power still possessed both strength and strategic coherence.

That distinction matters because modern deterrence is psychological as much as military.

When power become performance

The most damaging part of the Hormuz crisis was not military difficulty. Great powers face setbacks regularly. The deeper damage came afterward: dramatic declarations, rapid escalation, conflicting statements, then sudden pauses in operations.

In geopolitics, inconsistency signals weakness faster than defeat.

When Trump and Hegseth arrogantly declare victory while operations are quietly suspended, allies do not see flexibility. They see confusion. Markets do not interpret contradictions as sophistication. They interpret them as uncertainty — and uncertainty is corrosive.

The world watches crises not only for results, but for coherence. Are leaders aligned? Is there a real strategy? Does the system appear disciplined or improvised?

Seriousness in statecraft is not theatrical confidence. It is institutional discipline: the ability to align military action, diplomatic signaling, economic consequences and political objectives into a coherent whole.

Without that coherence, even overwhelming power begins to look performative.

Iran recognized this quickly. It moved to institutionalize leverage through a “Persian Gulf Strait Authority” regulating transit permits and coordination. Whether fully enforceable is almost secondary. The symbolism itself matters.

Because once a state begins behaving as regulator of an international chokepoint — and encounters limited resistance — perception hardens into precedent. That is how international orders erode: not through sudden collapse, but through gradual normalization of what was once unacceptable.

The silent hegemon

The real impact of this crisis reaches far beyond the Persian Gulf. It stretches into the Indo-Pacific — the principal strategic arena of this century. Every interceptor used in Hormuz is one less available elsewhere. Patriot and THAAD systems repositioned to the Gulf are systems unavailable for future flashpoints that may matter more.

This is more than diversion. It is revelation.

China does not need direct confrontation with the United States. It only needs to watch America spread finite resources across multiple conflicts, gradually weakening its ability to concentrate power where it matters most. That is the paradox of modern military supremacy: Overwhelming strength can still produce strategic exhaustion if applied without discipline.

Meanwhile, China benefits quietly. Beijing avoids the costs and risks of confrontation while presenting itself as mediator, stabilizer and economic partner. It continues buying Iranian oil while American credibility absorbs the strain of escalation, confusion and retreat.

This is strategic asymmetry. Washington pays the cost of maintaining global order. Beijing harvests the geopolitical advantages when that order appears unstable.

No speeches. No grand announcements. Just incentives. Because once allies conclude it is cheaper and safer to work around a system rather than within it, influence rarely collapses suddenly. It slowly erodes.

The economic effects spread just as quickly. Even limited disruption in Hormuz raises energy prices, increases shipping costs, pushes food and manufacturing expenses upward and tightens credit.

What begins as a regional conflict becomes a global tax — paid not by governments, but by ordinary households.

That is the paradox of tactical success: You may dominate the battlefield while destabilizing the larger system surrounding it. And systems, once destabilized, rarely return neatly to equilibrium.

The slow erosion of power

Within the United States itself, another strain quietly emerges. Not collapse. Not mutiny. Something subtler: a widening gap between execution and belief.

Deployments lengthen. Maintenance cycles tighten. Operational tempo intensifies. But beyond physical exhaustion lies a deeper problem — whether institutions still believe the strategic logic justifies the rising cost. Armies can sustain pressure for long periods. Confidence in strategy is harder to replenish once doubt begins to spread.

Complex systems rarely fail dramatically at first. They weaken gradually through accumulated misalignment. That is why Hormuz matters beyond the Gulf itself. What is unfolding is not one crisis, but several simultaneously: a financial crisis of rising defense costs; a strategic crisis of overstretched resources; an economic crisis driven by global disruption; and an institutional crisis between public narrative and operational reality.

Individually, each remains manageable. Together, they reinforce one another.

History offers a consistent warning. Great powers are rarely destroyed by one decisive defeat. They weaken through the widening gap between visible victory and hidden cost, between tactical success and strategic sustainability. Empires often appear strongest precisely when the deeper foundations of endurance are quietly eroding.

America is not losing this conflict conventionally. It is winning — precisely as designed. But it may be winning in a manner that steadily mortgages its ability to sustain power where it will matter most.

That is the paradox. And that is the danger.

Because the defining question for great powers is never simply whether they can win wars.

It is whether they can afford the way they win them.

THE most consequential beneficiaries of war are not always those firing missiles or occupying territory. Sometimes they are the states that simply endure long enough for the global system to rearrange itself around them.

That is increasingly the case with Russia.

The Iran war was meant to pressure Tehran, restore deterrence, and for Israel, prevent Iran from turning economic normalization into long-term regional dominance. Instead, it disrupted global energy markets, exposed cracks within Western alliances and diverted attention from Ukraine. In the process, Russia quietly regained leverage it had been losing — not because Moscow controlled events, but because the crisis itself began working in its favor. In geopolitics, structure often matters more than intention.

Oil, sanctions and the politics of necessity

The war transformed the Strait of Hormuz from a shipping lane into a strategic choke point. Even after ceasefires and negotiations, tanker traffic remains unstable, insurance premiums elevated and markets deeply nervous.

That instability matters enormously because nearly a fifth of global oil flows normally pass through Hormuz. Once that artery constricts, the world does not merely pay more for energy. It scrambles for whoever can still supply it reliably when others cannot.

And that supplier, increasingly, is Russia.

