The Philippine Constitution: A Proxy War for Trust, Not Text

No Charter Fix Until Politicians Aren’t Crooks

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — August 31, 2025

THE 1987 Philippine Constitution isn’t just a legal document; it’s a political lightning rod. For nearly four decades, “Charter Change” (Cha-Cha) has been sold as the key to unlocking economic prosperity, regional equity, or modernization. But let’s stop pretending: this debate isn’t about fine-tuning text. It’s a proxy war over trust—or the utter absence of it—in a political class that’s been looting the public since Marcos Sr. fled Malacañang in a helicopter. The economic arguments are a glittering smokescreen, obscuring the real battle: can any amendment process be shielded from the self-serving grip of the politicians who’d run it? History, data, and an 88% skeptical public say no.

The Economic Salvation Smokescreen: Glittering Promises, Grim Realities

Cha-Cha proponents wave the promise of an economic miracle, claiming that easing the 1987 Constitution’s foreign ownership restrictions—those 60-40 rules on land, public utilities, and media—will unleash a tidal wave of foreign direct investment (FDI). A 2024 study from the Philippine Institute for Development Studies (PIDS) projects a potential 78% FDI boost from liberalizing services, conjuring visions of skyscrapers and bustling factories. Business chambers cheer, arguing that constitutional caps signal a closed economy, scaring off investors.

Sounds dazzling, doesn’t it? Except the math doesn’t add up, and the real barriers aren’t in the Constitution. Recent laws like the Public Service Act (PSA) and Retail Trade Liberalization Act (RTLA) already opened sectors like telecoms, transport, and retail to 100% foreign ownership. Yet FDI growth remains anemic. Why? Investors don’t care about constitutional fine print when they’re navigating a corrupt bureaucracy, decaying infrastructure, and a judicial system slower than a provincial bus in EDSA traffic. Former Supreme Court Justice Antonio Carpio and framer Christian Monsod have hammered this point: governance, not the Constitution, is the bottleneck.

The Numbers Game:

PIDS’s 78% FDI projection assumes a fantasy where enforcement magically improves post-amendment. Meanwhile, countries like Vietnam attract more FDI without rewriting their charters, simply by cutting red tape and building ports.

Marginal Gains, Maximum Risk:

Economists like Calixto Chikiamco tout a 3.2% productivity bump from services reform, but others, like UP’s Maria Serena Diokno, argue that without anti-corruption measures, liberalization just enriches oligarchs. The PSA and RTLA already cover most of the low-hanging fruit—Cha-Cha’s economic upside is a mirage, not a miracle.

The Ghost of Marcos: Same Script, Different Actors

The 1987 Constitution was forged in the ashes of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s dictatorship, a regime that used “constitutional reform” to legitimize martial law, extend power, and plunder the nation. Its single six-year presidential term, rigid amendment process, and economic nationalism were deliberate shackles on future strongmen. Yet, the Cha-Cha playbook keeps resurfacing—Estrada in 1999, Arroyo in 2006, and now under Marcos Jr., it’s back, dressed in economic jargon but reeking of political ambition.

The public’s distrust—88% opposed to amending “right now,” per a March 2024 Pulse Asia survey—stems from this grim déjà vu. They’ve seen this movie: it starts with promises of prosperity and ends with term extensions or consolidated power. The Marcos name alone, tied to the current administration, sets off alarms. Proposals like Resolution of Both Houses No. 6 (RBH 6) and No. 7, which claim to target “economic-only” changes, leave room for scope creep. History warns that “limited” amendments rarely stay limited:

Estrada’s Constitutional Correction for Development (Concord) (1999): Collapsed under suspicions of term extensions.
Arroyo’s Sigaw ng Bayan (2006): Tanked amid accusations of a parliamentary power grab.

The Constitution’s guardrails aren’t perfect, but they’ve kept the Philippines from backsliding into one-man rule. Tampering with them now, under a Marcos-led administration, feels like handing a pyromaniac a match.

