In 2016, just months after President Rodrigo Duterte took over the reins of government, former president Fidel V. Ramos warned that the Philippines was a sinking ship in urgent need of repair. It was a metaphor that cut deep, not only because it came from a former head of state, but because it captured the unease many Filipinos already felt about the nation’s direction.
I remember hearing that line and thinking how stark it sounded. A ship is supposed to carry its people safely across waters, but PFVR suggested ours was taking on water. The image was unsettling, yet familiar. We all knew the leaks—corruption, poverty, inefficiency—and we all knew the risks of ignoring them.
Years later, in 2019, I sat down with him for what became the book Behind the Red Pen. PFVR repeated the same metaphor, almost word for word, as if to remind us that the leaks remained. That conversation would turn out to be his last interview before he passed away in 2022, with the pandemic intervening in 2020.
The years since have been a mixed voyage. There were moments when the ship seemed to steady, when reforms promised sturdier planks and stronger sails. There were also storms—political crises, economic shocks, and the pandemic—that reminded us how fragile the vessel remained.
Life aboard has not been uniform. Some passengers found better cabins, with access to opportunities and comforts that were once out of reach. Others remained below deck, still struggling with the same leaks Ramos pointed out years ago. The unevenness of the journey is part of the story we live every day.
If I were to apply the question to myself—has life aboard become any better? — I would say: “Fortunately yes, it has.” I have felt life’s difficulties, the weight of each passing storm, but I have managed to survive from one administration to another. The journey has not been easy, yet fortitude and my faith have carried me through, and that survival is itself a kind of progress.
And now, the leaks seem more glaring. Seems that rampant graft and corruption will not be eliminated anytime soon. Investigations have confirmed multi-billion pesos ghost flood control projects nationwide; many fully paid for but never built. Reports also estimate billions lost to overpriced contracts and manipulated budget insertions. These revelations echo Ramos’s warning that the ship is still taking on water, and the holes are bigger than ever.
What strikes me now is how the metaphor continues to resonate. We still talk about fixing systems, patching holes, steering toward progress. The language of repair has become part of our national vocabulary, even if the repairs themselves often feel incomplete.
Perhaps, the real measure is not whether the ship has stopped sinking, but whether we’ve found the strength to chart a better course despite its flaws. Filipinos have long endured—patching, improvising, adjusting course. That endurance is admirable, yet it raises a harder question: is mere survival enough? The word resilience has been worn thin; what we need now is fortitude that moves us beyond survival toward renewal.
It is time to look at the late president’s metaphor with fresh eyes. The ship is still afloat, yes, but the journey remains uneven. The challenge is not only to keep it from sinking, but to make sure life aboard becomes better for everyone.
And so, as another year closes and a new one dawns, I hold on to the hope that our voyage will not only be about staying afloat, but about finding fairer winds. May the coming year bring sturdier sails, clearer horizons, and a shared determination to make the journey worthwhile for all. That, I think, is the voyage worth writing about.
Meantime, here’s wishing everyone a happy Christmas and a prosperous, peaceful 2026!