Before the conflict, Russian crude traded under sanctions, pressure and political stigma. Buyers demanded discounts to absorb the reputational and financial risk. But wars change moral arithmetic. Scarcity has a way of converting prohibited commodities into necessary commodities.

As Iranian exports became constrained by blockade, sanctions and military risk, Russian oil regained strategic value. China and India, already accustomed to navigating sanctions gray zones, are increasing their intake. Even Western policy, publicly rigid but privately adaptive, has begun to show signs of accommodation. Mechanisms designed to constrain Russian exports are quietly adjusted, softened, or selectively ignored in the name of market stability.

This is how sanctions regimes erode — not through formal repeal, but through operational necessity. The irony is difficult to miss. A conflict designed, in part, to constrain Iran ends up restoring Russia’s centrality in global energy markets. The outcast becomes the fallback. The fallback becomes essential. And in that transition lies Moscow’s windfall.

Eventually, the sanctioned product is no longer treated as forbidden. It is treated as indispensable. And once indispensability enters the equation, principle usually retreats.

That transition is already visible. Reuters reported that global energy disruptions from the war could raise energy prices by 24 percent this year, with Brent crude repeatedly surging above levels not seen since the Ukraine invasion.

For Moscow, this is not merely an economic reprieve. It is fiscal oxygen.

Studies tracking the war’s impact estimate that Russian oil and gas revenues may increase dramatically under prolonged disruption scenarios, potentially restoring wartime cash flows that sanctions were designed to suppress.

In effect, the Iran war is partially financing the very Russian state the West has spent years trying to economically constrain. Not by conspiracy. By consequence.

The distraction dividend

Energy is only part of Moscow’s gain. The bigger advantage may be distraction. For over two years, the West focused its money, weapons and diplomacy on Ukraine. The Iran war changed that overnight. Carrier groups moved to the Gulf. Air defenses were redirected. Political attention shifted from Donbas to Hormuz.

Diplomatic urgency shifts overnight. Ukraine does not disappear.

But it is no longer alone at the center of the board. That matters because Western military inventories are finite. Every missile system sent to the Middle East is one less available for Kyiv. Strategic attention, likewise, is limited. Every hour spent managing Hormuz is an hour not spent managing Donbas.

And somewhere in the Kremlin, Putin may be quietly smiling as Trump, intentionally or not, helps redirect Western focus away from Russia, doing for Moscow what years of pressure and diplomacy could not.

Analysts now admit the Iran war has weakened Western focus on Ukraine while boosting Russia through higher energy revenues. This is not a dramatic Russian victory. It is something quieter but valuable: relief.

As pressure spreads across multiple crises, pressure on Moscow eases. And wars are often decided not by one decisive breakthrough, but by the slow exhaustion of focus, discipline and endurance.

The alliance fracture

The Iran war has also exposed something Washington would rather not publicly discuss: the limits of allied enthusiasm. When the United States pushed for broader military alignment in securing Hormuz and expanding enforcement operations, several allies hesitated or refused outright. European governments grew increasingly wary of being drawn into an open-ended Gulf escalation whose objectives appeared fluid and whose economic consequences were already severe.

This matters because American power has always depended not only on military capability, but on coalition credibility. Once allies begin calculating exposure differently, deterrence becomes more expensive to maintain.

Moscow understands this dynamic well. Russia does not need NATO to collapse. It only needs alliance cohesion to become less automatic, less reflexive, and more conditional.

Every disagreement over enforcement, every sanctions waiver, every reluctant deployment contributes to that gradual loosening. The irony is striking. A war intended partly to reinforce Western credibility is now testing the endurance of Western coordination itself.

The quiet paradox

None of this means Russia is suddenly strong in the traditional sense.

Its economy remains commodity-dependent. Sanctions still constrain technology access and investment. Long-term demographic and structural weaknesses remain unresolved. Even Russian analysts warn that a rapid de-escalation in the Gulf could quickly reverse many current gains.

But geopolitics is rarely about perfection. It is about relative position. And relative to a Middle East sliding into volatility, Russia increasingly appears — paradoxically — predictable.

Not stable in the liberal democratic sense. Stable in the narrower language markets understand: known risks under familiar constraints.

Energy traders can calculate Russian exposure.

The Gulf now runs on mines, blockades, missile threats, insurance panic, political escalation — and nightly presidential tweets. In chaotic systems, predictability becomes expensive. Ironically, sanctioned Russia is beginning to look like the steadier supplier.

The real outcome

The deeper lesson of the Iran war may ultimately have little to do with Iran itself. It was meant to isolate Tehran. Instead, it revived Moscow’s leverage. It was meant to project deterrence. Instead, it exposed alliance hesitation. It was meant to constrain adversaries. Instead, it redistributed strategic pressure.

Russia did not need to dominate the battlefield to benefit from the conflict. It needed only one thing: time. Because every additional month of disruption reinforces the same pattern — higher energy prices, softer sanctions discipline, divided Western focus, and stronger Russian fiscal resilience.

Some wars are won on battlefields. Others are won through endurance — through higher oil prices, fractured alliances, exhausted rivals and the slow erosion of strategic focus. This increasingly looks like the latter.

And if that trajectory holds, the most consequential beneficiary of the Iran conflict may not ultimately be found in Tehran, Tel Aviv, or even Washington.

It may be Moscow — the capital that stayed largely outside the firing line, yet understood a timeless geopolitical truth: when great powers exhaust themselves, survival alone can become victory.