The longest speech, the shortest distance to reality

One hour and twenty-six minutes. Long enough to watch a feature film, fly from Manila to Cebu, or spend half a day in a government office only to be told to return tomorrow. It was also the length of President Marcos’ fifth State of the Nation Address (Sona), a speech that tried to convince Filipinos that every crisis had been managed, every scandal confronted, and every promise was already halfway delivered. But a Sona has never been a contest of endurance. The late President Ferdinand Marcos once spoke for two hours and 40 minutes in 1969. Former President Rodrigo Duterte surpassed everyone in 2021 with a two-hour-and-46-minute marathon. History remembers the minutes because someone counted them. Nations remember governments for something else: results. A President is not measured by the thickness of a manuscript or the number of applause breaks. Government is not literature. It is an audit.

This year’s most dramatic moment was Mr. Marcos’ declaration that the flood control corruption investigations had produced results: jailed contractors, frozen assets, and the possible prosecution of his own cousin, former Speaker Martin Romualdez. In Philippine politics, where family names have often functioned like invisible shields, promising accountability against one’s own relative is a powerful performance. But every performance eventually meets its critic: reality.

Filipinos have heard “no one is above the law” so often that many now wonder whether some people are simply assigned a more comfortable altitude. If Romualdez becomes another headline that disappears beneath the next political storm, the promise of justice will become another unfinished government project, complete with a groundbreaking ceremony but no building. The President has spoken. Now he must act. A justice system that reaches only the powerless is not justice. It is public relations wearing a judge’s robe.

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The President’s remarks on tax relief and amendments to the Epira law perhaps revealed more than his prepared victories. They sounded less like celebrations and more like acknowledgments that electricity costs, inflation, and shrinking household budgets remain stubborn realities. Every Sona is remembered as much for its silences as its speeches. Wage increases received little attention despite families continuing their daily struggle against rising prices. Tax relief may help some, but for those too poor to pay income taxes, exemption is hardly a victory. It is like receiving a discount coupon for a store you cannot afford to enter. The administration also spoke of a future Philippine rocket program, including cooperation with a South Korean aerospace company. The ambition is admirable. A nation should dream beyond its limitations. But gravity has a habit of interrupting political imagination.

Before reaching the stars, the Philippines must examine the machines protecting its skies. In May 2026, an SF-260 Marchetti trainer aircraft crash killed both Philippine Air Force pilots. In November 2025, a Vietnam War-era Super Huey helicopter crashed, killing all six airmen aboard. There is a certain irony in discussing rockets and outer space while some aircraft appear closer to museum exhibits than modern defense platforms. A country may dream of the cosmos, but it should not forget the runway beneath its feet.

The President was stronger on foreign policy. His reaffirmation of the arbitral ruling and rejection of racist propaganda against Filipinos showed confidence and clarity. On sovereignty, conviction sounded more convincing than political choreography.

George Orwell warned that political language can make empty promises appear solid. That warning remains timeless. Speeches can inspire, but they cannot substitute for evidence. A Sona is not poetry. It is a receipt.

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The applause inside the Batasang Pambansa was predictable. Standing ovations remain one of politics’ most renewable resources. Outside its walls, applause is harder to earn. It is measured by grocery bills, electricity charges, hospital lines, classrooms, salaries, and the daily cost of survival.

The President ended by promising to finish what his administration had begun. Every president says this. The difficult part has never been ending a speech. The difficult part has always been ending the distance between promises and reality. And perhaps the shortest path begins with one simple test: whether the President’s words on accountability really reach even the most powerful people sitting closest to him.

—————- Fr. Cyrain Cabuenas is a Catholic priest from Borongan, Eastern Samar, who currently serves in the State of Vermont. He is a former correspondent of the Philippine Daily Inquirer Visayas bureau.