25/12/2025
THE HIDDEN VICTORY
Even as the massive web of corruption involving Benguet continues to unfold, rabid supporters and blind fanatics cling to a tired refrain:
“Naabak lang manok yo, agdadael amo yo.”
Their stubborn clinging to this line only exposes their denial—they cannot confront the troubling truths surrounding their political patron and the controversies tied to him.
I have always been candid about one thing: I disliked Tagel when he ran for Vice-Governor.
At that time, I openly discouraged family and friends from supporting him. They still did. I respected their choice—but I did not support his political opponents either. It wasn’t politics. It was instinct. I simply did not like him.
When he later ran for Congress, I eventually supported him.
He lost.
After the elections, something stirred in me again. Anger. That familiar discomfort. The old feeling of distrust crept back, and with it came doubt. I began questioning him—not loudly, not publicly—but deeply, within myself.
During his thanksgiving and worship gathering, he said:
“Thy will be done.”
To him, it meant acceptance. Letting go. Moving on. Trusting that God had a better plan.
I believe that too. I believe God knows exactly what He is doing.
But at that time, I could not understand.
Or maybe—I simply did not want to.
Like many others, I wanted him to fight. I wanted him to question the alleged irregularities in the election, not brush them aside with spiritual resignation. Faith, for me, was never meant to replace action.
I wanted to tell him:
“Nasa Diyos ang awa, nasa tao ang gawa.”
Because what I saw was not just his loss—it was the pain and frustration of his supporters. People who believed. People who hoped. People who stood with him until the end.
And more than that, I felt deep pity for those who filed disqualification cases against his electoral opponent. I felt he abandoned them. That he turned his back on their sacrifices. That he was ungrateful.
I wanted to ask him why.
I wanted him to use his influence, his power, and his resources to support them.
He said, "No."
I stood there, caught between faith and doubt—between believing in God’s will and questioning human responsibility.
Then President Bongbong Marcos dropped the bombshell on the flood control scam.
And suddenly, clarity came.
I realized—some things do not end at the ballot box. Some battles are not meant to be fought by those who lose elections. Some truths need time, exposure, and forces far greater than any single individual.
What made it even more striking was that the revelations unfolding now point directly to the winning candidate in that election—whose victory once appeared unassailable, despite the petitions filed.
Now, with every revelation, every investigation, every crack in the façade of power, I understand.
Things truly do happen for a reason.
With all the chaos unfolding, with the dark side of public office laid bare, I am more than glad he lost the election. I am glad the petitions were not acted upon. Because what is happening now goes far beyond those cases.
This is no longer about electoral protests.
This is about accountability.
This is about corruption being dragged into the light.
I believe the fight of those petitioners did not die—it was merely passed on. Continued by those with the power, authority, and mandate to confront it head-on.
Justice has a longer route.
Truth has its own timing.
And the Higher Power works in ways no human strategy can match.
In the end, perhaps losing was not defeat.
Perhaps it was protection.
Perhaps it was purpose.