The Process is the Poison: A Constitutional Heist in Three Acts

The amendment process is where Cha-Cha’s lofty promises crash into reality. The 1987 Constitution (Article XVII) offers three paths: Constituent Assembly (Con-Ass), Constitutional Convention (Con-Con), or People’s Initiative (PI). Each is a masterclass in self-interest and manipulation.

Constituent Assembly (Con-Ass):

Congress, with a ¾ vote, rewrites the rules it plays by—foxes designing the henhouse. Politicians have every incentive to extend terms, weaken checks, or carve out dynasty-friendly exemptions. The public’s 88% opposition reflects not just distrust in the outcome but in the players calling the shots.

Constitutional Convention (Con-Con):

Sounds cleaner—elected delegates draft a new charter—but it’s a logistical nightmare. Estimated costs hit PHP 28 billion, a slap in the face when Filipinos are grappling with inflation. And who gets elected? The same dynastic names, bankrolled by the same war chests. The 2018 Consultative Committee, led by former Chief Justice Reynato Puno, tried to sanitize federalism talks but couldn’t dodge accusations of elite capture.

People’s Initiative (PI):

Oh, the People’s Initiative—a process so pure it requires truckloads of cash for signature campaigns. The Supreme Court buried this option in Santiago v. COMELEC (1997) and Lambino v. COMELEC (2006), calling it a “constitutional zombie” without a clear enabling law. Both cases exposed PI as a front for elite agendas, with signatures bought or coerced and voters left clueless about the changes. Current PI efforts, like 2024’s signature drives, reek of the same opacity, with reports of voters signing for “economic aid” without grasping the stakes.

No process is immune to the Philippines’ trust deficit. Transparency, full text disclosure, and nationwide hearings are non-negotiable, but good luck selling that to a public burned by decades of betrayal.

Federalism: Fool’s Gold for Regional Dreamers

Federalism is Cha-Cha’s most seductive pitch: devolve power to fix Manila-centric neglect. The 2018 Consultative Committee argued it would let regions tailor development and break the capital’s stranglehold. But federalism doesn’t fix disparities—it risks entrenching them. Without ironclad anti-dynasty laws and fiscal discipline, devolving power just hands local oligarchs 18 new fiefdoms. Political dynasties already control 70% of congressional seats; federalism would turbocharge their grip, turning governors into mini-dictators.

The Cost: Shifting to federalism could cost PHP 28 billion upfront, plus ongoing expenses for new bureaucracies. That’s a brutal punchline when basic services are underfunded.
The Reality: Regional disparities stem from weak infrastructure and corruption, not the Constitution’s unitary structure. The Bangsamoro Autonomous Region, a devolution test case, struggles with underfunding and clan conflicts—hardly a success story.

Federalism’s promise is a shiny distraction. Enforcing existing local government codes and cracking down on patronage would do more than a constitutional overhaul ever could.

The Bottom Line: Shelve It Until Trust Exists

The 1987 Constitution isn’t flawless. Its economic provisions, rooted in post-Marcos nationalism, can feel dated in a globalized world. Targeted tweaks—say, easing public utility rules—could signal openness to investors. But the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. The marginal gains from constitutional changes pale against the risks of a process hijacked by a political class that’s proven, repeatedly, it can’t be trusted. Corruption, not text, is the Philippines’ albatross. Infrastructure, not ownership caps, is the FDI killer. And no amount of “economic-only” spin can erase the ghost of Marcos or the stench of past Cha-Cha flops.

Is there a way to amend without it becoming a constitutional heist? Theoretically, yes—a Constitutional Convention with diverse, non-dynastic delegates, full transparency, and a plebiscite free of logrolling could work.

But in today’s Philippines, where 88% see Cha-Cha as a politician’s power grab, that’s a pipe dream. The verdict is clear: shelve this circus until a generation of leaders emerges that Filipinos actually trust. Until then, Cha-Cha isn’t reform; it’s a dynasty enrichment program masquerading as progress. The Constitution deserves better. So do the Filipino people.