The Golden Silence of Malacañan

The Golden Silence of Malacañan

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — February 26, 2025

IMAGINE a vault deep within the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas, its shelves gleaming with gold bars—national treasure, a hedge against chaos, a symbol of stability. Now picture those bars slipping quietly into the shadows, sold off to unnamed buyers for undisclosed sums, with no whisper of explanation to the Filipino people. This is no hypothetical. This is the controversy now roiling the Philippines, pitting the bombastic former President Rodrigo Duterte against the guarded administration of Ferdinand Marcos Jr. At its heart: a clash over transparency that tests the fragile dance between central bank independence and democratic accountability.

Duterte, ever the showman, took the stage at a recent rally, his voice a gravelly roar. “Wala ta kabalo ang gold diin gibaligya ug pila,” he thundered—where and for how much the gold was sold, we don’t know. His camp, through former aide Salvador Panelo, accuses the Marcos government of stonewalling, hiding the quantity, price, and buyers despite public demands for clarity. The administration fires back with venom. Palace press officer Claire Castro branded Duterte’s charges a “campaign joke,” a tired rerun from a man who once vowed to jet-ski to the South China Sea. “Hindi pa ba tayo nasanay?” she snapped—aren’t we used to this yet? The air crackles with accusation, but beneath the political mudslinging lies a deeper question: how much independence should shield the BSP from scrutiny?

The BSP doesn’t deny selling gold. It calls this “active management,” a routine tweak to the country’s gross international reserves (GRI), which hit $106.3 billion last year. Gold, they say, hedges against market swings—vital, yet volatile, costly to store, and low-yielding. So they sell some. The proceeds? Folded back into the GRI, they insist. What they won’t disclose: how much gold, at what price, to whom. Why does this matter? Because the BSP’s vaunted independence—enshrined in its charter to protect monetary policy from political whims—can also become a cloak for secrecy. When a central bank answers to no one, trust frays in a nation where corruption’s ghosts still linger.

The BSP’s defense rests on a tightrope. Central bank independence, a global gospel since the 1990s, demands insulation from meddling politicians. Disclose too much—say, the exact volume or timing of a gold sale—and you risk speculators gaming the market, crashing the peso, or spiking inflation. The BSP’s autonomy lets it act swiftly, decisively, free from the populism that might have Duterte auctioning gold to fund his next rant. Fair point. But here’s the contradiction: independence isn’t a blank check. The BSP justifies its silence as protecting “financial interests,” yet offers no hint of where transparency ends and strategy begins. It’s a wall, not a window.

How does this compare globally? Look at China or Russia, where central banks wield independence like a fortress. Beijing, the world’s top gold producer, amasses reserves far beyond its official counts, experts say, revealing zilch. Moscow bolsters the ruble with gold but keeps the playbook closed. Kyrgyzstan’s secretive sales ignite public rage, while the U.S. Federal Reserve dodges queries on foreign gold it holds. Even the IMF, champion of central bank autonomy, guards its own gold dealings, citing “sensitivity.” The Philippines fits this pattern—but that’s no badge of honor. International standards, like the IMF’s own guidelines, nudge central banks toward broader reserve disclosure, balancing independence with accountability. The BSP leans hard on the former, light on the latter.

What does Philippine law demand? Not much. The BSP’s 1993 charter grants it sweeping autonomy to manage reserves, prioritizing stability over public tell-alls. No statute forces disclosure of gold sale details—quantity, price, buyers. Yet the 1987 Constitution waves a flag of transparency in government dealings, a principle critics say should pierce the BSP’s armor. Independence, yes, but not isolation. Duterte’s bluster taps this tension: why the secrecy? Castro’s jab—doesn’t he know this is routine?—sidesteps the point. Routine or not, Filipinos deserve more than shrugs.

This isn’t just about gold bars gathering dust. It’s about power and trust. The BSP’s independence shields it from political plunder—think Marcos Sr.’s looted billions—but it also risks alienating a public weary of hidden deals. Duterte’s camp smells conspiracy: Is the gold funding cronies? Paying secret debts? The Marcos administration scoffs, yet its snark isn’t an answer. The BSP’s vague assurances—sales are “regular,” proceeds stay in reserves—don’t heal scars from a history of betrayal. Independence protects the bank, but at what cost to the people it serves?

So what would meaningful transparency look like, without gutting the BSP’s autonomy? Not a live ticker of every sale—that’s a speculator’s jackpot. How about annual reports tallying total gold sold, average prices, and broad buyer categories (say, “foreign banks” or “private firms”)? Canada’s central bank, independent yet open, details its (small) gold holdings. The European Central Bank shares aggregated reserve data. It’s not full exposure, but it’s enough to signal good faith. The BSP could pioneer this—proof that independence and accountability aren’t enemies.

This is the stakes: a central bank’s freedom versus a nation’s trust. The BSP’s silence might steady markets, but it rattles confidence. Duterte’s theatrics may overreach, yet they echo a real cry. Marcos’ team deflects without engaging. Here’s a challenge: crack the vault door open—just a sliver. Show Filipinos their gold isn’t a mystery. Because when independence becomes a shield for secrecy, it’s not strength—it’s fragility. Democratic accountability doesn’t weaken a central bank. It fortifies it. Anything less? Just another jet-ski promise—loud, hollow, and drifting nowhere.

Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo

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