Part 2: The Machine Strikes Back
The House of Representatives has never been kind to dissenters. It smiles in public, applauds on cue, and punishes in silence. When Congressman Kiko Barzaga decided to snarl instead of purr, the machine did what machines do best; it protected itself.
Within weeks of his clash with Congressman Sandro Marcos and his demand for an inquiry into Speaker Martin Romualdez’s alleged flood-control rackets, the gears began to grind. Anonymous leaks. Ethics complaints. Whispers of expulsion. The majority bloc that once welcomed him with campaign smiles now treats him like a contagion.
It is the classic reflex of a political system that has mistaken obedience for unity.
The Philippine Congress is not designed for courage. It is engineered for accommodation. When a young lawmaker dares to break the choreography, especially one who still carries a family name that owes the system its power, the response is swift and surgical: isolate, ridicule, neutralize.
Barzaga’s exit from the National Unity Party was framed as petulance, not principle. His confrontation with the Marcos heir was edited into meme-bait. The ethics committee, which has slept through bigger scandals, suddenly found its moral spine. The message is unmistakable: in the House, loyalty is not optional; it is oxygen.
The machine does not fear corruption. It fears embarrassment.
The backlash against Barzaga reveals the deeper truth about Philippine politics: it is not ruled by ideologies but by comfort. Politicians may quarrel, but they share a single creed: self-preservation.
Romualdez’s circle, battered by the flood-control scandal and by public ridicule, needed a distraction. Barzaga became the convenient villain: young, loud, easy to caricature. He is accused of being undisciplined, attention-hungry, “unbecoming of a gentleman.” These are not legal categories; they are cultural signals meant to remind every other member where the real power lies.
In a chamber of professionals at deference, the worst sin is defiance.
The Ethics of Silence
The Ethics Committee now plays the role of moral enforcer, but its timing betrays its intent. For years it ignored far graver misconduct i.e. kickback allegations, ghost projects, public insults, even sexual harassment. Yet a meme-posting, cat-loving congressman becomes an existential threat.
This is not ethics; it is etiquette. The House of Representative is less concerned about wrongdoing than about tone. Its guardians of decorum protect not virtue but hierarchy. Barzaga’s real crime was forgetting that youth in Congress is allowed only if it behaves like age.
There is danger, too, in Barzaga’s defiance. Every rebellion feeds the spectacle it condemns. The more he fights, the more the machine can say, “See? He’s all noise.” His survival will depend on discipline, turning protest into procedure, and outrage into oversight. If he cannot do that, the House will swallow him whole and spit him out as another cautionary tale: the boy who meowed too loud.
Yet even if he fades, the backlash already tells us everything about governance in the Philippines. The flood-control scandal, the resignations, the dynastic alignments, they all point to one conclusion: institutions no longer self-correct; they self-protect.
The system’s instinct for survival is now stronger than its capacity for reform. The punishment of dissent has replaced the policing of corruption. And when that happens, a legislature ceases to be representative; it becomes an organism whose only purpose is to keep breathing.
Final Word
The Meow in the Machine made the House twitch. The Machine Strikes Back is its reflex: predictable, defensive, and desperate.
But every reflex reveals fear, and fear is the first crack in control. Barzaga’s defiance, however flawed, proves that the machine is not invincible. It still feels pain. It still bleeds when scratched.
And maybe, just maybe, that means it can still be fixed.
